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Chapter 52

William and Dodge sat in the musty kitchen of the clapboard house, flipping desperately through the list of foster homes in California and the neighboring states. They had narrowed the list considerably but still had a mile of addresses. Boss Man had been breathing down their necks, so William and Dodge had forgone sleep for two nights running. After last night’s heist, Boss Man’s impatience had turned to fury. William had been calling in favor after favor from various patrolmen in various departments, crossing names off the list with a bloody red marker. He had cops spreading out through four states, checking in on foster homes, looking for new faces.

The kitchen was so far gone that months ago he and Dodge had given up any pretense of trying to clean it. Grease spattered the wall above the stove, dust clouded the windows, spills of salt dotted the floor like mini pyramids. And yet somehow they managed, cleaning out a coffee cup or a plate at a time before returning it to the dirty dishes mounded in the sink or stacked along the counters. Perched anomalously atop the long-broken microwave was a fax machine, a few dead flies caught in the paper feed.

Dodge sat across from William, reading a graphic novel and sipping deliberately from a glass of hot tea. In the soft light, his features looked even more indistinct, the edges of his nose blurred into his cheeks as if smoothed out with a putty knife. Now and then he absentmindedly rubbed the broad pad of his thumb against his forefinger, giving off a rasp. That was how he showed impatience when he was itching to use his hands.

William had just plugged in his cell phone to recharge when it trilled. The movement of Dodge’s thumb paused.

William checked the caller-ID screen, then picked up and asked, ‘You got him for us?’

‘Those bastards at Susanville PD aren’t going to turn Shepherd White over to us.’ Boss Man’s voice was tense and driving. ‘In fact, he was released nearly three hours ago.’

‘Released?’ Rattled, William sat on a waist-high stack of brittle newspapers. ‘Dodge prepped the cellar already. Where the hell was Graham?’

‘Dead,’ Boss Man said.

‘Graham’s dead,’ William repeated for Dodge’s sake.

Dodge looked up, sipped his tea, and lowered his gaze again to the comic. His thumb resumed the gentle scratching motion.

‘He’d gone offline, so I had Sac PD send over a car to take a look,’ Boss Man continued. ‘Shot in his bed.’

William realized what he’d heard in Boss Man’s voice that had made him so uneasy. Something he’d never heard in it before. Desperation. William breathed out through his nose, scratched his cheek, quelled the rush of concern in his chest. ‘It’ll be okay.’

‘Oh? You’ve handled this before, have you? You’ve dealt with state officials when they come knocking? You know how to pull strings inside a murder investigation of the goddamned director of an agency?’ His breaths filled the receiver. ‘Don’t tell me what’ll be fine. I say when it’ll be fine.’

‘Yessir.’

‘Now, fortunately we still have plenty of friends. I’m sitting across from one of Graham’s chiefs right now. It seems Graham sent us a little gift from beyond the grave. Our soon-to-be partner here has been monitoring a particular individual’s activity. Once he caught word of Graham’s death, he came here to deliver the news personally.’ A heightened pause. ‘He managed to back-trace a signal.’

William shot a breath of relief, then said, past the phone to Dodge, ‘We have an address.’

Dodge set down the graphic novel, smoothed his hands across the cover, and rose.

‘The name is a familiar one,’ Boss Man said.

William flipped over a piece of paper and held the bloodred point of the marker at the ready. He felt his lips stick to his teeth and realized he was grinning in anticipation.

‘Go get answers,’ Boss Man said. ‘Any way you can.’