The Shut Mouth Society Read Online Free PDF Page B

orange trees lined both sides of the highway that ran up a picturesque narrow valley. Every couple of miles, brightly tented stands sold produce from local farms at prices that must have embarrassed supermarkets. This stretch of two-lane road preserved the last remnant of a rural Southern California—the Southern California that his father and grandfather knew. He feared the day he would make this turn to find the orange trees bulldozed so developers could build even more scrunched-together, humdrum houses.
    He had been fuming ever since Baldwin quit talking. He had enjoyed the last half hour of civility and hated to ruin it. Making a decision, he said, “Professor, I should tell you that I get angry when someone throws the racist accusation around.”
    “ Oh.” She hesitated. “There’s a dictionary definition of racist, and Lincoln fits within that strict definition. His own words indict him, but I didn’t mean it to be as derogatory as you might think. Remember, I said a man must be judged in his time, and nearly everyone was racist back then.” When Evarts didn’t comment she asked, “You have some scar tissue?”
    “ As any cop, especially one that grew up and works in a rich white enclave.”
    “ Doesn’t your friendship with Abraham Douglass grant you absolution?”
    “ It means nothing to those who use the epithet politically, and it means everything to real racists.”
    After a moment she asked, “How is Douglass received in Santa Barbara?”
    Evarts laughed. “Just fine. In the insular Santa Barbara social circles, his enormous wealth counts for more than his black skin.”

Chapter 4
     
    Most tourists can’t find the Southern California the movies promise. Luckily, they don’t venture as far north as Santa Barbara, or Evarts’s favorite coastal town would be polluted with checkered shorts and black socks. Sandwiched between the Pacific Ocean and the Santa Ynez Mountains, a twenty-five-mile stretch of relatively unspoiled California coastline separated Santa Barbara from Ventura, the largest town to the south, and no big city loomed from the north for nearly a hundred miles. Less than a two-hour drive from Los Angeles, Santa Barbara’s geography and no-growth temperament protected it from the kind of sprawl that cluttered the coastline between San Diego and Los Angeles.
    Evarts had grown up in Santa Barbara, but he didn’t live there now. The city had become too expensive. Real estate in the city that old-timers called the American Riviera had always been outrageous, but recently prices had gone beyond absurd. The median home price had escalated to over a million dollars, with even small California bungalows a mile from the ocean going for seven figures.
    He had dropped Baldwin off at the UCSB Guest House to get situated. Douglass had promised to send his driver to pick her up for dinner at his home later that evening. Evarts decided to drive directly there so he could talk to Douglass before her arrival.
    He knew he ought to stop at the police station, but he picked up his cell phone instead. His department consisted of eighteen detectives under the direction of himself and a lieutenant. In short order, Evarts found out that nothing significant had happened that day.
    Property crimes demanded most of his resources, and catching the Rock Burglar presented his biggest challenge. The nickname was a misnomer because his department felt confident that a gang committed these crimes, not an individual. The criminals carefully cased a neighborhood, learned the routine of the residents, and then threw a rock through a window when the owners were away. In less than five minutes, the gang swooped up everything of value and disappeared before the police responded to the alarm. Worse, they would commit a couple of burglaries and then move to another prosperous city, only to return to Santa Barbara after the residents had again become complacent. This had been going on for nearly eight years, and despite