Doug shook his head. If there was one thing he hated about Arizona, it was the almost fanatic worship of land and property common to nearly everyone in the state. Here, people still had an Old West mentality, a perverse worldview that placed possessions above people in importance. He remembered one time when he and Billy had gone hiking out toward Deer Valley. They had been walking through a dry creekbed, following its course, when they happened upon a cabin in the woods. They turned immediately around, but not before they heard a young boy’s voice call out, “Intruders, Pa!” A minute or so later, they heard the thunderous echoing sound of a shotgun blast. He’d felt like he was in some sort of damn movie. The noise was not repeated, but he and Billy had run the rest of the way back to the car, keeping low to the ground. When he told the police what had happened, the desk sergeant had merely smiled tolerantly and told him he shouldn’t have been trespassing, as though death would have been fair punishment for a person who had inadvertently stepped on someone else’s land.

It was this attitude that a man should be allowed to do whatever he wanted, with no restraints, that led to situations such as this.

Still, he got back in the Bronco and drove to the police station. It couldn’t hurt to try. The chief, fortunately, was not there, but unfortunately, neither was Mike, and Doug ended up telling his story to a young female clerk who took down his statement and promised to give it personally to the lieutenant assigned to that sector of town. Doug was nice to her, cooperative, smiled at her, thanked her for her help, and left knowing nothing would be done.

Hell, maybe he should break in there himself, take this into his own hands.

But, no, the chief would just have him arrested and thrown in jail.

He drove to Bayless to pick up the charcoal and lighter fluid, aware that Trish was probably already starting to worry. He had gone to town to buy two items and had been gone for more than an hour.

He quickly went into the store, walked directly to the aisle containing nonfood items, and picked up a cheap bag of charcoal and a plastic container of store-brand lighter fluid. The express checkout lane was closed, and the three registers that were open had long lines of customers, so he picked the shortest one and got behind an elderly man carrying a handheld grocery basket piled with dairy products.