The Nightmare Thief

“And if you’re so wary of the press, how come you called me?”

“You have a background as a lawyer yourself. You’ve been looking at the case from angles I probably haven’t. And I’m told you’re a straight shooter.”

A shadow passed behind Jo’s eyes. It seemed to say, And I know how you got into trouble, Ms. Delaney. Did Jo know why this case pulled so hard on her? Her own father had gone missing. And though Evan had found him, in the aftermath the certainties in her life had boiled away in a cauldron of grief.

She went still. “Who gave you my name?”

“It’s no secret you’re doing this story,” Jo said.

A tickle began at the base of her skull. “Still—who pointed you in my direction?”

“My sources are confidential. As are yours. Right?”

“As acid rain.”

Jo looked at her calmly.

Cool down. Evan drummed her fingernails on the tabletop. “Very well.”

They gauged each other for a moment longer. Then, simultaneously, they got out notepads, pens, and digital audio recorders.

Jo said, “Have you seen the police reports?”

“Tuolumne’s. Not the SFPD’s.”

“Okay. The day before Wylie disappeared, he worked a full day. His e-mail and phone records show nothing out of the ordinary. His last call was to a client at six p.m. He mentioned no plans to go hiking in the Sierras. Saturday morning, he pulled his Mercedes out of the driveway. He phoned his mother from the car and said he was headed to the office. That’s the last anybody heard from him.”

Something about the timing scratched at Evan, but she couldn’t pin it down. “Have you spoken to his clients?”

Jo’s expression became studiously neutral.

“That’s confidential?” Evan said.

“Absolutely. However, Wylie’s client list isn’t. Nothing stops you from interviewing them.”

“Got a copy?”

Jo handed her a file folder.

Evan smiled. “Okay, I’ll trade.”

From her backpack she took maps and photos of the rugged country near the abandoned gold mine. She handed Jo an eight-by-ten.

Jo looked surprised. “Satellite photos?”

“Orbital image taken two days before Wylie’s disappearance.”

“The resolution’s amazing.”

Evan handed her another. “Same patch of terrain, snapped from the same satellite, but this month.”

Jo stilled. “How did you get these?”

“Relatives with the right passwords. See what I see?”

Jo pored over the photos. “The flood channel. It’s much deeper on the recent image.”

Evan unrolled a U.S. Geological Survey map. “Have you been up there?”

Jo’s dispassion turned to disquiet. “I’ve carved out some time to drive up next week.” She examined the map. “I know that part of the Sierras. The terrain’s brutal. Look at the topo lines.” She traced a series of closely convergent changes in elevation. “Forest, granite crags, sheer drop-offs, and when heavy rain falls, flash flooding is a real problem. If Wylie was hiking, he could plausibly have gotten caught in a washout. I mean, I know native Californians who think they’re safe camping by the Russian River after a downpour.”

“I’m from the Mojave Desert. I know people who thought they were safe driving across eighteen inches of rushing water on a highway,” Evan said. “What are you thinking?”

“The sheriffs’ photos didn’t fully depict the severity of the terrain. Or . . .”

Evan raised an eyebrow. “The timing?”

Jo straightened. “I need to get up there ASAP. Because your satellite photos suggest that the flash flood occurred after Wylie disappeared.”

“Precisely.”

Noise swirled around them, the clatter of coffee cups and silverware. The intensity on Jo’s face mirrored Evan’s own feelings. She felt a weight, heard a deep-background snarl. It was menace, looming.

Jo said, “The question is, what drove Wylie to that mine? Or who?”

The scratchy feeling, Evan’s sense that she’d missed something, intensified. “You said that the day before Wylie disappeared, his last phone call was from the office.”

“Right.”

“What about the dog walker?”

The evening before he disappeared, while checking his mail, Wylie had run into his next-door neighbor. The two spoke briefly.

Jo said, “I talked to him. He didn’t mention a phone call with Wylie.”

“No. He overheard Wylie take a call. When did you speak to him?”

“Two weeks ago.”

Evan felt a frisson. “I spoke to him yesterday. He said they chatted for a minute before Wylie’s phone rang. Wylie excused himself and answered it.”

Jo looked consternated. “What time was that?”

“Eight p.m.”

“Wylie got an incoming call on his cell phone.”

“Yes,” Evan said.