breeze came up it was cool and clean off the desert so he went into the house to put away the phone and get some blankets.
The phone rang just as he was putting it into the charger.
'Hello, Deputy Wildcraft?'
'Yes.'
'This is Gary Brice, Orange County Journal. How are you feeling?'
'All right.'
'How about we do an interview tonight? I can be there in less than half an hour.'
'No. I'm tired.'
'I can sure see why. How come you checked out of the hospitals?'
'I felt better.'
'Were the police putting pressure on you?'
'They questioned me about what happened.'
'What did you tell them? What did happen, Deputy Wildcraft?'
'I won't talk now. I need some privacy and time to think.'
Archie punched off. The phone rang again immediately-then off and on until he fell asleep hours later-but he didn't answer it.
From the kitchen window he could see part of his driveway and the two black-and-whites still blocking it. Good, he thought: safe for now. He got a gun, too, a Remington composite-stock twelve-gauge automatic cut down at both ends, with the magazine plug removed to hold all five rounds. He checked to see it was loaded and safed.
He went back out and set the shotgun on the pool deck, then lay down on the chaise lounge, pulling the blankets over him. He saw a falling star, then another, then more. He remembered, as a boy, counting one hundred and nineteen of them one September night while lying in his backyard on a sleeping bag.
Archie listened to the palm fronds hiss in the breeze.
I'll remember, he thought. And tell Detective Rayborn everything and she'll arrest whoever did this and it will make no difference at all.
I'll remember you, he thought. Someday I will remember everything about you and never forget again.
And I'll remember you, Arch.
'Gwen.'
A little after six the next morning, just after first light, Archie sat up.
He heard the branch snap, then soft, careful footsteps on the walkway. They came from down on the property, not from the house but from the direction of the steps and the wildflowers that led down to his fence and the road.
His blankets were damp. The clothes he had slept in were damp. So was the bandage around his head. Archie shivered quickly as he listened to the footsteps getting closer. He lifted the Remington, stood and moved toward the walkway with the stubby barrel held out and his finger on the safety beside the trigger guard. Archie saw him first. A young blond guy in jeans and sneakers, light jacket. He held a camcorder up to his face as he picked his way along the walk. He swung the camera to his left, then his right, then aimed straight ahead, at the house.
Then at Archie, who stepped from beside a hibiscus plant and extended his arms and put the barrel of his riot gun under the guy's chin.
The man froze, one foot just coming up to begin a step. 'Fuck, he whispered. 'Please don't shoot.'
The camera lowered very slowly and Archie saw the boyish face-the pale cheeks and young blue eyes, the weak mustache and rosy, astonished mouth.
Archie left the barrel where it was.
'I'm Gary Brice, Deputy. I'm a reporter with the Orange Count
Journal.
Please don't shoot me.'
'Show me your ID.'
'It's in my wallet. My wallet is in my pants pocket. I'll get it.'
'Move very slowly.'
'Can I put my other foot down?'
'No.'
The man calling himself Brice produced ID and Archie glanced i it. It looked good. Brice still stood with one foot lifted almost off the ground, and this made him waver because his balance was bad.
Archie still hadn't moved the gun barrel.
'You're trespassing,' he said.
'I wanted you to tell me what happened.'
Archie's temper spiked. It was like a rocket being launched. He couldn't account for it, really, other than that he'd been shot and his wife murdered and he'd been poked, prodded, needled, scanned, questioned, doubted, threatened, treated like a child and now trespassed on by a reporter.
Still holding the gun under Brice's chin, Archie ordered him off his property. He could hear the ice-cold anger in his voice and he knew it for what it was. 'I'm absolutely getting off your property, Deputy. I'm going to back up now, and just go away. Okay? So don't shoot, and I'll be gone and I won't come back unless you invite me.'
Brice lowered his trembling foot, then backed up one step, then another. Archie kept the gun pointed at his chest.
'Deputy Wildcraft, what happened that night?'
'Get away before I lose my patience.'
Brice kept moving back, trying to keep eye contact with Archie and not trip.
'Did you see who killed your wife?'
'Get out.'
'What are you going to do?'
'I'll kill them myself.'
As Archie spoke, Brice veered off the walkway and backed into an orange tree. He flinched, swung back his hands for balance, almost dropping the camera. He finally steadied himself and re-aimed at Archie.
Archie smiled.
'Did you shoot her and yourself, sir?'
'Go to hell, you little shit.'
Brice was halfway through the wildflowers now, backpedaling faster. When he thought he was out of shotgun range he whipped around, tucked the camera under his arm like a football, sprinted down the hill and jumped over the fence in one big leap.
Archie watched him scramble into a little silver four-door and drive away
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The walk-through with Wildcraft was a bust. Rayborn took careful notes and Zamorra made sure the tape recorder was always within pick-up distance of their subject, but Archie offered almost no new information. He was vague. He was forgetful. He was emotional, then oddly flat, then emotional again. To Merci, it seemed like the deputy was trying to weigh anchor through molasses.
As they walked the house she noticed that Archie had done some light housework. He had cleaned up the bathroom, taken away the old towels and opened two windows. He had also stacked the birthday; presents more neatly in the living room, pushing them up against one wall. He had leaned a twelve-gauge riot gun in the corner of the entryway a few feet from the front door. He had placed his medicine bottles on the kitchen counter by the coffeemaker, spread out in a neat line of four.
The bed was unmade, though, and the bedroom had grown warm and stuffy. Rayborn caught the scent of something musky and sexual and it embarrassed her.
