Savage Noir

  Chapter 39 I had gauged Rollins wrong: Instead of dragging his feet he called me and asked to go earlier—way earlier: Seven. It was no problem for me since I’m an early riser.  He drove the first leg. We crossed the Bay Bridge and took the 580 Freeway to the turnoff to I-5 south toward Los Angeles. I had seven hours to tell him what I knew about the Charles Manson connection.  It took me seven minutes. Meanwhile he was speeding along at eighty-five. “What’s the big hurry?” I asked. “It’s a lovely spring day.” “Really?” Bad timing on my part. We were approaching the Harris Stockyards. Even with our windows closed, the noxious odors seeped inside. “Okay, not so lovely in these parts,” I admitted. “But if you get a speeding ticket, that’s going to slow us down big-time. Not to mention a hefty fine.” He slowed to seventy-five. We had already done two hundred miles when he took the Stockdale Highway turnoff to Bakersfield. My butt was sore from sitting so long.  “Let’s grab s

  Chapter 38  “That is such bullshit!”  Terry said.  “You’re taking Katherine’s old man who is grieving and  doesn’t want to go , instead of me. I’m your assistant, remember?”  She was in a snit, pacing back in forth in our tiny office. What could I say? I was not about to tell her what Agent Thornhill told me: “She’ll be too busy checking out her phone.” “Okay, I see your point,” I said. Lame. “So why take him instead of me?” Why indeed? It was a good question. Finally I said: “I’m taking Rollins because he has history in Death Valley. Or, to be precise: Furnace Creek.” “But I’ll see everything with fresh eyes, dude.” “So will I. I’ve never been there. I need you to keep gathering information so that—” “Really? Why can’t I gather information in the field?” “You could. Can. But not this time.” “This sucks.” “Maybe it sucks, but you work for me and I’m telling you I need you to stay here. It’s not like your ass will be glued to your desk chair. You can take breaks, go somewhere to eat o

  Chapter 37 Terry’s call threw me.   How could the cops have missed it? Then it came to me: maybe they were too young to have even heard of Charles Manson and the Tate-La Bianca murders. The Manson name probably meant nothing to them. Therefore, there was no reason to include it in their reports. However, there were two older detectives who should have known: Spears and Olsen. Olsen was the smarter of the two, so no excuses for his sloppy work. I took a couple of deep breaths to bring me back to the present.   I was standing in the middle of a bedroom.           Start with square one. What could I see from this vantage point?          I noticed a thick coat of dust on everything. Easily one year’s worth. Katherine’s Mac was covered with it.           I felt a breeze.          Her window was cracked open.          Did she leave it like that?          I went to the windowsill and inspected the handle. Impressions in the dust, fairly recent. Someone had lifted the window. A maid? Couldn’