seemed to find that clever and funny; she giggled, swatted Jerry on the arm, then nuzzled against him, and the two of them wandered off in the direction of Point Lobos.
Runyon went the other way. The trail narrowed and roughened, winding through stands of cypress and pine and ground cover dominated by weeds, ivy, blackberry tangles. There were a couple of places along it where the perp could wait to intercept the client, if that was what he was planning. Nothing for Runyon to do in that case except shadow her as closely as he could and trust the Q-Phone to tell if and when he should make his move.
The stairs that led up to the trail above, El Camino Del Mar, and the VA Hospital beyond that, were a quarter-mile or so from the shipwreck overlook. A sign posted there confirmed it. The stairs, steep and curving, were set back in a flat little grotto in the middle of a long dip in the rock-and-dirt path. Runyon climbed upward into a sharp right-hand turn thirty yards or so above the trail. From there, the path was hidden by trees and outcroppings. He went up through another switchback to see if the grotto was visible from a higher elevation. It wasnât.
Back down to the grotto. Bad place for a stationary surveillance here, too. The trail ran more or less straight and open past the inclines in both directions, and vegetation crowded in close to it on the seaward side. If Verity Daniels got this far, the perp could come for the meet from any of three directions. And again Runyon would have to stay on the move and let whatever he heard over the Q-Phone dictate his actions.
All right. He had the lay of the land now, literally. He went back past the shipwreck overlookâit was deserted nowâand on to the one below the parking lot. After five by then; Ms. Daniels would be here pretty soon. He sat on the low concrete wall, playing with the Nikon while he watched the stairs and the dwindling number of walkers, joggers, and bicyclists that passed by. The perp could be any of them, or none of them. Already here or on his way to the overlook from any of several directions.
What bothered Runyon about the setup was that no matter where the contact took place, there was no quick and easy escape route. If the perp was so worried about a trap, why pick Lands End in the first place? Once he had the money heâd have to walk a long distance, climb a bunch of stairs, to get himself out of harmâs way. Unless he had a bicycle, but that would only take him so far. Reckless? Stupid? Neither trait squared with all the preliminary caution.
Verity Daniels showed at five-ten. Wearing a light white jacket over a bright red sweater, the backpack sheâd bought strapped over her shoulders. There was a flicker of recognition when she saw him as she came off the stairs, but then she immediately lowered her head. He shifted his gaze seaward until she passed.
Runyon let ten minutes pass before he flipped his cell open, tapped out the Q-Phone number. At first he didnât hear anything. If she hadnât brought it with her ⦠But she had. The muted cry of a gull, a childâs shrill yell from somewhere nearby. So far so good.
At 5:25 he got up and made his way toward the shipwreck overlook. Most of the walkers were in pairs; the only man alone he encountered was elderly and had a small dog on a leash. One youngish guy wearing a Giants cap passed on a bicycle, heading in the same direction. Possible.
He had the cell phone to his ear as he walked, moving his mouth as though he were holding a conversation. Five-thirty, and there wasnât anything to hear. Or to see when he came in sight of the overlook. Ms. Daniels was standing hunched near the edge, the pack like a Quasimodo hump on her backâalone, nobody else in sight.
Runyon closed the cell, put it away in his shirt pocket as he neared the end of the low retaining wall on the inland side. He stopped there, sat down to go through more pretense with the
Runyon went the other way. The trail narrowed and roughened, winding through stands of cypress and pine and ground cover dominated by weeds, ivy, blackberry tangles. There were a couple of places along it where the perp could wait to intercept the client, if that was what he was planning. Nothing for Runyon to do in that case except shadow her as closely as he could and trust the Q-Phone to tell if and when he should make his move.
The stairs that led up to the trail above, El Camino Del Mar, and the VA Hospital beyond that, were a quarter-mile or so from the shipwreck overlook. A sign posted there confirmed it. The stairs, steep and curving, were set back in a flat little grotto in the middle of a long dip in the rock-and-dirt path. Runyon climbed upward into a sharp right-hand turn thirty yards or so above the trail. From there, the path was hidden by trees and outcroppings. He went up through another switchback to see if the grotto was visible from a higher elevation. It wasnât.
Back down to the grotto. Bad place for a stationary surveillance here, too. The trail ran more or less straight and open past the inclines in both directions, and vegetation crowded in close to it on the seaward side. If Verity Daniels got this far, the perp could come for the meet from any of three directions. And again Runyon would have to stay on the move and let whatever he heard over the Q-Phone dictate his actions.
All right. He had the lay of the land now, literally. He went back past the shipwreck overlookâit was deserted nowâand on to the one below the parking lot. After five by then; Ms. Daniels would be here pretty soon. He sat on the low concrete wall, playing with the Nikon while he watched the stairs and the dwindling number of walkers, joggers, and bicyclists that passed by. The perp could be any of them, or none of them. Already here or on his way to the overlook from any of several directions.
What bothered Runyon about the setup was that no matter where the contact took place, there was no quick and easy escape route. If the perp was so worried about a trap, why pick Lands End in the first place? Once he had the money heâd have to walk a long distance, climb a bunch of stairs, to get himself out of harmâs way. Unless he had a bicycle, but that would only take him so far. Reckless? Stupid? Neither trait squared with all the preliminary caution.
Verity Daniels showed at five-ten. Wearing a light white jacket over a bright red sweater, the backpack sheâd bought strapped over her shoulders. There was a flicker of recognition when she saw him as she came off the stairs, but then she immediately lowered her head. He shifted his gaze seaward until she passed.
Runyon let ten minutes pass before he flipped his cell open, tapped out the Q-Phone number. At first he didnât hear anything. If she hadnât brought it with her ⦠But she had. The muted cry of a gull, a childâs shrill yell from somewhere nearby. So far so good.
At 5:25 he got up and made his way toward the shipwreck overlook. Most of the walkers were in pairs; the only man alone he encountered was elderly and had a small dog on a leash. One youngish guy wearing a Giants cap passed on a bicycle, heading in the same direction. Possible.
He had the cell phone to his ear as he walked, moving his mouth as though he were holding a conversation. Five-thirty, and there wasnât anything to hear. Or to see when he came in sight of the overlook. Ms. Daniels was standing hunched near the edge, the pack like a Quasimodo hump on her backâalone, nobody else in sight.
Runyon closed the cell, put it away in his shirt pocket as he neared the end of the low retaining wall on the inland side. He stopped there, sat down to go through more pretense with the
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