Roadside Crosses

find Travis or anticipate his next moves. But she could draw no conclusions from the cryptic postings.
    Dance logged off and told TJ and Boling about what Chilton had written.
    Boling wasn’t sure it would have much effect—theboy, in his assessment, was past reasoning with. “But we’ll hope.”
    Dance doled out assignments; TJ retreated to his chair at the coffee table to contact the Scandinavian proxy, and Boling to his corner to check out the names of possible victims from a new batch of Internet addresses—including those who’d posted to threads other than “Roadside Crosses.” He’d identified thirteen more.
    Charles Overby, in a politician’s blue suit and white shirt, stepped into Dance’s office. His greeting: “Kathryn . . . say, Kathryn, what’s this about the kid posting threats?”
    “Right, Charles. We’re trying to find out where he hacked in from.”
    “Six reporters have already called me. And a couple of them got my home phone number. I’ve put them off but I can’t wait anymore. I’m holding a press conference in twenty minutes. What can I tell them?”
    “That the investigation is continuing. We’re getting some manpower help from San Benito for the search. There’ve been sightings but nothing’s panned out.”
    “Hamilton called me too. He’s pretty upset.”
    Sacramento’s Hamilton Royce, of the too-blue suit, the quick eyes and the ruddy complexion.
    Agent in Charge Overby had had a rather eventful morning, it seemed.
    “Anything more?”
    “Chilton’s stopped the posts on the thread and asked Travis to surrender.”
    “Anything tech, I mean?”
    “Well, he’s helping us trace the boy’s uploads.”
    “Good. So we’re doing something. ”
    He meant: something the viewers of prime-time TV would appreciate. As opposed to the sweaty, unstylish police work they’d been engaged in the last forty-eight hours. Dance caught Boling’s eye, which said he too was taken aback by the comment. They looked away from each other immediately before a shared look of shock bloomed.
    Overby glanced at his watch. “All right. My turn in the barrel.” He wandered off to the press conference.
    “Does he know what that expression means?” Boling asked her.
    “About the barrel? I don’t know, myself.”
    TJ gave a chortling laugh but said nothing. He smiled at Boling, who said, “It’s a joke I won’t repeat. It involves horny sailors out to sea for a long time.”
    “Thanks for not sharing.” Dance dropped into her desk chair, sipped the coffee that had materialized and, what the hell, went for half of the doughnut that also had appeared as a gift from the gods.
    “Has Travis—well, Stryker—been back online?” she called to Jon Boling.
    “Nope. Haven’t heard from Irv. But he’ll be sure to let us know. I don’t think he’s ever slept. He’s got Red Bull in his veins.”
    Dance picked up the phone and called Peter Bennington at MCSO forensics for the latest information on the evidence. The gist was that while there was by now plenty of evidence to get a murderconviction against Travis, there were no leads as to where he might be hiding out, except those traces of soil they’d found earlier—a location different from that where the cross had been left. David Reinhold, that eager young deputy from the sheriff’s office, had taken it on himself to collect samples from around Travis’s house; the dirt didn’t match.
    Sandy soil . . . So helpful, Dance reflected cynically, in an area that boasted more than fifteen miles of the most beautiful beaches and dunes in the state.
    DESPITE HIS ABILITY to report that the CBI was “doing something techie,” Charles Overby got T-boned at the press conference.
    The TV in Dance’s office was on and they were able to watch the crash live.
    Dance’s briefing to Overby had been accurate, except for one small detail, albeit one she hadn’t known.
    “Agent Overby,” a reporter asked, “what are you doing to protect the community in light of the new cross?”
    Deer in the headlights.
    “Uh-oh,” TJ whispered.
    Shocked, Dance looked from him to Boling. Then back to the screen.
    The reporter continued that she’d heard a report a half hour earlier on a radio scanner. Carmel police had found another cross with today’s date, June 28, near China Cove on Highway 1.
    Overby sputtered in response, “I was briefed justbefore coming here by the agent in charge of the case, and she apparently wasn’t aware of