didn’t granulate under her feet. Some rust around the card slot. Another slot on the other side of the fence.
Easy entry and exit.
And Ramsey’s house was at the upper edge of the development, meaning he wouldn’t have to pass many neighbors to sneak out.
She thought about how he’d do it.
Wait till Balch was asleep-or put something in Balch’s drink to help sleep along. Then roll the Mercedes out of the mega-garage. Or the Jeep, if it had been brought back from Montecito. Headlights off, cruising slowly. With houses so far from the road, all those fences, gates, high foliage, there’d be no reason for anyone to notice. People with pools and Jacuzzis and home theaters and putting greens didn’t sit by their front windows.
People who craved that level of privacy often pretended nothing existed beyond their four walls.
She took a closer look at the tire tracks. Degraded, no tread marks; she doubted they’d be of much use. But, still, she’d have loved to get a cast. No way to do it without a warrant, and no grounds for a warrant. And now Larry Schick, Esq., was on the scene-forget approaching Ramsey about anything.
Even if they pulled a match to one of Ramsey’s cars, it had been four days since the murder. Ramsey could admit being up there, claim he’d taken a cruise in the hills, trying to mellow out, deal with his grief.
The hills… great place to get rid of a body.
Was Estrella Flores buried somewhere out there?
Did the fire road lead anywhere other than out to the Santa Susannas?
She backed down till the nearest shoulder, turned around, and returned to the guardhouse. Simkins saw her coming, put down his Rolling Stone, and opened the exit gate. His window was closed; no desire to talk. Petra stopped alongside the booth. He screwed up his mouth and came over. His big moment over, feeling down, he wanted her gone.
“Find anything?”
“Nope-just like you said, Doug. Tell me, where does the fire road go?”
“Out into the mountains.”
“And then?”
“It connects to a bunch of little side roads.”
“Doesn’t it merge with the 101?”
“It kinda hooks back toward it, but doesn’t actually merge.” He managed to make the last word sound dirty.
“But if I wanted to reach the freeway through the back roads, I could.”
“Yeah, sure. Everything reaches the freeway. I grew up in West Hills. We used to come out here, hunt rabbits, before they built this place. Sometimes they’d run onto the freeway, get turned to freeway butter.”
“The good old days,” said Petra.
Simkins’s weak face firmed with recollection, and a resentful frown captured his features. Rich folk moving in on his childhood memories?
“It can get beautiful out there,” he said. Real emotion. Longing. At that moment, she liked him a little better. But not much.
CHAPTER
49
Sam says, “Hey, not bad.”
I’ve been working all day, going over and over the windows until there are no streaks, mopping the wood floors, using the Pledge to shine them up. I’ve done only half the seats, but what I finished looks pretty good, and the room has a nice lemon smell.
Sam tries to give me the rest of the money.
“I’m not finished yet.”
“I trust you, sonny-by the way, now that you work for me, are you ready to give me your name?”
That catches me by surprise, and Bill pops out.
“Nice to meet you, Bill.”
It’s been so long since anyone’s called me by my name. Since I’ve talked to anyone.
Sam shows me a paper bag. “I got you some dinner-Noah’s Bagel, just a plain one, ’cause I didn’t know if you liked onions or one of those fancy bagels. Also, cream cheese-do you like cream cheese?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
“Hey, you’re a working man now, need your nutrition.” He hands me the bag and walks around the shul. “You like the Pledge, huh? Running out of the stuff?”
“Almost.”
“I’ll buy some more tomorrow-that is if you want to work tomorrow.”
“Sure.”
“Go ahead, take the money.”
I do. He looks at his watch. “Time to quit, Bill. We don’t want to be accused of exploiting the working man.”
We walk outside and he locks the shul. The alley is empty, but I can hear the ocean through the space on the side of the building, people talking on the walkway. That big Lincoln of his is parked crazy, the front bumper almost touching the building. He opens the driver’s door. “So.”
“’Bye,” I say.
“See you tomorrow, Bill.” He gets in the car and I start to walk away-south, away from that Russian perv. I’m liking the feel of all that money in my pocket but wondering where to go. Back to the pier? But it was so cold. And now I have money…
I hear a loud squeak, turn, and see Sam backing the Lincoln out of the alley. He has plenty of room, but he keeps backing up and stopping, jerking the car; the brakes are squeaking.
Uh-oh, he’s gonna hit the fence-no, he misses it. I figure I should direct him before he hurts himself, but he makes it, turning the steering wheel with both hands, his head kind of pushed forward, like he’s struggling to see through the windshield.
Instead of driving forward, he backs up, stops next to me. “Hey, Bill. You really got somewhere to go for the night?”
“Sure.”
“Where? The street?”
“I’ll be fine.” I start walking. He stays next to me, driving really slowly.
“I’d give you money for a hotel, but no one’s gonna rent to a kid, and if you show all that cash, someone’s gonna take it from you.”
“I’m fine,” I repeat.
“Sure, sure… I can’t let you sleep in the shul because what if you slip and fall, we got a liability problem-you might sue us.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
He laughs. “No, you probably wouldn’t, but I still can’t-listen, I got a house, not far from here. Plenty of room; I live alone. You wanna stay for a day or two, fine. Till you figure out what to do.”
“No thanks.” That comes out kind of cold, and I don’t turn to see his face, because I know he’s going to look insulted.
“Suit yourself, Bill. Don’t blame you. Someone probably hurt you. You don’t trust no one-for all you know, I could be some crazy person.”
“I’m sure you’re not crazy.” Why did I say that?
“How can you be sure, Bill? How can you ever be sure? Listen, when I was your age-a little older-people came and took away my family. Killed all of them, except me and my brother. Nazis. Ever hear of them? Only, when I knew them, they weren’t nazis, they were my neighbors, people I lived with. My family lived in their country for
