The Trade

“That’s just before Encinal Canyon, is that right?”

“Yes.” The enchiladas he’d eaten at lunch suddenly felt like a lead weight in his stomach. They thought he had used the trailer to transport the body of the dead girl.

“Why didn’t you take the Kanan Dume Road from the 101? Why go all the way up to Las Posas?”

“I wasn’t sure Kanan Dume was open. I didn’t want to run into another roadblock and have to turn back. I didn’t have that kind of time.”

“Are you saying that in the middle of a fire, an equestrian center loaned you a pickup and horse trailer? I would’ve thought they’d need vehicles like that to evacuate their own animals.”

“The truck and trailer didn’t belong to the riding club, they belonged to me. I boarded my horses there until a couple of weeks before the fire. I left some tack and the pickup and trailer there until I could pick them up.”

“Where are they now, this pickup and trailer?”

“At A-1 Auto Wrecking in Oxnard.”

Barstow raised his eyebrows. “What happened to them?”

Matt held on to his temper. What did this bozo think happened to them in the middle of a goddamn fire? “I was trying to get into Ramirez Canyon at Paradise Cove but the gates to the tunnel under the road were closed. The fire came through the tunnel, caught the trailer and pickup. I made a run for it to the Cove restaurant. The trailer and pickup are a total loss. I had to have them towed.”

Barstow continued making notes. “I see. What happened then?”

“I got some water from the restaurant, and started south along the beach. It’s about seven miles to my place from the Cove. I was more than halfway there, just past the Edwards estate, when I spotted what looked like a downed pelican lying near the water. I got closer, and saw it was a baby.”

“And the baby was alive when you picked it up?”

Matt had to force himself not to look away. “Yes. I thought I just said that.”

“No, you didn’t. So then?”

“I felt a faint pulse. I wrapped her in my shirt and went back to some stairs that I’d seen still standing. I thought maybe I could get some help there, but when I got back the stairs had burned and the wind had blown them apart, so I turned around and continued toward home.”

“It didn’t occur to you to go back to the restaurant?”

“Of course it did, but what for? Fire blocked the road, the restaurant was empty, no one was coming, no fire crews. Plus I was more than halfway home.”

“When did you realize she was dead?”

“When I got home. I put her on the couch. She seemed cold. I tried to feel a pulse and couldn’t. I tried to give her CPR, holding her nose and breathing into her mouth, but it was too late. She was dead.” He’d been reliving that moment over and over ever since.

“You’ve got a bandage on your arm, Mr. Lowell. What happened?” Flores asked this question. Matt guessed they were taking turns.

Instinctively, Matt looked down at his wrist. He’d dropped by his doctor’s office, Phil had put a couple of stitches in, and covered it with gauze and a Band-Aid. That was the day after the fire.

“I broke a window at the restaurant to get some water and I guess I cut it. I didn’t notice it until later.”

“You didn’t notice a cut that was bad enough to need stitches and bandaging?”

“A hell of a lot more was going on then than a cut on my arm, Detective Flores. Half of Malibu was on fire.”

Flores nodded and gave him that thin smile again. “So is that your blood on the blue shirt the baby was wrapped in?”

“Yes.”

“So why didn’t you get help for this baby right away?”

“Where? It was in the middle of a wildfire. The phones were down. I’d dropped my cell on the beach. Where was I supposed to find help?”

“You could’ve taken her to the Civic Center there in Malibu, couldn’t you?”

“She was already dead, and flames were coming over the ridge. What would have been the point of attempting that?” He wanted to ask if this guy had ever been caught in a firestorm, but the answer was obvious. He hadn’t.

“You’ve shown an interest in claiming this baby, Mr. Lowell. Why is that?” Barstow asked.

Out of his peripheral vision, Matt saw Ned open his mouth, then close it without speaking. He hadn’t told Ned what he intended.

“No reason. I just thought…I didn’t like the idea that she might be cut up for the purpose of training doctors.”

“Who told you that would happen?”

“Doesn’t it?”

Barstow shrugged. “A young woman was found yesterday morning on Encinal Canyon Road. It’s possible she was the mother.”

“Really?”

“You don’t sound too surprised. Did you know this girl?”

“Know her? No, I didn’t know her. I would’ve told you if I knew her. Look, I found a child on the beach in the middle of a wildfire. I did the best I could to keep her alive. I feel terrible that I wasn’t able to, but I got in touch with the authorities as soon as I could, which was around midnight. After I’d spent hours fighting to save my house. I thought it would be the right thing to do to give her a burial. Where are you going with this?”

Flores joined the conversation. “Why do you feel so threatened by these questions?”

“I don’t feel threatened, Mr. Flores.” Matt made a conscious effort to relax. Flores was right, he sounded defensive. “I just don’t understand why you’re talking to me about a young girl found dead in Encinal.”

“Well, the spot in Encinal is not too far from where you said you picked up the child on the beach. You’ve shown quite an interest in that baby. We’re just trying to do our job, get to the bottom of who knew what and when they knew it,” Flores said.

Matt held his eyes. They were a mid-brown, the sort of brown usually described as warm. But these were as cold as any Matt had seen, and the slight smile hovering around Flores’ tight lips didn’t help.

“Well,” he said, “if I can help you do that, of course I will. Anyway, are you sure the girl you found was the mother?”

Neither man responded. It was clear they were not here to answer questions, just ask them.

“Would you be willing to give a sample for DNA testing, Mr. Lowell?” Flores asked. “Just for the record.”

“Now wait a minute,” Ned said. “Just you guys wait a minute here—”

“It’s okay, Ned,” Matt said. He turned to Barstow. “Why are you asking me to do that?”

“There’s nothing to it, Mr. Lowell, nothing invasive,” Barstow said. “A swab, some saliva, that’s all.”