type, doorless, the glass long gone from their windows. Two small, rusted Quonset huts, also without doors or windows, and the remains of an ancient Airstream trailer. Built along a narrow stream, summer-dry now, shaded by willows and cottonwoods and overgrown with weeds, dead grass, clumps of manzanita. The sun, already hot in the eastern sky, gave it all the look of a mass of tinder lighted by a match flame.
Sandra Parnell’s Chrysler was drawn in under one of the willows, so that it couldn’t be seen until you came in off the side road; rows of fruit trees hid the camp from the county blacktop beyond. She was waiting beside the car, smoking. She dropped the butt and ground it out quickly under the heel of her flip-flop as he pulled up nearby.
The gathering heat folded around him when he got out. The girl hurried over, bringing the faint smell of marijuana along with her. The joint hadn’t been her first; the glaze on her eyes told him that. Not cheap, just young and stupid. However many she’d smoked, they’d taken the edge off her anxiety. She stood slack shouldered, the way people do when there has been an easing of tension.
“I looked everywhere,” she said. “There’s just no sign of him or his car.”
“Where was he holed up? One of the shacks?”
“No, the trailer.”
The weeds and dry grass were littered with discarded belongings, splintered doors, bent sheet-metal panels, a rusted set of box springs. Runyon picked his way around and through them to the Airstream skeleton. Its door was shut. When he pulled it open, trapped heat heavy with the stink of dust and decay, fast food and marijuana, emptied out at him. He put his head inside, then the rest of his body, breathing through his mouth.
Sunlight slanting in through one of the broken windows showed him a gutted interior, the floor overlain with debris, rodent turds, a dozen or so roach butts smoked down to nubbins. Empty except for an old, worn sleeping bag and the leavings of a recent McDonald’s meal. Both brought by the girl, probably.
He kicked around in there for a minute or so. The only other thing that caught his eye was a torn piece of colored paper, squared off on two sides. He picked it up. Some kind of label, blank and glue-smooth on one side. A caked, sticky blob adhered to the colored side, obscuring a design; all he could make out was what looked like a tree and rubbed and smeared lettering that seemed to be part of a word or name: RipeO. It didn’t look as though it had been there long. Brought in on the bottom of a shoe, maybe, and pulled or scraped off.
He took it outside with him, showed it to Sandra. “This mean anything to you?”
She blinked at it. “No. What is it?”
“Probably nothing.” But he pocketed it anyway. “What kind of car does Jerry drive?” he asked her.
“ ‘Fifty-seven Impala. Dark blue, tuck-and-roll upholstery.”
“Easy to spot.”
“Yes. Why would he go driving around?”
Not thinking straight. Running scared. Or maybe he had unfinished business somewhere. “Last time you saw him was when?”
“Yesterday afternoon. About five.”
“He was holed up here since Friday night?”
“Yes.”
“Where was he all that day? Why didn’t he go home when he was supposed to?”
Her glazed eyes shifted away from his. “I don’t know.”
“Sure you do. Last night you said you couldn’t tell me. That was last night; this is today. Where was he on Friday?”
“It… doesn’t have anything to do with what happened to Manuel. Or the fires or any of that.”
“Where was he, Sandra?”
She chewed her lip, making up her mind whether or not to answer. “He… oh, all right. He was in Lost Bar.”
“Where’s that?”
“Mountains up by Weaverville.”
“Doing what?”
“Buying some grass. There’s a guy has a pot farm up there.”
“How big a buy?”
“You won’t tell anybody about this, will you?”
“Not if I don’t have to. Answer the question. How big a buy?”
“Half a kilo.”
“For resale?”
“No! Just for, you know, me and a few friends.”
“Where did he get the money?”
“Saved some from his job. And I gave him some.”
“Anybody else?”
“Uh… Bob Varley.”
“Who’s he?”
“Just a guy Jerry hangs out with. He works at the Gasco station out by the freeway.”
“Big kid, red hair, not too bright?”
“Yeah, that’s Bob.”
“The owner of this pot farm-what’s his name?”
“Gus something. Funny last name. German, I think.”
“How well does Jerry know him?”
“Just to buy grass from, that’s all.”
“How much grass? How often?”
“Every few months, whenever we run out.” She ran her tongue over her lips again. “We’re not druggies,” she said defensively. “We don’t get high that often, just sometimes on weekends, you know?”
“You’re stoned now,” Runyon said.
“Oh God, I couldn’t help it. I’m so scared… I needed something… You won’t tell anybody?”
“Show me where Jerry had his car hidden.”
She led him back into the woods along the creek bank. The dry grass was mashed down in there in parallel tracks. Manzanita and scrub grew thickly, some of the branches and smaller bushes twisted and broken. Runyon prowled the area, hunting for foreign objects. All he found was a couple of rusted tin cans and a scatter of used condoms.
He asked, “Did you come out here with him on Friday night?”
“No.”
“But you saw him that night. Where? What time?”
“At my house-my folks were out. After ten, after he got back from Lost Bar.”
“Why was he so late getting back?”
“He had some trouble up there.”
“What kind of kind of trouble? With Gus?”
“No, something with his car. He had to get it fixed at the garage.”
Runyon asked, “Why did he go to you instead of home?”
“We were supposed to meet at five and he knew I’d be worried.”
“So were his parents. He could’ve called them. Or you.”
“He doesn’t have a cell. He doesn’t like to talk on the phone.”
“But it was all right that his parents were worried.”
“I don’t know, I guess he just didn’t think…”
“You tell him what happened at the farm?”
She nodded. “If he’d got to my house five minutes earlier, Kelso would’ve caught him.”
“Is that how you found out, from Kelso?”
“Yeah. He came around looking for Jerry. Made it real plain he thought Jerry was guilty.”
“So Jerry panicked and decided to hide out here. For how long?”
“He wasn’t thinking that far ahead. He just didn’t want to be arrested for something he didn’t do. And this was the only place he could think of where nobody’d think to look-” She broke off, her body stiffening, her head craned forward. “Shit! Somebody’s coming!”
