She moved fast, head down as the flames ran for her.
In the night air she panted and grabbed her bicycle. On her T-shirt were stars and a half moon with a face that smiled out. Behind her she heard it, crackling and carnage. And then, finally, the call of the alarm being answered.
She rode hard, Cabrillo sweeping down and then climbing. She passed a car, kept her head bent then followed the trees away from the road and into Cape Haven. She cut down Sunset then onto Fortuna, where she drew up by a pile of junk, an old side table, boxes and trash bags spilling and ready to be hauled into the truck. She dropped her bike, ran across and stuffed the tape into a garbage bag.
She’d covered her tracks. She was smart enough.
Her street and her yard, she moved as quiet as she could, left her bike propped and climbed back through the window. The house still slept. In the bathroom she stripped from her clothes, paid no mind to the cut, crept naked to the washer and got to work.
When she was done she got into the tub, ran water from the shower head and soaped and cleaned. And then, in the mirror, she pulled a half inch piece of glass from her arm and watched blood pour as it went. She looked at the red, at the history there, her outlaw ancestry steeling her.
They were not a family that had a medicine cabinet, or a first-aid box, but Duchess found a pack of children’s Band-Aids she’d picked up a year back, selected the biggest, stuck it down hard and watched it color.
She lay at the foot of her brother’s bed, curled like a cat, waiting for sleep that did not find her.
First light, the hot night behind, she wondered what would come.
It would be bad.
She cursed herself fully.
9
WALK FOUND HIM AT THE edge of the cliff.
The rear fence pulled down, Vincent stood with his toes free of the rock, the slightest wind would carry him a hundred feet down. He wore jeans and an old T-shirt, his eyes cloaked with tiredness. Walk knew how he felt. He’d been woken a little after one, the call about Darke’s club. He’d pulled on his uniform and driven the mile, the sky lit red. Fourth of July all over again. He’d followed the heat, noise and lights, left the cruiser across two lanes, a little traffic building but most having the sense to double back.
Darke stood apart from the onlookers as smoke rose and grayed the sky. No emotion.
“You want to take a step back from the edge, Vin? You’re kind of making me nervous here.”
Together they walked back up to the shade of the house.
“Were you praying or something, standing there like that? I worried you were going to jump.”
“Is there a difference between a prayer and a wish?”
Walk took his hat off. “You wish for what you want, and pray for what you need.”
“Pretty sure mine are one and the same.”
They sat together on the steps of the rear deck. New panels leaned beside them, not yet stained. It would take a lifetime to restore the place.
“You know that guy, Dickie Darke?”
“I don’t really know anyone, Walk.”
Walk waited, did not press.
“The Radley girl, and Star. He was giving them shit so I stepped in. No one else seems to.”
Walk took it. “Star says they’re friends. She won’t press charges.”
“Friends.”
Walk heard it again, that softest note of jealousy. Vincent still cared.
“His place, it burned last night.”
Vincent did not speak.
“He owns a club on Cabrillo, money in the jar. Darke mentioned your name, so I had to—”
“It’s alright, Walk, don’t even worry about it.”
Walk ran his hand along the leaning rail. “So, you were home last night.”
“I imagine a man like that has a fair few people pissed at him.”
“I’ve got a fairly good idea who I need to talk to.”
Vincent looked over.
“We had a call, driver, saw a kid on a bicycle.”
“Can you just, I mean, could you just leave it? I know what I’m saying, I don’t have a right to get involved, but she’s a kid. Star’s kid.”
“She is. Anyway, whoever did it had the good sense to take the security tape, so long as they keep quiet …”
“Right.”
And that was it, Vincent said nothing else and Walk left him to it. He logged the conversation, he was doing his job, he would always do his job.
He left Vincent, then found the girl and the boy on Sayer, the long route, away from Main. They walked, Robin out in front, crossing yards, every now and then checking back that he wasn’t alone. And Duchess, that careful way she carried herself, like she was listening out, expecting trouble at all times. She turned as he drew up and regarded him with that same equanimity he saw in Vincent.
Walk killed the engine, got out and stood, the sun creeping above a clad house. That morning his hands did not shake, the dopamine, the new dose. Respite would not last long.
“Morning, Duchess.”
She had those tired eyes too. She carried her bag and her brother’s. She wore jeans and old sneakers and a T-shirt that had a small hole beneath one arm. Her hair was tousled, blond like her mother, the bow there, like always. She was pretty enough that the boys would have lined up, if they didn’t know, if everyone didn’t know.
“Do you know about Darke’s place?”
He looked for a tell, she had none at all. He was glad of that. He willed her to play it right, to give the answers he needed.
“It burned last night. Someone saw a kid on a bicycle, around that time,
