The Hammer of Eden

headquarters in Washington, Judy assumed, plus people from the city, state, and federal emergency management agencies.

She went to the investigation team table. Most of her people were working the phones, running down leads. Judy spoke to Carl Theobald. “What are you on?”

“Sightings of tan Plymouth ’Cudas.”

“I’ve got something better for you. We have the California phone book on CD-ROM here somewhere. Look up the name Stella Higgins.”

“And if I find her?”

“Call her and see if she sounds like the woman on the John Truth tape.”

She sat at a computer and initiated a search of criminal records. There was a Stella Higgins in the files, she found. The woman had been fined for possession of marijuana and been given a suspended sentence for assaulting a police officer at a demonstration. Her date of birth was about right, and her address was on Haight Street. There was no picture in the database, but it sounded like the right woman.

Both convictions were dated 1968, and there was nothing since.

Stella’s record was like that of Ricky Granger, who had dropped off the radar in the early seventies. Judy printed the file and pinned it to the suspect board. She sent an agent to check out the Haight Street address, though she felt sure Higgins would not be there thirty years later.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Bo. His eyes were full of concern. “My baby, what happened to your face?” He touched the bandage on her nose with gentle fingertips.

“I guess I was careless,” she said.

He kissed the top of her head. “I’m on duty tonight, but I had to stop by and see how you are.”

“Who told you I was hurt?”

“That married guy, Michael.”

That married guy. She grinned. Reminding me that Michael belongs to someone else. “There’s no real damage, but I guess I’m going to have two beautiful black eyes.”

“You got to get some rest. When are you going home?”

“I don’t know. I just made a breakthrough. Take a seat.” She told him about Raining Fresh Daisies. “The way I see it, she’s a beautiful girl living in San Francisco in the sixties, going on demos, smoking dope, and hanging out with rock bands. The sixties turn into the seventies, she becomes disillusioned or maybe just bored, and she hooks up with a charismatic guy who is on the run from the Mob. The two of them start a cult. Somehow the group survives, making jewelry or whatever, for three decades. Then something goes wrong. Somehow, their existence is threatened by a plan to build a power plant. As they face the ruin of everything they’ve worked for and built up over the years, they cast about for some way, any way, to block this power plant. Then a seismologist joins the group and comes up with a crazy idea.”

Bo nodded. “It makes sense, or a kind of sense, the kind that appeals to wackos.”

“Granger has the criminal experience to steal the seismic vibrator, and the personal magnetism to persuade other cult members to go along with the scheme.”

Bo looked thoughtful. “They probably don’t own their home,” he said.

“Why?”

“Well, imagine they live someplace close to where this nuclear plant is going, so they have to move away. If they owned their house, or farm, or whatever, they’d get compensation, and they could start again somewhere else. So I’m guessing they have a short lease, or maybe they’re squatters.”

“You’re probably right, but it doesn’t help. There’s no statewide database of land leases.”

Carl Theobald came up with a notebook in his hand. “Three hits in the phone book. Stella Higgins in Los Angeles is a woman of about seventy with a quavery voice. Mrs. Higgins in Stockton has a strong accent from some African country, maybe Nigeria. And S. J. Higgins in Diamond Heights is a man called Sidney.”

“Damn,” Judy said. She explained to Bo: “Stella Higgins is the voice on the John Truth tape — and I’m sure I’ve seen the name before.”

Bo said: “Try your own files.”

“What?”

“If the name seems familiar, that could be because it has already come up during this investigation. Search the case files.”

“Good idea.”

“I gotta go,” he said. “With all these people getting out of the city and leaving their homes empty, the San Francisco PD is going to have a busy night. Good luck — and get some rest.”

“Thanks, Bo.” Judy activated the find function on the computer and had it search the entire Hammer of Eden directory for “Stella Higgins.”

Carl watched over her shoulder. It was a big directory, and the search took a while.

Finally the screen flickered and said:

1 file(s) found

Judy felt a burst of elation.

Carl shouted: “Christ! The name is already in the computer!”

Oh, my God, I think I’ve found her.

Two more agents looked over Judy’s shoulder as she opened the file.

It was a large document containing all the notes made by agents during the abortive raid on Los Alamos six days ago.

“What the hell?” Judy was mystified. “Was she at Los Alamos and we missed her?”

Stuart Cleever appeared at her side. “What’s all the fuss about?”

“We’ve found the woman who called John Truth!” Judy said.

“Where?”

“Silver River Valley.”

“How did she slip through your fingers?”

It was Marvin Hayes, not me, who organized that raid. “I don’t know, I’m working on it, give me a minute!” She used the search function to locate the name in the notes.

Stella Higgins had not been at Los Alamos. That was why they had missed her.

Two agents had visited a winery a few miles up the valley. The site was rented from the federal government, and the name of the tenant was Stella Higgins.

“Damn, we were so close!” Judy cried in exasperation. “We almost had her a week ago!”

“Print this so everyone can see it,” Cleever said.

Judy hit the print button and read on.

The agents had conscientiously noted the name and age of every adult at the winery. Some were couples with children, Judy saw, and most gave their address as that of the winery. So they were living there.

Maybe it was a cult, and the agents simply had not realized that.

Or the people had been careful to conceal the true nature of their community.

“We’ve got them!” Judy said. “We were sidetracked, the first time by Los Alamos, who seemed perfect suspects. Then, when they turned out to be clean, we thought we must be barking up the wrong tree. That made us careless about checking for other communes in that valley. So we overlooked the real perpetrators. But we’ve found them now.”

Stuart Cleever said: “I think you’re right.” He turned to the SWAT team table. “Charlie, call the Sacramento office and organize a joint raid. Judy has the location. We’ll hit them at first light.”

Judy said: “We should raid them now. If we wait until morning, they may be gone.”

“Why would they leave now?” Cleever shook his head. “Nighttime is too risky. The suspects can slip away in the darkness, especially in the countryside.”

He had a point, but instinct told Judy not to wait. “I’d rather take that risk,” she said. “Now that we know where they are, let’s go get ’em.”

“No,” he said decisively. “No further discussion, please, Judy. We raid at dawn.”

She hesitated. She was sure it was the wrong decision. But she was too tired to argue anymore. “So be it,” she said. “What time do we head out, Charlie?”

Marsh looked at his watch. “Leaving here at two A.M.”