Jessica and I had never been friends—if anything we’d been using each other—but thinking about her thirteen years later, I wished it had been different. I wished that I’d been the kind of person who could have been friends with Jessica, instead of the shallow, immature jerk I was back then.
I’d only seen her once more after the police station. She’d turned eighteen the next day and left town. What had her brother said during the interview? She’d gone to be with the environmentalists where they were headquartered down in Venice?
I had a sudden idea and stood up. “Have you lived here for very long?”
“Twenty years.” The support officer smiled. “I came on vacation and never left.”
“Do you remember back in the late nineties when that group came into the area protesting development?”
She walked back to a small table with a coffeemaker and poured a cup. “Sure. They raised a fuss because Mr. McClellan wanted to subdivide his land and build it up. Those environmental folks said how the lizards would go extinct or something.” She paused from adding creamer. “And wouldn’t you know, now we’re overrun with those ugly little things with the red stripes. Can’t shake your hair out without hitting one of them.”
“Is there anyone who might still be mad about it?” I eagerly leaned against the counter. “I remember tempers running pretty high at the time. Could someone have held a grudge all these years?”
She returned and set the coffee on the end of the counter, but didn’t drink it. “I don’t know. All that land on the other side of the mountain belonged to the McClellans and they fought hard to build on it, but the whole mess dragged on with environmental studies and all kinds of bureaucratic stuff. Finally, they ended up selling everything for a nature preserve.”
“What happened to the preserve?”
“It’s still there. If you go up Mt. Terrill and over to the other side, you’ll see the fence soon enough.” She frowned. “Of course the preserve runs all the way down into the valley and a lot of it’s been burned up in the fire.”
“Do any of the McClellans still live around here?”
She shrugged. “Old Mr. McClellan built his dream house over there and called it Bonny Hazel after the hazelnut trees, but it had to be sold with the rest of the land. Now there are students living there studying the nature preserve, or something.”
The sergeant walked in. He wore a wrinkled Elizabeth Police Department uniform. His shirt had come untucked on the side. He looked tired. “I can’t comment about the evacuation, even if you already know about it.” The support officer handed him the coffee as he walked around the counter. “So if that’s why you’re really here, do me a favor and don’t waste my time.”
He stopped a few feet from me and took a long drink of the coffee.
I waited for him to lower the cup, then said, “Jessica Egan couldn’t have died the way you’re saying.”
“Why?” He raised the cup and inhaled the smell before taking another drink.
“I was there when they towed her boat in—the one she supposedly drove all by herself out to Road’s End.” I held up my tape. “I looked at the video and the motor is an old two-stroke. You need some serious strength to pull a cord on one of those.”
“Sure you do,” he said. “But I’ve seen plenty of women do it.”
The support officer, leaning on the counter, raised her hand. “You’re looking at one right here. It’s a pain, but I used to get it done.”
“You don’t have a bad right shoulder.” I looked at the sergeant. “Jessica Egan blew hers out when she was a teenager.”
No one spoke for a moment. The scanners and the TV filled the silence.
Finally the sergeant nodded. “I’ll make sure that gets added to the report.” He raised the cup and swallowed the last of the coffee. “Do you have a business card I can take in case someone needs to follow up?”
“You don’t understand.” My voice rose. “You have a woman dead under mysterious circumstances.”
My tone didn’t ruffle him. “When the autopsy results come in, we’ll get together with the Sheriff’s Department and take another look at the case. Your information will be carefully considered.”
“But the autopsy could take weeks and might not even show anything conclusive. In the meantime, evidence could be lost or the killer could simply pick up and leave town.”
“Killer?” He glanced at the support officer. “Isn’t that a little melodramatic?”
“Jessica Egan was one of the protesters thirteen years ago when the McClellans tried to develop their land. Maybe someone is still angry about what happened and decided to hurt her.”
His mouth contorted as he tried to suppress a laugh. At least he managed to keep his tone neutral. “I promise, we’ll carefully consider all the possibilities when we get the autopsy results back.” He stepped back in preparation to leave. “Thank you for bringing us your information. I’ll definitely add it to the report.” He turned to go.
“Look, I get it.” I stepped toward him. “You’re exhausted. You’re short manpower and resources. Believe me, I have been there, but you aren’t even doing basic police work.”
He stopped. “Excuse me?” His professional tone broke. “We diverted resources from a deadly natural disaster to look for the body. Do you know the pressure we’re under right now? And we stopped everything to look for her.”
The support officer bristled. “You have no business saying something like that. We even got a helicopter to fly over the lake looking for her. That was time it could have been making water drops on the fire.”
The sergeant stepped toward me. “Most people wouldn’t even have gone after the body. Do you know how hard we had to hustle to get her to the coroner before the evacuation tied up the roads?”
“You had good intentions,” I said. “But maybe if you hadn’t gone so fast, you’d have realized you were making a mistake. Have you even done a single piece of forensic work? The geezer you had out with the divers didn’t even check Road’s End.”
“This conversation is over.” He turned and started to walk away.
I followed him. “At least tell me who she was staying with?”
He stopped again. “What?”
“Who’s this friend who conveniently provided Jessica Egan with alcohol and a boat—which she couldn’t start on her own, by the way—and then reported her missing?”
A look of recognition flashed across the support officer’s face and she pulled back from the counter. “So that’s what you’re after. You’re doing some kind of smear story.”
“What do you mean, what I’m after? I’m after this person’s name because they might be involved in a woman’s death.”
The sergeant walked back to me. “We will follow up on the information you provided at the first opportunity, but if I find out you’ve been harassing witnesses, I will arrest you.” He stepped forward until we were almost toe-to-toe. “Now get out.”
SIX
Thursday, 9:50 p.m.
I returned to the van. I took deep breaths to try to slow my racing heart. A soreness had begun to creep into my chest from the smoke. I tried drinking some water, but it didn’t help. Had I really just been thrown out of the police station? Even I knew that was bad.
I took out my phone, but instead of calling the assignment desk, I dialed Rod’s personal cell. He answered almost immediately.
“It’s Lilly,” I said.
“Is your video on the way?”
I managed not to say the swear words in my head. I’d completely forgotten. “Yes,” I lied while starting the truck.
“Why don’t you give me a description of the car bringing it down? I’ll text Teddy and Freddy so they can be on the lookout.”
“I’ll call them directly, eliminate the middleman.” I put the phone on speaker and started back to Elizabeth.
There was silence for a moment, then Rod said, “Just a minute.” I heard him get up from a chair and walk a short distance. Aft
er a brief pause, a sliding glass door swooshed closed. “Okay, I’m alone in an edit bay. Nobody can hear us. Why are you lying?”
“Is it that obvious?” “Yes. What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His voice was warm, even over the phone.
“I’ve been thinking things over.” I hesitated. “I need your help up here.”
“Okay.”
“I know the roads are going to close any second, but can you try and make it?”
“Sure.”
“You’re already at the station and have a better chance of succeeding than a reporter Callum calls at home.” I paused. “Wait, did you just agree?”
“Of course. I’ll throw a few things together and be on my way.”
“Oh.”
“Isn’t that what you want?”
“I’m just surprised. I know how much you hate reporting.”
“A change will be nice. Sometimes I miss reporting.” He paused. “And you said you need me. I don’t think that’s ever happened before.”
“Of course I need you.”
“You’ve never said it out loud. Is the fire that bad?”
“No. It’s something else. I’ll explain when you get here.”
We hung up quickly so he could get going. I didn’t waste time worrying about Rod’s new enthusiasm for reporting or my being blindsided by it. I had to find someone to drive my video down the canyon. It proved remarkably easy. At the gas station a line of cars stretched into the street. I promised a family of four inside a Subaru Outback that they’d be interviewed upon delivery of the tape, and they eagerly agreed.
I got back in the van and dialed Freddy’s cell phone.
“Dude,” he said for a greeting. “So how bad is it up there? Has it turned all Lord of the Flies yet?”
“When did you read that?”
“High school, dude. So has anybody, like, eaten anybody yet?”
“There’s no cannibalism in Lord of the Flies.”
“For real?” I heard a soda can pop open. “I totally must be thinking of Lord of the Rings.”
“There’s no cannibalism in Lord of the Rings and none up here. People are evacuating. It’s not a zombie movie.”
“Wait till the fire gets there.” In the background a plastic bag crinkled open and I guessed Freddy was putting Fritos in his Coke. He’d stopped doing it in the newsroom because it grossed so many people out. “I bet society, like, crumbles and you have to go all solitary loner.”
I laughed, despite myself. “Are you and Teddy set up at the canyon entrance to go live for the eleven?”
I heard him take a drink and then chew. “We’re good to go. Don’t sweat it, chief.”
I gave him a description of the Subaru bringing my tape down the canyon and said good-bye.
I bought a Mountain Dew from a vending machine at the gas station. It was the only thing that didn’t have a massive line. I drank it in the truck while thinking about how to make the police launch an immediate investigation. Rod’s combination of charm and intelligence might work where my forward assault had failed, but there was no guarantee he’d make it before the road closed.
I reached over and flipped the windshield wipers on. The cleaning fluid cleared away the latest layer of soot and ash. Of course, the glass outside the wiper’s path was almost opaque, making the clear part look like a pair of eyes. I wasn’t alone. Almost every other vehicle now had these same windshield-wiper eyes.
I could call Callum and ask for his help, but the minute I told him I knew the dead woman, I’d be yanked from the story. I could always try lying by omission, but Callum was good at reading me. Whom else might the police listen to? That’s when I remembered Jessica’s brother, Brad. Not only was he the next of kin, but he could confirm Jessica’s bad shoulder.
I drove back to Incident Command Headquarters and parked in the same place as before. Slim’s truck was still over at the tent. He and the truck would need to be there to carry the briefing live at midnight.
I returned to the multipurpose room where Bell had taken me earlier. A new group of men and women were eating and relaxing. I didn’t see Brad Egan among them, but after a moment I spotted Father Tom. He was sitting with three recently showered men drinking coffee. Their conversation stopped when I approached.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” I said. “Have you seen Brad Egan?”
Father Tom shook his head. “He’s not here.”
“Do you know where I can find him? It’s urgent.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. He’s already gone back to the fire line.”
“What?” My voice carried across the room and I saw several faces turn to look. I tried to calm down. “How did he manage that?”
“Firefighter Bell got him a vehicle. He left ten minutes ago.” Father Tom sighed. “He said getting back to work was the best thing, but I’m not so sure.”
I wasted several more minutes trying to convince them I needed to contact Egan on the fire line. They all insisted there was no way for a civilian to do it. I tried explaining that it was an emergency, but they remained unmoved. Finally I asked when Egan would return to headquarters.
“Not that long,” one of them said. “His crew has three days left on a fourteen-day rotation.”
I mumbled thank you and left. I stepped out into the courtyard and stopped. In the background of my thoughts, I heard trucks coming and going. Men and women went by. Several weak, yellow-tinted bulbs hung outside the cafeteria. This area seemed dark compared to the blinding lights in the nearby fields and parking lots. I wondered what the students would think if they could have seen what had happened to their campus.
I thought about finding Jessica’s father’s house and searching it. I don’t know if the insanity of the fire created a false sense of reality, but the idea of breaking and entering didn’t bother me. What did give me pause was how unlikely I was to find anything. Jessica’s father had already left by the time she got here. She probably hadn’t even been inside. Also, it wasn’t the house she grew up in, and from what her brother had said she’d only been to visit once before.
Then it hit me. It wasn’t so much an idea as a realization. I was standing in a place where Jessica had come every day for most of her young life.
I stopped a man walking by. “Pardon me. Have you seen a library around here?”
“The school library is locked up. Only room on campus.” He wore a blue vest with National Weather Service patches. “You want to read? I’ve got some paperbacks. I really should get an e-reader for these assignments, but I can’t quite pull the trigger.”
“I’m looking for old school yearbooks.”
He looked puzzled, but gestured down the courtyard. “Why don’t you go to the yearbook office?”
“Because I didn’t even know such a thing existed.”
He pointed again. “It’s down a little bit. Display Processing took it over.”
I thanked him and walked until I reached a room with a DISPLAY PROCESSING sign taped to the door. Unlike the signs on other doors, which had been scribbled in marker, this one had been done on a computer and included a faded image of an old world map behind the words.
I walked in. This room wasn’t a classroom. It was full of long, flat tables covered in giant maps. They were similar to the ones on the media trailer’s walls and appeared to be drying after coming off a giant, industrial printer.
A woman looked up from an extremely large computer monitor. She had four different pencils stuck behind her ears, and a pen on a cord around her neck.
“I’m looking for yearbooks,” I said.
She pointed to a bookcase in the rear of the room. A bulletin board with proof pages from a yearbook had been taken down from the wall and leaned against it.
I quickly passed her and stopped at the bookcase.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “Are you with the media?”
The yearbooks were a hodgepodge of different years. They were probably kept as examples for the new student editors
each year and not as an archive. “I’m with KJAY in Bakersfield.”
A man walked in wearing a Mojave Fire Department uniform. “We’re getting intel from one of the hand crews that the crown is shifting south.”
“I’ve got that from the latest infrared.” She frowned as she used her mouse to pull something up on the computer. “I told you I’m on top of it.”
“I’m sorry to keep bugging you, but the governor’s staff has called twice. They’re freaking out about—”
She jerked up from the computer and pointed at me. “This lady is from a TV station.”
Whatever he’d been about to say, I doubted they would tell me. “Don’t worry, I’m leaving.” I grabbed three of the oldest yearbooks and left.
I returned to the multipurpose room and sat down at an empty table. I’d looked through one yearbook, without learning anything, when an orange shirt caught my attention. I whipped around to look at the retreating figure. The back of her shirt said SEARCH AND RESCUE. I slid off the bench and followed as she picked up a white box lunch.
I caught up with her at the coffee urn. “I’m sorry to interrupt.” I waited for her to turn and look at me. “I’m from KJAY. My name is Lilly Hawkins. Can I ask you some questions about the body pulled from the lake today?”
She set down a bottle of nondairy creamer and turned excited eyes to the logo on my shirt. “I don’t know very much about the drowning, but I could talk about how Search and Rescue is helping with the evacuation.”
I opened my mouth to say no, but she continued, “We’re helping people evacuate large animals on the other side of the mountain, and we’re doing first aid down at the spike camps and—”
“That’s great,” I said as though I could not care less. “But I need to know about the drowning. The dead woman’s name was Jessica Egan. Do you know who reported her missing?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry.”
“When the police requested a diver, did they say anything at all about who owned the boat out at Road’s End?”
“I wasn’t involved. You could try asking Arnaldo Bedolla. He’s the one who did the actual dive.” She paused. “Or Pete Barton, but he’s just a teenager. His dad is usually the one who dives with Arnaldo, but he was too busy trying to evacuate their cattle and horses. The family’s place is on the other side of the mountain and the fire is real close now.”
Hot, Shot, and Bothered Page 7