Savage Noir

  Chapter 45  The park rangers were right. Very little was left. There was a chimney, part of a stove and the charred walls of a foundation. I stepped onto it and searched the area for clues, working in a circle,  outside-in. Nothing. Just to the side of me was a deep fire pit. Was this where Jason’s man heated the branding irons? I began to compare Jason to Charles Manson. From what I had read, Manson did not kill animals. Some of his Family came from decent homes, whereas Jason’s bunch seemed to have no homes. And they were not averse to killing animals big and small. The exception, of course, was Katherine Rollins.  We were nowhere near answering the question: Why her? From Helter-Skelter I learned that Manson had his favorites, all of whom would have sex with him. And just about anyone else. During his Family’s stay at Spahn Ranch, the place was an incubator of syphilis and gonorrhea. Was Katherine one of Jason’s favorites? Were Jason and his girls holed

  Chapter 44 I gassed up the Suburu and drove onto Highway 190, heading west. In the distance I could see great sand dunes reflecting the reddish hue from sunrise. Twenty-five miles later I pulled into Stovepipe Wells, a one-horse village with an old general store that reminded me of a western movie set. It had a hitching post that ran the length of the front porch and a gas pump. A sign said “Hotel,” but I didn’t see one. Travel trailers sat in a dusty lot in no kind of discernible arrangement. It was spring, so the campers wouldn’t burn to a crisp once they stepped out of their trailers. Were any of the wells still working? I mused. I kept going.  Ranger Rick told me it was one hundred miles from the Furnace Creek station, and the last leg would challenge me. “You gotta navigate a shit road through a mountain pass just before you get there,” quoth the ranger. Some long miles down Highway 90 I saw palm trees towering over another village. Panamint Springs. Its junc

  Chapter 43 I had to roust Rollins from bed the next morning, which was no mean feat. His phone was off. I pounded on the door for what seemed like five minutes. Finally it opened. “What?” he asked. “Get into some clothes and come to my room. I want to show you something.” “Can I just…?” “The coffee’s made and waiting for you. Get up and get dressed.” “Ask me nicely.” “Please.” Ten minutes later Rollins came in, mumbling in protest.  “Good morning,” I said, ignoring his pique. I took him over to the bed, where two maps of Death Valley were spread out, one smaller than the other. The larger was an aerial map, the smaller one was a fold-up road map. I pointed to a destination I had circled.  “This again?” “It’s not just the site of the ranch, it’s all the terrain around it.” “So?”  “So it might be tough going, even with four-wheel drive.” “In other words I might have to spring for a busted tire or a ruined transmission.”  “Let’s hope not. Want to come with me?” He