The Triggerman Dance

"No, they were better than childish, but they were naive and strident. Anyway, he'd done some articles about La Raza and Aztlan for a class at his high school. You know, the stuff about the Mexicans reclaiming California for their race. Naive stuff, like I said, but it came up in court. He admitted the shooting, on the strength of his aunt's identification of Patrick, governed by fear for her safety and life. The jury finally hung on murder two, so he went back to jail. For reasons championed by the media and press, and finally agreed to by the DA, he wasn't tried again for Patrick. He got four years for mayhem on Carolyn, walked after two, moved to Mexico, they say. A controversial decision, to say the least. Maybe it was supposed to keep the lid on the pressure cooker. Maybe it was supposed to be a concession to an emotionally charged county minority that truly believed the kid was defending his family. This was before your time at the paper. You were in Key West, fishing, I believe."

John felt, not for the first time that his skin had been peeled back by Joshua and his people, affording them a full view of everything inside.

"I read about the trial," he said. "It wasn't big in the papers back there."

"It was big here. On the heels of O.J. and Prop. 187. Goodness, what a summer that was."

Weinstein sighed deeply, removed his glasses and massaged the sides of his nose. "How'd you do down in Key West, fish-wise?"

"Does it matter?"

"It couldn't possibly matter less."

"Then get on with it."

"Yeah, that's the spirit."

The glasses back on now, Joshua contemplated John with his voracious eyes. "Cut now to Puma. You need to know something about him. He came from a wealthy family that had been in the county since the early eighteen hundreds. A very wealthy family—bought land grants on the cheap, made a go with cattle and crops, sent sons into the assembly and Congress and watched the land value go out of sight after World War II. Puma was working at the time, that dreary August when he lost his son and most of his wife. He quit his job. He sold his house in Tustin and moved onto family land—a couple of thousand acres down in the south part of the county. The land is hilly and dry, but it overlooks the coast. It backs up against Pendleton Marine Base. It's got a lake. It's got oak savanna, coastal scrub, two hundred acres of orange trees. There was only one road into it, and Puma kept it that way. He built an eight-foot fence around it and wired it full of voltage. There's a guard house where the road comes into his property. He could have afforded electricity, gas and water, but he installed generators, propane and wells instead. He rebuilt the old mission-era house, which ran him almost a half a million dollars. When it was ready, he moved in with his paralyzed wife and his daughter. He began a business that is now thriving. And since then, no one sees him. He's there, of course—I don't mean he's disappeared—but he rarely leaves the place. Oh yes, it has a name. Liberty Ridge."

Liberty, thought John. He liked the sound of the word, though it wasn't a word you heard much anymore. And he knew the land that Weinstein was talking about. It was gorgeous land, tough land, filled with wildlife, nourished by the lake, with a commanding view from its peak. As a kid, John had hiked it, camped it, scavenged it for fossils and rocks and reptiles a hundred times.

John looked around the room, at the bare walls, the blank television monitor, the pale green carpet. For a moment, Puma's paralyzed wife and Liberty Ridge were just blips on the screen of his awareness. But then they grew in size, and he remembered why his stomach had tightened and his heart was now beating so loudly inside his rib cage. Puma was behind Rebecca.

Rebecca.

"Now," said Weinstein, "we need to. look forward, to the van used in the . . . assassination. Rather, to the repair shop from which the van was lifted. Sharon? You're on."

With this, Sharon Dumars rose and began pacing. At first she went back and forth in front of the screen, then extended her run to include the entire perimeter of the room. She looked for all the world, thought John, like a female version of Joshua.