It wasn’t a long wait. Voices drifted out of the shadows first, one louder than the other, angry. Shapes, then, the leader moving fast across the moonlit yard, the other one lugging the kerosene tins. Still talking to each other, the words distinguishable now.
“… how he could’ve gotten free.”
“Pulled the handcuffs loose somehow, damn him.”
“Oh God, he’ll tell on us. What if he already has?”
“Don’t get excited. He couldn’t’ve been gone long. Or got far after five days in there.”
“You think he might still be around here somewhere?”
“Dead, I hope. We’ll look before we set the timer.”
“We’re not going ahead with the fire…?”
“Like hell we’re not.”
Rinniak murmured, “Like hell you are,” and touched Runyon’s arm, and they stepped out together and put the lights on.
“County sheriff’s officers. Stand where you are.”
The stabbing glare brought them up short; the command rooted them in place. Sandra Parnell dropped both kerosene tins, one arm lifting to shield her eyes; she stood in a terrified freeze, like a jacklit deer. Ashley Kelso’s bugeyed stare held a mix of fury and disbelief.
The two deputies came pounding up, their lights joining the others. “Kelso’s daughter, all right,” one of them said. Another one having trouble coming to terms with it.
Rinniak started forward, saying, “You’re under arrest-”
The rest of it got lost in a sudden shrieked “No!” from the Kelso girl. She threw her flashlight at Rinniak, missing him, and bolted-a stumbling headlong charge toward the back fence.
Runyon was closest to her flight path. He cut her off, chased her down, managed to catch hold of her arm. She rounded on him, cursing, spitting like a cat, and clawed stinging furrows into the back of his hand, tried to get at his face with those flashing nails, tried to kick him in the groin. He threw the six-cell down and fastened grips on both arms, jerked her around, and bent her back hard against an upthrust knee. She kept on fighting him, screaming obscenities. One of the deputies was there by then and she fought him, too, tried to bite him. It took both men to wrestle her to the ground, Runyon to hold her down while the deputy shackled her hands behind her back.
The fight went out of her. But not the viciousness. She rolled over, sat up glaring at Runyon. “You!” she said. “You son of a bitch, you did this!”
He ignored her. Blood ran from the scratches on his hand, trickling between the fingers. He wrapped his handkerchief around it.
“I should’ve killed you in the barn!” Ashley screamed. “I should’ve hung you up with Manny like I wanted to!”
The deputy said, “You better be quiet, kid-”
“Fuck you!”
He took her arm, roughly, and lifted her to her feet.
“Leave me alone!” She looked at Runyon again. “Jerry’s dead, isn’t he? Tell me he’s dead.”
“He’s not.”
“You’re lying.”
“He’s in the hospital in Red Bluff. Expected to live.”
“Shit!” She squinted past him, to where the other deputy was putting handcuffs on Sandra Parnell while Rinniak recited her rights. “Where is he? Why isn’t he here?”
Ashley wasn’t asking about Jerry Belsize now. Runyon knew who she meant, but the deputy said, “You heard him. In the hospital.”
“Not him, my father. Don Kelso, the big tough cop. Didn’t anybody tell him? I wish he could see me right now. Pay him back, the son of a bitch. No more telling me what to do, what not to do, how to live my life. No more orders, no more bullshit, no more Daddy’s good little girl!”
“Jesus,” the deputy said.
Sandra Parnell began to cry.
R inniak finished helping the deputies load the two women into the caged backseat of their cruiser, came over to where Runyon stood waiting. “Okay,” he said wearily. “How’s your hand?”
“It’ll be all right.”
“You should have it looked at.”
“A little iodine’s all it needs. I’ve had enough of doctors and hospitals.”
They got into Rinniak’s car. Before he started the engine he said, “I keep thinking I should’ve let Kelso know before we came here. I’ve worked with the man off and on for ten years, I owed him that much.”
“He wouldn’t have gone along with this.”
“No. He wouldn’t.”
“Even if he had, you heard what she said. Twice as bad for him if he’d been here.”
“You’re right. Spared him that much, at least. But he’s got to know now and it’s my job to tell him. And it should be in person.”
“You can drop me off somewhere first.”
“I said should be in person. Truth is, I don’t think I can face him right now. So I’ll do it the coward’s way and call him from Red Bluff.” Rinniak put the cruiser in gear, eased it forward. “I have kids of my own,” he said. “One of my daughters is about Ashley’s age.”
“So’s my son.”
“Then you know why I can’t face Kelso right now.”
“Yes,” Runyon said, “I know why.”
25
I spent that night going over facts and suppositions, by myself and with Tamara and Kerry. Tamara had dug up two more pieces of connected, corroborating, circumstantial evidence-all there was left to find. On Wednesday morning I went to see Irv Blaustein at Pacific Rim Insurance and had a long talk with him.
Same conclusion, down the line.
There was nothing to do then but make an appointment with Celeste Ogden and deliver the news to her.
I f anyone killed your sister, Mrs. Ogden, it was Anthony Drax.”
No visible reaction. She sat on the tufted velvet couch in her living room, her back straight, her hands palms up in the lap of her black slacks-the same posture as on my previous visit and in Dr. Prince’s office yesterday. Same expressionless demeanor, too.
“If?” she said.
“He was there the night she died and his actions indicate a certain amount of guilt, but whether he was directly responsible is open to question. If he was, it probably wasn’t a premeditated act.”
“Of course it was premeditated. On his orders.”
“If a crime was committed, it’s not likely Mathias was complicit except as a catalyst.”
“You’re not making sense. Why do you keep saying ‘if ‘?”
On the table in front of her was the file printout Tamara and I had put together, but Mrs. Ogden hadn’t opened the envelope. She wanted a verbal report first, which made this even more difficult for me.
I said, “It’s also possible your sister’s death was just what it was ruled to be, an accident.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
“I’m sorry, but the facts support more than one theory.”
“Will you please get to the point? Tell me why you believe Drax is guilty.”
She wasn’t going to let me ease into explanations. All right then. Facts. I told her about the Mathiases’ neighbor Mary Conti and what she’d seen at approximately ten o’clock on the night Nancy Mathias died. I gave her the information Tamara had turned up: the three-year-old BMW Z3 owned by Drax’s girlfriend, Donna Lane, was
