“Not everything. I don’t know how he chose them or why. But I’ve been thinking about it, yeah. The whole hour and a half it took us to get out here. Traffic was bad.”
“Us?”
“I have a driver. I can’t drive yet.”
She didn’t say anything. McCaleb wished he hadn’t mentioned the driver. It was revealing a weakness.
“We have to start over,” McCaleb said. “Because we thought these people were chosen at random. We thought the locations were chosen, not the victims. But I think it’s the other way around. The victims were chosen. They were prey. Specific targets that were acquired, followed, stalked. We’ve got to background them. There’s got to be an intersection. Some commonality. A person, a place… a moment in time-something that hooks them either to each other or our unknown subject. We find-”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute.”
McCaleb stopped, realizing his voice had been rising in fervor.
“What souvenir was taken from James Cordell? Are you saying the money he took from the ATM is a token?”
“I don’t know what was taken but it wasn’t the money. That was just part of the robbery show. The money wasn’t a symbolic possession. Besides, he took it from the machine, not Cordell.”
“So then, aren’t you jumping the gun?”
“No. I’m sure something was taken.”
“We would have seen it. We have the whole thing on video.”
“Nobody picked up on it with Gloria Torres and that was on video, too.”
Winston turned in her chair.
“I don’t know. This still seems like a-let me ask you something. And try not to take it too personal. But isn’t it possible that you’re just looking for what you always looked for before, when you were with the bureau?”
“You mean, like am I exaggerating? Like I want to get back to what I was doing before and this is my way of doing it?”
Winston hiked her shoulders. She didn’t want to say it.
“I didn’t go looking for this, Jaye. It’s just there. It is what it is. Sure, the earring might mean something else. And it might not mean anything at all. But if there is anything I know about in this world, it is this kind of thing. These people. I know them. I know how they think and I know how they act. I feel it here, Jaye. The evil. It’s here.”
Winston looked at him strangely and McCaleb guessed that maybe he shouldn’t have been so fervent in his response to her doubts.
“Cordell’s truck, the Chevy Suburban, wasn’t in the video. Did you process his truck? I didn’t see anything in the stack you gave me about-”
“No, it wasn’t touched. He left his wallet open on the seat and just took his ATM card to the machine. If the shooter had gone into his truck, he would have taken his wallet. When we saw it still there, we didn’t bother.”
McCaleb shook his head and said, “You are still looking at it from the point of view of a robbery. The decision not to process the truck would have been okay-if it had been a real robbery. But what if it wasn’t? He wouldn’t have gone into the truck and taken something as obvious as the wallet.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know. Something else. Cordell used his truck a lot. Driving all day along the aqueduct. It would be like a second home to him. There could have been lots of things of a personal nature in there that the shooter could’ve taken. Photos, things hanging from the rearview, maybe a travel diary, you name it. Where is the truck? Make my day and tell me it’s still impounded.”
“No chance. We released it to his wife a couple days after the shooting.”
“It’s probably been cleaned out and sold by now.”
“Actually, no. The last time I talked to Cordell’s wife-which was only a couple weeks ago-she said something about not knowing what to do with the Suburban. It was too big for her and she said it gave her bad vibes now anyway. She didn’t use those words but you know what I mean.”
A charge of excitement went through McCaleb.
“Then we go up there and look at the Suburban and we talk to her and we figure out what was taken.”
“
Winston frowned. McCaleb knew what she was facing. She already was dealing with a captain who, after the hypnosis and Bolotov fiascos, probably thought she was being controlled too easily by an outsider. She didn’t want to have to go back to the man with McCaleb’s new theory unless she was sure it was dead-solid perfect. And McCaleb knew it could never be that. It never was.
“What are you going to do?” he asked “It’s like I’m in the car and ready to go. Are you getting in with me or staying on the sidewalk?”
It had occurred to him that he was not constrained by such worries or by a job, a role, inertia or anything else. Either Winston could get in the car or McCaleb could drive on without her. She apparently realized the same thing.
“No,” she said. “The question is what are
“Tell you what, Jaye. I don’t care about all of that. I only care about one thing-finding this guy. So look. You sit tight and give me a few days. I’ll come in with something. I’ll go up to the desert and talk to Cordell’s wife and take a look at the truck. I’ll find something you can go to the captain with. If I don’t, then I’ll eat my theory. You can cut me loose and I won’t bother you again.”
“Look, it’s not that you’re both-”
“You know what I mean. You’ve got court, other cases. The last thing you need is to have to overhaul on an old one. I know how it is. Maybe coming in here today was premature. I should’ve just gone up there and seen the widow. But since it’s your case and you’ve treated me like a human, I wanted to check with you first. Now, you give me your blessing and a little time and I’ll go up on my own. I’ll let you know what I get.”
Winston was silent for a long moment, then finally she nodded.
“Okay, you got it.”
As they passed Vasquez Rocks, McCaleb studied the formation and pinpointed the spot where the body had been found that eventually led to his knowing Jaye Winston. The slanted and jagged formation caused by tectonic upheaval was beautiful in the afternoon light. The sun was hitting the front rock faces at a low angle and throwing the crevices into deep darkness. It looked beautiful and dangerous at the same time. He wondered if that was what had drawn Luther Hatch to it.
“Ever been there, Vasquez Rocks?” Buddy asked after tucking the harmonica between his legs.
“Yeah.”
“Neat place. It’s named after a Mexican desperado who holed up in the crevices about a hundred years ago after robbing a bank or something. So many places to hide in there, they could never find him and he became a legend.”
McCaleb nodded. He liked the story. He thought about how his histories of places were so different. They always involved bodies and blood work. No legends. No heroes.
They made good time on the front of the wave of rush hour and weekend traffic out of the city and it was just past five when they got to Lancaster. They cruised through a subdivision called Desert Flower Estates, looking for the home where James Cordell had lived. McCaleb saw a lot of desert but not many flowers or homes that met his definition of estate. The subdivision was built on land as flat and most days as hot as a frying pan. The homes
