Cat dialed. On the other end of the line a voice identified an affiliation with the American Academy of Emergency Physicians.
“Could you check for me whether Charles Dupont was in attendance?”
“We had him scheduled to be here, but he never arrived.”
“Did he leave any information about where he could be contacted, a forwarding number?”
“No.”
“Thanks.” Cat hung up and flipped pages in the calendar, cross-referencing each of the approximate kill dates. Dupont’s calendar was filled with appointments for those dates, but she wondered how many had been canceled.
Cat called Orange County’s John Wayne Airport and booked two seats on Southwest Air’s flight going to Sacramento. She looked at Dr. Marsh. “You mind sleeping in those clothes tonight?”
“Not at all.” She could see a fire in his eyes.
“Then let’s go,” Cat said, taking the photo.
The flight touched down in Sacramento three hours later. During the flight, Cat and Dr. Marsh had not talked much, as if the hunt was consuming their every thought. There was no time for small talk, no time for emotions.
Cat rented a four-wheel-drive Chevy Yukon.
How, she wondered, could there be this much traffic out of Sacramento? Heading out on Interstate 5, once they cleared traffic they clipped along at eighty past low rolling hills, shimmering in a sea of bright green.
Before long they turned off the freeway, passing through a tiny town called Willits.
“You want to stop? Get something to eat?” Cat asked.
“Yes.” Dr. Marsh still seemed immersed in thought.
Cat pulled into a roadside café, bought two sandwiches and two Diet Cokes. In five minutes they were back on the road, the knee-deep green fields turning gradually colorful, orange poppies invading like waves from an ocean, growing ever thicker. Cat lowered the window, letting the sweetness from blooming blue lupine caress her senses. The nineteen miles west on State Route 20 turned into pastures. She tried to forget about Joey. It was no use.
“Take a turn here.” Dr. Marsh pointed to a small street sign signaling Bear Valley Road. Another fourteen miles on a dusty, gravelly road through what seemed an endless array of purple owl’s clover and goldfields craning for sun among orange California poppies.
“It was like this when Nancy and I were here. She loved nature like I do.”
Passing by grazing cows, Cat wondered, “Don’t the cattle kill off all the flowers?”
“No, actually it’s carefully managed. The ranchers don’t plow over the fields, and they move the cows from pasture to pasture. It’s miraculous, but the flowers come back every year, year after year.”
Cat wondered if there would be a miracle waiting for them at the end of this journey.
“The town’s about another five miles up, from the looks of it.” Cat let the fresh air and blue sky distract her for only a moment. “We’ll be there soon.”
They turned off the road into the tiny town of Willits. The population couldn’t possibly exceed five hundred, and that was pushing it. There was one main drag, one main store, and lodging at a small hole in the wall that charged fifty bucks a night. Cat only intended a one-night stay.
She leaned into the young man at the check-in desk and asked, “Who would be able to tell me if someone was from this town? If somebody was a local?”
“That would be Carmine Carols. She’s lived in this town for eighty-two years. Seen everyone come and go.”
“You know where I can find her?”
“Sure, she’d be out fishing the creeks, like she is most clear days.”
“An eighty-two-year-old woman out fishing?”
“Yeah, says the outdoors keeps her young. Don’t have no time for a rocking chair.”
“Where can I find her, exactly?”
“There’s a dirt road ‘bout a half mile outside of town, takes you up into the forest. Head about five miles in and you’ll see a red ribbon tied on a post on the roadside. Turn down that road and keep going…” The boy paused and looked outside, as if assuring himself they had four-wheel drive. “Anyways, gets pretty rough riding, you know, but you’ll come to a lake and a clearin’ with a creek. You’ll find her there.”
Cat didn’t know whether to thank him or get better directions. But there wasn’t time. “You heard the man,” she said to Dr. Marsh. He nodded, sipping on his Diet Coke.
Before long, they were deep in the underbrush. Ferns, moss-covered rocks, the smell of wet earth took over from barren dirt roads. Cat could understand how a place like this could keep someone young. It was God’s country.
Below them, the four-wheel drive creaked to the rhythm from uneven wet roads. Cat kept a constant, if not fast, speed of thirty miles an hour, even with ruts in the road.
Though wearing his seat belt, Dr. Marsh clapped his head on the roof as the SUV crashed through a particularly hairy area. “Hold up there, don’t you think it’s best if we find her with our senses still intact?”
“Come on,” she laughed, “a little off-roading never hurt anyone.”
He rubbed his head. “Speak for yourself.”
Cat was going so fast she almost careened past the red ribbon.
Dr. Marsh slid forward in his seat as she hit the brakes and backed up the vehicle. “Did I miss something, or are we going to do it in reverse now?”
“We just missed the red ribbon.”
“Where?”
“Right there.” Cat pointed to a muddied red ribbon tied to a stick, protruding from the brush.
She floored the truck, heading down a barely visible muddy side road, listening to the back tires spin out. Part of it had washed out from a creek that meandered on both sides of the road. As they went deeper into the brush, that meandering creek turned into a brook, then into a small whitewater river. Ahead, through the trees, a clearing of yellow tidy tips spread out like a sea. Dappled sunlight beat its way through the cypress. At the edge of the clearing, a small figure in a red shirt waved at them, as if she knew they were coming.
Cat parked near the woman, who was waving them off. “You’ll scare off the trout, dammit,” she yelled. Though in her eighties, this woman looked no older than sixty-five, her frame still straight, brown hair tinged with gray, long and braided in a ponytail that protruded from a cap. She looked like something out of Field & Stream magazine.
“What the hell you doing here?” the woman said.
“Sorry to scare off the fish. You Carmine?”
Hearing her name, the woman stopped cursing. “Yeah, that’s me. What brings you out here? From the looks of it, you ain’t here for the trout fishing.”
“No, ma’am, that’s right. My name’s Dr. Catherine Powers, Cat for short, and I’d just like to ask you a few questions if you’ve got the time.”
The woman lifted her arms over her shoulders. “Got all the time in the world. This country ain’t going nowhere; it’s been here just like this since I was a little girl.”
Cat took a softer tone with her. “Not to alarm you, but I work with the FBI tracking killers. This is Dr. Marsh. We just want to ask some questions about a man we’re trying to track down. He claims to be from this area, though we have reason to believe that’s not true. Someone in town told us you’d be the one to ask.”
“That’d be right.” The woman had a quickness about her, a wit that needed few words and even fewer questions. From the looks of it, Cat guessed she could size up a person pretty well from her first meeting. From all indications, she believed Cat was honest.
“What’s this man’s name?”
“Charles Dupont.”
The woman’s face wrinkled then resumed its easy glow. “Never heard of him.”
“Ever heard of a family Dupont?”
“Nope, no Duponts here.”
Just as Cat suspected, but she had to be sure.
“Let me show you a photograph. Maybe when he was here, he went by another name.” Reaching into her jeans p
ocket, she pulled out the Hoag personnel photograph of Charles Dupont and handed it to the woman.
She scowled at the photo for a full minute then handed it back. “Never seen him before in my life.”
“You sure, it’s real important.”
“How so?”
“This man may have kidnapped my son, killed his daughter.” Cat looked at Dr. Marsh and waited for the woman’s reaction.
“Let me see the picture one more time.” Carmine took it, scrutinized it harder this time. After a full five minutes, she gave it back to Cat, a sorrowful look in her eyes. “Never seen him, hon.”
“Don’t you see?” Cat talked quickly, her excitement obvious. “There’s only one conclusion. Jesus, I knew it when I laid my eyes on him. Charles Dupont doesn’t exist. Eric and Carl are the same person.”
“How can you be so sure, just because the woman doesn’t recognize him?” He wanted this just as badly, but they had to be rational, sure of what they were doing.
“Charles Dupont came on the scene physically just when Eric was released. I’ve had McGregor check on the med school references, the hospital he interned at. No one there remembers him. No one knows a Charles Dupont.”
“Then how come Hoag didn’t check him out?”
“Come on, Eric could have paid someone off to lie for him, say he went to med school. Transcripts, diplomas can be faked, especially with the kind of connections Eric had in jail and later in hospital.”
“So his entire past is a hoax?”
“I’d bet on it.” Cat thought out loud. “Matter of fact, I’ll prove it to you.” She pulled out her cell phone, checked for contact numbers, and dialed Dr. Stall in Illinois.
“Dr. Stall, this is Catherine Powers in California.” She smiled briefly. “Yes, I’m all right. No, we haven’t found anything yet. I need to ask you a favor. When Eric was incarcerated, did he ever use a pet name, a nickname? Did the others have a name for him?”
Dr. Stall thought briefly. “Yes, they did. Eric liked to call himself Charles. Thought it sounded more dignified. The others here just laughed at it”
“Thanks, Dr. Stall. Can you repeat what you just told me?” Cat handed her phone to Dr. Marsh, watching his incredulous expression as he hung up.
FORTY
Don’t wait for the Last Judgment. It happens every day.
—Albert Camus, The Fall
Cat heard the flaps moan down. Newport Beach’s lights once again gazed up at her beneath the plane’s black wing. Seven hours after their journey had begun, it was over. She heard the landing gear lock with a rumble, then a thud. Cat and Dr. Marsh were back in “the OC.” She leaned forward, rubbing the tension out of her muscles, wishing the tightness out of her chest.
Coming back.
She’d taken a risk, losing time on this journey. But by losing time, she had gained power. It was as if every cell in her body was focused now on finding her boy. She had the power to bring her son home. Alive.
From the terminal, Cat called ahead to Hoag, asking them to recite the last address they had for Dr. Charles Dupont. They gave her an address in Laguna Beach, just off the Pacific Coast Highway. She thought about Joey being there, hands bound, gagged, the madman playing mind games with him, waiting for her. She put the images out of her mind.
Cat dropped Dr. Marsh off at his car. The parking lot was half empty, night working its way over the Back Bay. “You don’t have to do this alone, Cat. We can bring in the police.”
“We can’t bring in anyone else. He wants me, not the damned police.”
“You can’t handle this by yourself. You’re in no frame of mind—”
She cut him off. “It’s not your son out there.”
It took less than fifty minutes for Charles Dupont to drive through the light evening traffic to Newport Beach. The black Cadillac SUV pulled through the outpatient pavilion parking area and came to a stop as he waited for Catherine. She wasn’t in the hospital—somehow he knew that—but she’d be coming for him. He’d baited her well.
He parked across from the pavilion in an open lot next to the parking structure, listening to sweet violins. Above, the clear sky gave way to a faint image of the moon. He watched each car going by, looking for the auburn hair, the outline of her face.
Only a few lights on in the hospital.
A small rented Ford went by and he knew her in an instant. She passed by, halfway across the lot, but there was something wrong. Dupont’s forehead creased.
There was someone with her.
There wasn’t supposed to be anyone with her.
Dupont could see the outline of Marsh’s face as the Ford drove around past admissions. He heard voices; one of them was Marsh’s, he was sure of it. He wasn’t supposed to be here, he wasn’t supposed to be with her.
Dupont froze as the Ford’s headlights reflected in his direction as it pulled around to the physician’s parking lot. Marsh opened the passenger door, got out, and stood there. Dupont could hear a loud exchange. They were angry with each other; he was angry with her for bringing Marsh here.
He was angry with her for going back to find him.
He knew that she knew who he was.
She knew about Eric.
Dupont moved fast, the Cadi’s tires soft on the blacktop pavement. Got to move quickly now, but quietly. He put his eyes up at the rearview mirror and scanned the area behind him. No movement behind him. Good. No car lights. No one was following. She had not seen him.
He drove the Cadi down to the bottom of the hill onto Newport Boulevard and pulled over. There was no place to hide. His movement illuminated by a streetlight, he brought his face down to the steering wheel and let himself feel the full rush of his emotions. He rolled down the car’s window, taking in gulps of the sea air, glancing back at the rearview mirror, ready for flight or fight. Nothing moved behind him but traffic. The Ford did not follow. All right. He sat up in the seat, leaned across it, and put a full clip in the automatic.
He wished the boy was still trapped in the back, but he’d left him at La Blanca. The SUV sat at the curbside.
He had to think this out.
Catherine wasn’t coming to him alone. If she brought others, he’d have to plan more carefully. He had not calculated for the possibility of others—he wanted only her.
Talking to Marsh, she must have figured it out. She’d know by now who he was. Carl had said as much, not to underestimate her. Carl had said a lot about her.
She knew about Eric. She knew the who, but she didn’t know the where. On the other hand, a match of Eric’s personnel file would also yield an address. She’d already be heading to La Blanca. She wasn’t stupid enough to come alone, or was she?
We play this your way.
And what was she doing with Marsh here, now? Dupont thought long and hard. Access, yes that’s it. Access to the personnel records, to his office. By now she’d figured out he wasn’t at the conference, had confirmed the appointments on the dates Eric had killed were all falsified. The appointments had been made, but none kept. He’d been absent those days. Doing Eric’s work…work he loved.
He laid the automatic on the dashboard, covering it with a towel. All right then, Catherine, we play this out your way. Dupont put his hands on the volume button of the radio and turned it up. Violins filled in the questions in his mind.
Slowly he drove away from the curbside, heading toward the ocean, to La Blanca.
“For Christ’s sake, Cat, what makes you think you can manage this alone?” McGregor was furious with her.
“Joey,” she snapped back into the cell phone.
“And if you go in alone, what makes you think you’ll come out of this alive?”
“He wants me. He’ll trade Joey if it’s just me. If there’s police, the best I can hope for is another damned body bag.”
“Think about this. He’s been planning this for a long time. You really think you’re going to catch him by surprise or talk some sense into him.”
“I don
’t know what I think, but what choice do I have?”
“You can choose to let us help, Cat. That is the choice you can make.” McGregor could tell he wasn’t getting through.
“What if it’s the wrong one?”
“It’s not.”
“What if he runs?”
“We won’t give him the chance. Give me what I want, Cat.”
“No.”
“I admire what you did today. Putting the pieces together. But I can’t help you if you won’t let me. And you know he’ll kill you.”
“Shut up.”
“He’ll kill you, is that what you want?”
“That’s better than Joey being murdered.” She almost couldn’t say it.
“You can’t save him by yourself.”
“Then I’m going to damned well die trying.” She hit the disconnect button on the cell phone, listened to it ring back twice and go to voice mail, and turned it off.
FORTY-ONE
The man who masters himself is delivered
from the force that binds all creatures.
—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Chlorophyll faint in Cat’s nose. Darkness. Something moving in the shadows. She turns her head to the movement, squinting, her Glock drawn.
“I am pleased that you have come, Catherine.” Dupont’s calm voice.
She moves toward the sound. “Uh-huh.”
Something small down below Dupont. A groan.
“Joey?”
“He’s here. Breathe deeply child.”
La Blanca is totally dark.
A minute passes before she speaks. “You’ve hurt him?”
“No, he’s just under sedation.” In the moonlight, she makes out the silhouette of Dupont lifting Joey, one hand under his arm. “There now, stand up. Try to stand up. Let your mother see you”
It is all Catherine can do not to rush to Joey, embrace her child.
The Burning Man Page 24