I heard footsteps behind me. I didn’t, couldn’t, look back. I jumped.
As I did, I felt something brush by my hair, and I knew that Truccoli had just missed latching on to me.
My feet dug into the foliage and soft soil, and then I began to roll. The thick blanket of ice plants cushioned my fall, but it was a fall nonetheless. It did nothing to slow my descent.
I landed at the bottom of the slope, flat on my back. Pain was firing through my body in every direction. My neck hurt as if someone had twisted it. Truccoli had tried. The fall had done the rest.
I pushed to my feet and scuttled forward along the dirt path. Ten steps later I heard a thud, followed by hot obscenities. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Truccoli lying in a heap. He had landed harder than I. Good. I pressed on. A few steps later I noticed a new pain, a lightning jab of agony in my hip. Terror urged me on.
The noises from the freeway above and to my right seemed a light-year away. I began to question my choice. At least on the freeway there was a slim chance someone would come to my aid. Down by the beach I was isolated. I had hoped the cars would frighten Truccoli off or that he would fail to follow me. I was wrong.
I pressed forward, willing one painful step to follow the other, but my legs moved slower than my demands. My heart was a trip-hammer and I thought my lungs would combust. The aches crescendoed in a cacophony of misery.
Another pain joined the mix. A hand grabbed my blouse and pulled. My feet went out from under me and I stumbled back into Truccoli. I didn’t wait for words. I found my footing and spun toward him, my elbow aimed at his head. It connected with a thud, sending a coruscating, hot pain through my arm. His grip released and I started forward, but not fast enough. He snatched me again. This time he spun me around and backhanded me across the cheek. Flashes of light filled my eyes and my knees folded. He yanked me up and gave me another shot.
My vision narrowed to tunnels and my stomach turned with nausea. I couldn’t tell if I was going to vomit or pass out. Instead I brought a knee up as hard as I could, connecting with his kneecap. I did it again and again but Truccoli wouldn’t let go.
“You . . . will . . . do . . . as . . . I . . . say.” He drew his fist back and I covered my face, waiting for the blow to land.
It never came.
He let go and I melted to the ground. Parting my hands, I looked up to see Truccoli changing directions. There was someone with him. No, not with him—behind him. I heard a thud, then another and finally a third.
Truccoli fell backward like a redwood cut at the roots.
My gaze switched from the unconscious Truccoli to the man who had come to my rescue. His face was red as a beet, his breathing ragged, and his fists still wadded into fleshy hammers. He took several deep breaths, then said, “I told you to be careful.”
Chief Webb never looked so good.
A
re you sure you don’t want to rest in your bed?” my mother asked. She looked on the verge of tears. For the third time in as many minutes, she adjusted the cold compress on my head.
“No, I’m comfortable here.” It wasn’t a lie but it was a well-stretched truth. I wouldn’t be comfortable anyplace. I had spent the last three hours in the ER. The doctor who treated Randi treated me. He listened to the story, shook his head, then ordered X-rays. A painful “Does it hurt when I do this?” exam followed. When it was all over, I had a slightly strained hip and a dozen bruises. Not bad, considering Truccoli had looked insane enough to kill me.
The ER doctor had taken it upon himself to inform Jerry of my condition, as a matter of “professional courtesy.” Jerry arrived soon afterward and insisted on driving me home. I wanted to pick up my car, which had been towed to the Police Station for safekeeping. Jerry refused to listen to my logic. He wasn’t going to let me drive.
Once home, I had to tell the whole story. My mother puddled up, my father paced in anger, and Jerry listened sympathetically. Celeste was morose. At times she shook. I tried to comfort everyone and they were working overtime to comfort me.
“Come here, Celeste.” I held out a hand.
She did and tears brimmed in her eyes as she knelt by the sofa. I could tell she was looking at my swollen and bruised cheeks. “I’m so, so, so sorry,” she said and began to cry.
I ran my hand through her hair. “It’s not your fault, kiddo. I’m fine. You father is—”
“Nuts. He’s insane. No wonder my mother divorced him.”
I couldn’t argue with her. “Just remember, he’s the one who’s nuts, not you. None of this is your fault. We’re both victims. I don’t want you to feel guilty. I don’t like it when my friends feel guilty.”
She smiled. I was about to say something witty when the doorbell rang. Jerry was on his feet in an instant and my father spun on his heels.
“Easy boys,” I said. “It’s just a doorbell. Remember, there’s still a guard out there.”
Dad went to the door and peered through the peephole. “It’s Detective West. He has a surprise with him.”
“I hope it’s a good surprise,” I said. “Don’t leave him standing outside.”
I propped myself up to see over the arm of the sofa. West entered and stepped to the side. Randi tottered in, swaying on her crutches.
“Ta-da!” she said with a big smile.
I was glad to see her. Surprised but very happy. Before Webb could ask if I was injured, I had told him what Truccoli had said about a hired man at Randi’s home. A cell phone call later, men were on their way—including, I was later told, Judson West. Because he had been in Santa Barbara, he arrived long after the street cops.
“What are you doing here?” I asked Randi. “You’re supposed to stay off your feet.”
“That’s what I said,” West offered. “She’s a little headstrong.” Then to Randi he added, “No offense meant.”
“None taken,” she said cheerfully. “I gave him a choice: he could drive me here or I could hobble the ten miles on crutches. One way or the other, I was getting here.”
“Don’t just stand there.” I raised myself to a sitting position. Mom protested but I waved her off with a smile. “I’ve been lying down too long. I need to sit.” I patted the seat next to me and Randi worked her way into position. We looked at each other, then laughed. Dad brought in chairs from the dining room so everyone could sit.
“We’re a pair, aren’t we,” Randi said. “I win; I have a cast. You only have cuts and bruises.”
“Fine by me. You’ll envy me the first time you try to shower with that thing on.”
“I envy you in more ways than you know,” she said softly. “I guess you heard: no bogeyman at my place.”
“Yeah, West was kind enough to call. I guess Truccoli was bluffing—about that at least.”
“He’s lied about everything else,” Celeste said bitterly. That cooled the room. “What will happen to him?” All eyes shifted to West.
“He’s in pretty deep, Celeste. When he entered the mayor’s car and forced, or I should say, tried to force, her to go someplace she didn’t want to go, well, that makes it kidnapping. There are assault charges and more. He won’t be getting out of jail on easy bail this time. He’s being held for a bail hearing rather than someone looking at a chart and saying, ‘Pay this.’ The district attorney is pretty upset. I hear he’s going to lower the boom.”
“Good,” Celeste said. “Maybe they can lower it several times.”
I studied her for a moment. Over the last few days she had changed. The harshness of evil had evicted her teenager quality. Life had forced her to grow up faster than someone her age should. I felt something breaking inside me.
Turning to West, I asked, “How is the chief doing? He looked pretty worn-out when I last saw him.”
“He’s fine. I called the office a little while ago. One of the other detectives told me that the chief is having to repeat the story over and over—and is loving every minute of it. It’s been a while since he’s made a collar all on his own. Cops like him live for that stuff. Nothing rings their bell more than interrupting a crime and putting a quick end to it.”
“I owe him big-time.”
West just nodded. “You should know . . .” He looked at Celeste. “We shouldn’t make too much of this, but I’ve finally gotten word from the SI people. That’s where I was when you came by the station, Mayor. The blood on your business card does match Lisa Truccoli’s DNA. We got a match between Elizabeth Stout’s DNA and the blood left on the photo. I expect we’ll get the same kind of result from Dayton’s DNA and the file folder.”
Celeste gasped.
“Now, hold on,” West said. “We assumed that from the beginning, and it must be remembered that that is the only blood we found.”
“It’s still hard to hear,” I said.
“I know. I stopped by the coroner’s office and had Egan look at Mrs. Stout’s body again. He found a small puncture mark on the end of her left thumb. It’s odd in a way. I would have expected more violence.”
The room fell silent. A moment later I heard Celeste sniffle.
“I have some questions for you, Mayor,” West said as if he hadn’t just dropped a ton of bricks on us. His tone had darkened.
“I think I know what’s coming.”
“What were you doing at Dayton’s house? I know what you told me at Nat Sanders’ but I think you’re holding back.”
“Nat Sanders?” Dad said. “She was the best news anchor ever. I used to watch her all the time. Cute too.”
“Contain the libido, Greg,” my mom said.
“It has nothing to do with libido,” he countered. “I just admire her reportorial skill. You really met her?”
“Yes,” I said, then told the whole story again. I looked around the room. West had just asked the question no one else dared ask. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The ant thing bothers me. Randi got stung at Dayton’s house. Lizzy died from a reaction to a fire ant sting. The coincidence is too much.”
“I wouldn’t put too much in the ant thing,” West said. “I’ve done a little research of my own. Those ants are all over the Southwest and are making new inroads into California every day. Mrs. Stout may have had the misfortune of being kept near an ant infestation.”
“That’s the point. The exterminator told me the ants weren’t that prevalent in our county. There had only been a few outbreaks.”
“Wait a minute,” Randi said. “How widespread?”
“The entire Southwest, as I said,” West replied.
“No,” she insisted. “How widespread in our county?”
“I don’t know,” West admitted.
“That would be California Department of Agriculture, right?” Randi asked.
“California Department of Food and Agriculture,” I agreed.
Randi asked for a phone and called information. She made another call and we sat in silence while she did what she did best. A few minutes later she hung up. “There are less than a dozen places or so that have reported infestations in our county.”
“But the abductor may be holding them outside the county,” Jerry said. “They could be many miles from here.”
“No,” I said. “Lizzy’s body was tied to the pier. She couldn’t have died too far from that location. Surely the abductor wouldn’t travel fifty or a hundred miles just to tie her to that particular pier. There are too many other, more convenient places to dispose of a body.”
“Maybe he was trying to deliver a message,” Jerry said.
West shook his head. “Mrs. Stout’s death seems unintentional. I doubt that the abductor used a red imported fire ant to kill his victim. He would’ve had to have known of the hypersensitivity to insect venom. The mayor is right.” He fell into silent thought. “I want those locations. Who did you talk to, Randi?”
“I anticipated that,” she replied. “We should hear a ringing from Maddy’s upstairs office any minute. I asked that they fax the locations.”
“You’re good,” West said. “Ever thought of a career in law enforcement?”
“Leave her alone,” I said. “She has a career.”
He winked at her and mouthed, “We’ll talk.”
“Did you see anything more on the video?” I asked West.
He shook his head. “I viewed a little more after you left. Dayton came and went several times, but that’s to be expected. If someone had been taping my home, they would have seen the same thing. The key point is that Dayton left but didn’t come back, and there’s no sign of someone making entrance into the house.”
“She could see the whole house through her cameras?” Randi asked.
“No,” West answered. “The cameras are set to cover her backyard, which means that because of the angles, they cover about a third of Dayton’s rear yard. Several other cameras cover the street directly in front of her home. Again, the angles allow her to see a portion of Dayton’s front yard and his front door. The rest of the house and the far side yard are out of view.”
“So someone could have broken into the house through the side yard?” Randi pressed.
“True,” West admitted. “We can’t dismiss that idea. There are windows on that side of the house, but they were all locked. I checked for signs of forced entry and found none. It still appears that the abductor was let in.”
“But that’s the rub, isn’t it?” I said. “The video doesn’t show anyone entering the house after Dayton left alone—not even Dayton.”
“Yeah,” West said. “That’s the problem.”
I had started to say something else when the fax machine in my office rang.
“I’ll get it.” Celeste darted up the stairs. Moments later she came down with a piece of paper in her hand. “Is this it?” She handed it to Randi, who glanced at it and nodded. Randi passed it to West.
“It looks like I have some work to do.”
T
he house was quiet—blissfully quiet. The week’s pressure had all but squeezed the life out of me. The pains, bumps, and bruises from the afternoon’s attack had drained me. I felt more raisin than grape. I let the hush embrace me like a warm coat. Mom and Dad had gone to bed. West had left a few hours earlier.
Jerry wanted to stay and play guardian again but this time I refused. After a couple of objections I put my foot down. “This is a girls’ party now. No boys allowed.” He chuckled, then rose from his seat, gave me a polite kiss on the cheek, and walked to the door. Celeste locked it behind him, then came back to the living room and sat on the hearth. She looked at Randi and Randi returned the gaze. I saw my assistant’s eyebrows shoot up and down.