But there were still too many missing pieces. Like the cause of Mike's death. Judd wanted to believe that it was an accident, just as the coroner had found at the inquest, but his gut told him it just might have been murder.
And then there was Carmen's death and the fire at Mike's, which had almost certainly been premeditated, and the two break-ins.
Swiveling back, he reached for the phone and punched out a series of numbers that he'd committed to memory years earlier.
"Arson. Captain Petrie."
"Pete, it's Judd Calhoun. How's your racquetball game these days?"
"Better now that you've hung up your racquet, you bastard. How the hell are you, anyway? Still terrorizing the troops?"
Judd chuckled. "Ouch. You know me too well."
"Well enough to miss running into you every few weeks."
"Yeah, me too."
An embarrassed silence cut through the two men before Judd broke it. "Pete, I called because we have a problem up here."
"God, not another one of your hunches!"
"'Fraid so."
In the year since he'd been out of touch, Pete had waxed poetic in his use of profanity. "Okay, tell me about this problem," he said when he finally ran out of steam.
"I'd rather fax you the details on a couple of fires we've had, get your input first before I tell you what I think."
There was a heavy sigh. "All unofficial, of course—since you've retired from SFFD."
"Of course."
The two men shared a quiet chuckle.
"So how're the knees, old buddy? Still giving you fits?"
Judd recognized the offhand tone and smiled. "Nah, I'm in such good shape I could give the rookies a damn good race on field day."
Petrie chuckled. "Glad to hear it. The other guys will be, too."
"Give 'em my best, okay? Tell Chief Wong I just might be back there knocking on his door one of these days, looking for a job."
"Hey, no lie?"
"No lie."
"What happened? Job isn't enough of a challenge for you?"
"Something like that, yeah."
"Don't say we didn't warn you, Calhoun. A guy who likes action the way you do has no business up there in the sticks. A place like that isn't for you."
"Yeah, well, there are a lot of people up here who would agree with you."
"Uh-oh. Sounds like old Iron Pants rides again."
Judd replied with something so crude it brought him a compliment before Petrie added, "I'll give the guys your regards and I'll get back to you as soon as I get a good look at the stuff you're sending."
Judd thanked him again, and they hung up.
It would be good to see Pete's ugly puss again, he thought as he went back to staring out the window. Good to get back to the city.
So what if he had to ride a desk for a while? He knew enough people with grease who owed him favors. Sooner or later he'd get his command back.
And then he could stop waking up every morning with a gnawing emptiness in his belly and a long string of hours to fill with so much activity he wouldn't have the energy to miss Darcy. And that damn messy, disorganized, cluttered house full of kids.
* * *
Chapter 13
« ^ »
Judd was lying on his back in the lumpy bunk, his hands crossed behind his head, staring at the ceiling. It was a pose he'd adopted a lot recently, especially in the quietest predawn hours just before the station came to life.
For a guy who usually fell asleep as soon as he closed his eyes and willed it, he was having a devil of a time getting a decent night's sleep.
If he wasn't missing Darcy and her brood, he was chewing over the missing pieces in his theory. He knew there had been a service station somewhere on Main Street
with a faulty underground tank.
But it had been long gone by his time and the few old-timers he'd asked had conflicting opinions. One thought it had been on the lot where the big new medical facilities stood. Another was positive that it had been next to the Emporium, where the ice cream parlor had been erected a little more than four years ago. No one knew for sure, and there was no way to look it up. Whoever had pulled the records had done a damn efficient job.
He suspected Grant Koch. His family had owned most of Main Street
for as long as Judd could remember, probably all the way back to the city's founding.
What with selling off selected parcels for redevelopment or renovation, and then conveniently doing the work himself, Grant was sitting on a sweet deal.
A sudden discovery that the very ground beneath the town might be saturated with gasoline fumes would send property values plummeting, not to mention Grant's net worth.
The question was, did Grant know all along about the old tank, or did someone bring it to his attention? Someone being Mike Kerrigan, who just might have had his curiosity sparked by Monk's verbal report on the Emporium fire. How Mike got his hands on the old newspaper clipping was anyone's guess, but it was beginning to look more and more as if that were the common thread.
Old Grant had a lot of questions to answer. Thing was, Judd didn't have the authority to ask them officially, and if he tipped his hand too soon, the bastard could cover his tracks.
What had him waking up in a sweat was knowing that Koch was still going about his business, fishing with the sheriff, renovating buildings that might explode at any moment, influencing people and gaining their trust—like Darcy.
Judd found himself welcoming the searing anger that moved through him. That kind of clean, simple emotion he understood, and because he understood it, he could handle it.
It was the other more complex, more deeply rooted feelings that had him a nervous wreck whenever they surfaced. Like the hard bubble of emotion that clogged his throat when he'd first seen Darcy with her daughters.
Judd thought of his mother, something he rarely did anymore. She'd married his old man because, as she'd loved to tell her young son, "he told me he was only half-alive without me."
Yeah, Judd thought now, for about twenty minutes. Long enough to get her to the altar. And then the cold bastard had set about making her life miserable.
He'd seen his share of that kind of love, too. Kids abused by the very people they trusted to take care of them. Aged parents abandoned on the doorstep of a firehouse because their children had gotten too fed up or too tired or too bored taking care of them. No wonder he had a problem believing in Darcy's kind of love.
With a violent oath that only made him feel worse, he threw back the sheet and set about getting up. As long as he couldn't sleep, he might as well work.
Ignoring the crutches he was still supposed to use for another two days, he walked stiffly to the desk and eased into the chair that was becoming his second home.
He was reaching for his aspirin bottle when the phone buzzed. "Calhoun here."
"Judd, it's Pete."
Something in his friend's voice had Judd's spine stiffening. "You're up early."
"Who said I've been to bed?"
"Busy night?"
"I'd say. Three burners of 'suspicious origin' since midnight." Judd heard the sound of a weary chuckle. "So what else is new in the big city, right?"
"Right." Judd waited. Pete wasn't calling to chat.
"Anyway, the reason I'm calling, I finished going through the stuff you sent me and I'd say your hunch is right. If part of your hunch was remembering the mess we had in the Sunset District about eight years back."
"It was."
Petrie sighed. "I'd say, unofficially of course, that you'd better get a couple dozen soil engineers out there ASAP and figure out what kind of volatile substance you've got trapped under your streets."
"My money's on gasoline from a long-forgotten tank that had probably starting seeping the first day they put it in."
"Big tank?"
"Big enough."
"How long-forgotten?"
"About sixty years."
Petrie whistled softly over th
e line. "You don't need me to tell you that you got big problems, son."
Judd managed a sociable grunt. "I owe you one, Pete."
"I doubt that. Seems to me you've done me more than your share of favors."
"Whatever. Anyway, thanks for the help. Unofficially."
Petrie laughed. "Keep me posted, okay?"
"Will do. Oh, and, Pete, one more thing. What are the chances of a stray skyrocket hitting a pocket of that gas and setting it off."
"Uh-oh. Sounds like you all are having fireworks for the Fourth."
"Yeah. Terrific idea, huh?"
"Not so terrific, not with three buildings in a five-block radius already history."
"Yeah, that's what I thought, too."
Even as Judd was saying goodbye, he was looking up Tom Billings's home number.
An hour later Judd was seated at the rear booth at Groler's, waiting for Tom. The rebuilt hotel had opened just in time to accommodate the Frontier Days crowd and Tom was swamped, so they'd agreed to meet for breakfast.
It was still too early for the tourists to be up and about, and Groler's was nearly empty. Other than a group of four good-old-boys gathered at their usual table in the front, Judd was the only customer.
He'd ordered and eaten before Tom finally burst through the tall glass doors, looking freshly shaved and harried.
"Sorry I'm late," he said as he slipped into the seat across from Judd. He whipped off his cowboy hat, then glanced at it ruefully before putting it on the seat beside him.
"Nice, huh? It's a real Stetson. Ann got it for me in Vegas. Said I should have one for Frontier Days."
"I thought the bad guys wore black."
"Yeah, but the store didn't have any white hats in my size. You think folks will notice when I'm sitting up there on the county commissioners' float?"
Judd cupped his hands around his coffee mug. "Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. The parade and the rest of the festivities planned for this week."
"What about … oh, good morning, Gladys. I'll have my usual."
"How was Vegas?" the graying waitress asked as she filled the mug Tom held out.
"Hot." He grimaced. "I swear, only the National Board of County Administrators would hold their annual convention in the desert in the middle of summer."
"Cheaper that way, I expect," Gladys retorted as she splashed a refill into Judd's cup.
"Exactly. Worse than that, I managed to lose my shirt at the blackjack tables. Again."
Gladys tut-tutted as she took herself toward the kitchen, where eighty-five-year-old Adam Groler senior still presided over the breakfast crew.
"Great old gal. Treats everyone like they were family," Tom said with a grin before grabbing a quick sip of the hot strong coffee. "Now, what were you saying about the parade?"
"I want you and the other commissioners to call it off."
"That's a joke, right?"
"No joke. I've been doing some checking, and it's turning out to be a pretty good bet that we have gasoline-saturated soil right here under Main, and probably a couple intersecting streets, as well."
Tom set his cup down and leaned forward. "Maybe you'd better start from the beginning."
In a low voice, wasting few words, Judd started with his discovery of the two articles and ended with a summary of the call he'd gotten earlier from the chief arson inspector of the San Francisco Fire Department. The only thing he omitted was his suspicion that Grant Koch was somehow involved. That he kept to himself for the time being.
When Judd had finished, he sat back and studied the other man's face for the skepticism he expected. It was there, all right, along with a few extra worry lines above the commissioner's old-fashioned eyeglasses.
"Whew, that's some hunch you have, Judd."
"So far that's exactly what it is, a hunch. Until we get some test pits dug and the soil analyzed, that's all it can be."
Gladys returned with Tom's food, refilled both cups and left. "Aren't you eating?" Tom asked Judd somewhat absently.
"I finished before you got here."
The other man nodded, glanced down at his plate again, then pushed the omelet away untouched.
"First off, I have to tell you this scares the hell out of me, and secondly, this town gets more than sixty percent of its gross revenue from the income generated during Frontier Days." He drew in a quick breath before flipping his hand toward the street.
"Hell, most of the small business owners would go belly-up without the money they get from the tourists during those four days." Frowning, he shook his head. "No, sir, there is no way in hell we can call off the parade without explaining why. Personally, I don't want to be responsible for the kind of chaos that would cause, and I really doubt that you do, either."
Judd reminded himself that this man was a friend. "Tom, we're talking about more than money here. We're talking about people dying. So far there have been three fires that we know of—"
"Who said anything about deaths?"
"For God's sake, Tom, I did. First the maintenance man at the Emporium and then Mike at the opera house and probably his housekeeper, too."
"C'mon, Judd. That's reaching. Mrs. Rodriquez was shot when she surprised a burglar."
"What if that burglar was looking for the article I found in Mike's things? What if that burglar was the same guy who broke into Darcy's house and my office?"
"Your office? When?"
"The first week I got here. Disguised himself as an exterminator and talked one of my men into unlocking the door. He was there, unsupervised, for at least an hour, maybe longer."
Billings raked his hand through his hair, leaving it disheveled. Normally a fastidious man, he didn't even notice, such was his concern.
"You suspect someone, don't you?"
Judd hesitated, then nodded. "I do, yes."
"Who?"
"The one person who would stand to lose everything if that old leak were discovered—Grant Koch."
Billings snorted and leaned back, some of the concern leaving his face. "Now right there's where you lose me, Judd. Why, Grant loves this town. He and his family have donated thousands of dollars to various charities over the years, and just last year he himself put up the land and damn near half of the money for the medical center. Now, does that sound like he's one of the bad guys?"
Judd felt a wild need to grab the man across from him by the scruff of the neck and shake him. "You yourself said that you can't always tell the good guys from the bad guys by the color of their hats—or their money."
"Just what do you mean by that?"
Judd pinned Billings with the look he reserved for a fire fighter with a habit of holding back on the first entry. "Just how much did Koch donate to your campaign last election, Mr. Commissioner?"
Billings turned a fiery red, and his mouth firmed. "I like you, Judd," he said evenly, "so I'll forget you said that. As to your request to cancel the parade, it's denied. And we both know you don't have the authority to go over my head."
"Maybe not, but I do have the authority to cancel the fireworks show, and I will."
Billings's gaze narrowed and his mouth thinned even more. "What's with you all of a sudden, Calhoun? Have you got delusions of grandeur or something?" He grabbed his hat and scooted toward the aisle. Judd grabbed his arm, stopping him.
"You're right. I'm acting like a jerk, taking out my frustrations on you. I'm sorry."
Some of the righteous anger left Tom's eyes but not all. "Do these frustrations have anything to do with the weekend you spent recuperating at Darcy's?"
Judd said the first thing that came to his mind.
Billings chuckled, a smile breaking the ice in his eyes. "It's a small town, Judd. What can I tell you? Everyone knows everyone else's business."
"Yeah, for a while there, I forgot."
Billings chuckled again. "It's none of my business, mind you, but I think you're the best thing that's happened to my buddy Darcy since Steve was killed. Since you came back t
o town, she's seemed, uh, how did Ann put it? Lit up from inside instead of moping around being responsible and maternal and miserable."
Judd pretended a sudden interest in the shape of the handle on his mug. "Interesting, but I doubt I'm responsible."
"Take some advice from a guy who waited until he was thirty-nine to get married, and even then wanted to back out at the last minute. Stop fighting the inevitable and get a ring on the lady's finger as quickly as you can. Marriage isn't half-bad. In fact, don't tell Annie I said so, but I wish I'd done it ten years earlier."
He reached for the check but Judd was faster.
"Thanks." Billings slipped from the booth and stood up. Judd did the same, his hand already on his wallet.
"And, Judd, as soon as things settle down after Frontier Days, we'll sit down and talk about getting some scientists out here to see if that hunch of yours is correct."
He stuck out his hand and Judd took it. "Tom, one more thing."
"What's that?"
"Just who was it who sold you the hotel when you moved up here from California?"
Billings's eyes dropped to the black hat in his hand, then slowly lifted to meet Judd's. "GTK Development Corporation."
"Meaning Grant Koch."
"Yes," Tom said in a troubled tone. "Meaning Grant Koch."
"Was there a soil analysis included in the presale workup?"
Billings nodded slowly. "Of course. In this day and age I wouldn't buy anything without one."
"And?"
"And it was clean."
The two men exchanged a long look before Billings turned away and headed quickly toward the door. Judd threw a couple of dollars on the table for a tip, then carried the bill to the cash register at the front.
He had just stepped out into the sunshine a few minutes later when he heard one of the twins call his name.
Halfway down the block, Darcy and the girls were just piling out of the car.
"Hi, ladies. You're all up and about early."
"We're having breakfast," Rosie said with a big grin that showed the gap where her two front teeth had been.
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