Chapter One

“I need you to do something.”

I got off the sofa. “All right.”

Megan stepped into the room and paused in a stream of sunlight that accented the gray in her dark hair. “Is that Webb?” she mouthed.

I nodded and turned my attention back to Webb’s strange request.

“Can you tell me why?” I asked, aware of a din of voices coming over the receiver. Someone shouted Webb’s name and the phone went dead.

“Is Webb okay?” Megan asked.

“I guess.”

“What do you mean, you guess?”

“Well for starters, he hung up on me.”

“Not Webb.”

“I’m telling you that’s what just happened.”

“Did he say anything about our meeting?” Megan asked.

“No, but he ordered me out on a surveillance job.”

“Ordered you?”

“Like I said, he wasn’t himself. Sounded really upset. Bossy and upset.”

“What’s the surveillance job?” asked Megan.

“I’ll tell you on the way. It might already be too late.”

I went into the kitchen, grabbed the keys for the van and handed them to Megan. “You drive. I’ll get the cameras ready.”

“Drive where?”

“Fourth and Main. Get there as fast as you can.”

We went out the side door and climbed into the large customized van that served as office and RV. Megan settled behind the wheel and I moved through the cab into the small galley. I retrieved the laptop from an overhead cupboard, set it on the table, powered it on and squeezed into the bench seat. I tapped several combinations of keys and activated the cameras hidden under the van’s false roof. Using the touch pad, I guided the cameras along their tracks to the front of the van. Next, I divided the screen so both cameras could concurrently feed back their images. Finally, I switched on the two video recorders connected to the cameras.

The screen showed different halves of Oak Street speeding toward us. I opened the overhead cabinet. The recording lights stared back like little red eyes.

“How far away are we?” I asked, dropping into the passenger’s seat.

“A couple of minutes, if we can get there.”

Ahead, at Fourth and Washington, two policemen were directing traffic onto side streets. Beyond them were several squad cars, a fire truck and an EMS vehicle.

“Turn left here,” I said.

“I presume we’re supposed to film whatever’s going on at Fourth and Main,” Megan said, making the turn.

“That’s what Webb wants.” I pointed ahead. “Make the next right and the next right after that.”

“They won’t let us through,” said Megan.

“Pull into the strip mall on the corner. We should be able to get some good viewing from its parking lot.”

“It looks like someone’s been in an accident,” said Megan.

I pointed to a double slot up ahead. She pulled in and turned off the engine.

“Why are we filming this?” she asked, following me back to the booth.

“I have no idea.”

“You don’t think Webb was involved in the accident, do you?”

“As upset as he was, it’s a possibility.” Using the zoom on camera one, I moved in on the object of everyone’s attention—a white, mid-nineties Chevy pickup with its hood wrapped around a lamppost.

Leaving camera one on the pickup, I used the controls of the second camera to move around. Tapp, the invisible gawker. EMS started to pull away, its lights flashing and sirens on.

“Looks like they got someone out alive,” I said. “Either that, or they’re wasting their bells and whistles on a corpse.”

Camera Two picked up a number of people previously hidden by the emergency vehicle. I zoomed in on their faces, and then roamed the street, video taping as many people and license plates as I could.

“I don’t see Webb’s Escort or any other vehicle,” said Megan.

“Me neither.”

“Was Webb calling from the office?”

I shook my head. “Too much background noise for that. Sounded more like a restaurant or maybe a police station.”

Megan crossed the aisle to the small galley. “Acey, do you want some coffee?”

“Wouldn’t mind. Don’t know how long we’re going to be here. Webb said to keep the cameras rolling as long as there was anyone around.” I glanced up at the top of the screen. Camera one was still on the pickup.

I continued to roam around with camera two, caught a cop yawning. The man’s teeth looked like they belonged in the mouth of a canine.

A tow truck arrived. The driver got out, examined the front of the damaged vehicle and scratched his head. Who wouldn’t? The dent in the hood was like a deep trough, and then there was the lamppost sticking out of the center like a leaning electrical tower.

I went back to filming the crowd. The next time I glanced up at the top of the screen, the lamppost lay on the ground and the tow truck was heading away with its load. I quickly adjusted the camera to get a good picture of the rear of the Chevy pickup and its Arizona license plate.

Back home on the porch swing, Megan and I watched Webb pull up the drive in his little white Escort. He parked behind the van and headed toward us, moving in the distracted laborious way of someone with too many years and too much on his mind.

“Did you get there in time?” he asked, taking a seat on the chair facing us. He leaned forward, and in the ruddy light of sunset, his gray hair was like a thin veil against his encroaching baldness.

“In time to record two video tapes,” I said. “Which you’ll see after we get some sort of explanation.”

Megan pinched me. “Do you want something to drink, Webb?” she asked.

“Some water, if you don’t mind.”

She gave him a hug and went into the house.

“I’m going to hold off on my hug,” I said.

Webb smiled and for a few seconds his face lost a little of its gloom.

“Do you know the driver of that pickup?” I asked.

“No.”

“He’s from out of state.”

“How do you know that?” asked Webb.

“’Cause he didn’t have Michigan plates on his vehicle.”

Webb sighed and he shook his head.

“Why the rush job on catching the accident scene on tape?” I asked.

“I’ll tell you when Megan gets back,” he answered.

“Suit yourself.” We were silent for a long moment. I said, “Annie called.”

“Oh, yeah? Did she decide?”

“Yep.” I stared at Webb, eyes wide, smile big.

Webb opened his hands, palms up. “And… Is she coming or not?”

I did a lip-lock-key-toss.

“She is; I can see it in your eyes,” said Webb.

“You know me too well. And yes, she’s coming.”

Webb smiled and did a little dance with his head. “The folks in Pennsylvania are going to miss her. She was probably the best sheriff they ever had. Oh well, their loss is our gain and we can sure use her help with this new case.”

“You’ve decided which case we’re going to take? I thought that was the purpose of the meeting we never had.”

“I’ll explain when Megan gets back.”

“You feeling okay? You look kind of …” I was searching for a word that wouldn’t sting when Megan stepped out and handed Webb a glass of water.

“Fresh from the well,” I said, “judging from the time it took to fetch.”

“Fetch? I’ll give you fetch.” Megan snatched the pen from my shirt pocket and tossed it over the side of the porch.

I turned to see it land in the arms of the yew we’d planted last summer.

“Someone broke into the office,” said Webb.

“Again?” I leaned over the rail and retrieved my pen. “Maybe we ought to close that place and work out of the house — since we do anyway.” He ignored my suggestion, as I knew he would. The office was the only home Webb had known for most of his life. It’s where he roamed with his memories. Where he went when he wanted to commune with the best of his past, and pace away the worst.

“What did they take?” I asked, unable to imagine what anyone would want from furnishings that predated Eisenhower.

“Nothing. It’s what was left that has me worried.”

“Like what?”

“A gallon of gas,” said Webb.

“Gas. You saying he wanted to burn us out?”

“Were you there?” Megan asked, overriding my question with one of concern.

“No, I wasn’t there. But one of the other tenants saw him near our office, got suspicious and alerted security. The guard got there as he was uncapping the gas can. He chased him out of the building, and called the police with a description of his vehicle and the direction he was headed.”

“Hence the police chase and the lamppost making the acquaintance of the pickup,” I added.

Webb nodded.

“How’d he get a gas can past security?” I asked.

“He had it in one of those large satchels.”

“Do you know who he is?” asked Megan.

“No. He’s in surgery and he wasn’t carrying a wallet, or anything with a name on it.”

“What about the pickup’s license plate number?” I asked. “Which, by the way, hailed from Arizona.”

“The pickup was stolen, so that gives us nothing.”

“Gets us to Arizona,” I said. “And what about his fingerprints, did the police run them?”

“They didn’t think of it until he was in surgery.”

“There wasn’t anything with his prints on it in the pickup?”

“That’s what I was told.”

“He handled the steering wheel and gas can, didn’t he?”

“With gloves.”

“That’s interesting,” I said, setting the porch swing in motion.

“What do you mean?” Megan drew her feet in close and settled against the swing’s chain.

“Perp’s concerned enough to wear gloves and yet pulls a job in broad daylight. Doesn’t make sense.”

“Plus he steals a vehicle in Arizona and drives here,” said Megan.

“If that’s where he got it. It could have been stolen from someone visiting relatives here in Willow Falls,” I said.

I stopped the swing and turned to Webb. “Do we know anything at all about the owner of the pickup?”

Webb shook his head. “Not yet.”

“How’d you find out about the break-in?” I asked.

“I was across the street getting a haircut. I saw the pickup squeal out of the parking lot and the security guard giving chase.”

I studied his wispy strands and wondered what they charged to trim what amounted to almost nothing. “Did you see the driver’s face?”

“No. He was going too fast and I was actually dozing.”

“So it’s possible you know the man who tried to burn us out,” I said.

“The police gave me his description, but no one came to mind.”

“At least he won’t be back to try again,” I said.

“Or there were more than one, and someone else is going to try and finish the job.”

“That sounds pretty paranoid, Webb.”

“Is that why you had us film the accident scene?” Megan asked. “You think he had an accomplice?”

“I think we don’t know, so we cover all the bases.” Webb leaned back. This time, the setting sun gave him a flushed inebriated look. Old man relaxing after a few too many.

“Is this the new case you’re talking about?” I asked.

He nodded.

“We’re going to investigate a case of attempted arson? Isn’t that against company policy?”

“It’s not just arson. There has to be a connection between the work we do and the attempt to burn us out. And we’re not going to take on another case until I find out why we were targeted.”

I was quiet for a long moment, mostly to let Webb cool down. Didn’t want him having another heart attack. He took a sip of water and stared into the glass, holding on to it with both hands and lost in its watery depths.

“What do the police think?” I asked in a deliberately unchallenging voice.

“That there was a crime. They now have the criminal. End of story.”

“But not for you…”

“That man came for the files. He took the time to spread out the file boxes and remove their lids. There’s no doubt he planned to douse the contents of each box to make sure everything was destroyed. If the security guard hadn’t come when he did, we would have lost all the files and probably everything in the office.”

Webb went silent and looked away. Probably not willing to say what he was really thinking. That he’d almost lost the shrine to Charlie McMunn, his hero and the man who had rescued him and later adopted him. Almost lost the desk Charlie had worked at all his life, chasing down lost kids, the bed Charlie had slept in, the kitchen where Charlie had rustled up meals for himself and his adopted, traumatized son. And as much as I might see all this as obsessive, in the eyes of the saved, you can’t go too far in revering the person who’d plucked you from hell.

“Maybe I should sleep there tonight,” I said.

“I’ll do it,” said Webb.

Not wanting to shove his age and frailty in his face, I looked at Megan. She said, “Let Acey do it, Webb. You and I are better employed at brainstorming. We can watch the videos of the accident on the large screen TV; see if anything comes to mind. Any face rings a bell.”

“I think I was just insulted,” I said.

“If you’re not sure, it only proves my point,” said Megan.

“Strange that he attempted to do the dirty deed in the middle of the day instead of at night,” said Webb, handing me the keys to the Escort.

“Could mean he was in a hurry to get it done,” said Megan.

“But why?” I asked.

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” said Webb.