Jonathan Kellerman - Capital Crimes

Parked to the side was a Chevy Blazer, long unwashed, tires so underinflated they were perilously close to flat.

Barnes said, “Guy treats his wheels like that, he’s not taking care of himself.”

Amanda said, “I’m sure he’ll love getting woken up.”

Barnes killed the headlights, switched off the engine. The two of them got out of the car, just stood there. Something small and frightened scurried into the brush. An owl hooted. A burble sounded from the pond.

The air smelled pure, herbally sweet.

Amanda said, “Is that the theme from Deliverance I hear wafting through the piney woods?”

Both detectives checked their weapons and headed for the cabin.

Barnes whispered, “You hear anything, save yourself and the young’uns and take the wagon back to Laramie.”

Amanda said, “Let’s get this damn thing over with.”

“You bet,” said Barnes, figuring he sounded pretty mellow. The gun in his hand was so cold that he wondered about frostbite.

Halfway to the cabin’s front door, the detectives agreed that Barnes would do the talking and Amanda would be on the watch for any weird behavior on Parker Seldey’s part.

A second after they’d reached that accord, two booms exploded into the night and the sweet air turned sulfurous.

Barnes hit the ground and reached out to push Amanda out of the firing line. She did the same for him and their fingers touched momentarily.

Then both of them stretched on their bellies and two-handed their guns.

A hoarse voice screamed, “Get the hell off my property!”

Barnes screamed back: “Police. We just want to talk to you, Mr. Seldey.”

“I don’t want to talk to you!”

A flash from the doorway was followed by another concussive burst. Something whizzed by Barnes’s right ear. Sighting a stand of small oaks, he crept and slithered for cover, while motioning for Amanda to do the same.

Not knowing if she could see him.

Hearing her I-told-you-so. Minus the usual good-natured inflection.

She did have someone to go home to…he made it to the trees.

Amanda had gotten there first.

Both of them holding their breath as Parker Seldey stepped into the porch light. Rifle in one hand, flashlight in the other.

Seldey swept the earth with the electric torch.

Amanda whispered, “Don’t move, pard.” Without warning, she crouched, straightened a bit, kept her body low, and ran toward the car.

Seldey shouted something incoherent and aimed the rifle at her back. Barnes fired first. Seldey pivoted toward the source, shot three times, missed Barnes by inches.

Barnes scooted back, struggling for silence. Seldey advanced on him, sweeping with the flashlight, muttering, breathing hard.

When he was twenty feet away, Barnes began to make out details, limned by sparse moonlight. Baggy T-shirt, shorts, bony knees. A thatch of hair, the woolly outlines of an untrimmed beard.

Seldey got closer. Barnes smelled him- the hormonal reek of fury and fear.

Seldey swept the ground. The beam must’ve caught a glimpse of something because Seldey hoisted the rifle and aimed-

Noise to his back made him pivot. A car engine racing.

Seldey aimed at that- was knocked backward by white light.

Amanda flashing the high beams, blinding Seldey.

The startled man fired into the sky.

Barnes was on him, wresting the gun away, pounding Seldey’s face.

No resistance from Seldey and Barnes rolled him over, put his knee on Seldey’s back. Was ready to cuff him but Amanda did it first.

Everyone panting.

They rolled Seldey over and had a look at him. Mountain-man hair almost obscured patrician features. Sharp brown eyes. Maybe not sharp. Inflamed.

Seldey said, “Why’re you here? There’s no full moon, they only come with the full moon.”

“Who’s they?” said Amanda. Squeezing the words out between gasps.

“My friends. The forest people.” Seldey laughed. “Just kidding. Do you guys have any weed?” Rattling the cuffs. “And maybe you should take this shit off. If you do, I can put you out of your misery.”

Within an hour, dozens of enforcement officials had collected outside the cabin. Parker Seldey was taken away and the structure was taped off.

By the early-morning hours, an arsenal had been removed, including three shotguns. Seldey was living like a savage in the insect-infested cabin, with no outdoor plumbing and food rotting in tins. No phone or computer but Seldey had brought a ham radio and a battery-op VCR. A CS unit from Sacramento scoured his meager belongings. Don Newell showed up at three AM but didn’t do much other than stand around.

Barnes and Amanda borrowed a sheriff’s phone that worked and told the story to Captain Torres. Being woken up didn’t endear them to the boss and Torres wasn’t mollified by Amanda’s assurance that they’d had consent from the legal owner to enter the property.

Blood spatter on Parker Seldey’s jeans and shirt calmed him down a bit.

“But I’m reserving judgment until you get real evidence.”

That happened two days later- a rush DNA matched the blood to Davida and word had it Seldey’s attorney would be going for a plea, some sort of mental health explanation.

Barnes gave Laura Novacente the exclusive. In return, she invited him to her place for an “intimate dinner.” Being a gentleman, Barnes let her down easy.

Laura showed class. Call if it doesn’t work out, Will.

Of course, I will.

The citizens of Berkeley were pleased with the arrest of Parker Seldey for the murder of Davida Grayson. Seldey being a registered Republican turned satisfaction to glee and someone talked about silk-screening a T-shirt capitalizing on that fact. Final message yet to be decided.

Everyone settling down.

Except Amanda Isis.

Early Friday morning found Barnes and Amanda at their favorite corner table at Melanie’s. He was on his second double espresso and his third muffin. She sipped foam off of her cappuccino and picked at her croissant.

Barnes was in a great mood, looking forward to a second weekend with Marge Dunn. He’d volunteered to fly to LA but Marge asked if she could come back up north.

Smart woman; nothing was as beautiful as the Bay Area on a crisp, cool day. Barnes figured to ask Amanda for more social advice, because the weekend in Napa had turned out perfect. He’d arrived with several ideas to run by her, but she was quiet- almost sullen.

“What’s wrong?” Barnes asked.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that. You didn’t like the wine I sent you or something?”

“You didn’t have to send me wine, Will. I was just doing my job.”

“Your job was saving my life. The guy at the liquor store told me it was good stuff.”

“It was and I thank you.”

“So what’s bugging you, Mandy? And be honest. I’m not good at this shrink stuff.”

“Speaking of shrinks, I just talked to the psychiatrist who’s taking care of Seldey,” she said. “She says the guy’s clearly psychotic.”

“I don’t need a shrink to tell me that.”

“He’s actively paranoid, Will, as in unable to form a coherent plan of action. Yesterday he had to be straitjacketed because he scratched himself raw. He claimed that voices were telling him to repent by skinning himself like they did to Jesus in that Mel Gibson movie.”

“So he’s faking it, trying for reduced culpability.”

“He’s not trying to get out of anything. Just the opposite, he keeps ranting about shooting Davida, saying he’s proud of it.”

“All that’s the DA’s problem.”

“Maybe it’s our problem, Will. As in getting the entire picture. You see a guy that disordered planning a careful murder all by his lonesome? He says voices told him to kill Davida. What I’m wondering is, was one of them real?”