Still, someone might be home. That a lead was unlikely was no reason to ignore it.

Unleashed…

As she approached the large, rustic yard surrounding the house she paused once more. Now, she heard footsteps. Two sets, in fact. One in front of her some distance away; others, closer, to her right, moving behind. She squinted into the darkness but could see nothing. Deer, most likely. The population here in PG was huge.

Of course, she also wondered if she’d been too hasty in dismissing the possibility the perps were still here. True, an ordinary perp would be long gone. Hey, let’s get the hell out of here. We’ve done the deed. Enough. But this wasn’t a burglary or mugging or “let’s torch the Porta Potti for the hell of it” kind of vandalism. This was different. And it wasn’t unreasonable to think that the perps in this case would remain, to watch the reaction, the dismay of the victims.

She heard a snap of branch, not far away, but couldn’t tell exactly where it was coming from.

Deer? Maybe yes, maybe no. And if it came down on the no side the consequences could be bad.

Okay. Time to leave, she told herself. Now.

Another crackle of underbrush. Close.

And then:

A mobile phone started to ring—from about thirty feet in front of her.

“Shit!” a voice called from behind her.

Jesus, somebody’d been flanking her. One of the perps. She crouched, making herself a smaller target.

“Run, run!” A male voice, from the direction of the ringtone.

And she heard two sets of sprinting footsteps, heading away from her. She saw no one. She thought about ordering them to stop but, unarmed, she didn’t want to give her position away.

Dance lifted her phone and hit a speed dial button.

“Kathryn.”

“Michael. They’re here, east at the end of the road. Junipero Drive.”

“The perps? From Goldschmidt’s?”

“Right. What I’m saying.”

“What were you doing?”

What the hell was he asking this for? She snapped, “Call it in. They split up. One headed toward town. The other to Asilomar.”

“Where are you?”

Why was he asking? “Where I just said. East, end of the road. A three-story Victorian.”

“I’ll make the call.” Then he snapped, “Now get back here.”

A half hour later Dance and O’Neil were with the Crime Scene Unit at Goldschmidt’s house.

A Pacific Grove Police Department car pulled up and two officers got out.

O’Neil nodded. “Anything?”

“Nope. We locked down Sunset, Asilomar, Ocean View and Lighthouse. But they must’ve gotten to their car before we set up the roadblocks.”

“Footprints?”

The wry smile on the face of one of the officers attested to the fact that they all knew: The ground here was mostly sand and if you expected footprints for the electrostatic impression machine, you were going to be disappointed.

David Goldschmidt approached, carrying a roller and a can of paint. He set them down. He was interested to learn that Dance had had an encounter with the perps near the house up the street, Junipero Manor.