“I’m not ready to drag him in over the trailer thing,” Marnie said. “Not on the record.”
“Then drag him in over the cop in the desert. It’s only for questioning. What’s the downside?”
A dark green Ford Fusion rolled past Marnie and coasted into the lot Dryden was parked in. It pulled into a space thirty yards behind him, two men up front, the back windows tinted.
Marnie took note of the car absently, her mind working through the decision in front of her.
“Why don’t I go ahead and set up the warrant,” Sumner said. “And instead of you making the arrest, I’ll give Dryden’s current location to police dispatch and let them take him down. That’s a better approach, given his background—he’s potentially dangerous. He’d still be yours to question, either way.”
Marnie thought about it, still idly staring at the Fusion. The men inside were just sitting there, talking about something.
Marnie returned her gaze to Dryden, who was still staring off at the ocean.
“It’s your call, Marnie,” Sumner said.
*
Dryden heard a commercial flit through the static. Something about a pizza place where kids’ meals were half off on Fridays. The signal cleared for five or six seconds, then washed out.
He finished the last hash brown patty and stuffed the wrapper into the bag everything had come in. He rolled the bag down into a compact shape and set it on the floor in front of the passenger seat. He was reaching for his coffee again when another signal began to fade in. For a second he thought it was a weather report, or maybe a station identification—it was a man’s voice, still too choppy to make out.
Then the static cleared entirely.
“… death toll is confirmed at twelve, but with nine critically injured, it’s likely to go higher, Katelyn.”
Dryden turned toward the machine.
*
“Yes or no,” Sumner said. “It’s not a hard question.”
Marnie barely heard him. Her attention had suddenly locked on to Dryden.
There was something going on.
Dryden had turned his head and was now focused intently on something on his passenger seat.
*
Dryden studied the tablet computer’s screen, filled by the application that ran the machine. He hadn’t tried recording with it yet, but there was no question about how to do it. The four buttons could not have been simpler: ON, OFF, RECORD, and STOP.
He pressed RECORD as the news report continued.
“With an incident like this,” the male reporter said, “we know we’re going to hear lots of questions in hindsight. Was the construction site as safe as it could have been? Any time you’ve got heavy equipment, with people milling around, folks are going to be asking whether all the guidelines were followed—”
“Are there guidelines that could have prevented this type of accident?” a woman, presumably Katelyn, asked. “Has there been any statement from the construction firm managing the site?”
“There’s been no statement all day, and nothing from the developer except the press release earlier, offering thoughts and prayers.”
*
Watching Dryden, Marnie was only dimly aware of the men in the dark green car getting out. The driver opened the back door on his side and leaned in, reaching for something out of view in the rear seats.
“Let’s give his information to the cops, Marnie,” Sumner said. “You want to question him, so let’s just do it.”
She chewed her lip, thinking. Felt herself leaning in Sumner’s direction.
*
“It’s possible the developer is worried about the legal risks of saying anything public right now,” the male reporter said. “Certainly the equipment failed, but of course there were extenuating circumstances, so—”
“Right,” Katelyn said, “and the project itself was considered controversial even before today. Mission Tower has gotten a lot of pushback from Santa Maria residents just for its size. It’s really not the type of building you expect in a town like that—”
“That’s absolutely right—”
Static began to edge back in, distorting the man’s words.
“—but obviously on a day like this, all we’re hearing from the community is consolation for those killed and their—”
The signal dropped away into the hiss.
Dryden stared at the tablet’s screen a second longer.
Santa Maria. An hour’s drive north of here, he thought—he had been there before but couldn’t remember the exact directions to reach it. It was definitely not along the route he’d planned to take to Avenal, but it couldn’t be far off of it, either.
There was some amount of time to spare—not a hell of a lot, but probably enough, depending on what had happened in Santa Maria. What would happen.
Death toll is confirmed at twelve.
Likely to go higher.
Dryden swore under his breath and reached for the glove box, where he kept a small road atlas.
*