Hocus

“But how can they have emotional distance from the man who saved them from that cellar?”

“How could they injure him?” Cassidy countered.

“How could they put their ‘hero’ in the trunk of a car? Drug him? Use him as a pawn? Do any of the other things they may have done to him?”

“It has something to do with his being a cop, doesn’t it? They have some problem with cops.”

“Maybe.”

“They never once mentioned Lang and Colson. Never once proposed an exchange.”

“No, they didn’t. Odd, isn’t it?”

“Yes. They don’t seem to want an exchange, but they do want me to find a Bakersfield cop who made an anonymous phone call to a dispatcher. Why?”

“It doesn’t make sense to me, either,” Cassidy said.

“If an officer made the call, there was no reason for him not to identify himself to the dispatcher.”

After a moment’s thought I said, “But if a cop did make the call to the dispatcher, he had to know that something was going on at the warehouse.”

“Right,” Cassidy said. “Let’s say he drove by and suspected something, then didn’t do anything about it until it was too late. Maybe they resent him for it. Maybe they believe he could have saved their fathers’ lives.”

“No, he had to have done more than drive by the place,” I said. “Otherwise they wouldn’t be aware of his existence — how would they know he had seen anything in the first place? They must have seen him or heard him themselves. Samuel said they were certain the caller was a cop.”

“So he showed up, left, and didn’t save them—”

“Or was actually involved in the murders,” I said.

Cassidy rubbed a hand over his hair. I could see him resisting that theory, trying to come up with another explanation.

“They were afraid of policemen, remember?” I went on. “What reason would the cop have for fleeing from the scene? Even if he didn’t want to go in on his own, he could have radioed for backup.”

“Let’s go get that fax,” he said.

“I want to talk to Frank’s family. They’ve been waiting out there.” I stood up.

Cassidy stayed seated. “This fellow, Greg Bradshaw — he’s the one you were telling me about earlier, right?”

“Yes. He’s the Bear.”

“Former Bakersfield Police Department?”

“Yes.”

“You going to tell the family everything we talked about just now?”

I thought it over. “No, probably not. It’s just a theory.”

“Even if they ask you to tell them what Samuel said?”

“I don’t know….”

“Better if you don’t,” he said.

“I don’t want to lie to them.”

“I’ll make it easy on you. Let me talk to them.”

“You mentioned Bradshaw,” I said. “Bear’s the problem?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re starting to believe it, aren’t you? You think a Bakersfield officer was involved in the Ryan-Neukirk murders.”

He shook his head “Not necessarily — but it’s possible. Don’t tell me that just as it’s starting to make sense to me, you’re moving on to some other theory.”

“No, but even if it’s true — not Bear. I know Greg Bradshaw. He was a good cop.”

“You knew him when you were in your early twenties?”

“Yes.”

“Have you grown any less trusting of people since then, Irene?”

“Yes, but I’m willing to bet he was a good cop even by my present cynical standards.”

“Willing to bet Frank’s life on it?”

I bit back the reply I wanted to make, not ready to have my mother-in-law hear that end of my vocabulary under her own roof. But Cassidy must have read it on my face, because he said, “Simmer down.”

“If you want me to simmer down,” I said, “quit turning up the heat.”

He smiled, which doubled my irritation. “Fair enough,” he said.

They were still in the living room, silent and tense. Bea sat next to Bear, her face full of worry. Mike paced with his hands in his pockets. Cassie sat on the couch, elbows on her knees, her forehead resting in one palm. Cassidy was behind me, so I was