Chapter 35

I drove, once I got out of the tangled geography around my office, east on Montgomery to Wyoming, south from there to Central, and east to Morris. I turned north there, by the American Legion building, and then right on Buena Ventura, heading east again.

I drove past the address at the residential speed limit – though driving at only 25 miles per hour down a residential street might make me stand out as much as stopping to stare – noting that there was no vehicle in the driveway or in front of the house. There was a garage, but it wasn't likely that the truck the license plate belonged to was there. Some people do park in garages – Cecelia had done it until she turned the garage into my study – but most people use the garage for storage rather than parking. Certainly this driveway had enough oil on it that it looked like it served as a parking spot.

I turned north on Shirley, made a short westerly block on Chico, came south on Jane, and turned to go back past the house. Nothing had changed. This time I went south, cut back west on Linn, and checked out the house again. Still nothing. I was going to have to watch the place.

I went on down to Muriel, was going to go north but saw the dead end sign, and went back south to Linn. I came back up Maxine, and parked a few doors down from the address on Buena Ventura, with my windshield facing west. And only then did I realize I'd been stupid – I hadn't eaten.

I had a few choices. I could pull back out into the street, and go find food – which I could either eat there, or bring back with me. I knew there were a few fast food places in easy driving distance – indeed, for me they were in easy walking distance. Or I could sit there and kick myself, and go hungry.

If I left, the guy could come or go while I was gone, and I'd miss him. If I stayed, I'd be starving before the day was over. But when I considered everything together, I decided to stay and starve. It wouldn't be real starvation, after all, and what this guy wanted to do was so dangerous that being hungry was a small price to pay if I could stop him.

Of course the real risk was that this guy wasn't who I really wanted. The little bit of evidence I had pointed at him, but it wasn't overwhelming proof by any means. If I'd been a cop I wouldn't have even thought of taking the case to the prosecutor. It was a matter for investigation – and right now, the next step in the investigation was to get a look at this guy, and then perhaps have a talk with him.

That was another decision I had to make. Would I tackle him right off, or follow him around for a bit, and see if I could make a determination that way? I didn't know, and I didn't know how I could figure it out. I realized that I'd almost certainly have to play a hunch. I don't like doing that, because I don't know what a hunch is working with. I do believe that hunches are conclusions that your subconscious mind reaches after working over whatever facts it might have, but because it's subconscious, and because it's using evidence that perhaps your conscious mind hasn't recognized, it's difficult if not impossible to figure out why you're having this or that hunch. And so you can't prepare as completely as you'd like, because you don't know what the hunch is working with.

I'd been sitting in the Blazer, shifting in my seat now and then to ease the growing tiredness in my posterior, for nearly five hours when I saw a pickup coming toward me. It was white, and I could tell due to the angle between my side of the road and the truck that it had a white camper shell on the back. I figured it was my guy, and I paid attention to it. It pulled into the driveway of the house I was watching, parking in the driveway. The driver's side of the truck was away from me, but as the driver came out from behind the cab, heading for the front door, I saw a shock of dark hair on a man about six feet tall with skin darker than the average Anglo's, and seeming to be pretty thin – perhaps lean would be a better word. Between Davey's description and the plate number Kim had ferreted out, I'd come right to the guy.

Now it was decision time. Would I watch for a while, or go on up and knock on the door? I reached for the door handle, but as my hand touched it I realized I wasn't going to get out. I was going to watch this guy for a while, see if I could get a feeling for him, see if I could come up with a way to approach him that would put him entirely at a disadvantage.

And that led to another decision. I straightened up in my seat, pulled the seat belt around and fastened it, and started the engine. I was more than ready to eat, and I missed my family. I could cure both problems very easily, and as I let off the emergency brake and moved the shift lever to first, I smiled to myself. Between Cecelia's cooking and Cecelia's bodily presence, I was headed toward the closest thing to heaven I'd ever find until I died.

When I got home no one was in the living room or dining room, and I knew it was late enough that, though she would still be up, Darlia was in her room, probably reading her Bible, which she's gotten into the habit of doing before going to sleep. I looked into the kitchen, and saw that Cecelia was there – and hurried in hanging up my jacket and hat. I went on into the kitchen, and what I'd seen in part I now saw entirely – Cecelia was wearing the Kevin Harvick fire suit replica that she'd gotten me for my 40^th birthday.