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Walker put his hands in his pockets and covered the distance as quickly as he could. The kid had nothing on him. A chance encounter twenty-one years before and what would that prove? Walker couldn’t imagine why the police had been digging in the woods. Kinsey Millhone had somehow drawn a bead on his dad, using god knows what reasoning, but there was no real link between Walker and the dead dog. Maybe she’d talked to a number of veterinarians who’d been in practice at the time, and his dad was simply one.
He turned left on Monarch Lane, the side street that intersected Old Coast Road. The bank was on the corner and his office was located at the far end of the building. He traversed the parking lot, making a covert visual sweep as he pushed through the glass door into the reception area. When he paused to look back, he spotted the MG passing on the street. The girl was staring in his direction and he saw her reach over and grab Michael Sutton’s arm to get his attention. The MG slowed and Michael peered past her at the front of the bank. Walker stepped away from the glass and then pivoted and took the side corridor to his office, where he closed the door.
At 6:00 he left the bank and walked the two blocks to his motel. He’d intended to eat di
At 9:15 he left his room again, crossed the street to the twenty-four-hour gas station, and shut himself into a public phone booth with a bifold door. He put a couple of coins in the slot and dialed Jon Corso’s number. On the street a car slowed, turned in, and stopped in front of the pumps. Walker lowered his head, obscuring his face. He was behaving like a fugitive.
After four rings Jon picked up, sounding brusque. He was probably working on a new book, irritated at the interruption. “Hello?”
“We need to talk.”
There was a pause of four seconds. “About what?”
“I’d rather not say on the phone.”
“And why is that?”
“Shit, Jon. You’re the one who’s paranoid. I’m taking my cue from you.”
“Where are you?”
“At the gas station across the street from the bank. I’m using a pay phone.”
“I’ll pick you up in half an hour,” Jon said, and hung up.
Walker checked his watch, unsure what to do with himself until Jon arrived. He went into the minimart adjacent to the service bays, which were dark now. The place was empty except for a clerk who sat at the register reading a comic book. Walker ambled up and down the aisles, looking at the gaudy array of potato chips, Fritos, Cheetos, tortilla chips, sun-baked chips, and pretzels, along with nasty-looking jars of salsa and a cheese product as viscous as glue. Crackers, cookies, candy bars, Twinkies, packaged cupcakes covered in coconut. The refrigerated coolers were stocked with cheap beer, ca
He opened the sandwich and took a bite. He chewed slowly, savoring the mild flavor of bologna, the sweet tang of mayo
Jon’s black Jaguar finally tooled into sight at a leisurely speed. Walker was guessing he’d bypassed the freeway, opting to drive along the beach. It would be like him to take his time, leaving Walker to loiter on the corner like a bum. Jon pulled over and Walker opened the door on the passenger side, sliding into the seat.
Walker said, “Shit, this feels like we’re having an affair.”
“I didn’t think you did things like that.”
“Once for two months. Miserable experience. I swore off.”
“Carolyn catch you at it?”
“She knew something was going on, but she never figured it out.”
“Good for you. So where to?”
“You pick. I’m sick of being cooped up.”
Jon made a leisurely U-turn and headed for the entrance to the northbound 101. The car was silent and the ride was smooth. There was no conversation. Walker slouched in his seat and closed his eyes, so relaxed he nearly fell asleep. Nights at the Pelican were a bad mix-headlights turning into the parking lot at odd hours, pipes thumping. Walker would wake to the tap and scratch of footsteps passing along the walkway outside his door. The place wasn’t cheap, located as it was in the heart of Montebello, but the builder had cut corners. The shower was fiberglass and the bathroom vanity looked like something purchased from a cut-rate catalog. The kitchenette consisted of a hot plate, a toaster oven, and a tiny under-the-counter refrigerator too small to hold a pizza box.
Jon took an off-ramp and Walker raised an eyelid long enough to see that they were on Little Pony Road. Moments later Walker felt the car slow, turn left, and stop. Jon got out of the car, leaving the engine ru
Jon sat on a bench. Walker perched on the table, his legs dangling. A mist hovered at ground level, airy drifts of white. Trees sheltered the spot on three sides and the fourth was open to the view. The blackened remains of the bandstand hunkered in the dark behind them. In high school, this was the spot where the two of them had brought girls, more times than he cared to remember. He usually got the pretty one while Jon got stuck with the homely best friend. Walker opened his bag and removed the four candy bars. He offered Jon a Three Musketeers bar and kept the other three for himself.
Jon said, “I didn’t know you had a sweet tooth.”
“It’s weird. Now that I’m off alcohol, I crave sugar.”
Jon pulled the paper off his candy bar and bit in. “So what’s the big emergency?”
“I saw Michael Sutton this afternoon and he saw me. I came out of an AA meeting and he was there in the parking lot, picking up a girl. When Brent drove me back to the office, he followed.”
“So?”
“So why’s he tailing me? What if he goes to the police?”
“And says what? Two decades ago, we dug a hole. Big deal.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Oh, for god’s sake. You haul me out in the dead of night for this? You could have told me on the phone. The kid’s a punk. Nobody’s going to take him seriously. Besides, I can get to him anytime I want. He’s not a problem.”