Blue Heaven Part 20

"You're my new jailer?" Monica asked.

Newkirk looked quickly to Swann for an explanation. Swann shook his head sadly.

"She just found out about the videotape," Swann said. "She's shaken up by it."

Newkirk nodded as if he understood. "I'm here to do anything I can," he said.

"Who exactly are you helping?" Monica asked.

Again, Newkirk looked to Swann for an explanation.

"She needs to take her medication," Swann said like a grumpy father.

"You can talk directly to me, Mr. Swann. I'm right here. You don't have to talk about me like I'm not."

Swann sighed again and zipped up his jacket to leave. "See if you can get her to take her meds. If you can't, call the doctor and ask him to come over. She needs rest."

"I'm perfectly fine," Monica said.

"Good luck," Swann told Newkirk before leaving. "Keep her off the phone, and if the press comes, don't let them see her."

Sunday, 10:17 A.M.

JESS RAWLINS and Eduardo Villatoro left the restaurant together after Villatoro had insisted on paying the tab. Jess was aware of the ex-cop behind him as he walked across the street toward his pickup.

"Nice morning," Jess said, stopping on the center line and looking around at the mountains on all sides. There was no traffic. The sky was clear of clouds, and endlessly blue. The sun had yet to take charge of the day, although its intensity warmed his exposed skin.

"Very nice," Villatoro answered. He could see the news crew from Fox News packing their cameras and sound equipment into their van down the street. The reporter who had been on-screen earlier stood to the side, brus.h.i.+ng his hair in a mirror.

They had spent the last half hour probing each other, Jess knew. He had learned why Villatoro was in Kootenai Bay and had listened to the details of the robbery at Santa Anita. He had believed the man when he said he thought he was getting close to something and how important it was to him to solve the case. Jess had listened patiently, trying not to let his mind wander to his ranch, where the children were, or to the implications of his current situation. He had waited until the end of the robbery story, where it would logically loop back to the present, to hear what Villatoro had to say about the ex-cops who were helping the sheriff with the investigation. Jess didn't want to tip his hand and ask too quickly about them.

When it came to Singer, Villatoro had not provided as much information as Jess had hoped. Lieutenant Singer was a familiar name to Villatoro because he'd been involved in the investigation of the Santa Anita robbery in a peripheral way. He wasn't the lead investigator, but one of the prime administrative hurdles. Newkirk was connected to the investigation as well, Villatoro said. He was pretty sure Newkirk was one of the team a.s.signed to the case. There were others, Villatoro said. He was waiting for the names, and their ties to the case. There was something else, too. He just couldn't connect it yet.

"There is simply too much coincidence," Villatoro had said, "that two of the names involved in Santa Anita are now here, of all places. Don't you think?"

Jess had said he didn't know. And he didn't. "I don't like the idea of bad cops up here," he said. "I don't like the idea of bad cops, period."

Villatoro agreed. "I hope in my heart that's not the case," he said. "I've worked with police officers all of my life. For the most part, they've been dedicated and honest. Sure, there were some lazy ones. But truly bad cops-no. The idea disturbs me, and I hope it's wrong."

"Yup."

"There were some officers I didn't like, and who didn't like me. Too many of the cops I worked with out of L.A. looked down on me and my department. They thought we were small-timers. We probably were, but we were very close to our community at one time. It's not like that anymore. It's hard to adjust to being swallowed up, I guess. I see that happening here."

Jess said, "I'm not one to oppose change. No offense, but my grand-dad changed this place when he moved here and started the ranch. I'd be selfish if I thought, 'Now that I'm here, no one else has a right to be.' Live and let live, that's what I think."

Villatoro nodded. "That's a good att.i.tude to have. I admire that."

"I just want the new ones to have some respect for what was here before they got here," Jess said. "h.e.l.l, if I moved to Los Angeles, I wouldn't expect 'em to put a cow in every yard and elk in the parks just so I could feel more comfortable."

Smiling, Villatoro said, "We agree about respect."

"d.a.m.ned right. Maybe it's also having a sense of history," Jess said.

"And duty," Villatoro said. "There is duty. I can still repeat the last words of the Peace Officers Code of Ethics, even though I haven't said it out loud for thirty years."

Jess raised his eyebrows "Let's hear it then."

Villatoro said, "I know that I alone am responsible for my own standard of professional performance and will take every reasonable opportunity to enhance and improve my level of knowledge and competence. I will constantly strive to achieve these objectives and ideals, dedicating myself before G.o.d to my chosen profession-law enforcement."

"Too bad you retired," Jess said.

"I haven't retired from that. Not yet."

Jess thought how unusual it was to have a talk with a man about these subjects. Especially a man he'd met for the first time. That there were others who thought this way made him feel good. He liked this Eduardo Villatoro, but he couldn't tip his hand about the children, not yet.

Crossing the street, Jess had decided that if nothing else, Villatoro could be an outside resource. If Jess couldn't work with the sheriff's department, which he was more and more sure he couldn't because they were compromised, he would need to contact someone else. Villatoro might be a man he could trust.

As he approached his pickup, Jess slipped his hand into his pocket to make sure Villatoro's card was there. The man had written down the number of his motel and his room as well. In turn, Jess had given Villatoro the number for his ranch.

"I hope I can talk to you from time to time as my investigation continues," Villatoro said. "It's good to have a local expert who knows how things work. I hope you don't mind. This is a foreign place to me."

Jess turned. "I don't mind. Just don't ask me to gossip about my neighbors. I won't do that."

"I wouldn't dream of asking," Villatoro said, flas.h.i.+ng a smile. "It is just that I see this place as, I don't know, a million trees with a few people walking around in them. I can't see the whole picture, it is too strange. It would be like if you were dropped in the middle of East L.A. with no one to help you out. You wouldn't know what to do, where to go, what was proper. There are predators there, too," he said, gesturing toward the bear, "but they wear colors and carry guns. It's so different."

Jess said nothing. He had always thought it was easier for rural people to live in a city than lifelong city dwellers to move to the country.

"For example," Villatoro said, gesturing to the eastern range, "when I look at that mountain there, all I see is a mountain with trees all over it. There is probably more to it, but that's all I can see."

Jess turned to see where Villatoro was pointing. "That's Webb Mountain," Jess said. "See where there's that big sweep of green on it that's lighter than the rest? Kind of a mosaic? Those are aspens. There was a forest fire up there twenty years ago, and aspens grow back first. Eventually, the pines will overtake the aspens, but it'll take centuries. There was some talk about putting in a ski resort on Webb Mountain, but the developers got chased away by the environmentalists. It's good bear habitat. I'd guess that's where our hunter here got his bear this morning."

He looked around to see Villatoro smiling. "That's what I mean," the ex-detective said. "I see a mountain that looks like every other mountain of a hundred in every direction. You see history and a story."

Jess reached for his door handle, then thought better of it. He could walk where he needed to go.

"This is why this is such an amazing country," Villatoro said. "It is so big, and so different. One will never know all of it."

Jess suppressed a grin of his own. "You're an interesting man, Mr. Villatoro."

"I'm a fish out of water, is what I am. But I'm a determined fish."

"That you are," Jess said. "I kinda feel the same way myself."

They shook hands.

BECAUSE THE county building was only two blocks away, Jess decided to walk. He needed a few minutes to think, to put his plan together. He was overwhelmed and confused. Things seemed to be swirling around him, keeping him off-balance. It had begun when Herbert, his ranch foreman, left and disrupted a routine he had gotten used to. With all of the problems a rancher had to face-weather, prices, natural disasters, regulations, trespa.s.sers, bad employees-any kind of routine was a necessity. Tasks needed to be done at certain times. A ranch couldn't be run by the seat of one's pants. But with Herbert gone and the appearance of the children-and their dangerous story-he felt cut loose from his moorings. He was adrift and unsure of himself.

Whether or not the murder had been reported-or whether it had even happened-everything else he had learned that morning seemed to lean toward Annie and William's version of events. The thought that the murderers were ex-cops who had moved in quickly to shape and control events would fit. Placing a man with the mother to guard her would fit, too. But without a body, what the children had told him could be dismissed as the result of overactive imaginations. It all hinged on a murder that apparently hadn't happened, on a dead man who wasn't missed by anyone.

Jess thought of the implications of his situation and felt a stab in his chest. If what Annie and William had told him turned out not to be true, he was guilty of a great fraud on the community, and possibly even a crime. Every hour that went by that he kept his secret was another cruel hour for the mother.

And what was on the videotape Newkirk had whispered about to the sheriff?

What held him back from walking into the sheriff's office and telling them he knew where the missing children were and leading them to his ranch? It was simple, he realized. He believed Annie.

But he still wasn't sure. He needed more information. What was on the videotape? He had to find out. Then, he would make his decision.

AS HE Pa.s.sED by the realty office, Jess quickened his pace, but she saw him.

"Jess?"

He slowed, debated whether to stop or resume his march. He wished he would have taken his pickup to the sheriff's office and avoided this possibility.

"Jess?"

He stopped on the sidewalk and shoved his hands in his pockets, looking at her under the brim of his hat. G.o.d, she looked good. Trim, fit, wearing black slacks, a white s.h.i.+rt and blazer. Her lipstick was a smoky shade he had never seen before, and her dark hair was pulled back. No gray; she must have dyed it. She had never looked that good on the ranch.

"h.e.l.lo, Karen."

"I was surprised to look out and see you walk by."

"Working on Sunday, huh?"

"We've got a closing at eleven. I'm waiting for the buyers. Hey-what did you do to your hand?"

"Accident with a hay hook," he said, hoping that would suffice.

She stopped on the sidewalk and awkwardly crossed her arms in front of her. He didn't expect a hug, but it seemed odd to talk with her from five feet away. It felt like a mile.

"What are you doing in town?" she asked.

"Going to the county building."

She pursed her lips. "They're closed today."

"Not the Sheriff's Office."

"Oh," she said, looking him over, obviously wondering what would come next.

"I wanted to see if there was any news on the Taylor kids." Not a lie at all.

"Isn't that terrible?" she said, shaking her head. "n.o.body I've talked to can remember such a thing happening here before. I hope they find them, and they're okay. It's awful."

Jess said, "Yup."

"You came all of the way into town to ask about them?" She was eyeing him closely.

He sputtered, "Had breakfast at the Panhandle, and thought I'd check while I was here."

"Is that the only reason you're going there?"

He knew what she was asking and looked away. He hadn't thought of that. A familiar brand of guilt crept in. He didn't know what to say. The silence went on a beat too long.

"Talking has always been a problem for you, hasn't it?"

He felt his palms begin to sweat in his pockets. Thankfully, she changed the subject back.

"Monica Taylor," she said. "I heard some things about her."

He looked back.

"I heard she gets around," she said. "Her ex-husband was in prison, you know. She's got a little bit of a reputation."

"Reputations come and go," Jess said, too quickly.

Her face darkened. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Forget it."

"Can't you let this thing go? It's been three years now."

He looked at his boots, then at the sky. No, he thought, I can't. It wasn't that he wanted her back, not now. It was the years of deception before the betrayal. The secret letters, the calls, the liaisons, the men. How could he just move on? How did other people do it? In retrospect, Karen's darkness was simply stronger than his thin strand of generational hope, and she'd overpowered him.

The door to the office opened, and Karen's new husband, Brian Ballard, stepped out. He was dressed as he had been Friday: open s.h.i.+rt, jacket, creased Dockers, ta.s.seled loafers.

"Everything okay out here?" he asked, too cheerfully. "Are you asking Jess about the property?"

"We hadn't gotten to that yet," Karen said, not taking her eyes off Jess.

"I'm not selling unless I have to," Jess said. "Nothing's changed."

Brian put his arm around Karen, pulling her into him as if to say, mine. "You know, this doesn't have to be an adversarial thing. We would work with you."

"I'm busy right now," Jess said.

Brian looked to Karen for an explanation. She watched Jess. She looked at him in that focused way he remembered, as if by staring at his face she could suck his thoughts out. "Jess, what's wrong?" she asked. "I can tell there's something wrong."

He didn't dare speak.

"Nothing," he said. "I've got to go."

LEAVING HIS BELT, Leatherman tool, pocketknife, and change with the woman running the security check, Jess entered the sheriff's office and stood at the counter. He wasn't sure what, or who, he was looking for. Someone sympathetic, maybe. Someone he knew.

He stepped aside as three men in their late fifties or early sixties came down the hall to retrieve their belongings. It was obvious they were angry about something.

One said, "That's bulls.h.i.+t."

Another said, "There's no way they've got enough guys. The sheriff is always whining about manpower, but he turns us away."