Roadside Crosses

hadn’t started the ‘Roadside Crosses’ thread and mentioned the accident, Schaeffer wouldn’t have any incentive to go after him.”
    He was right. But Kathryn Dance tended to avoid the what-if game. The playing field was far too soupy. “He would’ve picked somebody else,” she pointed out. “He was determined to get revenge against you.”
    But Chilton didn’t seem to hear. “I should just shut the fucking blog down altogether.”
    Dance saw resolve in his eyes, frustration, anger. Fear, too, she believed. Speaking to both of them, he said firmly, “I’m going to.”
    “To what?” his wife asked.
    “Shut it down. The Report ’s finished. I’m not destroying anybody else’s life.”
    “Jim,” Patrizia said softly. She brushed some dirt off her sleeve. “When our son had pneumonia, you sat beside his bed for two days and didn’t get a bit of sleep. When Don’s wife died, you walked right out of that meeting at Microsoft headquarters to be there for him—you gave up a hundred-thousand-dollar contract. When my dad was dying, you were with him more than the hospice people. You do good things, Jim. That’s what you’re about. And your blog does good things too.”
    “I—”
    “Shhh. Let me finish. Donald Hawken needed you and you were there. Our children needed you and you were there. Well, the world needs you too, honey. You can’t turn your back on that.”
    “Patty, people died.”
    “Just promise me you won’t make any decisions toofast. This has been a terrible couple of days. Nobody’s thinking clearly.”
    A lengthy pause. “I’ll see. I’ll see.” Then he hugged his wife. “But one thing I do know is that I can go on hiatus for a few days. And we’re going to get away from here.” Chilton said to his wife, “Let’s go up to Hollister tomorrow. We’ll spend a long weekend with Donald and Lily. You still haven’t met her. We’ll bring the boys, cook out . . . do some hiking.”
    Patrizia’s face blossomed into a smile. She rested her head against his shoulders. “I’d like that.”
    He’d turned his attention to Dance. “There’s something I’ve been thinking about.”
    She cocked an eyebrow.
    “A lot of people would’ve thrown me to the wolves. And I probably deserved to be thrown. But you didn’t. You didn’t like me, you didn’t approve, but you stood up for me. That’s intellectual honesty. You don’t see that much. Thank you.”
    Dance gave a faint, embarrassed laugh, acknowledging the compliment—even as she thought of the times when she had wanted to throw him to the wolves.
    The Chiltons returned to the house to finish packing and arrange for a motel that night—Patrizia didn’t want to stay in the house until the office had been scrubbed clean of every trace of Schaeffer’s blood. Dance could hardly blame her.
    The agent now joined the MCSO Crime Scene chief, an easygoing middle-aged officer she’d worked with for several years. She explained that there was a possibility that Travis might still be alive, stashed in a hideout somewhere. Which meant he’d have a dwindlingsupply of food and water. She had to locate him. And soon.
    “You find a room key on the body?”
    “Yep. Cyprus Grove Inn.”
    “I want the room, and Schaeffer’s clothes and his car gone over with a microscope. Look for anything that might give us a clue where he might’ve put the boy.”
    “You bet, Kathryn.”
    She returned to her car, phoning TJ. “You got him, boss. I heard.”
    “Yep. But now I want to find the boy. If he’s alive, we may only have a day or two until he starves to death or dies of thirst. All-out on this one. MCSO’s running the scenes at Chilton’s house and at the Cyprus Grove—where Schaeffer was staying. Call Peter Bennington and ride herd on the reports. Call Michael if you need to. Oh, and find me witnesses in nearby rooms at the Cyprus Grove.”
    “Sure, boss.”
    “And contact CHP, county and city police. I want to find the last roadside cross—the one Schaeffer left to announce Chilton’s death. Peter should go over it with every bit of equipment they’ve got.” Another thought occurred to her. “Did you ever hear back about that state vehicle?”
    “Oh, that Pfister saw, right?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Nobody’s called. I don’t think we’re prioritized.”
    “Try again. And make it a priority.”
    “You coming in, boss? Overbearing wants to see you.”
    “TJ.”
    “Sorry.”
    “I’ll be in later. I’ve got to