‘The number the same?’

‘No. But it was from Chicago too. Bought at the same time. I’ve sent a request to Chicago PD to see what they can find. I’m not holding my breath. Now, at the Bay View the manager said there was no security video. I saw cameras, in the hall and outside, but apparently they weren’t hooked up.’

‘And the unsub,’ Overby said slowly, ‘never went inside. Never actually hit anybody. Why?’

‘The first question Michael and I asked about Solitude Creek. Why not just burn it down? Why not shoot his victims? He prefers them to kill themselves. He plays with perceptions, sensations, panic. It doesn’t matter what people see. It’s what they believe. That’s his weapon, fear. And he knows what he’s doing. I talked to one of the survivors. A woman named Ardel Hopkins. She was crushed in the mob and shattered her shoulder. She was about to drown but the Coast Guard fished her out. From what she said, it sounded just like Solitude Creek – people went insane. Nobody listened to reason. Security lights came on, bright ones. That added to the panic. Somebody must’ve broken a window and jumped. And the rest followed. Lemmings. Nobody looked to see if the shooter was actually inside. They just heard one person say, “Jump!” and they did. The manager said they’d just had a fire-department inspection – the venue could either cancel the event or submit to the inspection, which required them to make sure no vehicles could park in front of the exit doors and to tape the latches open.’

‘At least the MCFD’s being proactive. I didn’t hear that. But it’s ironic, hmm? The manager took all the right precautions – only that contributed to the frenzy.’

O’Neil said, ‘Forensics is going over the site now. Oh, we did get the shoeprint analysis back from CSU – of the prints Kathryn and I found at Solitude Creek. And? Turns out the unsub’s shoes’re pretty rare.’

‘What makes shoes rare?’ Overby asked.

‘Ones that cost about five thousand dollars a pair.’

‘What?’

‘The tool mark people’re ninety percent sure. Louis Vuitton. I’m having somebody run sales throughout the country but, well, there’s rare and then there’s rare. They sell about four hundred pairs a year. And I’m betting our boy paid cash for those too. And the tire evidence for the Honda? Wheelbase, track and tires mean it’s an Accord. Within the last four years.’

‘Why’s a man with five-thousand-dollar shoes driving a Honda?’ Overby mused. Then obvious answer: ‘Because it’s the most common vehicle on the face of the earth.’

‘Jesus. Five-thousand-dollar shoes.’ Overby laughed. ‘Who on earth is this guy?’ He began to say something else but then glanced at his computer screen. ‘Well. Oh.’

‘What, Charles?’

He read for a moment. ‘This’s from the Pipeline wire – Oakland task force. Two bangers burned down one of the G-eight-two’s warehouses. The one on Everly Street.’

‘Burned it down?’ Dance grimaced. She explained to O’Neil, ‘We found the place was a front, about a month ago. We could’ve raided it but decided to let it keep operating and put surveillance on it. So we could get the IDs of trucks headed south.’ She sighed. ‘Now the G-eight-twos’ll find someplace else and we’ll have no idea where. This’ll set us back.’

Overby continued to read: ‘Was loaded with about ten thousand rounds of ammo. Quite the fireworks display.’

Dance said, ‘I don’t get it. The ’house was neutral territory. All the crews knew that. Doesn’t make sense to take the place out.’

‘Well, somebody didn’t go along with the neutrality part,’ O’Neil said. ‘Maybe a renegade outfit from the south. Or here.’

Overby continued to read. Then looked up. ‘Except it’s odd. The guys who torched the place were white. At least, that’s what the video showed. All the crews involved in Pipeline’re black or Lat. But maybe they stepped on the wrong toes.’

‘And the owner wouldn’t do it for the insurance. Not with ammo inside,’ Dance said. ‘He’d wait till it was empty.’

Overby added, ‘Oakland PD and DEA have a partial on the arsonists’ license tag. Checking now. And video in the area, witnesses.’ Shaking his head, he turned from the screen.

Just then TJ Scanlon appeared in the office. He nodded to everyone. ‘Just want to keep you in the loop. I got some info on Anderson Construction.’

Ah. Dance explained to Overby that they’d found a crew of surveyors near the roadhouse. She’d hoped a construction worker might have seen the unsub near Solitude Creek.

‘Anderson’s been approached by a company in Nevada to do some development in the area. Nobody from Anderson has been at the site in two weeks. But they think the Nevada company’s had some people over there recently. I’ve left messages.’

‘Thanks, TJ. Get on home now.’

‘See you in the a.m. Night, all.’

Overby left as well, then Michael O’Neil after him.

Dance noted the time: it was nearly eleven p.m. As she ordered files on her desk, she glanced at her computer, on which was streaming a local TV news account of the Bay View incident, the sound down. Who was on but Brad Dannon, the Hero Firefighter. He hadn’t been the first on the scene this time but a close second or third. She watched the stark images. The blood on the doorway, the shards of glass from the shattered windows and the rocks, the huddled survivors who’d been fished from the water and wrapped in thin, efficient hypothermia blankets. People stumbling through the parking lot and among the crowd of onlookers, calling out, pathetic, for their missing relatives or friends.

A new, related story appeared. Dance turned the volume up. Henderson Jobbing had been sued by eighteen people for negligence in not securing their vehicles and keys. The commentators said bankruptcy was likely, not because of liability – it probably wasn’t responsible legally – but because defending the suit would be so expensive that it would have to close down.

‘The company has been a Monterey employer for years, providing warehouse services and running trucks throughout the state … and internationally as well. A local success story, but now, it seems, it will be shuttering its doors for good.’

Dance turned away from the screen. And thought, too, about poor Sam Cohen. The roadhouse would surely close, as well.

This is something you never recover from. Ever.

She pulled out her phone and made a call.

‘Kathryn,’ the man’s voice said.

‘You still here, Rey?’

‘Sure am.’

Rey Carreneo was an agent she described as older in heart than in years. The man had been a patrol officer in Reno, Nevada, where he’d got quite the lesson in policing. He’d had a rich past, some good, some dark, and he bore a tiny scar in the Y between his thumb and forefinger; it was where a gang tat had resided not too many years ago before he’d had it removed.

‘Need some help.’

‘Sure, Kathryn. The Serrano case?’

‘No, this is our Solitude Creek unsub. I need you to look into a couple of things. Can I come to your office in five?’

‘I’ll be here.’

CHAPTER 34

Antioch March sat parked in the Honda, observing a house fifty feet away and waiting for the right moment to change Kathryn Dance’s life for ever.

He shifted. A big man, March didn’t much care for the Accord. At home he drove a full-size Mercedes, and AMG, over 500 horsepower. A present from his boss. Here, though, of course, he needed to keep a low profile.

Squinting as he looked over the house.

He was there because he’d found some quite helpful information in Dance’s Pathfinder not long ago, and an obvious plan had presented itself. On the seat beside him were his ski mask, the cotton gloves and a tire iron. He pictured dear Kathryn’s face when she learned of the tragedy here. Would she cry? Scream? Both March and the Get wondered.