Roadside Crosses

to Sacramento. All of us. And I don’t mind admitting it.”
    Dance had no interest in the substance of his argument. “Hamilton, you try something like this again, with or without a warrant, and the matter’ll end upwith the attorney general and the governor. And the press.”
    Overby was saying, “Hamilton, what she means is—”
    “I think he’s pretty clear on what I mean, Charles.”
    Her phone then beeped with a text message from Michael O’Neil.
    “I’ve got to take this.” She disconnected the call, cutting off both her boss and Royce.
    She lifted her phone and read the stark words on the screen.
    K—
    Travis spotted in New Monterey. Police lost him. But have report of another victim. He’s dead. In Carmel, near end of Cypress Hills Road, west. I’m en route. Meet you there?
    —M
    She texted, Yes. And ran for the car.
    FLICKING ON THE flashing lights, which she tended to forget the car even had—investigators like her rarely had to play Hot Pursuit—Dance sped into the afternoon gloom.
    Another victim . . .
    This attack would have happened not long after they’d foiled the attempt on Donald Hawken and his wife. She’d been right. The boy, probably frustrated that he hadn’t been successful, had gone on immediately to find another victim.
    She found the turnoff, braked hard and eased thelong car down the winding country road. The vegetation was lush but the overcast leached the color from the plants and gave Dance the impression that she was in some otherworldly place.
    Like Aetheria, the land in DimensionQuest.
    She pictured the image of Stryker in front of her, holding his sword comfortably.
    like really w4nt to learn, what can u t33ch me?
    2 die . . .
    Pictured too the boy’s crude drawing of the blade piercing her chest.
    Then a flash caught her eyes: white lights and colored ones.
    She drove up and parked beside the other cars—Monterey County Sheriff’s Office—and a Crime Scene van. Dance climbed out, headed into the chaos. “Hey.” She nodded to Michael O’Neil, greatly relieved to see him, even if this was only a temporary respite from the Other Case.
    “You check out the scene?” she asked.
    “Just got here myself,” he explained.
    They walked toward where the body lay, covered with a dark green tarp. Yellow police tape starkly marked the spot.
    “Somebody spotted him?” she asked an MCSO deputy.
    “That’s right, Agent Dance. Nine-one-one call in New Monterey. But by the time our people got there he was gone. So was the good citizen.”
    “Who’s the vic?” O’Neil asked.
    He replied, “I don’t know yet. It was pretty bad, apparently. Travis used the knife this time. Not the gun. And looks like he took his time.”
    The deputy pointed into a grass-filled area about fifty feet away from the road.
    She and O’Neil walked over the sandy ground. In a minute or two they arrived at the taped-off area, where a half dozen uniformed and plainclothes officers were standing, and a Crime Scene officer crouched beside the corpse covered by a green tarp.
    They nodded a greeting to an MCSO deputy, a round Latino man Dance had worked with for years.
    “What’s the word on the vic’s ID?” she asked.
    “A deputy’s got his wallet.” The deputy indicated the body. “They’re checking it out now. All we know so far is male, forties.”
    Dance looked around. “Wasn’t killed here, I assume?” There were no residences or other buildings nearby. Nor would the victim have been hiking or jogging here—there were no trails.
    “Right.” The officer continued, “There wasn’t much blood. Looks like the perp drove the body here and dumped it. Found some tire tracks in the sand. We’re guessing Travis boosted the guy’s own car, threw him in the trunk. Like that first girl. Tammy. Only this time, he didn’t wait for the tide. Stabbed him to death. As soon as we’ve got the deceased’s ID, we can put out a call on the wheels.”
    “You’re sure Travis did it?” Dance asked.
    The deputy offered, “You’ll see.”
    “And he was tortured?”
    “Looks that way.”
    They paused at the Crime Scene tape about ten feet from the corpse. The CS officer, in a jumpsuit like a spaceman, was taking measurements. He glanced up and saw the two officers. He nodded a greetingand through his protective goggles lifted an eyebrow. “You want to see?” he called.
    “Yes,” Dance replied, wondering if he asked thinking a woman might not be comfortable seeing the carnage.