Supervolcano: All Fall Down

could help it.

“Because the chief of the San Atanasio PD just killed himself. It was on CNN. Michael Pit. . Pitsomething. Something weird.”

“Pitcavage,” Bryce said, and Susan nodded. He went on, “That’s awful! Did they say why? Colin didn’t like him a whole bunch, but you wouldn’t wish that on anybody.”

“They said his son’s in jail on drug-dealing charges, but they don’t know if that’s what made him do it or not. It sounds like they don’t know. He didn’t leave a note, they said.”

“Holy crap,” Bryce said, and then, “Do you mind if I call Colin?”

“After this? Of course not. It’s not like you’re calling to dish about Vanessa,” Susan said. Bryce chuckled uneasily. She knew he wasn’t a hundred percent over his ex. She knew he wouldn’t be any time soon, either, too. As long as she also knew he had zero intention of doing anything about it (assuming Vanessa wasn’t over him, which she totally was), that was. . pretty much okay with her.

He got out his cell and pulled up Colin’s number. On the second ring, the familiar voice said, “Hey, Bryce” in his ear. After a beat, Colin went on, “So you heard even back there, huh?”

“’Fraid so,” Bryce answered. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. Everybody’s saying that a lot today. Listen, let me call you back in five minutes, okay? I want to walk out into the parking lot.”

“Sure. ’Bye,” Bryce said. Colin wanted to talk without fifty people listening in on his end, but he didn’t want to say so while they were listening in.

“What’s going on?” Susan asked when he took the phone away from his ear. He explained. He’d just finished when the opening chords of “Came Along Too Late” came from the phone. Hey, how many Hellenistic ring tones could you find?

“I’m here,” he said, raising it again.

“Yeah, and I’m here, which is more than Mike Pitcavage can tell you right now,” Colin replied. “I always knew he cut his rotten kid too much slack. If Mike hadn’t, Darren never would’ve turned into a dealer, and he damn well did. The evidence we’ve got, not even the dumbest jury in the world’ll acquit him, and that’s saying something. But Jesus H. Christ on a pogo stick, Bryce, I never dreamt Mike would go and do anything like that.”

“I believe you,” Bryce said. Colin sounded plaintive, almost pleading. Those were notes his voice almost never struck. The last time Bryce could remember hearing them was when Louise left him. Colin had never dreamt she would go and do anything like that, either.

Of course, Bryce wasn’t sure how reliable his own memories of that time were. Vanessa had just traded him in on a new-no, actually on an older-model, so he also hadn’t been at his own dynamic best.

“I know you do. It means a lot to me.” Colin hesitated, then went on, “Means a lot to me right now that anybody believes me. Some of the people here, it’s like they think I drove Mike to it on purpose when I set it up so we went after Darren and dropped on him.”

“Oh, Lord!” Bryce hadn’t thought of that. He realized he should have. “Talk about blaming the messenger!”

“Yeah, well, that’s how it looks to me, too.” Colin sighed. “But it sure doesn’t look that way to everybody. Funeral’ll be in three, four days-after the coroner’s office finishes the autopsy and releases the body. All the crap you have to go through to make sure what looks like a suicide isn’t a homicide. This one looks as cut-and-dried as they ever do, but you still have to connect the dots.”

“Sure,” Bryce said. The Hellenistic kingdoms had had their bureaucratic rituals, too.

Colin sighed again. “Not too long before you called, my landline rang, and it was Caroline Pitcavage. She uninvited me-disinvited me? whatever the hell-from the funeral. Said she was sorry and everything, but seeing me there would only remind her of what I’d done to their family.”

“Ouch!” Bryce wished he could have found something more consoling than that, but it was the best he could do.

“Ouch is right.” This time, Bryce judged, Colin’s pause was for a nod. “I’ve known Caroline Pitcavage. . gotta be twenty years now. Yeah, Mike beat me out for chief. Doesn’t mean I want to see him dead. Doesn’t mean I’d try to make him dead, either. She’s known me twenty years, too. If she doesn’t get that, she’s never known me at all.” Plaintive was the word, sure as the devil.

“She can’t be thinking straight right this minute.” Coming up with that made Bryce feel a little better. He hoped it helped Colin some, too. Whether it did or not, it was bound to be the truth.

“I know she can’t. I understand it. In my head, I understand it,” Colin said heavily. “In my gut. . She might as well’ve kicked me in the gut when she said that. And she’s not the only one who feels that way, either. I don’t know what I can do about it. I don’t know if I can do anything, this side of quitting the force.”

“Don’t!” Bryce exclaimed. “If you do, they win.”

“I know. But if I don’t, they’re liable to win, anyway. Too damn many of ’em. Happy day, huh? Listen, good to talk to you and everything, but I’ve got to go back in there and make like I’m useful,” Colin said. “Take care.” Bryce started to answer, but found himself talking to a dead line.

* * *

A skeleton crew of uniformed cops patrolled the streets of San Atanasio. Some rode black-and-whites. More pedaled bicycles. There was talk of buying horses. The glut of rain in the L.A. basin had produced a glut of grass. Feeding them would be cheap. It would certainly be cheaper than buying gas for the police cars. But then, what wouldn’t?

And another skeleton crew of cops and clerical personnel kept the station open. The rest of the San Atanasio PD, along with the city council and the mayor, had gone to pay Mike Pitcavage their final respects.

Colin Ferguson sat at his desk. He wished he were at the funeral, even if Caroline and most of the other cops on the force screamed abuse at him there. That, at least, would be out in the open. He could have stood there and taken it or he could have screamed back at them. What he really wanted to do was scream at Darren Pitcavage, who’d got out of his cell to attend the services.

Instead, he had to stay here by himself and be miserable. Well, almost by himself. His secretary was one of the handful of clerical people who’d stayed behind to catch phone calls and do whatever else needed doing. Josefina Linares practically radiated indignation. “It’s not fair, Lieutenant, the way they treat you,” she said. “It’s not even close to fair.”

“Thanks, Josie. I appreciate that.” Colin meant every word of it. “But it’s the way things are.”

“Is it your fault Chief Mike had a kid who’s a dope pusher? I don’t think so!” Josie said. “Darren shoulda got in trouble a long time ago. He might’ve known not to be such a jerk then. But Chief Mike kept going to bat for him, so he decided he could get away with anything. I’m here to tell you, though, the world doesn’t work that way.”

“I don’t think it does, either. You’re right,” Colin said. With some Hispanics, he might have made that last Tienes razon. He spoke Spanish-not well, and with a horrible Anglo accent, but he did. It would only have annoyed Josie, though. She was American American, as she would tell you at any excuse or none. She had less sympathy for illegal immigrants than Colin did, and was more likely to call them wetbacks.

“But when Chief Mike had to see what kind of little shit he raised, when he couldn’t stick his head in the sand any more, he got too ashamed to live. That’s what happened. It’s not your fault.” Josie sounded positive.

That was how it looked to Colin, too. That was how he hoped it was. But he was less sure than Josie seemed. Mike Pitcavage hadn’t left behind any reason for killing himself. He’d just gone ahead and done it, damn him. That left plenty of room for people to blame Colin. And people, starting with Pitcavage’s widow, were blaming him.

Josie didn’t notice he hadn’t answered. “It will blow over, Lieutenant. You wait and see. Have faith, that’s all.”

If his having faith was a prerequisite, it would never blow over. After working with Colin so long, Josie had to know as much. She said it anyway. She had faith. Maybe that would do.

When she saw Colin didn’t feel like talking, she shrugged and walked away. He might sit there moping, her attitude declared, but she had work to do.

It was getting toward noon when Rodney Ellis came over to Colin’s desk. “Want to go to Heinrich’s for lunch?” the black detective asked. Caroline had also called to invite him to stay away from the funeral. He was getting the same kind of almost silent treatment Colin was, too. If anything, he was getting it worse. He’d run the