by Kirk Russell
I went out in the corridor and returned a call from the FBI tech who’d run the new software program. Artificial intelligence was getting very good at comparing images. The video we got from Drake Brown in Tracy had been compared with video taken in Southern California. We didn’t want to let Jody know about it yet. Both were looking at the left side of the Tahoe as it passed by.
When I came back into the room, Gavotte was explaining to Mark, “This woman rented the Tahoe for a week. She paid me five hundred bucks cash. That was before any of the resistance bombings happened.”
No one blinked at the word “resistance.” It was out there now anyway. We’d all seen it.
“What did the woman say about where she was going?” I asked.
“Coastline camping. I told her to fill the gas tank and wash the salt off before bringing it back.”
“How do you advertise the rental?”
He said, “An artist’s thing, a monthly magazine some people I know started.”
“Here’s another video,” Mark said and ran it. “Is that you driving? It looks like you.” Hofter was losing patience.
“It’s not me.”
“How old are you, Jody?” Hofter asked.
“Twenty-three.”
“You ought to think about what’s going on in your country.”
“Excuse me? My country? I’m not the one with the money. You’re working for them. Why don’t you talk to them?”
I stepped back in. “How many times has it rented in the last two weeks, Jody?”
“Four times.”
“Where have you driven in that time?”
“Nowhere. Errands and stuff.”
“Not to the beach or mountains?”
“No.”
I reminded him, “Don’t forget we’re videotaping this interview, and I’ll say again, you have the right to have a lawyer present. We need your help. We need you to tell us everything you can remember about the four people you rented the Tahoe to in the past two weeks.”
As he started on that, I heard something in his voice that I thought was worry. He did his best to describe two couples, one in their forties but trying to look younger, a solo dude, two gangbangers who promised no violence and brought it back a couple hours later, and a “chick about his age.”
“Could you sketch the young woman’s face?”
“I don’t do line drawings. That’s not where it’s at, but white girl with black hair parted in the middle with blond roots. Sort of average height and decent looking . . . that’s about it.”
“The next video we’re going to show you wasn’t taken in Tracy,” I said. “It was taken at night by a camera no one figured on. If you were driving, we’re going to advise you to be very clear and straightforward. The cameras have gotten a lot better, but what’s really changed are the computer programs that can read a dent in a car in the same way facial-recognition software works. That left rear panel of the Tahoe is a distinctive set of dents. It’s been matched to an image a surveillance camera caught.”
“You’re not going to frame me.”
I asked, “Are you clear you’re on record?”
“Yep.”
“Do you want an attorney present during questioning?”
“Your whole way, man, it’s gone. It’s not happening anymore.”
“The young woman with the black hair parted in the middle, was she the last person to use the Tahoe?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Did she rent it or borrow it?”
That caught him. He couldn’t hide it but didn’t know how to answer that without screwing up something else. Or that was my guess. He shook his head and got a quizzical smile going, then said, “Dude, what’s up with you?”
“Why won’t you answer whether she paid or not?”
“What’s it to you? Why do you care?”
“It’s about you, Jody, not us. What are you hiding?”
Gavotte shook his head, and Mark ran the five-second clip, and then again in slo-mo. The left rear panel dent was visible, as was the faded bumper sticker and the license plate as the Tahoe slowly passed by.
“That’s my rig.”
He smiled and Hofter asked, “What about this is funny to you?”
“All of it.”
“Do you know where this was taken?” I asked.
“Nope.”
I said, “Okay, now we’re going to show you a clip from a utility company camera taken twelve minutes before the clip where you identified your vehicle. I have to warn you there’s a shooting.”
“Show me whatever, let’s get this over.”
“Here goes,” I said. “See the man walking up? There’s a guy in the truck who was hired by the utility as additional security.”
Gavotte recoiled at the muzzle flash. His reaction looked genuine.
“It was a second job, a night job,” I said. “He was making ends meet. He had a young family. Those muzzle flashes are him getting killed sitting in his truck up at an electrical substation in the Tehachapis. The video we watched just before this one was your vehicle leaving there a few minutes later.”
He thought about that a few seconds, started to say something, then stopped himself. He looked at me and said, “Fuck. That’s bad.”
“Is that you shooting the guard?”
“What? No, kill somebody? Never. Okay, she and I did a deal, not a big thing just trading the Tahoe rental for dope and some beer. I know her but I don’t know her, okay? She’s been around a couple of times, and I’ve seen her at this coffee place and another converted warehouse. There’s like a whole group of warehouses run by a trucking company. A lot of empty spaces they lease out in Sylmar, but mostly San Fernando and Burbank or along the freeway north of there.”
“I want to be very clear with you, Jody. The shooter appears to have a build very similar to yours. You—”
“No way, that’s crazy. I would never shoot anyone.”
“Figure out who you rented to.”
“Okay, I can, and I didn’t shoot anybody,” he said. “That guy wasted a dude in the truck? That’s raw. Oh, yeah, I heard about that, the security cop. All right, I’ll figure her out or where that place is they rent. The owner where I am probably knows. Are you serious about the software that matches the dents?”
“We are. Your license plates are there too.”
“I get it.”
I wasn’t sure he did.
“Just give me a few hours.”
37
JULIA
The Farm, Tulare County, California, May 4th
Julia walked the rows of tomato plants. In the sun their smell was pungent. She inhaled it as she bent over and pulled a weed.
They’d said, “Check out the vegetables. Walk around. You bought in, girl. You own part of the farm.” She pulled another weed, this time letting her knee sink into the soil, then stood and walked out to the gravel road that ran from the outbuildings and the house to the property gate. The gate had an electric release and a code that, when she tried it, didn’t work.
On either side of the gate was barbed-wire fencing that followed the roll of the grassy hills. In the distance to the right were mountains. The high peaks were snow covered. She rattled the gate again. Easy to climb over and walk out to the road, then down past the big olive and avocado orchards. She was in California, in Tulare County.
For a year she’d heard about the farm as a kind of mystical place. She closed her eyes with her hands resting on the top of the gate and the sun on her face and stood there several minutes. Then she turned back to the farmhouse with the big deck out front and shade surrounding it.
Rule one was you couldn’t stay more than three days unless you worked. Last night she was given her jobs. She was down with that but wanted her car. Danny, the tall guy, the quiet one who was always watching her, had said, “I hear that. I wouldn’t be here without wheels either. If you want, I can take you down to pick up your car the day after tomorrow, or there are some things we need he
re that could be brought in if you’re okay with someone else driving it. The guy who would drive it is the slowest, most careful driver you’ve ever met.”
“Bring what things?” she’d asked.
“I do all the equipment repairs. It’s just some parts and wiring I need, nothing oily. It would all fit in a small trunk.”
She’d agreed to that but now kind of wished she hadn’t. Today she’d gotten a free day to explore. Tomorrow she would start working. Tonight, with Paula’s phone, she would call UG or Jo, probably Jo since the last times she’d called UG she couldn’t reach him. You can leave anytime you want, she thought. With or without the code. With or without your stuff, just hop over and go.
A creek fed by snowmelt ran just inside the east side of the property to a pond that in the summer they said sometimes dried up to almost nothing. Brush and trees lined the creek She guessed it was two miles to the highway, though it might be longer. Trucks glinted in the sun when they drove by, but cars were harder to see. When she had her car back, she could buy a new cell phone. She turned and walked back to the other buildings.
One they called the tractor barn, where Danny worked. He was weird but maybe just shy. Tom did deliveries, the farmers’ markets, and a lot of other things to keep the farm running. He and Paula chose what to plant. Paula did the books and the marketing.
Last night, Paula said the farm doesn’t make any real money. She said it straightforward and matter-of-fact as if no one would dispute that, although when Julia bought in, no one had informed her of this. She still didn’t have any papers proving her share of ownership, and she couldn’t even get into the tractor barn. It was almost as big as the farmhouse and was locked. She walked to it and tried the door again. She knocked hard and then called, “Dan!” Supposedly, he ran the machinery and boxed the vegetables in there.
“Go to the farm,” Sam had said. “Put in a year and learn to work with your hands. Grow real food. Work, get tired, sleep, and get up early. It’s basic but it’s chill there. You’ll love it. Go get whole. I’ll let your uncle know you’re okay.”
She walked back to the fence and followed it east until she reached the creek, where she squatted and put her hands in the water. The water was cool not warm. Earth has the same amount of water as it had billions of years ago. No matter what they say, nobody owns the water. She remembered them at the fire pit talking and saying that. Some of the dudes saw wars over water coming soon. They all talked like somehow they knew, even though they were just getting it from things they read or heard.
Here they had a well with a pump. She checked it out, then walked back to the farmhouse. As she went up the steps, she heard Paula and one of the guys talking inside. The farmhouse had an old-style screen door with a wood frame that slapped shut behind her as she went in.
“What do you think in daylight?” Paula asked.
“Pretty cool.”
“Did you check everything out?”
“What wasn’t locked, and also I need the code to the gate.”
“Want some iced tea?”
“Sure, would love some. Can I borrow your phone later, Paula? I need to tell my family where I am. Also, I’d like to get into the tractor barn. I want to see what I invested in.”
Danny heard that. He was standing in the kitchen. She said it for him, and they stared at each other. Then he half smiled like he’d heard something funny. He was tall with broad shoulders and hard, sharp cheekbones. His eyes were the bright color of bluebottle flies.
“What’s up with you?” Julia asked him.
“Nothing.”
“Why did you look like you were about to laugh?”
“I don’t know.”
Paula cut in, saying, “Back to work, Danny. See you at supper.”
He left, and Julia poured some of the iced tea and sat down. This was nuts. Paula had said “See you at supper” like she was in charge of the house and his job was outside. He obeyed her like a boy doing what his mother tells him to do.
“I used to counsel people,” Paula said. “I know you’re hurting. I know you need time to heal. It’s a very simple life here, but it’s what you need. Let it be what it is. Two pairs of clothes, wear one, wash one, bathe every day because we have the water, and forget everything else except brushing your teeth. And birth control if you think you might want one of these guys.”
“I won’t.”
“You’re young. Sometimes things just happen. But only stay if you want to. Do not bring bad energy here.”
Only that last bit reached her. She had to stop thinking so many negative things.
“Are you there, Julia?”
“Right here. I need to get a phone in the next day or so. How do I do that?”
“I’ll ask Tom to pick you up one, but you need to limit your calls to one per day. Those are the rules we all agreed on.”
“I still need to use your phone today to let my family know I’m okay.”
“You’re with your family. You just don’t realize it yet. I’ll hold the phone and you talk. We agree before the call how long the conversation will last and what will be said.”
“If it gets me a call today, okay, but that’s not going to work for long.”
“We’ll do the call at the end of the day. We’ll take one day at a time.”
Paula reached out, took Julia’s hands in hers, and squeezed them. “I channel energies. I have that gift. We will heal you. Do you want that? I need to hear you say you want to heal.”
Julia nodded, then asked, “Can I use your phone at nine?”
“Say it, Julia.”
“I want to heal.”
“Good. So let’s not think about phones or time. Let’s get dinner prepared without thinking about anything else. Can you do that?”
“Sure,” Julia said, and then followed her to the kitchen.
38
From a broken asphalt lot outside the warehouse called the Colony, I talked with Sheriff Callan.
“I’m stepping down as sheriff. I signed a stack of forms today that releases everybody from liability after they put an artificial esophagus in my throat. Do you know anyone walking around with one of those? I don’t either.”
“Where’s the surgery?”
“San Francisco.”
“When?”
I wrote it down and said, “You’ll make it through.”
“I’d better. Mary wants to go to Europe.”
“Book it before your surgery and it’ll give you both something to look forward to. Make her promise to go anyway if you can’t.”
“I like that, Grale.”
He hung up a moment later.
The warehouse was not the first I’d seen with this name. Living communally may make the difficult task of surviving as an artist in America easier, but it’s still a tough road. I waited for Hofter to arrive then left him outside on his cell phone and went in and found Gavotte. He gave me a short tour, pointing out different artists’ spaces and referencing their art as if the names of pieces were common knowledge. Some spaces were no more than pitched tents made from blankets strung with ropes within the cavernous two-story space. Above us, an ancient wood floor creaked with footsteps.
“Let’s go do it, Jody,” I said. “Show me where you park the Tahoe when it’s not in your dad’s garage.”
Outside, I put on sunglasses, and Mark, tie flopping, walked with us as I talked.
“Your sister says you wanted your dad’s Tahoe because it’s big enough to sleep in.”
“My sister talks too much.”
“Was she right about sleeping in the Tahoe with your girlfriend in this warehouse space?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a spot, but it sucks. It’s got chemical spills. It’s down there at the end of that building. We did sleep in there in the Tahoe for like a month. There’s a rolling door I can leave a little bit open at night so air comes in, but it’s a big space and they stored something in the back that leaked and is friggin’ serious. I mean, it’s nasty, dude.”<
br />
When we reached the rolling metal door, Gavotte punched numbers into a keypad. As the door went up, an eye-watering chemical smell washed out.
“I can’t do this. I got sick sleeping in here. I got this rash on my body and my nose was running all the time. Take a look, then I’ll shut the door. The smell is bad, isn’t it?”
“Let’s walk through,” I said.
“You sure? What for?”
Gavotte flicked the light switches up and nothing happened. “Guess we’re not walking,” he said.
“Yeah, we are,” Hofter said and handed me one of two small LED flashlights he’d brought. We passed piles of debris, Sheetrock and 2 × 4s, the remains of interior walls when this must have been an office space. I saw tire tracks from something like a Bobcat, and more recently cars. Deeper in were larger debris piles, and the chemical smell worsened. Our light beams swept across tire tracks up ahead turning left.
Near the back wall the chemical smell was too much. It came into your throat, and no matter how shallow you breathed, it burned in the lungs.
“This is bullshit, I want out of here,” Gavotte said and coughed.
We turned, but I slowed and fell back when I reached the tire tracks that had looked recent. The tracks led to what looked like a large debris pile but wasn’t. It was debris spread over a tarp covering something. I started pulling off boards that held the tarp in place and saw the rear end of a blue Nissan. I swept the light across, and there were no license plates. I needed my phone to look at a photo of the car Julia had bought, so I pulled it out and jerked more of the tarp off. I shined the light inside the car and saw red sunglasses I recognized as hers.
The car was empty and locked. I couldn’t open the trunk without prying it. I called Hofter over and showed him a photo Julia had sent me. “This is Julia’s new car.”
39
Julia’s car hidden in a garbage dump of a warehouse took things to a different place. I popped the trunk with a pry bar and stared into the empty space with relief, despite Julia having talked with Jo at nine last night. I questioned Gavotte with a whole different tone, and he admitted parking the car there. When he did, Hofter stepped away and called Fuentes and asked for two more agents.
