Roadside Crosses

from her assistant. Maryellen had grown suspicious when Charles Overby called once to see if Dance was in the office and then again to ask her to come to his office to discuss her job satisfaction, something he’d never done.
    En route to Overby’s office, the woman had stalled and remained in the Gals’ Wing, hiding in a side corridor.Hamilton Royce slipped into her boss’s office. After five minutes or so he’d then stepped outside and made a cell phone call. Maryellen had gotten close enough to overhear part of it—Royce was calling a magistrate in Sacramento, who was apparently a friend, and asking for an arrest warrant against Chilton. Something to do with trespass.
    Maryellen didn’t understand the implications of what had happened, but she called Dance immediately with the news, then continued to Overby’s office.
    Dance gave Chilton an abbreviated version of the story, omitting Royce’s name.
    “Who was behind it?” he fumed.
    She knew the blogger would, in a posting, go after whoever was behind his arrest and she couldn’t afford the kind of publicity nightmare that would create. “I’m not divulging that. All I’ll say is that some people want your blog suspended until we catch Travis.”
    “Why?”
    She said sternly, “For the same reasons I wanted it shut down. To keep people from posting and giving Travis more targets.” A faint smile. “And because it looks bad for the state if we’re not doing everything we can to protect the public—which means shutting you down.”
    “And stopping the blog is good for the public? I expose corruption and problems; I don’t encourage them.” Then he climbed off the soapbox. “And you arrested me so they couldn’t serve the warrant?”
    “Yep.”
    “What’s going to happen?”
    “One of two things. The troopers’ll go back homeand report to their supervisor that they can’t serve the warrant because you’re already under arrest. And it’ll go away.”
    “What’s the second thing?”
    A collision between excrement and fan, Dance reflected. She said nothing, merely shrugged.
    But Chilton got it. “You put yourself on the line for me? Why?”
    “I owe you. You’ve been cooperating with us. And if you want to know another reason: I don’t agree with all of your politics but I do agree you have the right to say what you want. If you’re wrong, you can get sued and the courts’ll decide. But I’m not going to be part of some vigilante movement to shut you up because people don’t like your approach.”
    “Thank you,” he said and the gratitude was obvious in his eyes.
    They shook hands. Chilton said, “Better get back online.”
    Dance returned to the street and thanked Miguel Herrera, the perplexed deputy, and returned to her car. She called TJ and left a message to run a full backgrounder on Hamilton Royce. She wanted to know what kind of enemy she’d just made.
    Part of which question was apparently about to be answered; her phone buzzed and Caller ID showed Overby’s number.
    Oh, well, she’d guessed all along it would be door number two.
    Shit and fan . . .
    “Charles.”
    “Kathryn, I think we have a bit of a problem. Hamilton Royce is here with me on speaker.”
    She was tempted to hold the phone away from her ear.
    “Agent Dance, what’s this about Chilton getting arrested by you? And the CHP not being able to serve their warrant?”
    “I didn’t have any options.”
    “No options? What do you mean?”
    Struggling to keep her voice calm, she said, “I’ve decided I don’t want to shut the blog down. We know Travis reads it. Chilton’s asked him to come in. The boy may see that and try to contact the blog. Maybe negotiate a surrender.”
    “Well, Kathryn.” Overby sounded desperate. “On the whole, Sacramento’s thinking it’s still better to close down the thing. Don’t you agree?”
    “Not really, Charles. Now, Hamilton, you went through my files, didn’t you?”
    A land mine of a pause. “I didn’t review anything that wasn’t public knowledge.”
    “Doesn’t matter. It was a breach of professional responsibility. It might even be a crime.”
    “Kathryn, really,” Overby protested.
    “Agent Dance.” Royce was sounding calm now, ignoring Overby as efficiently as she was. She recalled a common observation during her interrogations: A man in control is a dangerous man. “People are dying, and Chilton doesn’t care. And, yes, it’s making us all look bad, from you to Charles to the CBI