Perri O'Shaughnessy - Presumption Of Death

“On the way. I want to go back to Arroyo Seco.”

“Since when do you have to take every sad case in the world under your wing? He’s not your problem, Nina. You’re like the Cat Lady, picking up strays. You need to focus on this case. We owe it to Sandy to get Wish out of jail, and fast.”

Nina finished lacing the boots and hung her purse on her shoulder. “I’m going,” she said. “He has come to my attention. That makes him my problem.”

“Suit yourself.” Paul stretched and went back to his computer.

Nina clumped down the steps and onto the street, where her truck was parked. Climbing into the Bronco, she strapped in and opened the glove compartment to look for the Monterey County map. Paul’s face appeared at the passenger’s window and she rolled it down. Hitchcock leapt at the door.

“I was thinking, we ought to go check on the kid,” he said.

Nina smiled. “I’ve got bottled water and cold drinks in a cooler, and the tank’s full.”

“We can talk about the autopsy report along the way.” He climbed in beside her. “Hitchcock too. He needs the exercise.”

“Same rules? You expunge all evidence of poison oak from his fur?” Nina said, opening the back door and scratching the dog between the ears.

“He’s the first dog I ever met that loves the hose, a real sport,” Paul said, clipping on the seat belt. “I wonder what he is.”

Nina started up and lowered the back window a couple of inches so Hitchcock could stick his nose out. “How many times do I have to say it? He’s a malamute!”

“There’s no such thing as a pure black malamute. Plus they don’t bark, they howl, and Hitchcock barks. He’s part Lab or something.”

“Will you stop? He’s got that curling furry tail. And he smiles like a malamute,” Nina said. Hitchcock showed no interest in their ongoing argument over his origins. He only gave a brief whine, which meant, let’s get going, shall we?

They drove out the Valley Road, each curve of which was becoming familiar to Nina, Hitchcock no doubt getting carsick in the back. Paul had brought the autopsy report. As they careened around the turns he said, “Now may I take up a few minutes of your time to discuss this latest homicide?”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Ruth Frost had a hematoma on the side of her head the size of a plum. It wasn’t visible when we saw her, because she had so much hair. Now, even law enforcement agrees. Somebody hit her hard, turned on the ignition and the heat, closed the windows tight, and left her to die. The coroner says so. Is that going to be enough to convince the D.A. to let Wish out?”

“I don’t know. But who else would want to harm her but the arsonist? Who is heading up the investigation?”

“The Monterey County Sheriff’s Office.”

“Does Crockett know about all this?”

“I faxed him the report while you were in court, to be sure he’s staying in the loop,” Paul said.

Nina’s hands clenched the wheel. “It has to be somebody from Siesta Court, afraid she could identify him.”

“Let’s talk about a few thoughts running around in my head,” Paul said as they rolled through Carmel Valley Village. The school bus flashed its red lights, and Nina stopped. A group of children with the name of a day-care center on their T-shirts jostled one another into a beautiful afternoon, bumping across the street in front of them to meet waiting parents. They called laughing good-byes to one another as they ran shouting toward TVs and backyards.

The sun burned a yellow hole in the cloudless blue sky. They passed a Smokey the Bear sign telling them that the fire danger today was Very High. “I’m listening,” Nina said.

“Okay. First, ask yourself about the MO used to kill Ruth. Ruth had a defective tailpipe that billowed exhaust fumes into the trunk area, and no back seat to prevent it from drifting into the passenger compartment. She had to drive with all the windows open, and I just don’t believe she’d go to sleep with the windows closed and the motor running.”

“You said something about a hose.”

“There’s no evidence of a hose at this point. The marks I saw turned out to be natural.”

“Somebody knew about the exhaust problem, then.”

“Ben Cervantes repairs cars.”

“So do a hundred other people around here.”

“He works at Valley European Motors in the Village,” Paul said. “I went up there and talked to his boss before the cops got there. He was upset about Ruth. He’s known her for years. He said Ruth would bring her car in there and they tried to keep it going without charging her.”

Nina said, eyes on the road, “I like Ben. But I’m willing to look at him.”

“This isn’t just about Ben. Turns out Ben replaced another guy, a part-timer who drank on the job and was fired. This guy’s name is Robert Johnson. He’s half Washoe, like Danny.”

“So?”

Paul squeezed her thigh. “So Coyote’s real name is Robert Johnson. Watch it, there’s a truck coming.”

Nina pulled to the side and let the truck go by. “So Coyote probably worked on Ruth’s car at some point.”

“There you have it.”

“Then she probably knew him, Paul. If he had been in the car she saw, wouldn’t she have recognized him?”

“She told us she didn’t see well enough,” Paul said. He drank some water out of a plastic bottle. “But if-let’s follow it through-if Coyote was in the car, he might have been worrying about Ruthie. Maybe so worried he thought about that broken exhaust pipe and the lack of a back seat, which would let the fumes in and kill her.”

“He had the means and maybe the motive,” Nina said. “The minute I saw that van at his camp I was sure he was involved in the fires.”

“So let’s take it further. Let’s say Robert Johnson-Coyote-was the driver that night in his van, and he dropped someone off on Siesta Court. Like the Cat Lady said.”

“Okay.”

“Who did he drop off? Assuming it wasn’t Danny?”

“Danny had a tip,” Nina remembered.

“Right. Smart girl.”

“Ben Cervantes and Coyote?”

“My thinking exactly. Danny knew who they were climbing up the hill to photograph.”

“He would turn in his uncle? His uncle was doing this with Coyote?”

“Maybe. Or maybe just Coyote.”

Nina said slowly, “But instead Coyote saw Danny and Wish first and Coyote killed Danny on the mountain. And tried to kill Wish.”

“You’re leaving Ben out, but I can understand your squeamishness. You liked him, I could tell. I’d also prefer to think Ben didn’t help kill his own nephew. But…”

They had hit the hairpin turns in the road. To one side, a fenced golden meadow waved, and on the other, a glorious old oak forest rustled, maybe some of those same trees surviving from Steinbeck’s time, when he loved this same land. In the midst of all this beauty, someone out there was burning trees and killing people. She felt sick thinking that Ben Cervantes might be part of it.

“I don’t think it’s Ben.”

“Because?”

“I just don’t. I don’t think he could lie that well to me.”

“Ah, Nina.”

“Anyway, Coyote is probably a very dangerous man,” Nina said. “We have to check on that boy.”

“That’s why I came along, even though I think it’s premature. Because my woman insisted on coming.”

Nina glanced quickly at him and saw that he had unconsciously patted his shoulder holster. “I’m glad you came. Maybe we’ll get lucky and Coyote and that saw-toothed dog of his will be busy somewhere else hunting deer together.”

They drove on through the buzzing forest, immersed in their separate thoughts.

Eventually, tired and hot again, but this time more sure of the way, they found the tent in the clearing in Wood Tick Canyon. Once again, Nina avoided the malevolent poison oak, mature vines thick as her wrist, coming hungrily at her from the branches and bushes she passed. She took some satisfaction when it crackled underfoot, but then realized she would have to ask Paul to detoxify her boots along with the dog.