Hot, Shot, and Bothered

by Nora McFarland

  I doubted Pukey the Kid and his father knew much. “How do I find Arnaldo Bedolla?”

  She returned to fixing her coffee. Her enthusiasm was waning the more she realized I wasn’t going to interview her. “After the dive he went home to make sure his wife and kids evacuated. Once they’re safely out, he’s taking an overnight shift for Search and Rescue.”

  “Can I leave a message for him at Search and Rescue headquarters?”

  She shook her head. “Nobody’s there. We’re all using this as our base.” The woman pulled out her cell phone. “But I can give you his personal number. He’s selling real estate now so he checks his voice mail a lot.”

  I thanked her and dialed the number. I left a message explaining that we’d met at the body retrieval and asked him to call me.

  I decided to take the yearbooks back to the truck. On my way, the cell phone rang. I saw KJAY on the caller ID and answered immediately. “Hi, Callum.”

  “Freddy just called in. He says CHP officially closed the road to eastbound traffic. You’re cut off.”

  I stopped. I was standing in front of the field of Porta Potties. The rough grumble of generators powering the portable lights ran in the background. “Does he know if Rod made it in time?”

  “He passed them five minutes ago.”

  I exhaled. My relief frightened me. Yes, it was good Rod was coming—he’d be a big help—but what if he hadn’t made it in time or had even said no? I needed to be able to take care of myself.

  “My guess, he’ll reach you in half an hour or so.” After a pause Callum continued, “We may have worked out a way to go live. Rod’s bringing a laptop and the digital camera with him. The engineers are working on streaming the feed directly into the control room.”

  Trent, our news director, had bought the digital camera as an experiment. Eventually, he hoped to make the switch to digital shooting and editing. It would be portable, easier to use, and substantially cheaper than the ancient system we now had.

  What Trent hadn’t said, but Rod had warned me about, is that small digital cameras are more convenient for one-man bands— reporters who shoot and edit their own material. If Trent put that kind of system in place, he could save a fortune on payroll by eliminating most of the shooter and editor positions.

  Needless to say, I hated Trent’s puny little camera.

  “Wireless service is spotty up here,” I cautioned. “Even if we can get a wi-fi signal or a cellular network, it’s going to cut in and out.”

  “That’s why you need to find a hard connection to a high-speed modem.”

  “Oh, is that all?”

  A man emerged from one of the Porta Potties. The perfumed chemical smell escaped out the open door and mixed with the fire stink.

  I started walking again.

  “No, that’s not all. Try to rustle up someone for Rod to interview live.”

  I pulled the phone away from my ear to glance at the screen. It said 10:37. “Why don’t I put out the wildfire instead? That would probably be easier.”

  “Do your best,” Callum said. “Give it a try.”

  “And by try, I’m assuming you mean, do it right and on time or risk being fired.”

  “Yes, the usual.”

  A propane tanker rumbled up behind me. I got off the narrow road and stepped into a tanbark playground.

  “Lilly, are you there?” Callum said.

  “Yes, I’m here.” The tanker passed and I continued walking.

  “There’s something else we need to talk about. The Elizabeth police chief called Trent to complain about you.”

  I stopped again. “What?”

  “He said you were verbally abusive to an officer and harassing witnesses.”

  “I can’t harass the witness because they won’t tell me who it is.” I told him about Jessica’s shoulder and my visit to the police station. I left out that I knew Jessica.

  “I don’t know why,” I said at the end, “but they both freaked out when I started asking questions about the friend. Maybe they’re covering for this person. Maybe it’ll turn out to be a bribery or corruption story. I know how much you love those.”

  “I do love a good corruption story.” Callum paused to savor the thought, then got back to business. “And I agree, the death sounds fishy.” I heard his chair move. “We’ll put a reporter on it in a couple days. As soon as the evacuation is over and the fire is better contained.”

  “But by then it may be too late.”

  “Too late for what? If Elizabeth PD is guilty of incompetence or even covering for someone, we’ll nail them.”

  “I don’t care about nailing them. I care about catching whoever’s responsible for Jessica Egan’s death. And you know as well as I do that homicides that aren’t solved in the first forty-eight hours are almost never solved.”

  “You’re right.” I heard a high-pitched buzz in the background alerting Callum to a story coming over the video feeds. “But it’s not our place to catch murderers. That’s the job of the police. It’s our job to inform the community if the police are screwing up, which you can do in a couple days.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Listen, Lilly. This is serious. You’ve got a front-row seat for the biggest natural disaster we’ve seen around here in fifty years. I need you focused and in the game. We’re all counting on you. This is big for the entire station.”

  “I know.”

  “Lilly, I want to hear you promise me you’ll drop the drowning.”

  Truthfully, I wanted to drop it. The evacuation and approaching wildfire were once-in-a-lifetime stories. Would I ever have a chance like this again? But wasn’t I just sitting in the police station wishing Jessica and I had been friends? Would a friend abandon her now when she couldn’t even speak up for herself? Plus, I owed her. She covered for me with the police.

  When I didn’t say anything, Callum continued, “I vouched for you with Trent. He doesn’t take complaints from police chiefs lightly. And I had your back earlier about Teddy and Freddy. I put my reputation on the line to protect yours. Don’t make me sorry.”

  I took a deep breath. “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “Okay, I promise.”

  “Good.” He paused. “Now go find an Internet connection and someone to interview.”

  I returned to the media trailer. The door was locked and no one answered my knock. I started toward the briefing tent, but paused at the sandwich board. New maps of the wildfire were posted, and it was clear we were losing ground.

  The science of stopping a fire is simple. You remove all vegetation and trees in a wide line. The fire burns to the line, runs out of fuel, and stops. These firebreaks can be roads, rivers or streams, or just a stretch of land cleared by bulldozers and chain saws. All that matters is that there’s nothing there to burn.

  The only hitch is if a fire is spotting—spewing embers in the air—it could jump over and continue on the other side. That’s why ideally you wanted the line to be as wide as possible. Sometimes fire retardant was even dropped in advance to try to prevent the embers from igniting.

  Judging from the new maps, a firebreak was being created on the other side of Mt. Terrill, just below the antennas on the ridge. In case this didn’t stop the fire, a second line was also being constructed on this side, just above Tilly Heights.

  Callum and Rod had been right. The worst-case scenario, that the fire burned up from the Terrill Valley, over the mountain, then down this side, now appeared to be the likely scenario.

  I continued to the large briefing tent. Inside, a group of ten to fifteen men and women stood on or near the raised platform up front. Several maintenance men were going through the tent with Shop-Vacs sucking up ash and soot from the brown grass floor. Above us, the baseball field lights shone through the white tent fabric, highlighting the dark patches where ash had accumulated on the roof.

  Slim had set his camera up in the main aisle facing the podium. He was reading a graphic novel and
eating a burrito, so I didn’t stop to say hi.

  The IO stood with several men in Cal Fire uniforms up at the podium. The man I’d seen in Display Processing was also there. He was taping maps to the canvas wall behind the podium. They were similar to the ones I’d seen outside, but much larger.

  As I approached the platform, everyone turned and saw me.

  “Just a moment,” the IO told them, then stepped to the edge. “If you want to set up a camera in the back, that’s fine, but we need to keep the side aisles free.”

  “I’ve got a reporter on his way up the canyon. We want to go live for the eleven-o’clock show. I need access to a cable modem and someone to interview.”

  He shook his head. “No one is commenting on the evacuation until after the midnight briefing. Not me, not anyone.”

  “Then we’ll use the interview to get an update on the fire.” I began backing up as though it were decided. My only real talent, other than shooting great video, was being a human steamroller. “And I’m sure you’ve got Internet access in your trailer. We’ll make it work.”

  He stepped off the platform. “I said no.”

  “I might have an idea.” The voice came from a woman in an elegant updo and dark purple suit. Her face was heavily made up and her skirt was just short enough to show off her well-toned legs. But the most noticeable thing about her was at the end of those legs. She had on the only pair of high heels within twenty miles.

  “How about the Forest Service airstrip?” She took several careful steps to join us. She appeared to be favoring the balls of her feet. When she stopped, I saw why. Her pointy heels punctured the grass and the back end of her shoes sank to the ground. She must have lost at least two inches in height. “I’m sure the Forest Service has an Internet connection out there.”

  The IO started what looked like a rejection, but stopped himself. He paused and appeared to be considering it.

  “But that’s fifteen miles up the lake.” I looked from one to the other. “And no one will be landing or taking off at night. I need a live picture of something actually happening.”

  The woman’s smile deepened. Her voice sounded upbeat. “This is a good compromise for you because someone important is landing there.” She looked at the IO. “And it’s good for you because it keeps her out of the way while you’re trying to get organized.”

  “Who’s landing?” I said. “And how important are they?”

  They glanced at each other, but neither answered me.

  “Just a minute.” The IO jumped onto the platform. It swayed in a way that should have made everyone nervous.

  The woman in the heels was the only one who appeared to care. “Excuse me,” she said before yanking her heels out of the ground and marching over to a maintenance worker on the balls of her feet. I watched as she spoke to him and pointed at the platform. She was smiling and had that same upbeat energy, even though she was reaming him out.

  The IO returned from speaking with several men on the platform. “Do you know how to get to the Forest Service airstrip?”

  “Yes, but I’m not driving all the way up there unless I know who’s landing.”

  “How about the governor of California? Is he important enough?”

  SEVEN

  Thursday, 10:50 p.m.

  Human steamroller or not, that gave me pause. “Seri-ously?”

  “He’s coming for the briefing.” The IO began walking me out of the tent. “Firefighter Bell, who escorted you earlier, is already at the airstrip. I’ll call over and tell her to expect you, but you need to get going.”

  “Why? What time is the governor landing?”

  “Eleven.”

  I looked at my cell phone’s screen. “You mean ten minutes from now?”

  “Don’t worry. Politicians are late for everything.”

  I bolted for the van. On the way I made a quick call to Callum telling him to redirect Rod to the airstrip.

  I drove quickly across the back side of campus. A man with a clipboard started to cross the road headed for the gym. He held up his hand for me to stop. I hit the horn. He jumped back and I cruised through without slowing. On the streets of Elizabeth I zigzagged from one lane to another dodging traffic.

  It was seven minutes past eleven when I pulled up to the airstrip’s main gate. It opened and a Sheriff’s Department officer checked my credentials before allowing me in.

  The facility wasn’t fancy. The only structures, besides a large hangar for storing aircraft, were simple one-story buildings. Several huge trailers containing helicopter equipment and spare parts had been trucked in and were parked near the hangar. The runway itself, which was being used as a giant helipad, was lit with large floodlights that backlit the haze in the air.

  I drove past a group of six or seven officers waiting next to four SUVs with the CHP and Elizabeth Police logos. They screamed official entourage so I relaxed. If they were waiting to drive the governor to headquarters, then I hadn’t missed the arrival. I parked at the largest of the buildings and grabbed my camera.

  Firefighter Bell walked out the main entrance to meet me. She wore the same black L.A. Fire Department uniform as when she’d taken me to interview Brad Egan earlier. “Hi. This is quite a scoop for you. Congratulations.”

  “How long before he arrives?”

  “We don’t know. The governor’s plane landed in Bakersfield, but apparently the chopper bringing him here hasn’t taken off yet.”

  “You mean he hasn’t even left Bakersfield?”

  Bell shook her head. “Nope. Politicians always run late. The bigger they are, the later they run.” She hooked her thumb behind her. “His aide is inside, but I doubt he’ll tell you anything.”

  At my request, Bell enlisted the help of one of the Forest Service rangers to tackle the Internet situation. Meanwhile, I cranked up the generator in the live truck, opened my sticks, and set up the TV monitor and a light for Rod.

  A male Forest Service ranger brought out a cord through the front door. “This is the longest one we’ve got. Let’s hope it reaches.”

  I’d set up directly in front of the building, so the cord did reach, but without the laptop or camera I couldn’t do anything more.

  Bell and the ranger both decided to go inside and escape the smoke. As soon as they were gone, I called Arnaldo Bedolla again. He still didn’t answer so I left a second message.

  I rationalized breaking my promise to Callum with the old I’m-not-really-hurting-anyone excuse. I was covering the fire, after all. What did it hurt if I used some downtime to follow a few leads for Jessica?

  I retreated to the live truck and looked through the two remaining yearbooks. They were only slightly more helpful than the first. I found headshots of a much younger Jessica in the alphabetical listings of middle-school students. Her hair was long and she was smiling and happy. She was very different from the young woman I’d met several years later. Those middle-school headshots were the only mentions of Jessica. The pages with clubs and extracurricular activities were reserved for the high school students.

  High school students such as her older brother. A young, handsome Brad Egan stared out from page after page. He was captain of the football team, a varsity shot-putter, captain of the archery team, prom king, and a member of the division-winning basketball team. The caption under his photo read Future Olympian. He’d chosen it himself.

  “Come on.” The voice belonged to a woman. I looked up and saw an attractive female ranger following a man in blue coveralls. She tried to keep up with him as he walked from the hangar toward the runway. “Everybody knows you pilots always have obscenely good coffee and in massive quantities.”

  He kept walking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Give me a break.” The ranger had short brown hair and a graceful body. “The medevac practically smells like a Seattle coffeehouse.”

  He stopped and turned around. “You don’t even have a grinder. I’d have to loan you mine.”

 
“Please. We won’t make it through the night.”

  He considered for a moment, then reluctantly nodded. “Maybe I saw a bag of French roast somewhere.”

  She gushed with thanks, then ran into the office.

  The pilot continued toward the runway, but I jumped out of the truck and intercepted him. “Were you here today when they found that boat out at Road’s End?”

  “No. I’m on standby at night in case there’s a medical emergency.” He gestured behind him to the hangar. “The fellas you’re looking for fly the Chinooks. They’ll be back a little before sunrise.” He started to leave.

  I stepped in front of him. “I won’t be here then. Did you hear anything about what happened? I’m trying to find out who owned the boat.”

  “Can’t help you with that.” Despite the refusal, he glanced over each shoulder.

  “No one can hear us and this is off-the-record.”

  “I don’t know, but before I left this morning, the deck coordinator denied the police’s request to search the lake. We couldn’t spare the time or manpower.”

  “Why’d they change their minds?”

  “I wasn’t here.” He stepped around me and started down the runway. “But somebody must have called in a huge favor.”

  I went back to the truck. Someone had wanted Jessica found. Judging from the tone of her brother’s interview, I doubted it had been her family. Did she have a boyfriend? Brad Egan had mentioned a married man. Could her lover, if he even existed, have quietly pulled strings? What about friends? Did she still have any in Elizabeth?

  I opened the first yearbook—the one I’d looked through in the cafeteria. This was from Jessica’s senior year of high school, when her brother had already left for college. She wasn’t on any of the sports or club pages. She wasn’t in any of the candid shots of the high school students.

  Brad had said she’d been arrested at the beginning of her senior year for chaining herself to a tree during a protest. If her father had indeed grounded her for the rest of that school year, it might explain her lack of extracurricular activities.