"A couple of cases is all. You hear about Otto Grant?"
"Sounds familiar."
"Sixty-year-old farmer, Salinas Valley. The state took a big chunk of his property, eminent domain. The farm had been in his family for years and he had to sell off the rest for taxes. He was furious about it. He's gone missing."
"That's right." Dance recalled the HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN? posters around town. There were two images. One of a man, smiling at the camera, sitting beside his Labrador retriever. The other showed him with hair askew, looking a bit of a crank. He resembled the great actor Bruce Dern in Nebraska. "It's sad," she said.
"Is, yes. He was writing these blogs trashing the state for what they did. But they stopped a few days ago and he's disappeared. His family thinks he's killed himself. I suppose that's it. No point in kidnapping a man who doesn't have any money. I've got a team out trying to find him. Or his body."
O'Neil offered another grimace. "Then there're the hate crimes. That's on my plate too."
Dance knew this story. Everybody in town did. Over the past few weeks, vandals had defaced buildings associated with minorities. They'd tagged an African American church with graffiti of the KKK and a burning cross. Then a gay couple's house had been tagged with GET AIDS AND DIE. Latinos had been targeted too.
"Who do you think? Neo-Nazis?"
Such groups were rare in the Monterey area. But not unheard of.
"Closest are some biker and redneck white social clubs in Salinas and Seaside. Fits their worldview but graffiti's not their MO. They tend to bust heads in bars. I've talked to a few of them. They were actually insulted I was accusing them."
"Guess there are degrees of bigotry."
"Amy Grabe's considering sending a team down. But for now it's mine."
FBI. Sure. The crimes he was referring to would probably fall into the category of civil rights violations, which meant the feds would be involved.
He continued, "But no physical violence so it's not a top priority. I can work Solitude Creek okay."
"I'm glad," Dance said.
O'Neil let out a sigh and stretched. She was standing close enough to smell his aftershave or soap. A pleasant, complicated scent. Spicy. She eased away.
He explained, "Crime Scene should have their report tomorrow from around the roadhouse and the jobbing company."
She told him in detail exactly what had happened that day from the moment of her arrival at Solitude Creek. He took notes. Then she handed him the printouts of the interviews she'd conducted. He flipped through them.
"I'll read these tonight."
She summarized: "You might find something I didn't see. But no employees, former ones or patrons who might have been motivated to organize the attack. No competitor wanting to take Sam Cohen out of commission."
"Was wondering. Any pissed-off husbands wanted to get even with somebody on a date at the club that night?"
"Or wife," Dance pointed out. The second-most-popular motive for arson--after insurance fraud--was a woman burning down a house, apartment or hotel room with a cheating lover inside. "That was in the battery of questions. No hints, though."
He riffled the many pages. "Been busy."
"Wish I'd been productive." She shook her head.
O'Neil finished his beer. Looked through the pictures again. "One thing I don't get, though."
"Why didn't he just burn the place?" She finished his thought.
He gave a smile. "Yep."
"That's the key."
O'Neil's phone hummed once. He looked at the text.
"Better be getting home."