Chapter 77

That didn’t go well,” Dance muttered.

She and O’Neil were in her office.

“Better than it could have gone. I don’t think there’ll be any lawsuits for… Well, I don’t know what Nashima would sue for.”

“Wrongful accusation?” she suggested, only half joking. She looked over the case material spread out on her desk and pinned to the whiteboard nearby. Evidence, reference to statements, details of the crimes. And photos, those terrible photos.

Dance’s phone rang. But it wasn’t Barrett Stone, Esq., asking where he could serve the papers. TJ sounded sheepish as he said, “Well, okay, boss, I guess I will admit that I didn’t exactly look over all those facts and figures. I mean, longitude and latitude of the deeds and the plots or plats, whatever they are and—”

“Is Nashima innocent, TJ? That’s all I want to know.”

“As the driven snow. Which is an expression I don’t get any more than ‘When it rains, it pours.’ The Nevada company’s construction plans have nothing to do with the roadhouse; it’s all the site of the old relocation camp and an area toward Highway One. And he was telling the truth: All the companies involved are nonprofits. Any earnings have to be spent on education and support of the museum and other human rights organizations.”

Nail in the coffin, Dance thought. Reflecting that that was one expression leaving little doubt as to meaning.

Another: back to the drawing board.

O’Neil’s phone buzzed. He glanced at caller ID. “My boss.”

The Monterey County sheriff.

“Hell.” He answered. “Ted. Did Nashima call to complain? The congressman?… No. Well, he might. I thought that’s what you were calling about.”

Then she noted O’Neil stiffen. Shoulders up, head down. “Really?… Are they sure? I’m here with Kathryn now. We can be there in twenty minutes. What’s the URL?”

He jotted something down.

“We’ll check it out on the way.” He disconnected. He looked at her with an expression she rarely saw on his face.

Dance lifted her eyebrows. “We?”

“The case I was working on, about the man who went missing, Otto Grant.”

She recalled: the farmer who went bankrupt after his property was taken by the state.

“You thought he might be a suicide?”

“That’s what happened, right. Hanged himself. A shack out in Salinas Valley.” He rose. “Let’s go.”

She asked, “Me? It’s your case. You want me along?”

“Actually, turns out, it’s our case now.”

Chapter 78

Michael O’Neil piloted his unmarked Dodge into the countryside east of Salinas, a huge swath of farm country, flat and, thanks to the precious water, green with young plants. Dance skimmed the blog entry Otto Grant had posted just before he took his life, several hours ago. “Explains a lot,” she said. “Explains everything.”

The reason the Otto Grant case was now both of theirs was simple: Grant was the man who’d hired the Solitude Creek unsub to wreak havoc on Monterey County.

In revenge for the eminent domain action that had led to his bankruptcy.