CHAPTER 30

Tuesday morning came. I lashed the bomb to the bike as I had planned, rode carefully through San Anselmo to Shady Lane, pushed the bike up Lagunitas road until I reached Carmel Drive, pedaled up to the top of Carmel Drive to the house just above Winslow’s house. There were large bushes obscuring the house and the high hedge in front of Winslow’s house bordered those bushes. I pushed the bike into the bushes as I had planned. I walked down to Winslow’s driveway and placed the New York Times in front of the gate. I walked back to the crevice in the hedge and secreted myself.

I waited, and when I heard the gate hum, I knew that he was there, and the nose of the Mercedes showed and I pressed the button. The explosion was more than I had hoped for. It tore through the air, pieces of asphalt and concrete rained down, the body of the car was hurled into the street, and the echo of the explosion bounced back from houses and hills. Then there was no other noise, except the noise of flames as the wreckage burst into a ball of orange, thick black smoke billowing into the sky. There was no way anyone in that car had survived. Winslow was in pieces. The instantaneous blast had given him no warning, and for that I was disappointed. I had wanted him to suffer the way my daughter had suffered when the water slowly enveloped her. But it was done, I said to myself. The hulk of the car could now be seen as the rising heat took the smoke up between the trees. No amount of money would extricate Winslow from that smoldering “cauldron. He couldn’t buy his way out of this one.

Done, I said to myself. I got onto my bicycle and quickly pedaled to the top of the street, turning down toward Shady Lane. I could hear the sound of a siren and knew somebody had called in the explosion. When I came to Shady Lane I could hear the fire engines rushing up Lagunitas and I turned toward San Anselmo. When I got to the center of town I parked my bike in the bike rack in front of the coffee shop opposite the city hall, ordered a coffee and sat at a table. It wasn’t long before someone rushed in to announce that there had been an explosion in Ross. “Maybe a gas main blew up,” he said. “Whatever it was, there’s fire trucks and medics coming from all directions.”

I listened to the buzz of conversations and then biked the rest of the way home. It was Tuesday afternoon. The check from Chase hadn’t arrived yet. I had cleared out my savings and checking accounts, and the back of my car was packed with my tools. Wherever I went, I would be ale to find work. I sat on the porch at the back, looking at the mountain. I would miss this.

Fuller showed up at five o’clock. When I opened the door he said, “You fucking madman! Do you know what you’ve done?”

“What are you talking about?” I said.

“Your obsession with Earl Winslow has caused at least two more deaths.”

“Winslow is dead?”

“No. His wife is. And the driver of their car. And you did it, you fucking nutcase!”

“What are you talking about?”

“You! That’s who I’m talking about. You! You somehow forced Winslow into the ocean, and that kid from out there saw you or found out something about you and you shot him. Fucking killed him. And now you’ve fucking blown up two innocent people!”

“Winslow isn’t dead?”

“No. He isn’t dead. His wife is dead. The driver of his car is dead. I can’t tie you to those deaths, but I will. I will track down your involvement in that kid’s death and I will find out how you got the shit to blow up Winslow’s car and I will pin you to the wall. I will stick the pin in your fucking insect body and stick you to the wall and I promise you that I will do it. I’m pissed off at myself for telling you about Winslow. If I had kept my fucking mouth shut, three innocent people would still be alive. I’m going to find out what your connection was with that kid, and I’m going to sweat your identity out of Winslow, who is now as determined to strike you down as you were to get to him. But I’ll get what I want, and I’ll find out where you got the explosive and you can bet that you’re dead meat!”

He paused. Spittle was at the edge of his mouth.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “When did this explosion happen?”

“You know goddam well when it happened. I’ll be back. I’ll be back with a search warrant and I’ll find that fucking gun and I’ll track down where you got the parts for that bomb and I’ll make sure you go away for the rest of your life. Unless Winslow finds you first, and I’m not going to stand in his way. If he wants to hunt you down and snuff you out, I sure as hell won’t give a shit!”