The Night Crew

side of a hill, with a narrow, rutted drive leading around back. Harper found a parking place and they walked back, and down the drive. Eight or nine feet of old poured-concrete foundation was exposed along the back side. The only window was boarded over with a sheet of plywood, but they could see light through a hairline crack at one edge. And at the door, they could smell the burning dope.
    ‘‘You could get high standing outside,’’ Harper said.
    He turned the knob and pushed: the door unexpectedly popped open, and he stepped through, Anna at his elbow. Catwell was sprawled on a battered green sofa in front of a seventies color television, watching ‘‘Ren and Stimpy’’ reruns. He sat up, scared, when they burst in, dropped the joint he was smoking, recognized them, then scrambled to get the joint out of the couch. ‘‘What the fuck do you want? Did you . . . get the fuck out of here . . .’’
    ‘‘Gotta talk,’’ Anna said, stepping around Harper. Catwell finally found the joint and then stood there, looking at it, not sure what to do with it. ‘‘Give me that,’’ Anna said.
    He handed it to her, and she took a hit, exhaled and handed it back: ‘‘Now we’re all criminals together, huh? So relax, and we gotta talk.’’
    Catwell, uncertain, hit on the joint himself, a last time, then pinched it out.
    ‘‘Like a doper’s bowling alley in here,’’ Harper said, waving at a layer of smoke that hung two-thirds of the way to the ceiling.
    ‘‘You don’t like it, get lost,’’ Catwell said.
    ‘‘Both of you, shut up,’’ Anna said. To Catwell: ‘‘Listen, we need to talk again. We need to know more about what Jason was doing. Not who he bought the dope from, just in general.’’
    ‘‘That guy still chasing you?’’ Catwell’s eyes were glassy, and his speech a little slow, but he seemed to be tracking.
    ‘‘He killed another woman,’’ Anna said.
    ‘‘Where’re the fucking cops?’’ Catwell asked. ‘‘Out chasing hippies?’’
    ‘‘They’re looking,’’ Anna said. ‘‘We need to know who Jason was talking to, anything you know, especially the night before he died. Did you see him that night?’’
    ‘‘No, I didn’t. I knew he was going out with you, though. He’d been talking about setting the whole thing up, the raid,’’ Catwell said. He dropped on the couch again, looked at the dead joint in his hand. ‘‘You know, I miss that dickhead. I keep thinking I oughta go see him about something, but then I remember, he’s gone.’’
    ‘‘I know how it is,’’ Harper said soberly.
    ‘‘You knew he was setting up raid coverage,’’ Anna said. ‘‘You know who he was talking to about it?’’
    ‘‘Just those guys over there,’’ Catwell said. ‘‘The animal guy and that other surfer asshole.’’
    ‘‘We know the animal guy,’’ Anna said. ‘‘He’s up in Oregon. Who’s the surfer?’’
    ‘‘You know, you had him on TV. The pig guy, the guy knocked down by the pig. I must’ve seen it fifty times,’’ Catwell said, gesturing at the television.
    Anna was confused. ‘‘Wait a minute—he was the animal guy, right? Steve?’’
    Now Catwell was confused: ‘‘No, no, the other guy. He was setting it up with the animal guy, the guy who took care of the animals.’’
    Harper and Anna looked at each other, then Anna got down on her knees so she could look Catwell squarely in the face. ‘‘You’re telling me that the whole thing was set up— both sides? That the animal rights raiders and the kid inside the building were all set up by Jason?’’
    ‘‘Sure.’’ Catwell nodded, then looked from Anna to Harper and back with just a touch of amusement. ‘‘I thought you knew that. The whole thing was like a fuckin’ movie. The guy in the building is the guy who left the door unlocked so the animal people could get in.’’
    Anna said, ‘‘Shit,’’ and stood up.
    Catwell continued: ‘‘I don’t know if the raider people knew who left the door open, ’cause Jase was being pretty quiet about the whole thing. I just knew because we were dopin’ buddies. But he sort of went over and told the surfer asshole about the animal up there, and the labs, and told them he could get them in. Then he fixed it for the guy inside to leave the door open, and for that guy to fight with them. It looked pretty real on TV—they were pretty rough, so maybe the raider guys didn’t know.’’
    ‘‘Why do you keep calling