A Grave Talent (10 page)

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The rain began again an hour later, with that slow steadiness and determination that makes the natives of the Pacific coast check their supplies of candles and firewood. A good night to be in bed, thought Kate. I wonder if I'm forever doomed to drive into rain as I approach this place.

There were no cars at the creekside park, and the group of vehicles perched near Tyler's Barn had thinned considerably. Two more cars skulked away as she drove up and pulled into the fenced compound. Trujillo's men were busy with the Jaguar and a couple of others, and the corrugated metal roof of the great shed rang with the heavy drops. Trujillo looked up at her approaching headlights, waved in recognition, and then put his head back inside the car. Even in the dim afternoon light his gray suit no longer seemed fresh. She laced on the old running shoes she always carried in the car, zipped on a hooded rain parka, and set off down the main road, ignoring the amazed looks of the two uniforms, and dodging the unenthusiastic reporters with ease.

The man keeping guard beneath the Tyler's Road sign rolled down the window of his marked cruiser.

"Inspector Hawkin was just asking if you'd shown up yet. He's still up there." He looked across the metal gate at the gradually disappearing dirt road.

"Maybe you should call back and tell him I'm on my way up. I should be there in forty minutes or so."

"He said to tell you that if it was raining you didn't have to do it."

"No, I'd better, just to finish it. The surface won't be too wet." But
I
will, said a protesting voice, I'll be wet and damned cold. Shut up and get on with it, she said, and she did.

The surface was actually better than it had been that morning, but the trees looked very large and dark, and they swayed and creaked gothically in the rising wind. In a minute they swallowed her up, and she jogged steadily uphill on the narrow, rocky road, very much alone, with the huge trees bending and groaning on all sides, the big drops splatting onto her face and clothes, the occasional lighted house, glimpsed through tossing branches, serving only to increase her sense of isolation. It was getting darker, and she ran faster now to shake the eerie shadows and fought off the feeling that someone was behind her by pushing herself physically. Her shoes chuffed rhythmically and she had to concentrate on the road surface to avoid ruts and stones. She was sweating freely now despite the chill drops that worked their way down the neck and through the seams of her parka, and her breath was coming in great gulps as she fought toward the fast-fading point where the pale road disappeared between the dark walls of the woods. She passed the Adams house on the left--not far now.

Without warning the world exploded into light and for a moment Kate, completely disoriented, braced herself for the clap of thunder. Instead she heard a welcome voice shouting angrily.

"Turn that thing away, for Christ's sake, you're blinding her." The light shifted, and through the dazzle in her eyes she was aware of figures, a car, a lighted house beyond. She automatically reached down and switched off her timer, and then stood, hands on knees, gulping in air.

"You all right?" Hawkin's voice again. She bobbed her head, and spoke as best she could.

"Yeah, just wanted, to make it, before dark, couldn't run, by flashlight, could use, a drink, of water, though."

"I'd have thought you had enough on the outside to make you happy, but come on in the house and catch your breath."

Kate ducked into the log cabin after him and accepted a chair and a drink, and as her heart slowed she was grateful for the glow of the wood stove at her side. Angie Dodson was a tiny, thin woman with a thick tumble of dark blond hair held determinedly in place by numerous inadequate hairpins, and she had filled the low room with bright pillows and tapestries and the smell of good food, with a large loom in one corner and a spinning wheel behind a chair. A serious, freckled child of about twelve brought Kate a big cup of hot, oniony soup and a warm, seed-filled roll.

"You're Amy, aren't you? I remember you from the other day."

"Yes. Why did you run up from Tyler's in the rain when you could use a car?"

"Because it's there, I guess. Did you make this soup?"

"I helped Mom."

"Thank you, you may have saved my life with it." Seeing the serious consideration of this, Kate smiled. "It's just a saying, but I do thank you very much for it."

"You're welcome."

"Ready, Martinelli?" Hawkin stood at the door with the jacket she had left with him several lifetimes before.

"Ready. Thank you, Mrs. Dodson, it really hit the spot."

"Please, the name is Angie."

"Good night, Angie," called Hawkin. "I hope your husband makes it home okay."

Kate looked more carefully at the narrow face of the woman who seemed scarcely older than her daughter, and noticed then the tension of worry in her face.

"I expect he'll stay in town with friends, if it's raining too hard. It's happened before." She lifted the bright kerosene lamp and led the way to the door. "Feel free to come tomorrow, if you need a hot drink."

"That's very good of you, Angie," said Hawkin. "We'll try not to bother you too much."

"It's no bother, really it isn't. It--" She stopped, and looked faintly embarrassed and something else. Defiant? "I shouldn't say this, I suppose, considering the reason you're here, but it's actually been a treat, seeing all these new faces. I've had fun."

Yes, thought Hawkin, he could imagine that fun was a rare commodity up here this time of year, in a tiny dark house with no electricity and a child. His face relaxed into a smile, the smile that tended to fluster women like Angie Dodson.

"Fine, then. You keep the kettle on for us."

The wind blew the rain into them as they stepped from the warmth and ran for the shelter of the wagon. Detweiler folded down his spotlight and picked up the portable radio Trujillo had provided. The crackling and whining were bad, but he eventually got the message across that they, the last car, were starting down.

"Sorry about the shouting," he said, and pulled into the road. "There's something wrong with the aerial."

"Can you turn on the heater?" The man must be from Alaska, thought Kate.

"Sorry, it's gone too. There's a blanket back there somewhere. Are you cold?"

"For God's sake, man," Hawkin burst out, "she's soaked through; of course she's cold. Here, Casey, put this around you. Oh, Christ, don't tell me the wipers have gone out again."

"They'll be fine as soon as the engine's warmed up," the driver said desperately.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," said Hawkin in a soft voice. Kate did not think it was a prayer. It was fully dark, and the headlights, which did work, picked out no press cars through the rain at the bottom of the hill. Kate clamped her jaws shut against the shudders of cold that threatened to take possession. The electricity seemed to be out at Tyler's, but lamps shone in several windows. Hawkin was out of the wagon before the brake was set. He reached into the back door, pulled Kate out, steered her with one firm hand into the house and thrust her toward the bathroom. A kerosene lamp burned on the back of the toilet.

"Hot shower," he ordered in a hard voice, and shut the door. A few minutes later Kate, under a stream of blessedly scalding water, heard the door open.

"Don't put those wet things on again," came another order, and the door slammed. She pulled the curtain to one side and saw jeans, sweatshirt, and thick gray socks folded next to the sink. The urge to shudder subsided, the water began to run cool, and she dressed. When she came out of the steam-dripping room she heard a now-familiar voice shouting in monologue.

"--when it ought to be hauling cantaloupes in the Coachella Valley. You get me a decent four-wheel-drive vehicle in here tomorrow or I'm going to have to make some major waves about the lack of backup here for my people. No, I don't want to hear about your problems. I don't care if you have to break into the goddamn Jeep dealership and steal something. I can't have my partner getting pneumonia because you people don't maintain your equipment, and I'm too old and too ill-tempered to walk. Have I made myself sufficiently clear? Good. Have a nice evening," he added maliciously, and hung up. He rapidly wiped the grin from his face when he saw Kate standing in the doorway, but it crept back in twitches. She was grinning too, in her cuffed and belted jeans and the sweatshirt that reached to her thighs. She felt ridiculously pleased at his use of the word "partner."

"Warmer now?" he asked.

"I should ask the same of you," she said mildly, with a glance at the telephone.

"Yes, well, if they think they're all going to hide behind me, they're very much mistaken. You want something to eat before we go?"

"A cup of coffee would be great, but that's all."

"I gave Tyler's lady your thermos. Anna. She said she'd fill it. I'll just tell Trujillo we're leaving--he's staying here again tonight."

They found Trujillo in the dimly lit great hall with his feet up on a table in front of the huge fireplace, talking to Tyler and sitting next to a woman who was apparently not a stranger. He had a glass in one hand and no tie on, and he jerked upright as they entered.

"Christ Jesus, Trujillo, you seem to think this is some kind of holiday arranged for your entertainment. You're on duty here, mister, or had you forgotten? Maybe you think the people of this county pay you for sitting and drinking whiskey while some bastard is out there murdering children? I don't expect you to stay up all night, I told you that. I don't even expect you to sleep alone. I do expect you to stay sober enough to answer the phone if I feel like having a chat at three in the morning." He snatched up the glass and took it over to the fireplace, paused at the sight of the bottle on the mantelpiece, and looked at Kate. "You driving?"

"Sure."

"Not too tired? Good, it'd be a shame to waste this. I'll bring back your glass tomorrow, Tyler, and from now on put the good stuff away or I'll have to charge you with attempted bribery." He took a small sip and rolled it around his tongue. "We'll overlook it tonight, though. Good night, all."

They detoured through the kitchen and retrieved the thermos from Anna.

"Sorry I didn't have anything smaller," she said, smiling at Kate's attire.

"I did wonder if Tyler went in for lavender," replied Kate. "I'll bring them back tomorrow."

"No hurry. Drive carefully. They're predicting gale-force winds by midnight, I heard on the radio before the power went out."

"A cheery thought."

In the car Kate slipped off her sodden shoes, the second pair for the day, and drove in her stocking feet. Hawkin poured her some coffee and slumped back, nursing the glass.

"You like whiskey?" he asked.

"Not especially."

"White wine." From the scorn in his voice he might have said "soda pop."

"Sometimes. I prefer a red. When I drink, it's usually beer."

He was surprised, and said so.

"It has character," she commented. "And if you want the results of the afternoon, I've written it on that pad in the glove compartment. The final figure should be"--she looked at the glowing figures on her wrist--"four hours, twenty-eight minutes door to door. I didn't run very fast going down, but I doubt she could have done it as fast going up. We'll have to ask Dodson if she seemed out of breath at all. Where is he, by the way?"

"He borrowed Tyler's pickup to go to Sacramento to pick up an engine. His truck has a cracked block, and a friend had one that he was going to sell him cheap. Trujillo checked, too. His engine really is shot." He threw the notebook back into the glove compartment and slapped it shut.

"What else turned up today?" she asked.

"One little lock of brown hair in the back of the Jaguar, one child's ring under the seat."

Kate frowned.

"There was no mention of a ring on any of the girls, was there?"

"No, there wasn't. One of Trujillo's men is going to do the rounds with it tomorrow. Parents sometimes forget just what a kid walked out the door wearing. One of them might recognize it. It was too small for an adult."

"You said a lock of hair. Cut off?"

"No, caught in a door handle, a little twist of twenty, thirty hairs. Brown, straight, about six inches long."

The rain sheeted down the windshield, and even on high speed the wipers managed to clear only brief glimpses of the black roadway and the drops that fell and bounced back up in the headlights. When Kate broke the noisy silence, her voice was flat.

"It doesn't look good for Vaun Adams, does it?"

"No, it does not."

"Do you think she did it?"

"We're not allowed to play favorites, Casey."

"I just want to know what you think."

Hawkin took a minute to answer.

"You know, all day I've been thinking about a case I had, oh, fifteen years ago, maybe. This little, quiet mouse of a woman whose kids and husband disappeared. She came in to report that he'd taken them, filled out missing persons forms, we put out their descriptions. His car was found a few days later near a bus stop, so we went back to talk with her. She was just what you'd expect--teary, worried, furious at her husband, but completely rational. She showed us the kids' rooms, and there was this teddy bear, no eyes, one ear chewed off, all the fuzz gone--you know how a toy looks when it's been loved to pieces. Anyway, this teddy bear was sitting there on the table next to the bed, leaning up against the lamp, and it just struck rne that it looked, I don't know, lonely. It stuck in my mind, and later that night I got to thinking about it, and I got to thinking that really there were kind of a lot of clothes in the closets, that he would at least have taken coats or shoes. The next morning we went and got a search warrant, and found them in the basement, buried deep. And she was such a nice, gentle lady, with absolutely no guilt in her eyes."

"But you can't think that Vaun Adams is stupid, and to bring the bodies to her own backyard, as she put it, would be stupid. Suicidal."