from Tijuana with eighty kilos of coke.'
'So why don't you go down there and check it out?'
Rigney hawked up a wet laugh. 'Why would I do that? We both know it's bullshit.'
She stopped at the Temple Street intersection, waiting for the Don't Walk to change.
Rigney moved closer and whispered, 'Payne dumped the Lexus in Mexico, and it ended up with some narcotraficante.'
'I wouldn't know.'
'Really? How was lunch today?'
Sharon tried to read the look on his face but couldn't get past the smirk.
'California Club, right?' he said. 'Your TV star fiance is a member.'
'Wow. You've been playing detective again.'
'I got a waiter who puts Quinn at table nineteen, dining with a tall woman with reddish-brown hair. The woman used the private phone booth in the dining room. Want to take a wild guess who called the club from some diner at 12:38 p.m.?'
'I'm impressed, Rigney. Maybe someday you'll pass the sergeant's exam.'
'Where's he headed?'
The light changed, and she headed up Temple toward City Hall. 'Who?'
'Royal Fucking Payne! You're helping him, and we both know it.'
'If you can prove that, take it to Internal Affairs.'
'I'll take it to the D.A. I'll throw the going-away party when they ship you to Chowchilla.'
'You know what I think, Rigney? I think you're taking a lot of heat because you ran a sting that got a judge killed. The more blame you can shift to Jimmy, the better off you are. And as long as you can't find him, why not pick on me?'
'Bullshit. Payne's dirty and you're protecting him.'
The Criminal Court Building loomed ahead.
'Where the hell you going?' he demanded.
'Back off, Rigney.'
She moved at a brisk pace. Her legs were longer than Rigney's, and he hustled to keep up.
'You going to court?' he asked.
'No.'
'Then, what-'
'I'm going to church, okay? Our Lady of the Angels.'
'Why? You catch another priest diddling an altar boy?'
She wheeled and faced him head-on. 'My maiden name's Lacy. The Lacys of County Clare. I missed Mass this morning. I've got six brothers who could each beat the shit out of you, and I could, too.'
She turned and swept past the Hall of Records, toward the downtown cathedral. She was so angry it took another moment to realize that she had jabbed her own finger at Rigney, denting his polyester tie.
SIXTY-ONE
The welcome sign on the outskirts of town informed travelers that the burg of Rutledge had 17,068 souls and that 'healthy soil makes for healthy people.' The sign didn't say if the undocumented migrants were as healthy as the 17,068 regular folks.
The town's streets were wide, the sidewalks in good repair. Several businesses flew American flags. On the main drag, prosaically named 'Artichoke Avenue,' there was a barbershop with a rotating red-and-white pole and, next door, Hilda's Ice Cream Shoppe. Two towheaded boys tore along the street on bicycles, fishing poles lodged on their shoulders. To Payne, it all seemed like a backlot designed by Walt Disney and painted by Norman Rockwell.
The town square had a leafy park with towering white oaks and a bandstand fit for John Philip Sousa. There was a vintage merry-go-round with hand-carved horses, and organ music.
Payne hated merry-go-rounds. As a toddler, he once fell off his rocking horse. After that, all merry-go-round horses looked like monsters with giant teeth. The final scene of Strangers on a Train didn't help that phobia one bit.
'They named the town after this dude?' Tino asked.
'After one of his ancestors, but he's poured lots of money into the place.'
They drove past the Rutledge Free Library, the Rutledge Town Swimming Pool, and the Rutledge Senior Citizens Center, all with signs in both English and Spanish.
'How much money this guy got?' Tino asked.
'You know who Carlos Slim is?'
' Claro. Richest man south of the border.'
'Rutledge is to the San Joaquin Valley what Slim is to Mexico.'
Tino whistled.
The businesses downtown were mostly wood-framed buildings with awnings shading the sidewalk and front doors propped open. There was one movie theater, the Rialto, with one screen. If you wanted to catch a film in this town, you'd better like Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.
One structure stood out. A two-story redbrick building on Peach Street with barred windows and a camera mounted above a heavy metal door. A brass plate read:
Rutledge Ranch and Farms, Inc.
Corporate Headquarters
Jimmy parked the Mustang, reached in his pocket, and gave Tino a twenty-dollar bill. 'Go get a hot fudge sundae and wait for me here.'
'C'mon, Himmy. We go in together with the baseball bat. It's the valiente way.'
'Just do what I say, okay?'
Tino pouted but headed toward Hilda's Ice Cream Shoppe. Payne approached the front door and stood there a moment, gathering his thoughts. He planned a straightforward approach. No trial lawyer tricks. No reason not to tell the truth. And no baseball bats. A boy and his mother got separated. We think she's here. Please help us get them together. Who could object to that?
On the sidewalk, a newspaper rack held both the Rutledge Gazette and La Opinion. The Gazette headline fretted over the ongoing drought. Plastered on the Spanish paper's front page was a satellite photo of a hurricane moving toward the Yucatan.
There was a keypad at the front door and a button for visitors to announce themselves. Payne pushed, said his name, and a buzzer welcomed him inside.
'May I help you?' The woman at the reception desk smiled at Payne in a businesslike way. She was in her twenties and wearing a short-sleeve cotton dress splashed with big sunflowers.
'I hope so, ma'am. I surely do.' Putting a bit of country into his voice. Not intentionally. It just seemed to come out in this farming town. He told Ms. Sunflowers that he was trying to locate a Rutledge employee whose son was looking for her.
'Could I see some identification?' she asked, pleasantly.
He handed over his driver's license, and she made a notation on a clean white pad.
'Been a while since I was carded,' he said. 'My first six-pack at Trader Joe's, as I recall.'
'I'm sorry, Mr. Payne. But we've had numerous threats against Mr. Rutledge. He's quite outspoken, as you probably know.'
'I like what he says. He's a good man.' Slathering butter on the toast.
'One moment, please.' She picked up her phone, pushed a button, and said, 'Louise. I wonder if you could help me up front.'
Payne hoped that wasn't code for 'Send out the Doberman pinschers.'
In a moment, a woman came through an interior door, marched up to Payne, and introduced herself as Louise
