A Matter of Malice

by Thomas King

  “Don’t know,” said Pearl. “We’ll have to go through everything.”

  “There was a map of the area,” said Gloria. “It was on the wall. It’s gone.”

  Duke pushed a water bottle out of the way with his foot. “What kind of map?”

  “You know,” said Gloria. “One with roads on it.”

  “A road map?”

  “Yeah.” Gloria held her hands out. “It was right here. Had all sorts of marks on it. Lines, circles, notes.”

  “You remember what those marks were exactly?”

  Gloria shook her head. “Nah. Just marks.”

  “A box,” said Pearl. “Her research for the remaining shows.”

  Hockney did a slow sweep of the room. “And it’s missing.”

  “It would appear,” said Pearl.

  Thumps knew what the sheriff’s next question was going to be.

  “Hypothetically speaking,” said Hockney, “why would someone take a road map and a box of research?”

  Thumps hadn’t expected anyone to answer the question, and no one did.

  Duke looked over at Thumps. “Well, I guess that settles everything.”

  “What the sheriff means,” said Thumps, “is that all of you have contaminated a possible crime scene. If you have removed anything, he would like you to leave it on the table or face charges of obstruction. Furthermore, he would like you to stop touching things and get out of the room as quickly as possible.”

  “We want to help,” said Pearl. “Nina was family.”

  “And you can,” said Thumps, “by letting law enforcement do its job.”

  Thumps could see that Pearl was not used to taking orders. The woman stood in the middle of the room, looking for an argument.

  “All right,” she said at last. “But I expect to be kept informed as to the progress of the investigation.”

  Duke touched the brim of his hat. “Howdy,” he said.

  Thumps walked the trio out the door and shut it behind them.

  “‘Furthermore’?” said Duke.

  “I thought I was rather succinct,” said Thumps.

  “You ever talk like that when you were a cop?”

  “Can’t remember.”

  Duke looked around the room. “Made a mess of the place.”

  “They did.”

  The sheriff took off his hat and made himself comfortable on the sofa. “Option one is a burglar with a fetish for research files and road maps, so let’s go with option two.”

  “Someone kills Maslow and steals her files.”

  “Which would mean that there was something in the files.”

  “Trudy Samuels?”

  “That’s the easy answer.”

  “And if that’s the right answer,” said Thumps, “it could mean that Samuels’s death wasn’t an accident or suicide. Could mean that whoever killed Trudy also killed Nina.”

  Duke sank into the cushions. “Big leap.”

  “What else could be in the files that would get Maslow dead?”

  “That’s the better question,” said the sheriff. “And we’re probably not going to find out sitting here.”

  “You’re going to take me home?”

  “Sorry,” said Duke, “but I got a crime scene to secure and process.”

  “I have to walk?”

  “It’s a nice day,” said the sheriff, “and a brisk stroll will help you work off breakfast.”

  Twenty-Four

  The no-parking zone in front of the hotel was getting crowded. The sheriff’s cruiser was still there. The green Audi was idling right behind it.

  “Mr. DreadfulWater.” Gloria Baker-Doyle hurried around the car and opened the back door. “Could we have a moment of your time?”

  “Is that the royal plural?”

  “Very good,” said Gloria, “but no. It’s the regular plural.”

  Sydney Pearl was sitting in the back seat. “Please join me,” she said. “We need to talk.”

  “Is it about Nina Maslow?”

  “It is.”

  “Then you should talk to the sheriff.”

  “I plan to do that.”

  “Then you don’t need to talk to me.”

  “Ride with me, Mr. DreadfulWater,” said Pearl. “Where’s the harm in that?”

  Thumps could think of any number of reasons not to get into the car. Common sense was at the top of the list.

  “And I think we can help each other.”

  “You mean as in I help you and you help me?”

  “Exactly.”

  “The helping me part,” said Thumps. “You want to give me a hint?”

  “Maslow’s file on the Obsidian Murders,” said Pearl. “Is that the kind of help that might interest you?”

  THE OLD ROAD followed the Ironstone as far as Siksika Rapids, where a section had washed out in a spring flood and never been repaired. Gloria pulled into the makeshift turnaround and parked the car.

  Pearl got out of the Audi. “I grew up in Queens. We didn’t have this much space. We didn’t have rapids.”

  Gloria had a camera in her hand. “I’ll leave you two to talk. Can you get to the river from here?”

  Thumps had photographed the rapids years ago. He tried to remember if there had been a trail or if he had had to bushwhack his way through the brush. “To the right. It’s probably overgrown.”

  Gloria gave the camera a wave. “Nothing that will stop a producer.”

  Thumps watched Baker-Doyle push her way into the willows and disappear. “Gloria’s a producer now? That was fast.”

  “Show business is fast.”

  Thumps wondered if Gloria had found the path. The only sound he could hear was the river racing over the rocks.

  “You don’t like me,” said Pearl. “And that’s fine. In my business, liking someone is generally unwise.”

  For the first time, Thumps heard something in the woman’s voice that didn’t have edges and angles.

  “You were friends with Maslow.”

  Pearl’s eyes glistened. “What did I just say?”

  The wolf willows and scrub had grown up along the bank. Thumps could hear the rapids, but he couldn’t see the water. The last time he had come to this section of the Ironstone, there had been a large boulder in the middle of the rapids that had cut the river in half. He wondered if it was still there or if it had been swept away in the spring flood.

  Pearl shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket. “Warhol and Basquiat. Lennon and McCartney. Burns and Allen.”

  “Thelma and Louise?”

  Pearl’s laugh was soft and sad.

  “The Obsidian Murders?”

  “Manners,” said Pearl. “Ladies first.”

  “Okay,” said Thumps. “Ladies first.”

  Pearl walked back to the car and leaned against the door. “Nina and I met in Los Angeles. A prime-time drama. Would have set us up for years.”

  “But?”

  “Show folded before we got to principal photography,” said Pearl. “We did a couple of smaller projects together. Mostly successful. And then Nina got the idea for Malice Aforethought.”

  Thumps waited.

  “Nina was a genius at research. She’d shake trees just to see what fell out. And she had a gift for knowing what an audience wanted.”

  “So Maslow called the shots on which story the show did.”

  Pearl rubbed her hands to keep them warm. “Nina would come up with the ideas, with the stories, and then she’d show me the litter.”

  “And you’d pick the best-looking puppies.”

  “The two of us would pick the puppies.”

  “You had a formula?”

  “More a feeling,” said Pearl. “First and foremost, the story had to be unsolved. Second, there had to be something about the story that gave it a sparkle.”

  “Poor little rich girl killed by famous novelist.”

  “Three, it had to be a story that we had a chance to solve.”

  Thumps smiled. “You actuall
y solve cases?”

  “Sometimes,” said Pearl. “Nina solved a cold case in Alabama. DNA evidence. But the guy responsible had died in prison a year earlier.”

  “Impressive.”

  “She could see patterns in the evidence. She could hear discrepancies in the court records. She was amazing with raw data. There was another case in Ohio where a sitting congressman had been involved in a hit-and-run of two little girls. Nina saw the clue in a crime-scene photograph. Broke the case open.”

  “And Trudy Samuels?”

  “She was looking at a number of angles.”

  Thumps tried to imagine what Maslow would have seen from the available evidence. “So Trudy Samuels, accidental death, wouldn’t get out of the puppy box.”

  “No.”

  “But Trudy Samuels, poor little rich girl commits suicide because she is dumped by famous novelist would?”

  “Not a lot of sparkle, but it could work,” said Pearl. “Driven to suicide is the way we would frame it. Responsibility instead of guilt.”

  “Or Trudy is drunk and abusive. Rattler hits her. Bad luck.”

  “Not a lot going for it.”

  “How about Rattler wants to marry Trudy for her money, but she tells him to get lost, so he kills her in a fit of rage?”

  “Better. Any other ideas?”

  “Sure,” said Thumps. “Adele Samuels and/or her son kill Trudy. To inherit the money and because Trudy is a major embarrassment. Adele hated her. Ethan was jealous. People get killed for less.”

  “Bravo, Mr. DreadfulWater,” said Pearl. “Nina was right about you.”

  It took a beat for Thumps to hear the implication.

  “The Samuels case doesn’t meet your criteria.” Thumps turned the possibilities over in his mind. “It’s too weak, too many ways for it to fall flat.”

  “It wasn’t my first choice.”

  “And yet you decided to do it anyway.”

  Pearl waited as a teacher might wait for her star student to finish the equation.

  “But the Obsidian Murders is good television.”

  “No, Mr. DreadfulWater,” said Pearl. “It’s not good television. It’s great television.”

  “And Maslow knew I was involved in that case.”

  “A little disingenuous, don’t you think?” said Pearl. “According to Nina, you are the Obsidian Murders.”

  “Christ.”

  “I told you,” said Pearl, “Nina planned ahead.”

  “You’re going to do an episode on that case.”

  “The premiere episode for next season.”

  Thumps hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t even considered the possibility. Maslow knew that the Samuels case was weak. The only draw was the manufactured confrontation between an angry stepmother and a famous literary figure. But the real reason Maslow and Pearl had come to Chinook was to find him, to enlist him in the investigation. Maslow knew he wouldn’t say no, especially if she had uncovered evidence that gave new life to the Obsidian Murders case.

  “What exactly did she have?”

  “An excellent question.” Pearl’s face hardened and her eyes lost their sparkle. “Which is why we’re here. I’d like to propose a collaboration. You and me.”

  “You want me to find out what happened to Nina.”

  “I do.”

  “In exchange for?”

  “You already know the answer to that, Mr. DreadfulWater.”

  “Maslow had a file on the Obsidian Murders. I find out what happened, and I get the file.”

  “That makes it sound like blackmail,” said Pearl. “I’d rather see our arrangement as an amicable exchange.”

  “Why should I trust you?”

  “Here’s what I know: the Samuels case was never all that strong, but Nina found something that had her animated, something she was quite excited about, something new.”

  “A break in the case?”

  “I think so.”

  “But she didn’t say?”

  “Nina liked to be secretive,” said Pearl. “And thorough. She’d wait until all the pieces were in place before she would move.”

  “But you don’t have Nina’s files anymore, do you?” Thumps watched Pearl’s face. “The Samuels file. The file on the Obsidian Murders. Other files as well?”

  Pearl put her arms over her head and stretched. “Four files in all,” she said. “The Samuels case, the Obsidian Murders, and the files we were considering for the last episode of the season.”

  “Two files for the last episode?”

  “We hadn’t decided which one to do yet. Nina wanted the Vegas story. I wanted the killings in Key West.”

  “You know, whoever took those files has probably destroyed them by now.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Pearl looked past Thumps as though she could see something in the distance. “I don’t believe Nina’s death was an accident. Neither does the sheriff. Someone killed her. Find that person, and maybe you find the files. Find the files and you get what Nina had on the Obsidian Murders.”

  “That’s a lot of maybes.”

  Pearl made a quick gesture with her hand. “It is what it is.”

  Thumps heard a sound behind him.

  “Back too early?” Gloria sang out, as she burst out of the willows.

  “Not at all,” said Pearl. “Mr. DreadfulWater and I have had a productive talk.”

  “Brilliant,” said Gloria. “I got some lovely shots of the water. There’s a giant rock in the middle of the river. Looks like a dinosaur egg.”

  So it was still there. With the way everything else in his life was shifting, Thumps found the enduring presence of a large boulder in a dark river strangely comforting.

  “So, you two have everything settled? Yeah?”

  Pearl opened the back door and got in. “The sheriff is a friend of yours, is he not?”

  “He’s the sheriff,” said Thumps.

  “Then I’d appreciate it if you would tell him that I’d like to have my car back.”

  “It’s part of a crime scene.”

  “I’m fond of that car,” said Pearl. “I only let Maslow use it because she was too cheap to buy a car of her own.”

  “I’ll mention it.”

  “I don’t want to have to shoot him,” said Pearl.

  “Right,” said Gloria. “So, where to now?”

  “Anywhere Mr. DreadfulWater wants to go,” said Pearl.

  Thumps watched the thin clouds float along the horizon and waited for inspiration to find him. When it didn’t, he slid into the car and closed the door.

  Twenty-Five

  Pearl waited until they had pulled up in front of the old Land Titles building before she dropped the other shoe.

  “Oh,” she said, as though it were an afterthought, “I’ll also count on you to convince Mr. Rattler to be on the show.”

  “Not my circus,” said Thumps, getting out of the car. “Not my monkeys.”

  Pearl held the door open. “It’s the clowns you have to worry about.”

  Thumps had stood at the front door to the old Land Titles building on any number of occasions, but this was the first time he had ever found the door open.

  “Hello.”

  He stood on the stoop, pressed each of the three buttons in order, and waited for a reply. And then he pressed them again.

  Nothing.

  Not good. Thumps couldn’t imagine Beth leaving the front door open like that.

  “Hello.”

  “Basement!”

  It was Beth’s voice, even though it sounded faint and far away. She also sounded irritated. Probably not the best time to ask for a favour.

  “It’s me.”

  “Basement!”

  Thumps hated Beth’s basement. It wasn’t any worse than some of the other morgues he had had to endure, and it wasn’t any better. Morgues had several things in common. They were cold and dank. They all had a pale stink of human decay. They all featured professional psychopaths who got paid to cut up bodies.

>   Thumps had expected to find Beth standing at her stainless steel table, sorting through the remains of Nina Maslow. Instead, the table was bare and Beth was on her hands and knees by the side of her desk, a plastic bucket at her side.

  “No stupid jokes.”

  “I wasn’t going to make any.”

  Beth looked up. Her glasses had slid down her nose, and her hair was rattled. “Don’t just stand there.”

  Thumps tried to figure out exactly what Beth was doing on the floor of her basement with a plastic bucket. Nothing immediately came to mind.

  “Go around to the other side of the desk and stomp your feet.”

  “Is this some kind of coroner joke?”

  “Damn it, DreadfulWater, just do it.”

  Thumps got as far as the corner when something flew out from under the desk, slammed into his leg, and went careening around the room, bouncing off the walls and the cabinets.

  “Jesus!”

  Beth got to her feet, the plastic bucket at the ready. “You’re not much help.”

  “What the hell was that?”

  “A squirrel,” said Beth.

  “A squirrel?”

  “Rats with good PR,” said Beth. “Don’t know how it got in, but I’ve been trying to chase it out the front door for the last hour.”

  “And?”

  “Evidently,” said Beth, “the stupid thing doesn’t know how to climb stairs.”

  “Thought squirrels could climb anything.”

  “Now I’m trying to catch it.”

  “I could borrow Duke’s gun and shoot it.”

  Beth froze him with a glare. “If I wanted to shoot it, I wouldn’t be crawling around on the floor with a bucket.”

  Thumps looked around. “Where’d he go?”

  “I’m worried that it’s a female and that she has a nest somewhere.”

  “Little squirrels are cute.”

  “Look under the cabinet.”

  “But they can also be vicious.”

  Beth held up the bucket. “That’s what this is for. You drive the squirrel to me, and I’ll catch her.”

  “Good plan,” said Thumps.

  “Was that sarcasm?”

  “Yes,” said Thumps. “It was.”

  “The cabinet?”

  “I’m not going to put my hand under the cabinet.”

  “Here,” said Beth. “Use this.”