Savages: A Nameless Detective Novel (Nameless Detective Novels) by Bill Pronzini Page B

fatalities or injuries, fortunately—all empty the nights they were torched. We’ve ruled out arson for gain in each case. And three’s too many in too short a time to be coincidence.”
    “Firebugs don’t usually change their M.O. and start hanging people.”
    “They do if they’re crazy enough,” Kelso said. “It’s none of your concern anyhow, Runyon.”
    The throbbing ache in Runyon’s head said differently. But there was no gain in arguing with a man like Kelso; it would only make him more belligerent. He said to Rinniak, “If it’s all right with you, I’d like my license and my weapon back as soon as possible.”
    “No problem. You can pick them up at the Gray’s Landing substation.”
    “How about my car?”
    “Still at the Belsize farm. When did the doctor say you could be released?”
    “As soon as I talked to you.”
    “Well, if it doesn’t take too long, I’ll wait and give you a ride down. You feel up to driving to your motel?”
    “I can manage.”
    “Better plan to spend the weekend. Rest up, keep available in case we need to talk to you again.”
    “I was planning on it anyway. I still haven’t done the job I came here to do.”
    Kelso laughed, a surprisingly effeminate sound from such a cowboy. “Deliver a subpoena to Jerry Belsize? I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you.”
    “No?”
    “No. Belsize won’t be testifying at any trial in San Francisco. He’ll be in jail awaiting trial himself once we find him.
He’s
the psycho who set those fires and strung up Manny Silvera.”

7
    JAKE RUNYON
    Jerry Belsize had been missing for more than twenty-four hours. Last seen at around 9:00 A.M . yesterday, in the company of the murdered hired man, Manuel Silvera. He’d left the farm shortly afterward, supposedly for his job at a feed mill in Orford, but he hadn’t shown up there or called in with an excuse. His parents had no idea why he’d skipped work or where he’d gone. He was supposed to have been back at the farm in time for supper; that was why the Belsizes had panicked when they got the anonymous phone call. Sandra Parnell claimed she hadn’t heard from him and had no idea where he might be. According to the victim’s wife, Silvera told her by phone that he’d be home late because he had “extra work and something else to do” at the Belsize farm. He hadn’t said what the something else was.
    A search of the big barn had turned up two empty one-gallon kerosene cans hidden in the hayloft. And a search of Jerry Belsize’s room yielded all the components for the kind of simple timing device used in each of the three fires. Circumstantial evidence, but fairly damning just the same.
    Runyon learned all of this on the drive down to Gray’s Landing. Unlike the deputy, Kelso, Joe Rinniak was an evenhanded man—forthcoming, and respectful of an ex–Seattle cop with Runyon’s credentials. He seemed to need to unload to an understanding ear.
    The operating theory, the one Kelso subscribed to, was that Silvera had seen the kid setting one of the blazes and kept quiet about it because he didn’t want to get involved, or maybe for blackmail purposes. That was the alleged motive for the hanging—to make sure Silvera stayed silent. Why make his kill on his own home ground? He was a psychotic, not thinking rationally. Why disappear? Runyon showing up, almost catching him in the act, had panicked him and sent him on the run.
    “We’ve got a BOLO out on him right now,” Rinniak said. “Kelso wanted a fugitive warrant, but I don’t think we have enough for that yet. Belsize doesn’t have any money to speak of and he’s not overly bright—where’s he going to go that he won’t be caught? Once we have him in custody and question him in detail, then we’ll see.”
    “Sounds like you have your doubts about his guilt.”
    “Doubts, yes.” He glanced sideways at Runyon. “You know much about pyromania?”
    “Some. I handled a couple of firebug cases when I wason the