When he reached me, he said, “Hold out your hand. I have a present for you.”

I held out my hand and he dropped an object in my palm. I registered a mud-caked plastic disk attached to a length of dirty blue leather. “What’s this?”

“What’s it look like? A dog tag. That’s what the two guys were burying—the family pet. Woof woof . . .”

He smiled and moved on.

Chapter 9 - WALKER MCNALLY

9

WALKER MCNALLY

Late Thursday afternoon, April 7, 1988

Walker McNally drove his black Mercedes through the entrance to Horton Ravine as he did every day on his way home from work. Occasionally he elected to use the back entrance, but he didn’t much care for the associations. It was Thursday afternoon. Carolyn and the kids had left that morning for San Francisco, where they’d spend a long weekend with her mother, returning Monday afternoon. Fletcher, age four, and Linnie, age two, were still in preschool, so whisking them off for five days with Nana wasn’t an issue. Though he’d miss them, he looked forward to the empty house, keenly aware that he was on his own and could do as he pleased.

He and Carolyn had moved back to California ten years earlier, when he’d been hired as VP of New Client Relations at Montebello Bank and Trust. He’d begun his financial career in the trust department at Chase Manhattan Bank in New York City and later joined Wells Fargo as a wealth-planning specialist. The job opening in Santa Teresa had been a blessing, since Walker had grown up in town, graduating from UCST in 1971.

He was a good-looking man, personable, charming, and articulate. A good part of his day he was on the phone, setting up meetings and lunch dates, arranging drinks and dinner with prospective clients whose business he was working to gain. He served on the boards of two nonprofit organizations and he was also involved in a number of planned-giving and development committees. He’d brought a goodly number of clients to the bank during his tenure, and he was rewarded accordingly.