pH. Farmer stuff. They have twelve acres.”
Heavy black irrigation hoses ran along the ground from tree to tree. Drip system.
“Same time every week?”
“We can ask.”
“I’ll want to speak with her.”
“Sure. Whenever you want.”
Gregg circled the hole. He had seen photographs of the body and crime scene, and spoken with the detective in charge. Shoe impressions taken by the criminalists suggested three people—likely male—had buried the body.
“Shallow grave.”
“They didn’t take a lot of time, that’s for sure.”
“She was just walking along and saw him?”
“Her dog. Has this German shepherd comes with her. Started whining and digging, and wouldn’t come when she called. Katie.”
“Katie?”
“The dog. His hand was exposed. The criminalist says he wasn’t in the ground more’n a day.”
“This was three days ago?”
“Found him three days ago, yes, sir. Coroner says he’d been dead a day or so when she found him.”
“In the ground a day or so, or dead a day or so?”
The deputy frowned, thinking it through.
“Dead. He said dead.”
Gregg squatted beside the grave, and peered toward the road. He couldn’t see the fruit stand or the road, but he heard a truck. He’d passed several small houses on the drive out from Palmdale. Not close, but near.
“No one heard shots.”
The deputy made a shrug.
“The wind blows pretty good out here. The wind gets to rippin’, it’ll snatch a sound right out of the air.”
Gregg considered the hole. He wondered if they’d had this place in mind for the body dump, or if the choice was mere convenience.
“Were you one of the responding officers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Here when they recovered his body?”
“Yes, sir. All day.”
“They left his badge.”
“Yes, sir. Wallet, ID, credit cards. Hundred sixty-eight dollars. Keys. Cell phone. They weren’t looking to rob him.”
“No. I guess they were not.”
Gregg thought for a moment, then stood, and brushed at his slacks. The creases fell straight and razor-sharp true. He adjusted his hat, and started back to his car. The deputy quickly caught up.
“Got any suspects?”
“Not yet.”
The local wet his lips.
“Mighta been someone he arrested.”
“Might.”
“Payback for something.”
“Maybe.”
“He was one of yours?”
“He was a marshal.”
Gregg heard a helicopter, far in the distance.
“Why you figure they killed him the way they did?”
The deputy wouldn’t let it go.
“Left hand, left knee, right hand. The M.E. said that’s how they did it. Shot him in the left hand first, then the left knee, then the right hand before they killed him. Why you think they shot him that way?”
Gregg ignored him and pushed through the trees.
The first helicopter arrived as they reached the fruit stand. The second appeared a few seconds later, drowning the wail of sirens. Dust and sand raged in a whirling maelstrom around them, and cherry trees whipped.
The deputy squinted at Gregg. He knew Gregg was keeping secrets, and shouted to make himself heard.
“Why do you think they shot him like that?”
Gregg glanced at the dep, and decided to answer.
“They wanted it to hurt.”
Pryor Gregg held tight to his hat, and watched the big chopper land. He didn’t yet know what had happened here, but he had a good idea. He knew it was bad, and more people might die.
9.
Joe Pike
Pike found her message after he showered at Eddie Depente’s dojo in South Central Los Angeles. It was late afternoon. Eddie, a retired Marine and lifelong martial artist, had spent the bulk of his career teaching combatives to young Marines. These days, by choice, he taught children, but twice a month, Eddie closed his doors to regular business, and practiced what he called “advanced technicals” with a few of his friends. The guest list typically included former Delta and SEAL operators, law-enforcement tactical cadre, and the occasional bodyguard. Pike was a regular, and often served as an instructor.
Pike played her message as he sat on a bench in the locker room.
“Um, hi. It’s Isabel Roland. Could you call me, please? I really, really need to talk to you.”
She sounded upset, the way she sounded when he helped her from Bender’s car.
Pike checked the time. She had left the message forty-two minutes earlier.
Pike dressed, and returned her call from his Jeep. Her voice mail answered, so he left a message.
“It’s Joe.”
He thought what to say.
“I’m here if you need me.”
Pike didn’t like the way she sounded, and wondered why she really really needed to talk.
He drove to his shop, helped the guys close up, and stopped at a market for food. An hour later, he was making dinner when he phoned her again and got her voice mail. He left a second message.
Pike liked