DANCE HURRIED INTO Emergency Admitting at Monterey Bay Hospital. She found TJ looking troubled in the middle of the lobby. “Boss,” he said, exhaling hard, relieved to see her. “How is he?” “He’ll be okay.” “Did you get Travis?” “It wasn’t the boy who did it,” TJ said. At that moment the double doors to the emergency room swung open and James Chilton, a bandage on his cheek, strode out. “He attacked me!” Chilton was pointing at a ruddy-faced, solidly built man in a suit. He sat beside the window. A large county deputy stood over him. Without a greeting, Chilton pointed to him and snapped to Dance, “Arrest him.” Meanwhile the man leapt to his feet. “Him. I want him in jail!” The deputy muttered, “Mr. Brubaker, please sit down.” He spoke forcefully enough so that the man hesitated, delivered a glare to Chilton then dropped back into the fiberglass seat. The officer then joined Dance and told her what had happened. A half hour before, Arnold Brubaker had been on the grounds of his proposed desalination plant with a survey crew. He’d found Chilton taking pictures of animal habitats there. He tried to grab the blogger’s camera and shoved Chilton to the ground. The surveyors called the police. The injury, Dance assessed, didn’t seem serious. Still, Chilton seemed possessed. “That man is raping the Peninsula. He’s destroying our natural resources. Our flora and fauna. Not to mention destroying an Ohlone burial ground.” The Ohlone Indians were the first inhabitants of this part of California. “We aren’t building anywhere near the tribal land!” Brubaker yelled. “That was a rumor. And completely untrue!” “But the traffic in and out of the area is going to—” “And we’re spending millions to relocate animal populations and—” “Both of you,” Dance snapped. “Quiet.” Chilton, however, had his momentum going. “He broke my camera too. Just like the Nazis.” Brubaker replied with a cold smile, “James, I believe you broke the law first by trespassing on private property. Didn’t the Nazis do that too?” “I have a right to report on the destruction of our resources.” “And I—” “Okay,” Dance snapped. “No more!” They fell silent as she got the details of the various offenses from the deputy. Finally she approached Chilton. “You trespassed on private property. That’s a crime.” “I—” “Shhh. And you, Mr. Brubaker, assaulted Mr. Chilton, which is illegal unless you’re in imminent danger of physical harm from a trespasser. Your remedy was to call the police.” Brubaker fumed, but he nodded. He seemed upset that all he’d done was bang Chilton’s cheek. The bandage was quite small. “The situation is that you’re guilty of minor offenses. And if you want to complain I’ll make arrests. But it’ll be both of you. One for criminal trespass and one for assault and battery. Well?” Red-faced, Brubaker began to whine, “But he—” “Your answers?” Dance asked with an ominous calm that made him shut up immediately. Chilton nodded, with a grimace. “All right.” Finally, with frustration evident in his face, Brubaker muttered to Dance, “Okay. Fine. But it’s not fair! Seven days a week for the past year, working to help eliminate drought. That’s been my life. And he sits in that office of his and tears me down, without even looking at the facts. People see what he says in that blog and think it’s true. And how can I compete with that? Write a blog of my own? Who has time?” Brubaker delivered a dramatic sigh and headed out the main door. After he’d gone, Chilton said to Dance, “He’s not building the plant out of the goodness of his heart. There’s money to be made and that’s his only concern. And I have researched the story.” His voice fell silent as she turned to him and he noticed her somber expression. “James, you might not have heard the news. Lyndon Strickland was just murdered by Travis Brigham.” Chilton remained still for a moment. “Lyndon Strickland, the lawyer? Are you sure?” “I’m afraid so.” The blogger’s eyes were sweeping the floor of the emergency room, green-and-white tile, mopped clean but scuffed by years of anxious heels and soles. “But Lyndon posted in the desalination thread, not ‘Roadside Crosses.’ No, Travis wouldn’t have any complaint with him. It’s somebody else. Lyndon’d made a lot of people upset. He was a plaintiff’s lawyer and was always taking on controversial causes.” “The evidence doesn’t leave any doubt. It was Travis.” “But why?” “We think because his post supported you. Doesn’t matter that it was a different blog thread. We think Travis is expanding his pool of targets.”