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He uttered a soft cry of elation when he saw the patch. “There it is!”
Wasting no time to think about it, he stepped out onto the two-by-four nearest him and inched along it toward the patch. If he slipped, he could drive his foot through the Sheetrock, which wouldn’t support his weight. The only thing keeping him from falling through it and landing hard on the garage floor twenty feet below was his agility. And his will to find Manuelo Ruiz.
When he got even with the patch, he stuck the flashlight in his mouth, and, balancing on the balls of his feet, leaned across the emptiness toward the duct.
The sirens had stopped. Not a good sign.
He ripped away the tape forming the patch and plunged his hand into the hollow duct. His fingertips brushed something, but it was just out of reach. The flashlight fell from his mouth onto the Sheetrock floor several inches below the two-by-four on which he balanced. It rolled away, out of reach. He let it go.
He crabbed along the two-by-four until he could grasp the object inside the duct. The attic space was as hot as an oven. Keeping his balance while reaching into the duct was an extreme effort. His knees were screaming. Sweat ran into his eyes, making them sting. The policeman’s shirt was too damn small. It was confining his shoulders, limiting his reach. He strained against it, ripping the shoulder seams but gaining a longer reach.
Finally he got two fingers on the object, clamped them shut, and pulled the object far enough forward for him to grab hold. He gave it a hard yank, ripping the skin of the duct as he pulled it out. It was a black duffel bag.
He stood up quickly and, with the deft steps of a tightrope walker, made his way back to the door at the staircase landing. “I’ve got it!” But he was talking to empty darkness. Laura had vanished.
CHAPTER
32
THE HOUSE WAS STILL ABLAZE, LIGHTS ON IN EVERY ROOM. Through windows where the drapes were open, Laura could see uniformed policemen searching the rooms for her and Griff.
She was halfway across the motor court when her elbow was hooked from behind. “This way,” Griff said.
She tried to throw off his hand, but his hold was tenacious and she had to run to keep up with him. “Griff, this is insanity. Turn yourself in. Talk to Rodarte. Tell him what you told me about Manuelo.”
By now they were on the far side of the garage, out of sight of the house, away from the landscape lighting, running pell-mell through the darkness. They went around the pond and then plunged down a natural berm. She lost her footing and would have fallen if he hadn’t kept his tight grip on her. She stumbled along after him.
The ground leveled off at the estate wall. It didn’t appear this tall from a distance. Now its twelve feet seemed awfully high. The vines and shrubbery covering it were dense but well maintained. Incongruously, there was a cold drink can standing upright at the twisted root system of a wisteria that was in full leaf and completely covering a section of the wall.
“Griff!” She pulled hard on his hand.
He turned to her. “Listen and believe, Laura. Rodarte is convinced that I killed Bill Bandy five years ago. Now he’s convinced that I killed your husband. If I turn myself in, I’ll be at the mercy of a legal system I no longer trust. Especially since Rodarte’s on the case.”
“Then turn yourself in to someone else.”
He shook his head stubbornly. “Not until I can take Manuelo Ruiz in with me, ready and willing to corroborate my story. I’ve got to find him.”
“Okay, I can see that,” she said, breathless from their run. “But let me go back. Let me tell your side of it and explain why you’re reluctant to surrender.”
“No.”
“If I say—”
“Why did Rodarte have you under lock and key?”
“To protect me from you.”
“Right. So if I get backed into a corner, as long as I’ve got you as my hostage, I’ve got something to bargain with.”
“You wouldn’t hurt me.”
“You know that. Rodarte doesn’t. Now come on.” He dragged her forward, toward the wisteria.
“Do you expect me to climb that?”
“Don’t have to.” Still keeping hold of her with one hand, he used the other to clear away some offshoots of the vine, revealing a metal grate at the base of the wall. He shoved it aside with the toe of his shoe. “Drainage,” he said.
“How did you find this?”
