Angel put a hand on her sister’s head. “Bran, wake up, they didn’t happen to be there.” She looked up at Paul. “You followed us.”
“Exactly what happened?” Nina asked.
“Brandy got a phone call while we were going home from a guy that said he was a friend of Bruce’s, that he had asked this guy to call and let Brandy know he would meet her at Kiva Beach at a certain time.”
“You weren’t suspicious?” Nina asked.
“Of Bruce? He didn’t have his cell phone. That’s unusual, but not impossible. And I always thought he might follow Bran up here.”
“Why the beach?”
“He said he wanted a quiet spot for them to talk. It’s a public place, you know,” Angel said. “I wasn’t about to let her go alone, even though she told me not to come.”
“We walked along the beach,” Brandy said, “then we heard someone calling us from the trees. It was windy-not like you could identify a voice. Anyway, even if it hadn’t been Bruce’s voice, when someone says, ‘Over here,’ you go over there.”
Paul coughed and shook his head in the direction of the floor.
“And he leaped out at us like-like a rabid dog,” Brandy finished, “a wild creature. Angel tried to jump him, so he knocked her down right away, the entire time just jabbering. I screamed and tried to fight him. He grabbed me from behind but before he could do anything else, Wish and Paul ran up and pulled him off me. I-I-”
“She was screaming her head off,” Angel said. “So was I. Paul wanted to know were we okay, but it took us a minute to realize there was no blood anywhere on us. Not even a nick. We were so lucky.”
“That wasn’t luck,” Brandy said. “Wish and Paul being there wasn’t luck at all.”
“He got away,” Paul said, and a world of disappointment underlaid his words.
“You recognized him?”
Paul nodded. “Same as the guy in the paper, Cody Stinson.”
Wish said matter-of-factly, “It was definitely a Harley chopper. Heard it first, and glimpsed him taking off.”
“I tried to get them to see a doctor but they refused. We have agreed they’ll spend the night at the women’s shelter. They wanted to come here first,” Paul said.
“Yes,” said Angel, turning her attention back to Nina, “because any way you look at it, Cody would never have come after us if you hadn’t lost that file.”
“It sounds mean, but yes,” Brandy said, “a man attacked us today, and it’s all your fault.”
“He’s out there, and you know what?” Angel asked. “He wants my sister dead.”
“So our question is-”
“What are you going to do about it?”
13
T HEY DON’T HANG PEOPLE in Old Hangtown anymore. They don’t even call it that anymore; it has mutated into the innocuous foothill resort town of Placerville where they pop the accused into the sleek new El Dorado County Jail, all very civilized.
On Wednesday afternoon, Paul exited and drove uphill past swatches of red dirt to Forni Road and parked in the second parking lot. He followed a long concrete walkway inside to the blue-and-white-painted glass-walled entry of a brick building that resembled a college campus. Only a closer view to the left of the main building, behind barbed-wire-topped fencing, exposed slitted windows that revealed its true purpose.
He walked into a blue-and-white room on a color-coordinated white vinyl tile floor speckled with blue toward the reception area behind glass at the right, wondering what considerations determined decor for a place that housed criminals. Were these two colors thought to be neutral? Upbeat? Tranquilizing? He spoke into a metal disk-shaped speaker in the center of the glass, signed paperwork, and slipped it through the slot below. The clerk directed him first to a set of blue-and-chrome chairs permanently attached in rows balanced on one bent leg apiece where he waited for a few minutes. Then the clerk moved a hand toward him, allowing him through the door and into the windowless bowels of the building. A green stripe led the way.
A young man wearing a blue shirt that strained to cover a muscular build entered the visitors’ room and sat down across from Paul. Paul introduced himself as an investigator for attorney Nina Reilly.
“She’s not my lawyer,” Mario said. “What are you doing here?” A shave and a haircut and a few days in jail had eliminated the unkempt drunk the sisters had described. This tall, strong ex-con had pale green eyes, a mouth with only a hint of meanness in its arc, and an intelligent expression. Paul classified him as salvageable, although he had a long record, a lousy education, and a public defender who didn’t return Paul’s phone calls.
“I need some information.”
“I can’t talk to you about my case.”
“No, you shouldn’t. I’m just looking for information about a friend of yours, Cody Stinson.”
Mario sat back and laughed from one side of his mouth. “I thought you said a friend.”
“I’m trying to find him.”
“So?”
“So I’d like your help with that.”
“So what?”
“Don’t buck me, man. You talk to your lawyer lately?”
“She’s coming in today.”
“She’s bringing good news. A witness in your case saw Cody come back to the campground the night you allegedly strangled your girlfriend. The D.A. took a statement that may just be your ticket out of here.”
“Is this a joke or a trick? Because I don’t take kindly to being jacked around.”
“It’s all true.”
“Let me see your license again.” He examined it, then said, “You got any cigarettes?”
“Sorry.”
“Lay ten bucks on the guard and I don’t even care if you are jackin’ me.”
“I always pay my way,” Paul said.
“I’m getting out?”
“I don’t know what the next steps are. But Cody’s looking like the killer.”
Mario leaned in toward Paul. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. Because I never touched her. I’ve been saying it all along. How’d he do it?”
“Came back while you were sleeping it off that night.”
“And didn’t kill me?”
“Here you are.”
Mario looked down. “I can’t believe I was laying right there. I was royally passed out. Poor Phoebe. I ain’t never drinkin’ again. Now let’s think. You all want Cody. I know old Cody, I sure do.”
“Cody’s made himself unavailable to the police. They can’t question him; they can’t arrest him if they can’t find him. They’ll be along, probably today with your lawyer.”
“What’s your interest?”
“I can’t get into that. Going back to our original question, do you have any idea where he might go?”
Mario wiped a bead of perspiration off his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. “I think I can help you there. Thing is, he’s waiting on some big money, supposed to come in any minute. He won’t leave Tahoe without that.”
“Where would he wait?”
While Paul was down in Placerville visiting with Mario Lopez, Nina scooted out of an appointment to stop in and see how Brandy and Angel were making out at the shelter.
A roomy old vacation house within walking distance of Regan Beach, the structure for the women’s shelter had been donated by an eccentric widow, Anabel Wright, a dozen years before. In those years it had provided a refuge for women and children with all sorts of problems.
At first it had been lacking in almost every modern amenity, but the earnest efforts of Andrea and friends over the past two years had wrought big changes. A new laundry area attached to the kitchen had been built with two washers and dryers. New donated countertops and cabinets had been installed by skilled women who had volunteered labor on the project. A forest-green trim on the windows spiffed up the wood exterior without making any statements except that this was a well-kept property. Inside, gracious Arts and Crafts-style wooden furniture, more donations from wealthy patrons and grateful former clients, gave the living room the character of a charming mountain lodge, and due to the goodness of a group of retirees, every bedroom now sported a homemade quilt.