But when the last sirens die, just as the first EMS van comes back up on Central Avenue, he sees young Carteret come barreling out of the Flordana. Some kind of reporter, Bob Chaplin told him. Of course he chases fires, but the damn thing must be out by now. With a groan, Walker kicks his car into gear and coasts downhill as Carteret runs for the garage. He keeps the motor running while the kid goes inside. When the grate comes up and the rented car rolls out Walker falls in behind, gliding along behind.
He is here to follow, not stalk, Dan Carteret. He keeps pace, thinking as long as he stays in the shadows and keeps his distance, they’ll both be safe.
There is this with the kid, but there’s more.
If they see him, he may be blamed.
He goes over the bridge and along Coral Boulevard with his lights off, turning into a side street when the kid turns, parking at the corner so he won’t know. Out in the circle, people he knows by sight are kicking at the embers of Boyd Till’s pretentious, ruined house. He can smell the size and scope of the fire. Walker wants to see, he isn’t here to see, he is here to protect Dan Carteret, although he does not know why and could not say from what, exactly.
Much as he’d like to walk up to this decent, attractive kid who looks like him, much as he wants to clamp Carteret’s skull in his hands and pull him close, look in the eyes and see into his soul so he can confirm the likeness; much as Walker wants to grip the kid’s hands and sense the truth of him, he’ll keep a safe distance, and he must never, ever identify himself or tell Dan that he loves him, and he does. He may want to let his son know him and know everything about him, but the burden of knowledge that Walker Pike carries and has carried all these years must, at all costs, be contained.
It’s for Dan’s protection.
This is why he stays put when the kid finally comes back to his car – and not alone, which is a surprise. Dan comes back to the car with a woman Walker recognizes. That he knew, but not really, no big thing.
Keeping his charge’s tail-lights in sight, Walker follows the rented Honda to the house where Nenna Henderson – no, McCall – seems to live; he pulls past the Honda and stops in the shadow of the jacarandas two doors beyond Nenna’s house. He tilts his mirror, watching as Dan follows her inside.
When his son leaves here, Walker needs to see that he makes it safely to the next place. For reasons not altogether clear, he’ll wait here for as long as it takes, wondering what’s going on behind the Florentine façade and whether the sun will come up on the new day before he gets through doing whatever he’s doing in there, and comes back to his car.
Dan, he thinks. He lets the word out. ‘Dan.’
34
Dan
‘Why am I here?’
Poor lady, she looks tired now that they are in the light, uncertain and wounded by Dan’s tone, does she have any idea how late it is? Did she expect him to thank her for yanking him out of a stone sleep to chase a dead fire? After which she scammed him into this ride home, getting into his car on the strength of information that she shows no sign of delivering; you bet he’s pissed.
She says lamely, ‘I thought you were into fires.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Everybody knows.’
His eyebrows shoot up.
‘After all, you told Jessie. You’re not in Los Angeles with a billion strangers, this is Fort Jude.’ She’s maneuvered him into a chair in the French Provincial living room – one of those orderly, hushed places where no people come. Cold, like a decorator’s model room. ‘Davis won’t be back tonight.’
‘Ma’am . . .’
‘Don’t.’
‘I have stuff to do.’
‘We won’t bother Steffy, she’s over at Jen Pritchard’s.’
Oh, lady. Don’t smile at me like that. ‘It’s late.’
‘It isn’t late, it’s early.’ Mrs Um, Nenna will say anything to keep him, lilting, ‘So. Talk about your suspicious fires. Want to hear what they’re saying about Boyd Till?’
‘I’d rather hear about my mother – whatever you know.’
‘They’re saying some bike buddy of Boyd’s set it, you know Boyd goes around in Carole’s evening dresses when she isn’t . . . Oh, please don’t