Of all the nights for smooth sailing on the 101.
“The deputies went ahead and changed the locks, although I guess technically, they were only supposed to post a five-day notice. If you can believe that bullshit. I hired a company to clean out the place—which the assholes had trashed—and to dump their junk.”
“Ah.” Taylor glanced at Will. “Problematical.”
“Yep.”
In California, the laws concerning squatters vs. trespassers were a little more complicated than in some other parts of the country. Trespassing was a criminal charge and much simpler to resolve, whereas, depending on a variety of factors, squatters actually had rights and protections. Even after a formal eviction, dumping or destroying a squatter’s belongings could lead to legal problems for the property owner.
Plus, it was a shitty thing to do.
Granted, so was squatting in most cases.
“Well, I know that now,” Dekker agreed, “because Zamarion came back demanding I hand over their personal property, and when I told them everything had been carted to the dump, they threatened to burn down the house, which they tried to do a week later.”
“Are you sure—” Taylor was, by nature, a skeptic. It was one of the things Will liked about him.
“I’m sure,” Dekker said with finality. “According to the fire department, it looked like arson.”
This was getting better and better.
“Sounds to me like a case for the sheriff’s department,” Will said. Maybe working in conjunction with the fire department investigators. Maybe not. Looked like arson wasn’t exactly conclusive. What none of this sounded like was a case for a global security consulting firm.
Taylor directed an unreadable look his way.
Dekker said, “That’s what I thought too. Except the sheriff’s department says there’s nothing they can do. Even after someone ran me off the road a couple of nights ago.”
“Wait a minute. Back up.” That was Taylor. “You went to the sheriff’s department with an arson report? And told them about threats made by—”
“Zamarion. Like I said, he’s the ringleader. He claimed he’d been paying property taxes for the past two years and had a legal right to the house. He said he hadn’t received the eviction notice and that it had been illegal to change the locks and dump their belongings.”
Which, if this Zamarion guy was telling the truth, was correct.
Will said, “Ashe, I know you’re not going to want to hear it, but this is a civil matter, not a criminal one.”
That time the look Taylor threw him was one of impatience. But Will was just telling it like it was. Clearly, the sheriffs weren’t impressed by the arson report, assuming there had been one. This whole thing was a mess and a matter for the courts. It sure as hell wasn’t something they needed to be involved in—although if someone really had tried to kill Dekker…
“Did Zamarion pay the property taxes?” Taylor questioned.
“Yes, but so did I. The way it works, his payments were applied to future bills, but there won’t be any future bills because I always pay my taxes. The fact that he’s paid toward the property taxes complicates my selling the house. It’s the craziest situation.”
“You said Zamarion made threats,” Will said. “What kind of threats exactly?”
“The kind you take seriously.” Dekker’s blue eyes grew glittery with emotion. “He came to the house and told me, in front of witnesses, he’d see me dead before he’d let me force him and his so-called family out.”
“That’s a criminal threat. If he made it in front of witnesses, you can—”
“Take him to court?” Dekker’s laugh was bitter. “Sure. If the sheriffs can find him. He’s a transient. He doesn’t have a legal residence. He’s using my house as his mailing address. And if I can persuade the painters to testify—that’s another big if right there since their own legal status is questionable. In the meantime, Zamarion is going to keep on trying to kill me.”
Taylor chewed his lip, said, “Do you have proof that the person who tried to run you off the road was Zamarion?”
“You mean like a convenient snapshot of the license plate number? Hell no! I nearly went off a cliff. There wasn’t time to grab my cell phone and start snapping photos!”
“Okay.” Taylor was calm, his voice neutral. “How are you so sure Zamarion was the other driver?”
“Of course he was! Who else? He had just threatened to kill me the day before! That’s not a coincidence.”
Taylor opened his mouth, but Will cut in. “MacAllister. Can I have a word?”
“Sure.” Taylor’s tone was easy, but the look he gave Will was direct and uncompromising. Clearly, his mind was already made up.
Well, he could just unmake it.
They went through the reception area door, crossed the hall, navigating ladders and cans of paint, and stepped into the boudoir-pink room that would ultimately be Will’s office. Their building space had previously belonged to a bridal shop, and the walls were painted in delicate shades of peach and pink. Pastel wallpaper borders featured parasols (why parasols?) and wedding cakes and lovebirds nibbling gold bands. None of which projected the appropriate YOUR SAFETY IS IN OUR HANDS! vibe—or even, in Will’s view, a reassuring preview of marriage.
They were hoping to have the renovations finished before the end of the year, but the holidays turned out to be an unexpectedly busy time for contractors. Most of the work at American Eagle was having to be done after-hours—and at a premium price.
Will closed the door to his office. He kept his voice low. “Okay, listen. Dekker is a friend, and I understand that you want to help him, but this is clearly a case for
