I figured out how Parnell and Faulks were excluded from the list. Tyler had said they’d checked on Yukiko, and saw from her telephone log that she had been in communication with the other victims shortly before their deaths — except in Lansdale’s case where she was too late. She had told me that she had tried to warn them of her suspicions and had telephoned the other members of Peterson’s lynch party. Well, there’d been no need to phone Parnell or Faulks when both men were already aware that they were in danger. Ergo, the cops didn’t know about them yet.
The killer did know about them, though, so it was imperative we keep them safely tucked out the way. My mind went back to that sand-coloured car. How the hell had Chaney learned about the old men, and sent his guys to Parnell’s place after us? The answer was obvious enough: I’d been standing with the old boys at the cemetery during Andrew’s funeral when that odd incident with the man in the car occurred. If he was one of Chaney’s men then he must have noted them, and the cars they drove, and found them through their licence plate numbers. But that was crediting Chaney with connections in law enforcement and that I didn’t believe. More simply Chaney’s man could have been lying in wait and had followed Parnell or Faulks home after the ceremony was over.
Without the need for diversionary tactics, my taxi took the more direct route to Lake Chabot by the Bay Bridge, then down the MacArthur Freeway. I was still mulling everything over when it drew up outside the reception building. I gave the driver a decent tip on top of the fare, and he pulled away, possibly heading out towards Oakland International Airport to pick up a return fare to the city.
Rink was waiting for me at the front porch. He’d set himself up on a bench where he had a great view of the lake and forested hills beyond. The afternoon sun was slanting through the nearby treetops, and Rink had found himself a warm spot. I sat down next to him, crossing my heels and folding my hands at my waist. It was the first time I’d relaxed in days.
‘Are the old guys settled in OK?’
‘Yup. I ordered them room service and they’re making the most of it as we speak. How did you get on at the station?’
‘Well, as you can see I wasn’t arrested.’ I brought him up to speed about my chit-chat with the detectives. How they tried the lame attempt at threatening me into compliance, followed by their plea for help. I told him about the list. ‘They’re not far from putting everything together, Rink.’
‘Crap. Don’t mention anything about that to our old buddies in there, or to my mom. They’re frightened enough without the threat of going to prison hanging over them.’
‘They won’t hear anything from me,’ I reassured him.
Next I shared my suspicions about who was trailing us in the sand-coloured car. I saw an argument forming in Rink’s mind and anticipated him. ‘They were amateurs who had no idea how to follow us without being seen. Plus they fell for the oldest trick in the book when you pulled that stunt in the alley. Any cop worth their salt would’ve radioed in another car to cut us off and stayed put to stop us coming back that way.’
‘They did call in another patrol car. Do you remember: it tore past us at that intersection on its way downtown?’
‘Could have been a pure coincidence. A patrol car on a totally different call just happened to go past at the opportune time, and we assumed that it was after us.’ I laughed to myself. Receiving a puzzled frown, I explained. ‘Your mom warned me that I assume too much; maybe she’s right.’
‘Yeah, my mom’s a wise one, all right. Pity she wasn’t as wise when she sent me after Chaney. Would have saved us all a heap of trouble now.’
‘That’s supposing I’m right, of course, and it was Chaney’s lot that was following us.’
‘Has to be him, doesn’t it? Jesus, Hunter. We’ve fought assassins and serial killers who’ve proven less of a pain in the butt than Chaney’s turning out.’
‘He’s not worth wasting any more time on.’
‘Unless the punks he sent after us try something, I’m with you. But before we leave San Francisco, I’m putting that asshole in his place.’
I let it go. I mentioned the name that had struck me as out of place on Tyler’s list of victims.
‘Mitchell Forbeck,’ Rink repeated the name. ‘Never heard of him. But I’ll have Harve check on him, see if he can figure out how he’s connected.’
‘Have we heard from Harvey yet?’ It didn’t escape me that both Rink and I had destroyed our cellphones — pointlessly it turned out, because it was apparent now that the police hadn’t fixed a trace on Rink’s signal as we’d feared — but there was always the landline inside.
‘I’m still waiting on him getting back to me. Before you ask: yeah, I did call him and give him the number here.’
‘What about the guys?’
I was referring to our friends flying in from Florida. Rink glanced at his watch. ‘Still a few hours until they get here.’
‘So what do we do?’ More than anything I hated inactivity. The next few hours were going to be a drawn-out hell for me.
Rink plucked at the sleeve of my jacket. ‘You should take that shower you’ve been putting off for hours, otherwise the bad guy’s going to be able to sniff us out.’
Chapter 25
It was approaching evening in Arkansas. A strong breeze had kicked up, bringing with it a grey haze of drizzle that smeared the windscreen like grease. The wipers batted at it ineffectually, causing blotches that only hindered visibility. Harvey Lucas pressed buttons to drop his window and peered out across fallow pastureland, trying to locate the house he was certain lay out there somewhere. Spatters of rain flicked across his face and he grunted in annoyance. Coming all the way out here to the sticks had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now he wasn’t so sure. Still, a lead was a lead and he couldn’t turn his back on it. His friends were relying on him.
Through the gloom he could see a telephone pole. It leaned to one side, the wires taut on one side, lazy the other. At its base was a rickety wooden fence, almost overgrown by couch grass. There was no other reason for their presence out here if it wasn’t to serve a homestead. The road was unpaved, a muddy trail full of potholes and ruts, and he could make out the occasional impression of tyre tracks at its edge. He’d no way of telling how old the tracks were, but it was at least evidence that another vehicle had driven this way in the recent past. He dropped the window lower, leaning out for a better view than his blurred windscreen offered. Cursing, he ducked back inside, swiping rain from his face. The moisture made a dark stain on the cuff of his suit jacket, and he cursed all the more. He should have dressed in something less expensive for a trip out to the wilds, but he hadn’t expected to go all Daniel Boone to find the goddamn place.
His Lexus wasn’t designed for these kinds of roads. He took things real easy, negotiating the deeper ruts by way of mounting the grass verge with two wheels. This made him nervous in a way conflict did not, concern for the undercarriage of his car outdoing that for his own well-being. There was always the possibility that he would not be welcomed out here: the kind of trailer trash he sought weren’t known for their love of black men. Especially not educated, well-dressed black men who were apparently financially much better off than they were. He should have kitted himself out in some old hiking gear, and perhaps left his luxury car well out of sight. He sprayed the windscreen with wash then flicked the wipers to full, but it didn’t really help. Gripping the steering, he leaned forward, muttering under his breath.
A couple of hundred yards away treetops began to dot the horizon. He glanced out towards where the telephone lines drooped and followed their angle, noting that they converged with the tree line in front. He expected that the trees surrounded the house, planted there to offer some protection from the elements. His discovery added no urgency to his progress, because the road was growing less maintained the nearer he got to the house.