Solitude Creek (Kathryn Dance 4)

Chapter 14

The Guzman Connection task force was up to full strength.

In addition to blustery Steve Foster and staunch Carol Allerton, two others were present in the conference room dedicated to the operation.

"Kathryn, Charles." This was from Steve Lu, the chief of detectives at the Salinas Police Department. Aka, Steve Two, since another, Foster, was on the team. Lu, an excessively skinny man--Dance's opinion--was a specialist in gangs. His younger brother had been in a crew and been busted on a few minor counts--though he was now out of the system and clean. Lu was persistent and no-nonsense, maybe trying hard

er, to make up for his sibling's stumble. He was humorless, Dance had learned over several years of working with him, but he was not, as the other Steve--Foster--bluntly contrary.

The fourth task force member was Jimmy Gomez, the young CBI agent whose name had come up earlier. Dark complexioned and sporting a mustache as brown and taut as Foster's was light and elaborate, he stayed in shape by playing football--that is, soccer--every minute when he wasn't at work or attending to his family. He was assigned to this division of the CBI and his office was two doors down from Dance's. They were both coworkers and friends. (Just two weeks ago Dance and her children and Gomez, his wife and their three youngsters had done the Del Monte Cineplex thing, then gone to Lala's after, to discuss over dessert and coffee the brilliance of Pixar and which animated character they all would want to be, Dance selecting the hero from Brave, mostly because she envied the hair.) The two Steves were at one table, Jimmy Gomez at another. Carol Allerton, in the corner, waved to the newcomers and returned to a serious mobile phone conversation.

Overby announced, "Some help, s'il vous plait?"

Dance noted her own jaw tighten and she knew exactly what she was radiating kinesically. She wondered if anyone else in the room did. Her displeasure had to be obvious.

"You've probably heard about the incident at the roadhouse, Solitude Creek," Overby said. "I know you have, Jimmy."

"That fire?" Foster asked. He seemed perpetually distracted.

"No, it was more than that." Overby glanced at Dance.

She said, "The club itself didn't burn. The perp started a fire, outside, near the HVAC system, to get the smell of smoke into the club. He'd blocked the exit doors. Three dead, dozens injured. A stampede. It was pretty bad."

"Intentional? People crushed to death." Allerton whispered, "Terrible."

"Jesus," Steve Lu muttered. "So, it's homicide."

Homicide embraces everything from suicide to vehicular manslaughter to premeditated murder. It was into the last of those categories that the Solitude Creek incident probably fell.

Foster took the news less emotionally. "Can't be insurance. Otherwise the owner would've torched the place empty. Wouldn't want any fatalities. Disgruntled workers, pissed-off customers got kicked out drunk?"

"Preliminary interviews don't turn up any obvious suspects but it's a possibility," Dance said. "We'll keep looking."

Overby then said, "Now. Kathryn's got a lead."

"I was canvassing the area. I found a woman who lives about two hundred yards from the end of the club's parking lot. She told me she didn't see anything odd around the time of the incident, she wasn't near the club, but I knew she was lying."

Foster continued to gaze at her, his eyes neutral but still managing to radiate criticism for her missing the clues with the interview earlier.

"How?" Steve Lu asked.

"I had a feeling she had a connection with the club. She's on welfare and poor but she loves music. I suspected she'd hike to the club and listen to the shows from the outside. I asked if she was there last night. She said no. But she was clearly lying."

Foster looked over a pad containing his precise notes.

Dance continued, "Generally, it's hard to tell if somebody's being deceptive without establishing their baseline behavior."

"Charles was telling us," Allerton said.

"But there're a few attributes that signal deception on their own. One is beginning to speak more slowly, since your mind is trying to craft the lie and make sure it'll be consistent with everything you've said before. The second is a slight increase in pitch--because deception creates stress and stress tightens muscles, including the vocal cords. Those both registered deception when she was talking to me. I called her on it. She broke down and confessed she'd lied and she had been outside the club, from about seven thirty until the incident."

"What'd she see?" Lu asked.

"White male, over six feet, in a dark green jacket with a logo, like a construction or other worker, black baseball cap, yellow aviator sunglasses. Medium build. Brown hair. Probably under forty. Nobody at Henderson Jobbing wears that kind of outfit. This guy parked the truck beside the club, started a fire in the oil drum and walked back to the warehouse--to drop the keys off. That was it. She stayed until the stampede happened and she took off."

"Afraid to come forward."

"She said anybody who'd do that, if he found out about her, would come back and kill her in a minute."