department and it hasn't just vanished. That was bad cops covering for bad cops. People are eager to give you a chance, Vince, but they're going to be just as quick to hang you if they smell more secrecy and dishonesty coming from this office. Even if they just think they smell it.'
'Well said. Paul?'
'Nothing I've learned about Wildcraft yet puts him in an at-risk category for suicide. He's not fitting the profile. But I'll tell you what I told Merci, I don't trust him. I think he's trying to run something on us. More reason to keep on him. Keep on him, sir. That's all we can do. Don't go off with a half-cooked case. We need to polygraph him and hypnotize him, like Merci said. We also need to surveil him. I think it's worth the time and money, sir.'
'Consider it approved. Clay?'
Brenkus stood. 'We'll stay busy. We'll keep Al Madden busy. We'd like swift communication between your people and ours. Gilliam's been slow. Don't leave us out of the loop, Vince.'
'I wouldn't consider it. Would you, Merci?'
'No, sir. Absolutely not.'
The sheriff stood and shook hands with Brenkus. 'Clay, thank you. We're working hard on this one. Give us a few more days.'
'Absolutely, Vince.'
'Mr. Dawes?' asked Abelera.
Dawes stood straight and buttoned his suit coat. He looked at Merci. 'We could grand jury it. Let them decide whether or not to indict. And if they want a longer investigation, then we're right back to where we are now.'
'No,' said Merci. 'There's no way we're letting twenty-one people question a guy with a bullet in his head and no lawyer.'
'Why not?' asked Dawes.
'Because his memory is coming back, that's why.'
'Gwen Wildcraft was a human being,' he said. 'This isn't a game, Sergeant.'
'Then don't turn it into-'
Merci was about to say 'one' when the door flew open and Assistant Sheriff Dale Knox blasted in. 'Boss, you better see CNB, right now. Unbelievable.'
Abelera nodded, Knox slammed the door shut and hustled across the big room to the TV.
County News Bureau-the television wing of Gary Brice's Orange County
Journal
— came in loud and clear.
Wildcraft aimed the riot gun at the camera, said,
You're trespassing.
Brice's off-camera voice:
I wanted you to tell me what happened.
Merci couldn't believe Archie Wildcraft's face. His eyes were wide and shot with red. His stubble was black. A big vein rose under the skin of his forehead. His clothes were wrinkled and disheveled and there was a dirty pink- brown stain on the bandage wrapped around his head. He looked like a soldier at Antietam, or some malevolent genie just escaped from his bottle.
Get off my property, he said.
Brice backed away and the camera jiggled and Archie held the shotgun at an angle that threatened to blow away the CNB viewer.
'Where the hell are they?' asked Vince.
'His house,' said Merci, putting together the pieces. 'Brice found him. He's got snitches at the medical center.'
The camera was in retreat now, jiggling and moving farther away.
Brice:
Did you see who killed your wife?
Archie:
Get out.
Brice:
What are you going to do?
Archie:
I'll kill… myself.
Halfway through that sentence the camera jerked wildly and Archie's face flew out of the frame. When the camera steadied, he offered a demented smile.
Brice:
Did you shoot her and yourself sir?
Archie:
Go to hell, you little BLEEP.
Merci felt her heart fall and she got a quick, bitter taste of what it would feel like to be wrong about this man.
The last few seconds of footage showed Archie way up on his property, shotgun still in hand, staring down at the camera. He looked like a menace.
'Oh, man,' said Merci, but what she was thinking was considerably worse.
'He certainly looks and acts innocent,' said Dawes.
Merci heard Brice ask,
Maybe someone should explain why the police haven't formally questioned this man.
'Pick him up right now,' Abelera ordered Knox.
'Wait,' said Merci. 'Let us go get him. We've got rapport and he might be ready to talk. Please, sir-don't send in the uniforms. He's very… extremely messed up.'
'Oh, really?' asked Dawes.
Rayborn saw the anger flash in Abelera's eyes. 'Arrest him, Sergeant. Before he kills himself, or someone else.'
'Yes, sir.' She swung around the couch and followed Zamorra out the door, her heart pounding out three beats of anger at herself for every one at Dawes and Gary Brice.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The two Sheriff's Department cruisers were still blocking the Wildcraft driveway. The four deputies stood beside them, beating the heat. They said that Archie had been inside the whole time, no one had tried to come or go except for his parents, who parked on the street at noon and left at ten after one.
No answer at the front door, so Merci knocked again. She tried the door and found it unlocked.
She pushed in, popping the thumb snap on her hip rig. With her left arm she reached behind her back and gathered a low handful of jacket material out of the way of the gun. She didn't think Wildcraft would come out shooting but she wasn't wearing armor and didn't want the ceiling to be the last thing she saw on Earth.
'Archie!' she called with kind authority, as if she was hupping a wayward pointer. 'Archie-it's Rayborn and Paul Zamorra!'
Silence. She moved across the entryway, noting that Wildcraft's cut-down shotgun no longer rested in the corner. She leaned through the kitchen entry then angled quickly in. 'Arch?'
She looked to the counter and saw that his prescription bottles were gone. Through the mullioned windows of the breakfast nook she looked out to the pool, where Archie had conducted his press conference with Gary Brice. Sky-blue water, the yellow hibiscus in bloom, no Wildcraft. They quickly searched the house. Still no Wildcraft. There were two photographs missing from the music room wall, and three stone missing from the rock room. The master bedroom looked the same to Merci, except for a blank spot on one wall where a portrait of Gwen Wildcraft had hung.
In the master bath Merci found a loose wad of faintly bloodstained gauze lying on the counter.
