“I agree.”
“Thanks for coming by. I’m sorry there isn’t more the city can do for you.”
“Our house burnt to the ground and we’re underinsured.”
“Talk to FEMA. They’re good at plugging those kind of financial holes.”
“Already did. We’re still a hundred grand short of a rebuild. Credit’s completely shot. So, we can sell the lot or build something smaller. Real small, like a dog house. You should have seen what a nice home we had. Not big, just... home. An actual white picket fence, roses, everything. I always loved that sentimental stuff. It stood for something.”
“Good luck. I mean that.”
“Too late, but thanks anyway.”
Evelyn talked to several more people who were being sheltered in various churches and in the synagogue. She asked lots of questions and concluded the worship centers were outperforming government relief agencies about ten to one. She decided to stop by the Presbyterian church after this, the one that she attended on major Christian holidays, just to see if they needed her help. She vowed to go there more regularly, though she dearly loved sleeping in on Sunday mornings.
Special Agent Knechtl, pale-faced and wearing a gray suit, appeared at Evelyn’s table. He was slender and tall, with a domelike forehead, brief mustache, and soulful, almost pitying eyes. He looked behind him then turned his attention back to her. “Mayor.”
“So we meet again, Agent Knechtl.”
“It’s special agent, but you can call me Max.”
“Okay.”
“Tell me what you know about Theodore Norris.”
“Almost nothing. I’ve known him since he was born but never well.” Special Agent Max Knechtl inspired noncompliance in her. He looked embalmed, but should she judge by looks? Maybe he had cancer. Maybe he was a great guy. She looked up at him, unable to fake a smile, and said nothing.
“Mayor, if you’ve known Theodore for twenty-six years you must have noticed more than that.”
“More than what?”
“Than almost nothing.” He waited, looking down on her with brooding concern. “I saw his cartoon online. It didn’t amuse me. Has he ever threatened you?”
“No, of course not.”
“Has he ever contacted you in any way?”
“I babysat him once and he sent me a thank-you card that he’d made.”
“When was this?”
“Seventeen, eighteen years ago? I no longer have the card.”
“He made it? What theme or motif did he use?”
“You’re serious?”
“Three innocent lives are serious to me.”
“Exactly what department, or bureau or agency, are you with again?”
“I’m a special agent of the Homeland Security Department, Homeland Security Investigations — formerly Immigration and Customs Enforcement, or ICE — which is part of the Joint Terrorism Task Force, or JTTF, Western Division, South Sector.”
She was momentarily speechless, but slowly gathered her senses by an act of will. “Well... the card made for me by Ted Norris was a piece of red construction paper with a picture of a frog on it. I think it was a frog. He was nine years old or something.”
“Why did you only babysit him once?”
“I misspoke. I meant to say, one time I babysat him and he sent me a thank-you card. Not that I babysat him only one time.”
He nodded and turned around again to see if they were still alone. “Has he contacted you since the cartoon posting?”
“He apologized by e-mail but I chose not to respond.”
“Did you know that Cade Magnus has moved back to town?”
“Of course. I’m the mayor.”
“And you’ve known him for a long time also?”
“Yes. Maybe his whole life, too. We were in fourth and sixth grades together, right here in Fallbrook. It’s a small town.”
“Does Ted Norris seem like the kind of man who might enjoy the racist opinions of Cade Magnus and the Rogue Wolves?”
“I have no idea what Ted enjoys, except complaining that the city spends too much public money on things he doesn’t need. First it was the library. Now I’m sure it’s the lighted crosswalks, or water and blankets for fire victims.”
“Ted Norris spent some time at Pride Auto Repair two days ago.”
“I think that’s still legal.”
Knechtl glanced behind him again. “Do you think it’s interesting that in the last month, Ted Norris has publicly ridiculed you as mayor, Cade Magnus has moved back to Fallbrook, the worst arson fire in the history of North County has killed three, and these two fellows are assembling?”
“I doubt that either of them set the fire.”
“Why? Someone did.”
Evelyn felt affronted that this federal superman would accuse her citizens — though admittedly not her favorite citizens — of such a crime. But she also had the small wriggling thought that one of them could easily have done exactly that. “They just... didn’t.”
“Oh. Do you recognize these people? Press the arrow on the right.”
He handed her a phone and Evelyn took off her sunglasses and looked at the screen. The first was a police mug shot of a thick-necked young man, freckle-faced and handsome in his own way. Next a mug of a slender dark-haired woman, kind of hard-looking. Then a candid shot of another female, which, judging by the faint background, looked taken from far away.
“No. I don’t know them. I’ve never seen them.” She handed him the phone and put her sunglasses back on.
“Are you acquainted with Firooz and Simone Roshdieh?”
“They run the Domino’s Pizza downtown.”
“What about Ibrahim Sadal?”
“He manages the GasPro station. They’re all legal Middle Eastern immigrants, living here peacefully.”
“Are you sure they’re legal?”
“Well, no. I’ll leave it to you to get to the bottom of it.”
“Thank you.” He held out a card.
“You gave me one of those days ago, at City Hall.”
He slipped the card between one of the rocks and a stack of flyers. “Call me if I can help.”
“Help what?”
“Put this nice little town back together.”
“Just catch the arsonist.”
“Doubt not.”
She tended the city booth until late afternoon, a long day indeed, her butt aching from the metal folding chair, her heart troubled. She was surprised that her colleagues in government had let her spend so many hours alone here, disappointed that Brian hadn’t stayed around for long, and that neither Ethan nor Gwen had at least stopped by as she’d asked them to. Although she certainly understood that at age thirteen and eleven they had lives of their own. Selfish little lives, it often seemed.
She also didn’t like that the DHS or HSI or former ICE or JTTF or whoever these people claimed to be were all over Fallbrook, snooping rather than helping. Maybe it was just Max Knechtl’s nonradiant face and personality. Maybe she was just hungry. She walked over to the soup stand sponsored by Major Market. But the big kettles were empty, nothing but thin furrows of soup left drying on the bottoms where the ladles had last come through.
Chapter fifteen
After church Sunday morning Patrick met up with Salimony and Messina in Oceanside. Bostik hadn’t returned calls or messages and Salimony thought he might have just up and gone back to Crescent City. None of them had seen him since the beatdown on the Pendleton beach.
Bostik’s new apartment was in a complex east of downtown, away from the Pacific. It was called the Timbers and Patrick noted the pine trees. The buildings were wood-sided and peak-roofed to suggest an alpine look, with the garages downstairs and the apartments above them. The wooden stairs were solid underfoot as he climbed. Patrick knocked on the door and they waited. He rang the bell but still no one answered and he heard nothing within.