It was too risky to lie. They could check this in seconds. Reluctantly he said: “Matter of fact, I think the name on the lease may be Stella Higgins.” He hated to give Star’s real name to the FBI. “She was the woman who started the vineyard, years ago.” He hoped it would not be of any use to them. He could not see how it gave them any clues.
Ho wrote down the name. “That’s all, I think,” he said.
Priest hid his relief. “Well, good luck with the rest of your inquiries,” he said as he led them out.
He took them through the vineyard. They stopped to thank Dale for his cooperation. “Who are you guys after, anyway?” Dale said.
“A terrorist group that’s trying to blackmail the governor of California,” Ho told him.
“Well, I sure hope you catch them,” Dale said sincerely.
At last the two agents walked away across the field, stumbling occasionally on the uneven ground, and disappeared into the trees.
“Well, that seemed to go pretty well,” Dale said to Priest, looking pleased with himself.
12
Sunday afternoon, Judy took Bo to see the new Clint Eastwood movie at the Alexandria Cinema on the corner of Geary and Eighteenth. To her surprise, she forgot about earthquakes for a couple of hours and had a good time. Afterward they went for a sandwich and a beer at one of Bo’s joints, a cops’ pub with a TV over the bar and a sign on the door saying “We cheat tourists.”
Bo finished his cheeseburger and took a swig of Guinness. “Clint Eastwood should star in the story of my life,” he said.
“Come on,” Judy said. “Every detective in the world thinks that.”
“Yeah, but I even look like Clint.”
Judy grinned. Bo had a round face with a snub nose. She said: “I like Mickey Rooney for the part.”
“I think people should be able to divorce their kids,” Bo said, but he was laughing.
The news came on TV. When Judy saw footage of the raid on Los Alamos, she smiled sourly. Brian Kincaid had screamed at her for interfering — then he had adopted her plan.
However, there was no triumphal interview with Brian. There was film of a smashed five-bar gate, a sign that read “We do not recognize the jurisdiction of the United States government,” and a SWAT team in their flak jackets returning from the scene. Bo said: “Looks to me like they didn’t find anything.”
That puzzled Judy. “I’m surprised,” she said. “Los Alamos seemed like really hot suspects.” She was disappointed. It seemed her instinct had been completely wrong.
The newscaster was saying that no arrests had been made. “They don’t even say they seized evidence,” Bo said. “I wonder what the story is.”
“If you’re about done here, we can go find out,” Judy said.
They left the bar and got into Judy’s car. She picked up her car phone and called Simon Sparrow’s home number. “What do you hear about the raid?” she asked him.
“We got zip.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“There are no computers on the premises, so it’s hard to imagine they could have left a message on the Internet. Nobody there even has a college degree, and I doubt if any one of them could
Judy shook her head. “Well, whose dumb idea was it to raid them, anyway?”
It had been hers, of course. Simon said: “This morning at the briefing, Marvin claimed it was his.”
“Serves him right that it was a flop.” Judy frowned. “I don’t get it. It seemed like such a good lead.”
“Brian has another meeting with Mr. Honeymoon in Sacramento tomorrow afternoon. Looks like he’ll go empty-handed.”
“Mr. Honeymoon won’t like that.”
“I hear he’s not a real touchy-feely type guy.”
Judy smiled grimly. She had no sympathy for Kincaid, but she could not take pleasure in the failure of the raid. It meant the Hammer of Eden were still out there somewhere, planning another earthquake. “Thanks, Simon. See you tomorrow.”
As soon as she hung up, the phone rang. It was the switchboard operator at the office. “A Professor Quercus called with a message he said was urgent. He has some important news for you.”
Judy debated calling Marvin and passing the message to him. But she was too curious to know what Michael had to say. She dialed his home.
When he answered, she could hear the soundtrack of a TV cartoon in the background. Dusty was still there, she guessed. “This is Judy Maddox,” she said.
“Hi, how are you?”
She raised her eyebrows. A weekend with Dusty had mellowed him out. “I’m fine, but I’m off the case,” she said.
“I know that. I’ve been trying to reach the guy who’s taken over, man with a name like a soul singer.…”
“Marvin Hayes.”
“Right. Like, ‘Dancin’ in the Grapevine’ by Marvin Hayes and the Haystacks.”
Judy laughed.
Michael said: “But he doesn’t return my calls, so I’m stuck with you.”
That was more like Michael. “Okay, what have you got?”
“Can you come over? I really need to show you.”
She found herself pleased, even a little excited, at the thought of seeing him again. “Do you have any more Cap’n Crunch?”
“I think there’s a little left.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in fifteen or twenty minutes.” She hung up. “I have to go see my seismologist,” she said to Bo. “Shall I drop you at the bus stop?”
“I can’t ride the bus like Jim Rockford. I’m a San Francisco detective!”
“So? You’re a human being.”
“Yeah, but the street guys don’t know that.”
“They don’t know you’re human?”
“To them I’m a demigod.”
He was kidding, but there was some truth in it, Judy knew. He had been putting hoodlums behind bars in this city for almost thirty years. Every kid on a street corner with vials of crack in the pockets of his bomber jacket was afraid of Bo Maddox.
“So you want to ride to Berkeley with me?”
“Sure, why not? I’m curious to meet your handsome seismologist.”
She made a U-turn and headed for the Bay Bridge. “What makes you think he’s handsome?”
He grinned. “From the way you talked to him,” he said smugly.
“You shouldn’t use cop psychology on your own family.”
“Cop, schmop. You’re my daughter, I can read your mind.”
“Well, you’re right. He’s a hunk. But I don’t much like him.”
“You don’t?” Bo sounded skeptical.
“He’s arrogant and difficult. He’s better when his kid’s around, that softens him.”
