CHAPTER 26

Monday night, I slept at Allison’s. She had six Tuesday patients and I left just before eight. During the drive home, I tried the Daneys’ house again. Still no answer.

Family vacation with the foster kids? Homeschooling meant their schedule was flexible, so maybe.

Or had they encountered something nonrecreational?

I drove through Brentwood and into Bel Air, turned off Sunset onto Beverly Glen. Passing the road that leads up to my house, I continued north into the Valley.

* * *

Galton Street was peaceful, a guy watering his lawn, a couple of kids chasing each other, birds flittering. The noise from the freeway was a chronic, distant throat-clearing. I came to a stop half a block up from the Daney property. The redwood gate was shut and the fence blocked out everything but a peak of roofline.

I recalled how crowded the lot had been by three buildings. No room for parking, any vehicles would have to be out on the street. Drew Daney’s white Jeep wasn’t in sight. I had no idea what Cherish drove.

I nudged the Seville forward, searched for a black truck or anything else that seemed wrong. A dark pickup was parked two houses up.

Black? No, dark blue. Longer than Barnett Malley’s truck, with an extra seat, twenty-inch tires and chrome rims.

Plenty of trucks in the Valley.

I came to a stop ten feet from the gate, was about to turn off the engine when a small, beige car pulled away from the curb across the street and raced past with as much pep as four cold cylinders would allow.

Toyota Corolla, lots of dents and pocks, a few Bondo patches on the doors. I caught a split-second glimpse of the driver.

Long-haired blond woman, both hands gripping the wheel. Cherish Daney’s eyes were fierce.

She drove to the corner, came to a rolling stop, turned right, sped off.

A bit of a head start but four cylinders wouldn’t be much challenge.

* * *

Morning traffic was thin and I picked her up easily, hurrying west on Vanowen. Using a slow-moving camper as a shield, I kept my eye on the little car’s sagging bumper as it approached the Ventura Freeway East.

She chugged up the on-ramp, lost momentum climbing, and slowed. I pulled ahead of the camper, drove to the bottom of the ramp, and waited until she made it over the hump. If a cop saw me, I’d have some explaining to do.

But no cops in sight. Very few people in sight. The Corolla finally disappeared from view and I shot forward.