“I wish the sight of a body could still make me vomit.” He laughed. “Now I’m lucky if I even get nauseous.”
“It still makes me sick.” I returned to my equipment. “But now I know not to look.”
He laughed and stepped over the mess. “How you been, Lilly? You look even prettier than the last time I saw you.”
Some jerks won’t take any woman seriously as a shooter. It’s a physically demanding job traditionally done by men. Being small, with long, dark hair and big, green eyes, makes it that much harder for me. Lucero wasn’t one of those jerks, but he delighted in pushing people’s buttons.
“Thanks,” I said. “You look pretty too. Menopause must be agreeing with you.”
“Hey.” His arms spread in mock outrage. “Did you just take shots at my masculinity and age?”
“It was a twofer.”
“Speaking of pretty men, how’s that boyfriend of yours?” Lucero made the sounds of a rimshot and mimed the drumming motions.
I didn’t say anything.
Lucero dropped the teasing tone. “Seriously, where is he? I don’t see him on TV anymore.”
“Rod never liked reporting. He’s producing our eleven p.m. show now.”
Lucero looked at me and nodded to himself. “You know, being chief photog agrees with you. You look more grounded, more in control.” His eyes narrowed. “And you’re a little harder to read too.”
I made a rude hand gesture. “Guess what I’m thinking, right now.”
He laughed. “You have a hangnail?”
I opened the tripod and adjusted it for the slope. “If the comedy portion of the evening is over, maybe we can do some work?”
He shook his head. “Sorry. No statements tonight.”
At first I thought he was still teasing. “Very funny. Can we get this over with? I’ve got a long drive back.”
“Talk to the Sheriff’s Department’s information officer.” He looked at the deputy coroners who were in the middle of measuring the temperature of the corpse. “Hurry it up, guys. We don’t have a lot of time.”
The one with the clipboard answered, “It takes as long as it takes.”
“Hold on.” I quickly closed the distance between us. “You’re not giving me anything?”
“No comment.”
The local officer returned from the dock with a cooler and another life vest. He set them down, but didn’t say anything.
“But I drove all the way up here,” I continued. “You have to give me something.”
“I don’t like being here any more than you do. You think the RCIU handles drownings? I’m only here because everyone is busy tonight. I mean, so, so incredibly busy.”
Sometimes I have a problem understanding other people. Uncle Bud says it’s because I’m not naturally curious about them. I disagree. I’m very curious about people when they’re doing big breaking-news-type things, such as killing each other, covering up political malfeasance, or releasing toxic gas near orphanages. It’s the smaller things I have trouble with.
But to my credit I saw the local officer frown at Lucero. I was about to ask about it, but the divers returned. They wore matching dark green pants and orange Search and Rescue T-shirts.
I walked forward and met the kid. “How about that interview? I know you’re in a hurry, but I’ll try and keep it short.”
Pukey the Kid’s face lit up, but Arnaldo shook his head. “Sorry. I promised your mom and dad you’d be back first thing. You know they need help with the horses.” Arnaldo started down the dock. “Come on. We’re almost done.”
The kid gave me a sad look, but followed.
I looked from Lucero to the local officer. “At least give me something off the record.”
Lucero grinned. “Ah, the magic words.”
“Will you just tell me already?”
“It’s a straight-up accident.” He took out a notepad and consulted the pages. “A woman drowned in the lake, probably yesterday between seven and midnight. Apparently she was a dippy type who always refused to wear a life jacket. Liked to party and commune with nature.”
I grasped for some way to make the story more interesting. “Did she have kids or someone dependent on her?”
Lucero shrugged. “The Elizabeth police got the missing person’s call and found the body. It’s more their case. I’m only here to escort the body back to the morgue in Bakersfield.”
We both turned to the local officer.
He reached for his back pocket, but stopped himself at the last second. “I don’t know much either. Just what I heard around the station.”
“Lilly’s good people,” Lucero said. “I vouch for her. If she says it’s off-the-record, then it’s off-the-record.”
“Please, just tell me a little about the dead woman and how she died.” I paused. “You can smoke while we talk.”
He lit up in the time it took me to take a breath. “No one’s mentioned her having kids or a husband or anything. They’re talking at the station like the dead lady was a real wild child herself.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke. “She was staying with friends who live on the lake, got drunk, and took their boat out.”
He gestured back to the one they’d towed in. The simple utility boat had a small engine at the rear. “It’s a sad story, but hardly new. Add another number to the THINK SAFETY sign.”
I glanced at the coroners. They were placing blue bags on the corpse’s hands. “How’d you find the body so fast? Last time you had a drowner up here it took weeks for the remains to turn up.”
“We can thank the Forest Service for that.” The hand with the cigarette pointed to where the silhouette of a Chinook helicopter lowered over the black lake. Probably for the last time that night, it dipped its water bucket below the surface and then rose into the darkening sky. “One of them spotted the missing boat tied up at Road’s End earlier today when they were filling up.”
Road’ End was a rocky hill in the center of the lake. Vacationers who didn’t know any better, or stupid locals, sometimes took boats there to party. Over the years, several people had died in the deep water surrounding it.
“So basically,” I began, “she was drunk, no life vest, and fell in the water trying to climb from the boat onto the rocks in the dark.”
The local officer nodded. “That’s about it.”
The divers had returned with the rest of the equipment from the dock. They set it all down next to the cooler and life vest.
“Of course, it’s hard to know for sure without any witnesses,” the officer continued. “But as soon as the fire eases, they’ll send someone out to Road’s End to have a look around.”
Lucero frowned. “Didn’t you go over the scene?”
“Couldn’t get out of the boat.” The officer gestured to the divers. “Protocols don’t allow it while men are underwater.”
Lucero didn’t say anything, but I could see he was troubled.
The local officer took a final long drag on the cigarette and burned it down to the filter. “Truth is, Elizabeth PD is stretched about as thin as can be. Some of the boys haven’t been home in days.”
Arnaldo removed bottles of water from a cooler and then handed them around. “It’s a difficult time. Even Search and Rescue volunteers are working double shifts helping out. The strain is enormous.”
The kid paused from chugging his bottle of water. “You think this lady would have been trying to help, instead of going out to party.”
The officer tossed the remains of his cigarette away. It landed in the sludge of ash and soot washing up along the shoreline. “At the station they’re saying she grew up here and got a real bad reputation. Trashy stuff with older boys, drinking, drugs—criminal record even. Bad news.”
One of the deputy coroners stood up. “We’re just about done here.” His partner zipped up the heavier, leakproof body bag they’d placed the mesh one inside, then secured it with a tamper-proof seal.
I shot B-roll of the body being loaded into the coroner�
�s van, then a few shots of the dead woman’s boat. By the time I was done, the technicians had driven the van outside the gate. It idled by Lucero’s cruiser, waiting for him. Arnaldo and Pukey shut off the lights, then secured the gate with a padlock. They each got in their pickups and left, followed by the local officer.
Darkness had fallen. The headlights from the coroner’s van now provided the only light.
I decided to give Lucero one more try. “If you call and ask, I’m sure you can get permission to make a statement.”
“Not tonight.”
“Of course they’ll say yes for something like this. All you have to do is ask.”
“Normally, you’d be right, but tonight’s different.”
One of the deputy coroners rolled down his window. “You want to follow us or the other way around?”
“Why don’t you follow me? I can put my siren on, if we need it.”
“Come on,” I said to him. “You can do this one tiny, minuscule favor for me. I drove all the way up here. At least give me a statement.”
“Try listening to the very important thing I’m saying to you.” He paused and then emphasized each word. “I can’t call, tonight.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Do you know how much I’d like to strangle you right now?” He glanced over his shoulder at the coroner’s van, then leaned into me. “Once again, try listening. It’s good for picking up hints.”
I stared at him. What was he talking about?
“I can’t call tonight.” He repeated.
“Why not?”
“For the same reason the Elizabeth police force couldn’t send their own detective out here. Because everyone is too busy.”
“Why is everyone too busy?”
The same coroner leaned out the window. “It’s getting late. Shouldn’t we be on the road?”
Lucero raised his hand. “You’re right. I’m on my way.” Lucero walked to his own cruiser.
I followed. “Why is everyone too busy?”
Lucero smiled. “No comment.” He got in his cruiser and started the car. Before driving away, he lowered the window. “Like I said, Lilly, good to see you. I’d stay and chat, but we need to get back down the canyon before traffic gets too backed up. I got a feeling a lot more people are going to be evacuating, and you know it’s mandatory . . . that I get back to Bakersfield.”
He drove away, followed by the coroner’s van.
I ran to the live truck and opened the side doors so I’d have light. I hit the speed dial on the cell phone.
“KJAY, we’re on your side.” The voice wasn’t Callum’s.
I tossed my sticks into the rear. “Rod?”
“Lilly, are you on your way back?”
“No.” I stored the camera and shut the doors. “I think the evacuation may have been upgraded from voluntary to mandatory.”
His voice rose. “We haven’t heard anything. Are you sure?”
“I got a tip.” I climbed into the front seat and started the engine. “Plus something major is tying up all the local law enforcement. They sent an old guy who fills in on the weekends to retrieve the body.”
“I’ll call Callum at home. And probably Trent too.”
Rod was the 11:00 p.m. producer and had control over the shape and content of his show, but as assignment manager Callum was in charge of newsgathering. Walter Trent was our station’s news director, and although I didn’t think much of his news judgment, he was the head of the entire department.
“Great job getting the tip. It’ll be a huge if we can break this first.” Rod started to hang up, but suddenly came back on the line. “Lilly?”
“I’m still here. What?”
“How about the drowning? Is there a story there?”
“No. It’s nothing.”
“Okay. . . . Be careful. You must be exhausted.”
When Rod and I had become a couple, I’d instigated a strict no-public-displays-of-affection-while-on-the-job rule. Sometimes, such as now, I sensed him chafing at my restrictions.
I replied with a neutral tone. “I’m fine, but thanks.”
I returned the way I’d come, but took a detour when I saw a dirt road leading up a hill. I reached the top and got out of the truck. The elevation gave me a good view of the entire Elizabeth Valley. Trails of headlights slithered through the dark landscape. They came from all directions, snaking their way down the mountains and around the lake. They all moved unmistakably toward the only exit. The canyon road was about to get crowded.
THREE
Thursday, 7:50 p.m.
I took the Lake road back the way I’d come, but got off at the city of Elizabeth. The CHP had blocked off this exit too, but an officer moved the sawhorse for me. By the time he realized I wasn’t going to drive through, I’d gotten my camera prepped and exited the truck.
I held the camera on my shoulder with my right hand and pointed the stick mic toward the officer with my left. “Hi, I’m from KJAY, can you comment about the mandatory evacuation?”
“No, and that thing better not be recording.”
I lowered the mic and camera. “Why are you blocking access to the Lake Road?”
“I can’t comment.”
A fire truck approached and stopped. Even though the saw-horse had been removed, my truck was blocking its path.
“Move your vehicle,” the officer ordered.
“Are you reserving the Lake Road for emergency personnel? Is that how you’re avoiding traffic from a mandatory evacuation?”
“I said move your vehicle.”
I drove to the highway and shot B-roll of overpacked cars heading toward the canyon. My presence created a mini-traffic-jam as vehicles slowed to look at the live truck. Fortunately I was able to get what I needed quickly, then continued to Elizabeth.
This was the side of the lake that hadn’t gentrified. Sidewalks are rare and parking lots are made of dirt. The one-story shopping district is filled with service-oriented businesses such as the post office, an Elks Lodge, and several gas stations. Five years earlier, Fitzgerald’s Groceries—or Fitz’s as the locals called it—had departed for trendy Tilly Heights on the other shore.
I passed the mobile-home park where my uncle Bud owned a unit. The electric sign was on for the night, but the m had burned out so it read MOBILE HO ES OF ELIZABETH.
Bud is a dodgy character who owns modest properties around the county where he can avoid people looking for him. He’s actually old enough to be my grandfather and has spent most of his long life passing from one shady scheme to another. I’d heard from his girlfriend that he was currently in Elizabeth pursuing a business opportunity. The details were typically sketchy, but seemed to involve doughnuts.
I remembered a bar a few blocks ahead where locals hung out and drove in that direction. Bars are great sources of information, especially in small towns. I was familiar with this one because I’d actually stayed in Bud’s mobile home thirteen years earlier during my time at the lake. I’d been partying and raising hell until one day Bud made a surprise visit to check on how I was taking care of his place. He kicked me out on the spot. This was like Charles Manson declaring you were dangerous, but it had still taken me another five years to straighten myself out.
I saw the plain white building that housed the bar and slowed. A light outside illuminated the words POOL, SHUFFLEBOARD, COCKTAILS, BAIT. OPEN AT 5 A.M.
Several pickup trucks were in the dirt parking lot. As I entered, two old men turned from the bar where they were drinking beer.
Ten minutes later, I was back in the truck. I hit speed dial for the station. A desk assistant answered, then immediately transferred me to the control room. Rod was in the middle of a meeting with the director and 11:00 p.m. anchors, as well as Callum and Trent, who’d just arrived from home. They put me on speakerphone.
“Lilly, it’s Rod. Can you hear me?”
“I confirmed the mandatory evacuation.” I cradled the phone between my shoulder and ear while storing
my camera. “Residents started getting automated calls around six this evening. The calls have been staggered by area, but now word’s getting out. I think there’s going to be a huge mess, with everyone trying to evacuate all at once.”
I heard muffled exclamations in the background and then Rod’s clear voice. “There may be a perfect-storm-type situation in the works. It’s possible the wind, humidity, temperature, and terrain are all coming together to feed the fire.”
I finished storing my gear, then got in the driver’s seat. “How soon? Do I need to evacuate?”
“A blowup is only a possibility.” I recognized Callum’s voice. “But you don’t want to be anywhere near Mt. Terrill tomorrow evening.”
I looked out the window. A grimy layer of soot covered the glass, but I could still see the lights from houses on the opposite shore. “Are you seriously talking about the fire burning up from the Terrill Valley, over the ridge, and down into Tilly Heights?”
“Yes, but that’s not all,” Callum said. “The ridge is a hub. There are all kinds of radio and broadcast towers at the top of the mountain. Bakersfield police and emergency lines go through it, cell phones. If those towers get knocked out, it’s going to be a giant crudtastic disaster.”
I took a deep breath. A part of me wanted to indulge in a comfy bit of denial. They must be exaggerating. That couldn’t really happen.
The news junkie in me immediately accepted the truth and got excited. This is a once-in-a-lifetime story. Cool!
After a brief debate, we decided to send the evening shooters to the base of the canyon to set up a live remote using Granny Pants, our second and much older live truck. After the eleven-o’clock show, they could travel up to Lake Elizabeth with the reporter who was scheduled to start her shift at midnight. Meanwhile, I’d shoot everything I could, then drive my video back to Bakersfield in time for the eleven.
The only reason there was even a discussion was that the Wonder Twins were the evening shooters that night.
“Teddy and Freddy can handle it,” I promised. “They won’t let us down on a story this big.”
Teddy and Freddy had sarcastically been nicknamed the Wonder Twins because they dressed in the same surfer-dude attire and wore their hair in the same bleached-blond curls. Fortunately, they’d managed to shed most of their sloppy work habits since I’d allowed them to pick up extra work in the sports department. Whenever a spare set of hands were needed to shoot local games, I sent Teddy and Freddy, and in return they had to maintain a certain level of competency at all times.
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