Tinman

by Karen Black

  I really didn’t feel as brave as I might have sounded earlier, so with Hennie satisfied with my explanation and before I lost my courage, I picked up the phone and dialed.

  Leonard came on the line as soon as I identified myself to his secretary. “Leonard,” I blasted ahead, “I’m up in Alaska and I have a few questions.”

  “Greg, I thought you were going back to St. Paul.” He sounded concerned, but didn’t come across as alarmed or shocked as I had expected he would try to appear.

  “I took a little detour. I found the person who bombed my house. Now I want to find out who killed Charley. I think the answer is up here or in Los Angeles, or both, but not back in St. Paul.”

  “Well…” There was a long pause. He wasn’t the kind of speaker who added a lot of filler ers and uhs to his speech, just long pauses. “Well.” But, looks like he does repeat himself sometimes. “I’m not sure what I can do.”

  I just flung caution aside and rushed headlong into the unknown waters. “Leonard, I think Buddy Lee McGee blackmailed you into hiring him. Buddy Lee hated Charley because of that deal in Ecuador and the two of you are in this together.” For some reason my voice always rose in volume when I was nervous.

  I heard a long, deep sigh, clearly audible over the phone lines, followed by several seconds of total silence. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly calm. “Greg, I’m going to try very hard to forget you just accused me of murder. I know you’re upset, but you’re blaming the wrong person. You’ve got it all wrong. I didn’t hire Buddy Lee. Charley did. He felt bad about all the money Buddy lost down in Ecuador, called him and asked him if he’d like a chance to make it up, plus maybe a lot more. I just reviewed the contract, as I always do. It was more generous than most superintendent contracts, but it was Charley’s project, so I approved it. And if we end up getting this job, Buddy Lee should be able to retire. In the meantime, he’s making more than he’s ever made before by just being our contact up there.

  “He’s actually quite good at ass-kissing. Despite his size, put him in an expensive suit and he can be smooth as polished glass, and the ladies love that South American accent. You’ll probably also be surprised–I know I was–to learn that he’s a graduate of one of the better universities in Quito, and has a Master’s in Business from the Harvard School of Business. He can morph between a scary thug and a debonair gentleman with absolute ease.

  “I think he’s won us the contract if the damn thing is ever approved. If it doesn’t get approved or if we don’t get the contract, then TINMAN will be out millions…several of them. But that’s the cost of doing the kind of business we’re in.”

  Ouch. That wasn’t what I’d expected. Appears I had really stepped in it with my incendiary accusation. “Charley hired Buddy,” I mouthed to Hennie and Corky, throwing my free hand up in a “what-gives” gesture, while I tried to decide how to proceed. Under the circumstances, an apology seemed appropriate.

  “Look, Leonard, I’m sorry. That was inexcusable of me to accuse you or Buddy Lee. And, you’re right, I am surprised about his level of education. It really didn’t stand out in Ecuador. But now that I think about it, maybe it did and I just wasn’t looking beyond his rugged, leathery outdoorsman looks and good-ol’-boy facade.

  “And you’re also right about me being upset. I just don’t seem to be making any progress and it’s maddening. Sometimes my temper hinders my ability to communicate.

  “Just give me the contact information for Buddy Lee. I’ll call him myself. I think he’ll be happy to let me poke around a little. Particularly since Charley smoothed things over with him. He and I got along just fine down in Ecuador.”

  I jotted down the number on the hotel note pad when Leonard came back on the line with the information.

  “Greg, look, please be careful. I know you think differently, but I really don’t know who’s behind Charley’s murder. The only thing I know with absolute certainty is it wasn’t me, whether I can make you believe that or not. But a lot of people, including maybe Hennie, who were close to him and this project, have ended up dead or are in real danger. Don’t take unnecessary chances. Gotta go, have another call, but please heed my warning.” He really was good. I almost believed him.

  The phone rang only a couple of times before I heard, “Hola.” I recognized the Spanish for hello and Buddy Lee’s deep baritone voice.

  “Buddy Lee, this is Greg McGregor. Do you remember me?”

  “Greg, mi lad.” his voice took on the Scottish accent Charley had always used in Ecuador…and that everyone who knew Charley seemed to latch onto when talking to me or about me. Well, okay, maybe Hennie was the only other one. It might have been annoying except it actually seemed more of a tribute to Charley–how much of an impression he could make, even about little things like using a fake accent.

  “Of course I remember you. You’re the one who pulled Charley’s ass out of the fire in that project in the Andes after your professor tried to claim your plan as his own–and thoroughly botched things up. And you’re the one who managed to find a way to get the project back on track so we could build that road.”

  My ego appreciated his description of events, but I wanted answers to current problems. “Is it true that Charley asked you to take this job to make up for losses you suffered down there?” Might as well dig right in and confirm Leonard’s version…or not…as the case might be.

  “Indeed. I was fit to be tied, even considered killing that son-of-a-bitch when he wouldn’t pay me. I didn’t even make enough on that job to pay my workers, almost lost my company. Charley knew that, and even though he was as tough as nails about not paying for the cleanup of the fallen rock, he assured me that he’d find a way to make it right. And he did. He’s given me several good jobs in South America, and now this. Truth be told, I may have cut a corner or two that might have contributed to that rock slide, but I’ll never admit it to Charley, and I’ll deny I ever said it if you tell him. I got a sweetheart deal here. I’m getting paid to work with the various agencies, and I’m pretty good at, I guess what you would call, public relations. If we actually get the project–assuming nothing major goes wrong like the side of a mountain caving in,” I heard him chuckle, “I’ll be well compensated. Or to put another way, I won’t have to work another day in my life.”

  He was babbling on, but his comment about not admitting anything to Charley stood out. “Buddy, you heard that Charley was murdered didn’t you?” I heard a sharp intake of air.

  “Oh, Dios mio! No. I’ve been down in Ecuador finishing up a project I had there. Took a three-week leave of absence. They’d run into some problems on my last project. I just arrived back in Alaska yesterday, and just got to the office not five minutes ago. In fact, you’re the first phone call I’ve had since I returned. When? Who? What happened?”

  I could hardly believe he could have been that cut off from the news, particularly about the guy who managed this job. It had been national, even international news, but, like Leonard, he sounded sincere and genuinely surprised. I briefly told him what had happened.

  “Well, that explains why he didn’t come up like he said he would, and why he didn’t answer my call yesterday.”

  “Buddy Lee, I happen to be in Anchorage and would like to come out to the projected dam site. I’d like to poke around and see what I can find. Charley called me to meet him, even sent me a ticket to Alaska, but he wouldn’t say over the phone what the deal was. Someone tried to kill me shortly after that phone call. I think it has to do with this project, and I want to find out who killed Charley.”

  “Yeah, man, sure. Come to the office, it’s right in downtown Talkeetna. Main Street’s only a few blocks long. As you come in off highway 3, we’re on the right, in the middle of second block, and there’s a large TINMAN sign out front. You can’t miss it.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “Oh, the company pays for a motel room, all I need. Want me to get a room for you?”

  “Yes, please, bu
t we need two. I’ll be bringing a couple friends with me.”

  “You got it, mi lad.” He reverted back to his mocking-Charley imitation, then his voice turned somber. “And good luck. I hope you find the son-of-a-bitch who did this.”

  Well, damn, my two prime suspects were pretty good at convincing me of their innocence. Or was I just hoping they weren’t the guilty bastards? Or was I just totally out of my element? From most of the murder mysteries I’d read, usually on airplane flights, but usually never finished, it always seemed like the original suspects ended up not being the bad guys. I should read the endings sometimes to find out how the bad guy actually got caught. But I’m a geotechnical engineer. What the hell do I know about solving crimes…particularly murders? Maybe this was a fool’s mission. Maybe I’d end up like a lot of the old gold miners–broke or dead. In frustration, I shoved my open suitcase halfway across the bed.

  Hennie stared at my open bag. “Greg, where did you get that?” He picked up the core drilling, one end of which was peeking out from the sock that had fallen on the bed, the result of my temper tantrum.

  “From Charley’s L.A. apartment.” Corky jumped in with the details of how it had come into our possession and of its usefulness.

  “Holy shit!” Hennie grabbed the core drilling and stuffed it back into the sock. “We need to take this to an assayer before we head out. This might just be the clue we’ve been looking for. If Charley was talking nine-figure dollars, he might have found something in this core drilling that put him on to it. He never kept them at his home after they were tested. They always went into the job file at the office. So, why would he have this one at his home?”

  Corky and I just stared at each other realizing how ironic it was that we even had it. Then I mentally kicked myself. I should have thought to have it tested. Maybe this was what the killers had been looking for, but being unfamiliar, as we were, with what form it might take, they had overlooked it. They were probably looking for a written document. And to think we’d only taken it in case it had our fingerprints.

  Hennie found the telephone directory and checked the yellow pages for the nearest assayer office. “Here, there’s one just two blocks down the street. Let’s drop this off on our way out of town, and pay for a rush job. This may be the key!” Hennie’s voice had taken on an excitement he rarely displayed. I was coming to realize why Charley had chosen Hennie to be his assistant and probably his best friend. Being the astute businessman he was, Charley had recognized that Hennie was a lot more than what met the eye to most casual contacts, probably even to most of the TINMAN partners.

  After leaving the core drilling with a polite, neatly-tied-back long-haired, bearded young man, who promised to have the results for us in twenty-four hours, Corky remarked, “If I understand this correctly, we’re going up into the mountains where it may be cold and snowy. I don’t have anything to wear up there. I didn’t think to get winter gear when I was shopping yesterday.”

  I whipped the car into the first Sears store I saw along the road, and we all heeded Corky’s sound advice. Boots, a parka, some waffle weave underwear, and a few mountain climbing aids which were suggested by the very helpful young lady. She appeared to be familiar with outfitting dumbass people who came up to this area unprepared. “Climbing Denali?” she asked, as she placed my purchases in several large plastic sacks.

  Not wanting to show my ignorance, I answered, “Maybe”

  Corky and Hennie each found a similarly very helpful sales person. Our packages barely fit in the trunk and half the back seat of the car. It would be another story if we tried to take all this stuff with us when we left. But I’d leave that to another day. I checked the map, and saw where we had to turn off Alaska 1 to Highway 3. We headed north, destination Talkeetna.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  Monday, Talkeetna, Susitna & Devil’s Canyon

  TINMAN, Inc. in Talkeetna, Alaska, was a one-room storefront, outfitted with a couple of worn leather chairs, a small table sporting a half-full pot of coffee and a larger table filled with drawings. A tall cardboard box in one corner contained several more rolled up documents. A conference-sized table doubled as Buddy Lee’s desk. He greeted me with ‘un fuerte abrazo,’ then his eyes popped when Corky sashayed in, dressed in her Lil Joe the Wrangler outfit. I couldn’t help but beam proudly as I watched his admiring gaze. “Buddy Lee, I’d like you to meet Corky…my girlfriend…um…my girlfriend” I repeated for emphasis. “She was also a good friend of Charley’s. And this is Patrick Hennigan, Charley’s assistant.”

  “Please call me Hennie,” he said as they shook hands.

  Buddy Lee nodded at Hennie, then clasped his hand even harder. “Hey, I remember Charley mentioning his friend Hennie, he spoke very highly of you.” Hennie beamed, then looked away, his face darkening into a kind of lost, forlorn smile.

  Buddy Lee, reluctantly removing his eyes from Corky to me, winked. “Congratulations, mi lad.” After a few more pleasantries, during which he kept returning to gaze with shameless admiration at Corky, he announced, “the motel’s just down the road. Denali Fireside Cabins, in case you want to rest up or drop off your stuff. Two cabins, both under my name. Might as well let TINMAN pay for your stay. I’ve checked the weather up river and it’s not that cold right now and it’s pretty clear. Can’t get there by vehicle, so I have a helicopter scheduled for one hour from now.”

  I looked at Corky and Hennie, both nodded their agreement. “Works for us. We’ll go check in and put our ample gear in the rooms. We came prepared for mountain climbing. We’ll grab a sandwich and be back in less than an hour.”

  Buddy Lee walked out with us and laughed out loud when he saw nothing but the gear in the back seat. “That’s the stuff you use for climbing Denali, not where we’re going.”

  Chagrined, I rankled at being the butt of a joke. So, I joined in. “That’s only a third of it! The truck is full.” Buddy Lee cackled.

  Then, looking up through the trees, I stopped, amazed. We had a gorgeous view of a beautiful snow-capped mountain. “Look!” I pointed.

  “You’re lucky,” Buddy Lee said, as he followed my finger. “You’re getting a rare beautiful cloudless, unobstructed view of Mount McKinley.”

  I grabbed my camera from the front seat of the car. “I want a picture of this. It’s majestic.”

  “Indeed it is. It’s the highest mountain in North America, over 20,000 feet. The locals call it Denali.”

  Oh, that’s what that sweet young thing meant when she asked if we were climbing Denali. I frowned, almost embarrassed. How had I failed to realize what she meant? Of course I knew of Mount McKinley. Back when I was younger and fitter, I’d even hoped to climb it one day. Just never made it to Alaska until now. I hadn’t realized it was called Denali.

  Buddy Lee squeezed my shoulders reassuringly. “You like this scenery? There’s more to come. See you in an hour.”

  On the way to the motel, Hennie said, “I’m going to call that assayer and give him our new number so he can call as soon as he gets the results.”

  Our accommodations were rustic, former pioneer cabins, but modernized and quite comfortable.

  *

  An hour later, we all piled into Buddy Lee’s big 4 x 4 Ford F-150 extended cab pickup for the ride to the small but busy Talkeetna airport with its abundance of small planes, mostly high-wing Cessna’s, many float-equipped. Buddy Lee led us to a five-passenger helicopter and introduced us to Jack, our pilot. At Buddy Lee’s urging, I climbed into the front seat next to Jack, who handed ear phones to each of us. “It gets kind of loud up there, so we can carry on a conversation with these.” He demonstrated what to push if we wanted to talk.

  The rotors started to spin and the big bird vibrated as we prepared for takeoff. Lifting off the ground, the helicopter momentarily dipped its nose before climbing higher and turning basically north.

  Jack turned out to be an excellent tour guide. As we soared above the gray-blue waters, he directed, “Look below. You’ll s
ee where three rivers, the Talkeenta, the Susitna and the Chulitna converge. In fact, Talkeetna, in the native language, means, ‘where the rivers join.’”

  We quickly were above beautiful lakes and glaciers, their blue and brown ribbons of ice glistening in the sunlight. Following the Susitna River gave us another majestic view of Mount McKinley.

  “Wow,” was all I could say.

  Jack, looking in the same direction, added, “You’re lucky. That is an exceptionally good view of Denali, which happens to be completely shrouded by clouds roughly one-third of the time, and partially covered a lot more. This is one of the best views I’ve seen in a long time. It’s usually not this clear all the way from here.”

  “The beauty of this place takes my breath away,” I heard Corky say excitedly.

  Pointing below, Jack said, “We’re passing over Devil’s Canyon, a Class V whitewater area.”

  “Buddy Lee, have you done any kayaking at Devil’s Canyon?” I asked, knowing from our previous meeting in Ecuador that, despite his size…he was big but fit…he was a macho, agile, athletic guy who would probably try anything.

  “Haven’t found the nerve yet,” he admitted. “Like Jack says, it’s rated as Class V whitewater, but sometimes it looks like there ought to be something between a V and VI, like maybe a V plus. I did the Fu–Futaleufu River in Chili–when I was younger, and it was challenging, but I may be getting a little too old to try this one.”

  I shook my head, “Don’t know if my age has anything to do with it. I think it’s more my ability…or lack thereof. I remember seeing a documentary about the first guy to make it down Devil’s Canyon on a kayak…back in the 70’s. Some guy filmed it. Incredible! I was pretty young and thought I was a stud at that time, but even then I thought maybe it was too much for me to ever try, even though I’d already gone down Royal Gorge, the part up near Colorado Springs, which has both Class IV and Class V rapids. Devil’s Canyon just seemed more difficult. I never could figure out how the guy filmed it, maybe a helicopter. He certainly couldn’t have been in the rapids himself.”