Old Chaos (9781564747136) Read online

  He thought about Mack, trying to say good-bye, but it was too soon to sink into that black pool. His mind drifted to Meg. They were going to have to resolve something. He loved her, and she said she loved him. There was a logical solution, but neither of them viewed the institution of marriage with enthusiasm. Still, Rob felt at home in Meg’s kitchen, not to mention her bedroom, as he had never felt in his grandmother’s huge house, or anywhere else.

  He took three lazy sidestrokes and flipped over. He had no trouble at all with the idea of spending the rest of his life in Meg’s company, but he wasn’t sure she felt the same. And there were their daughters. He hadn’t yet met Lucy. After Christmas, when Meg returned from a lightning trip to Palo Alto to see her daughter, she had met Rob’s daughter, Willow, and they had dealt with each other politely. Willow had good manners. She was almost always polite.

  He flipped to his back and stared up at the tiles on the distant ceiling. Polite was not good enough for Meg. She deserved better. Well, there was time. Willow was sixteen, with other things on her mind. Boys, the SATs, boys, an upcoming study tour in France, boys, her too-long hair and too-brittle fingernails, the Amazon rainforest (she wanted to save it), boys, the deficiencies of her iPod, boys. Maybe Willow would stumble across a nice French convent on her study tour.

  He flipped to his stomach and tried the breast stroke, which was almost tolerable if he pushed the water hard with his legs. He was no kind of jock, but the fact that he might have to give up karate troubled him. Karate was too much a part of what kept him steady, central to the path he had walked when he stopped being Bobby all those years ago and began to learn how to be Robert. His father had changed his name, too, when he changed his life.

  His thoughts slid sideways to Charlie. Calling his cousin Dr. Neill had been a dumb mistake. Rob wondered whether he was trying to create a virtual Clan Neill in the murky depths of his subconscious mind. He’d invited Charlie to join, and Charlie had declined. Fair enough.

  He heard a crescendo of splashing as the other men left the pool. They shouted something, probably to him, and he raised an arm in farewell. Then he wallowed some more. He got out only when the manager dimmed the lights.

  On the short walk home, he was still testing his muscles, and his mind was still adrift, so he didn’t see the attack coming. He had taken Fifth Avenue to Oak, because Fifth was well-lit. Oak was a residential street with handsome Craftsman houses. Halfway along, an overgrown hedge hung out over the sidewalk in the shadow between two streetlights. A muted shuffle from behind and a quiver in the hedge were the only warning he had of the attack, but his body took over.

  He jumped right, bounced off a parked car, and whirled with his left arm swinging up. He thought he probably shouted. Something stung his arm, but his defensive swing knocked a knife from the first man’s hand. Both attackers crouched together, facing him, wide-eyed and unarmed. They were young and not very big. A growl rumbled from his throat. He leapt forward, slashing at the shorter kid’s nose with the edge of his right hand. He made contact with a satisfying crunch.

  Blood spurted. The boy let out a screech in Spanish, and both of them fled along Oak Street, running flat out. They dodged left into the alley that led to the back sides of half the shops in town. Rob slid to a stop, groped for his cell phone, and hit the button to call 911. Behind him, lights had come on in the smug Craftsman houses.

  He stood still, panting a little, feeling the flow of adrenaline as the dispatcher’s calm voice pried answers from him. By the time Wade Hug, Klalo’s veteran police chief, rolled up in the newer of the city’s two police cars, reaction had begun to set in.

  Three citizens, two wearing jackets over pajamas, collected around Rob, gabbling. He said something to calm them as Wade got out.

  “You okay?”

  “Uh.”

  “He’s bleeding.” An indignant voice, almost accusatory. It was the teacher, Bat Masterson. No, Bat Quinn, the one who had led the search and rescue team at Prune Hill. Bat wore blue pajamas with a print of small white sailboats under all-weather Gore-Tex.

  Rob looked at his left arm, which had begun to sting. He saw a long slash on the sleeve of his jacket. Blood trickled down over his fingers.

  “Let’s get help.” Wade stuck his head back in the car and keyed the radio. He asked for the EMTs over Rob’s muted protest, muted because Rob was starting to feel weird. Wade yanked open the door on the passenger side of the patrol car. “Better sit down.”

  “Uh, no.” Sitting was a bad idea. As the adrenaline seeped away, every muscle in Rob’s body began to seize up. If he sat he would be sitting for the next forty-eight hours. He leaned against the patrol car and tried to explain. He also pointed out that the attackers were getting well away. A county car pulled up behind Wade’s. The blue light revolved as Jake Sorenson jumped out. A siren wailed, coming closer. A circus, and I am the resident clown, Rob thought, woozy.

  When he reached home some minutes before midnight, stitched and bandaged, his clan awaited him—Meg and Charlie.

  Beth held court in the living room of Rob’s house, since she couldn’t deal with the courthouse yet, physically or emotionally. It was ten A.M. on Wednesday. Dany was upstairs baby-sitting Sophy, and Skip had gone to the hospital where Peggy showed hopeful signs of waking. The rest of the McCormicks had left. Beth already missed the grandchildren. They would all return on the weekend.

  She had heard of the attack on Rob shortly after it happened and been seething ever since.

  “You do realize,” she said in carefully measured tones, “that a lone woman strolling home late at night on a dark street would be blamed for putting herself in harm’s way? Whereas Rob Neill is hailed as a hero by friend and foe alike for doing the same dumb thing.”

  “Sorry,” Rob said. The tips of his ears were red.

  He sounded cross and impatient and looked awful. He deserved it.

  “Sit down.”

  “If I sit I won’t be able to get up.”

  Beth sighed. “If you had to go swimming in the middle of the night, Rob, why didn’t you drive to the pool?”

  “I needed to walk.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his good hand. The other arm reposed in a bright blue sling. “I needed to think.”

  Beth made a rude noise. “Precisely my point. Think.”

  He gave a rueful grin. “Okay, okay. But with thirty-plus years of martial arts training I sort of assume I can walk the mean streets of Klalo.”

  “If they’d had guns—”

  “Yeah, I know. If they’d had guns I’d be dead. If they’d strapped dynamite to their bodies all three of us would be dead. We live in a perilous society.” He walked over to the fireplace and leaned against the mantel. “It’s okay, Beth. I didn’t even do much damage to my back. And next time I’ll carry a can of pepper spray.”

  She suppressed a smile. “Sheriffing is almost as nerve-wracking as teaching remedial English. So tell me what the mugging means.”

  “Somebody panicked.”

  “Drinkwater’s killer?”

  He straightened and started pacing. “I’ll tell you my best guess, but you have to remember it’s just a guess.”

  “I am the sheriff.”

  “Yes.” He stopped his restless meandering and leaned against the back of one of the tall armchairs. “It’s a relief to know I can speculate freely with somebody. I talk to Meg, of course, but it wouldn’t be right to burden her with a load of unfounded suspicion. She has to deal with these folks in a wider context.”

  “Folks?”

  “People who have money and/or clout. She’s working up to a levy. She has to do her own kind of politicking, and she needs to be comfortable doing it.”

  “True. Who are your suspects?”

  “In general or for the mugging?”

  “In general.”

  Perhaps he read her impatience. “Matt Akers. Larry and Inger Swets. Karl Tergeson. Hank Auclare. Maybe even our brand new commissioner. Her husband was one of Fred’
s investors.”

  Beth whistled. “That’s a lot of suspicion. Tell me the rest. Why Matt Akers? I know he’s an investor, but there are others.”

  “A lot of reasons. For one thing, he was Hal Brandstetter’s good buddy. He could have pushed Hal to suppress the warning notice. It’s exactly the kind of thing Hal would have done.”

  Beth nodded. She had known the late, unlamented commissioner, the man Cate Bjork had replaced. How convenient to be able to blame Hal for the disaster. Her mind shied away from thinking about the mudslide. “Uh, what else do you have against Matt?”

  “He went to the top of my list last night. Those kids who jumped me were laborers, probably illegals, the kind of workers Matt hires cheap when he can.”

  “I thought he was the classic true-blue patriot.”

  “He huffs and puffs about rounding up aliens, but he’s been using undocumented workers for years. I looked into Fred’s backers. I know now that Matt invested heavily in at least three of Fred’s projects, besides doing most of the construction. He subcontracts with plumbers and electricians and so on, but his people do the rest. It’s probable that Fred owed Matt money for the construction work, and Matt wants to be able to collect it from the estate and the insurance companies. That’s over and above his initial investment. Matt’s a blowhard.”

  Beth heard the contempt in his tone.

  His lip curled. “The kind who panic and slash out at anybody who gets in their way. Jeff’s bringing Akers in for an interview this morning.”

  “While your deputies comb the county for the two muggers?”

  “If they’re smart, those kids are halfway to Mexico by now.” He sighed. “But they’re not smart, and they’re scared. And old Matt probably owes them money.”

  “You sound sure.”

  He made an impatient sound. “I’m not sure. I’m guessing. The other suspect who could have found desperados-for-hire is Larry Swets. He came to see me the day before yesterday. The state investigator has to be looking seriously at Inger.”

  “They think she suppressed the hazard warning?”

  “She’s the record keeper. She could have done it easier than anyone else, easier even than Hal Brandstetter, but Fred could have paid someone else to substitute his geologist’s survey for the one Charlie worked on. All it took was access.”

  Beth winced. It was an uncomfortable thought, familiar but uncomfortable.

  Rob straightened and rubbed his injured arm. “While I can see Larry panicking, Inger strikes me as a woman with a cool head. I don’t think she would have hired anyone to attack me. She knows that investigation is out of my hands.”

  “But Larry might have?”

  “Only without her knowledge.” Rob walked to the window and looked out at the yard. The sun was shining for once. “You mentioned rumors that Inger had an affair with Fred, and I’ve heard that from other people, too. If it’s true, all bets are off.”

  Beth thought of a thousand bad films. “You mean she may have killed Fred in a fit of passion?”

  Rob turned. “Or Larry may have, in a fit of jealousy.”

  Beth didn’t know Larry at all. She knew Inger’s parents better than she knew the county clerk, but Inger was very much her father’s protégée. Beth tried to imagine Karl condoning an extramarital affair. She said slowly, “What if Inger was sleeping with Drinkwater, and Karl had just found out about it?”

  “Katy bar the door.”

  “One of your grandmother’s famous expressions?”

  He grinned. “Grandfather’s.” The smile faded. He walked back to the chair and leaned on it. “I can imagine Karl killing Fred to avenge his daughter’s honor, but I have trouble believing he could find and hire muggers. He’s pretty naïve.” He shook his head. “He probably wouldn’t know how to use a choke hold, and it wouldn’t be his kind of killing anyway. He’d take a horsewhip to Fred in front of the courthouse, not seduce him to death beside a hot tub.”

  “Is that what happened?”

  “I don’t know what happened. The ME believes Fred was drunk and that somebody killed him while he was out cold. Doesn’t sound like Karl. Hell, it doesn’t sound like Inger either, even if she was a woman scorned. And Fred did get around. Kayla. Darla Auclare.”

  Beth flopped back against the wheelchair. “I refuse to imagine Hank Auclare avenging his daughter’s honor.”

  “Unlikely,” Rob said crisply. “If Hank killed, it would be over money.”

  Beth was thinking of Mack’s reaction to Skip Petrakis. Mack hadn’t killed Skip or even threatened to, but horsewhipping would have suited her husband. Her loss swept over her. She had to look away so Rob wouldn’t see her tears. Why were men such idiots, and why did women love them? She cleared her throat. “What are you going to do now?”

  “Research. We’re checking the record of calls to Fred’s telephones, landline and cell. That should be enlightening. And we’re looking into our suspects’ lives.”

  “Trying to figure out who could have used the choke hold?”

  He nodded. “Who could have done it physically and who might have had reasons to do it. Linda’s leading the hunt for my muggers.”

  “Doing your footwork.”

  He grimaced. “Right. She’s part of the Latino community. Jeff and Linda are inexperienced, but they’re both sharp. I’ll be working the computer and the telephone. I need to talk to Kayla myself. And to Matt’s foremen. But the main thing I’ll have to do is establish some kind of rapport with the state investigator.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Ed Prentiss. Lieutenant Prentiss. He’s a cold bastard but efficient.”

  “Will he listen to you?”

  He gave a crooked grin. “I’ll have to see that he does, won’t I?”

  “Let me know if I can help.” She eyed him, cautious but curious. “Will you tell me something, Rob?”

  “If I can.”

  “Why did you come back to Klalo?” She waved her hand. “Oh, I know—your grandmother was sick. But you stayed. Mack was afraid you’d leave when she died.”

  He was silent a long minute, frowning. “I guess I wanted to come home for good.” The frown eased. “I spent the first ten years of my working life wrestling with Southern California traffic. Here I can walk to work.” He grinned. “And to the swimming pool.”

  Beth thought that was only part of the story, but she let it go.

  WHAT’S HAPPENING?” CHARLIE took the glass of pinot grigio Meg offered and sat at the kitchen table. It was not yet set for dinner, though cooking scents perfumed the air.

  “Since last night, you mean?” Meg perched across from him with her own glass. They were waiting for Rob. Again. In five minutes she was going to stick the salmon in the oven whether Rob came home or not. He was in the safety of his office doing policelike things, so she wasn’t worried, just impatient.

  “How’s Kayla today?”

  Charlie smiled. “Fighting with her mother.”

  “I wish I could listen in.”

  He gave an exaggerated shudder. “I lay low myself.”

  “Coward.” She sipped the wine. It was not wonderful but it was local. “What are you going to do with yourself now, Dr. O’Neill?”

  He shrugged. “Look around for a job. Meanwhile I’ll teach my classes and check on Kayla. I still have to pass the licensing exam. I’ve been ready to take it for three years, though, so it’s not much of an obstacle.”

  “Do you enjoy teaching?”

  “Up to the point when lab reports start sifting in.”

  “Sifting—as in flour?”

  “As in silt settling to the bottom of a pond.”

  Meg laughed. The likelihood that she would have had to grade student writing had kept her firmly in librarian mode her whole adult life. She wouldn’t have minded reading student work, but she would have found grading it disheartening. And overdue books were one thing, overdue term papers something else.

  The two of them were deep in a discussion of the perils o
f teaching when Rob showed up. She had forgotten to put the salmon in the oven. A flurry ensued. Charlie set the table. Fortunately the filet didn’t take long to bake. Conversation languished while they ate.

  “Man, is that good.” Charlie speared a last bit of salmon, chewed, and rolled his eyes in pantomime ecstasy. He was easy to cook for.

  “Is this a piece of Jack’s fish?” Rob had kept pace with Charlie, even one-handed. He twitched the blue sling as if it annoyed him, a good sign.

  Meg nodded. Jack Redfern was grateful to Rob for saving Madeline’s life the previous fall. Being a man of few words, Jack expressed himself in material ways, the enormous fish being an example. It was not jack salmon, as a matter of fact, not even coho, but Chinook, the king salmon. Meg saved the filets for special occasions. She thought Charlie deserved salmon. Rob, too. Maybe.

  “Wild salmon always tastes better than the farmed stuff,” Rob said. He’d looked half-dead when he came in the door, but the magical fish revived him.

  Meg poured coffee and set out a plate of the cop-cookies. “Any progress?”

  “We took my assailants into custody.”

  “Rob!”

  “Thanks to Linda’s connections. Now the trick is to persuade them to talk about who hired them. As for the murder investigation…” Rob made a face. “Facts are trickling in.”

  “And?”

  He frowned.

  “I’m a reserve deputy, remember.” Meg was proud of her calm, unaccusing tone of voice, but Rob’s fits of reticence maddened her. Imagine not telling her immediately that the muggers had been found. She drew a breath, seeking patience. “God knows Charlie has a legitimate interest in your investigation.”

  “In Ed Prentiss’s, anyway.” Rob turned to Charlie. “Prentiss is the state investigator. He’s shrewd and thorough, and he has access to all kinds of information I’d have a hard time getting to.”