by Thomas King
“You serious?”
“I am.”
Rattler frowned. “Barcelona. Big book fair.”
“And after that?”
“New York. What’s this about?”
“And Las Vegas?”
“You kidding?” Rattler shook his head. “Place is a shithole. Wouldn’t catch me dead in Vegas.”
Cooley looked up from the table. “How about we order a couple of pizzas? We can eat and finish the puzzle in time to watch Wilderness Gold.”
“One last question,” said Thumps. “Would Adele have told Trudy?”
Rattler walked back to the puzzle. “That I took money to go away?”
Thumps waited.
“What you really mean is would Trudy have killed herself if she knew I’d betrayed her.”
“Did Nina Maslow know?”
“Trudy and Maslow?” Rattler’s smile was cold and brittle. “You really think I had something to do with Maslow’s death?”
“Sheriff will be asking the same question.”
“That new place near the mall makes good deep-dish pizza,” said Cooley. “And they deliver.”
“I didn’t kill Trudy,” said Rattler. “And I sure as hell didn’t kill Maslow.”
Moses nodded. “I’m voting for sausage and onion. Maybe pepperoni with extra cheese.”
“What do you think, Thumps?” Cooley held the phone up. “You want something with pineapple?”
“Yes,” said Moses. “Thumps likes that pineapple.”
Rattler took his wallet out and handed Cooley a credit card. “Won’t need pineapple,” he said. “Mr. DreadfulWater isn’t staying.”
SHERIFF DUKE HOCKNEY was leaning against Stas’s truck. Deputy Lance Packard was in Duke’s cruiser.
“You got any doughnuts?”
Duke shook his head. “Nope.”
“So this isn’t a stakeout.”
“Don’t do stakeouts,” said the sheriff. “Macy likes me home at night.”
“Yet here you are.”
“Still early,” said Duke. “You talk to Mr. Rattler?”
“I did.”
“Learn anything?”
“A little.”
“Anything pertinent to Trudy Samuels or Nina Maslow?”
“Beth have a cause of death for Maslow yet?”
“She does,” said the sheriff, “and seeing as you are a duly sworn-in deputy, I can share those results with you.”
“Murder?”
“Lots of damage from the fall. Scrapes, bumps, cuts, abrasions.”
“Falling down the side of a butte will do that.”
“It surely will.”
“But?”
“Maslow was killed by a blow to the head,” said Duke. “Sharp, hard blow. Beth can’t see how she could have sustained the injury in the fall.”
“Great.”
Duke pushed off the truck. “So I’m going to have to arrest Mr. Rattler on suspicion of murder.”
“Don’t think he did it.”
“He’s the only suspect I have,” said the sheriff. “Maslow was out to prove that he killed Trudy Samuels. He found Maslow’s body. You see where this is going?”
“Sure,” said Thumps. “Your job is to arrest people.”
“He in there alone?”
“Nope,” said Thumps. “Moses and Cooley are with him. They’re working on a puzzle.”
“How many pieces?”
“No idea.”
Hockney straightened his hat. “Macy loves jigsaw puzzles. The more pieces, the better. Me, I don’t see the point. All those little bits of cardboard. You spend days putting the thing together and then when it’s finished, you take it apart, put it back in the box, and stick it in a closet.”
“The puzzle’s a Bierstadt painting,” said Thumps. “An Indian village with mountains in the background.”
“OCP,” said the sheriff. “Obsessive-compulsive puzzling.”
“Don’t think that’s a clinical term.”
“You know what a thousand-piece puzzle looks like?”
“Maybe you should wait to arrest him until we have more information.”
“Mr. Rattler booked himself on a flight to Denver day after tomorrow, connection in New York City.”
Thumps took a moment to digest this. “You sure?”
“I’m the sheriff,” said Duke. “I’m always sure.”
“You know when he made the booking?”
“This afternoon,” said Duke. “It would appear Mr. Rattler is attempting to flee my jurisdiction.”
“He should have told you.”
“Yes, indeed,” said the sheriff. “He should have done exactly that.”
“You’re really going to arrest him?”
“Law allows me to entertain suspicious suspects at county expense for up to seventy-two hours,” said Duke. “During which time we will continue to collect evidence and interview witnesses.”
“We don’t have any witnesses.” Thumps zipped up his jacket. “You might want to wait a bit before you raid the place.”
“I’m listening.”
“They just ordered pizza,” said Thumps. “Seeing as it’s you, they might be willing to share.”
Duke put a hand on his stomach. “Hope it’s not pineapple,” he said. “Pineapple gives me gas.”
“And I need to borrow your phone.”
“You going to call Rattler and warn him that we’re coming?”
“Nope,” said Thumps. “Need to talk to Archie.”
“Most of the time,” said Duke, “you try to avoid talking to Archie.”
“That’s just an ugly rumour.”
The sheriff slipped his phone out of its holster. “County gets unlimited minutes, but all calls should be related to business.”
“You want to listen to the call?”
“Seems like a prudent idea,” said Duke, “seeing as I’m sheriff and that’s my phone.”
Thumps took the phone and walked to the edge of the parking lot.
“Is it pepperoni?” Duke called out after him. “Everyone loves pepperoni.”
Thirty-Seven
It was after eight by the time Thumps pulled up in front of the Aegean. The fall skies had gone to black once again. Try as he might, Thumps couldn’t find any trace of the moon or the stars. Maybe they had gotten fed up with humankind, packed their bags, and lit out for the territories.
Not a bad idea, now that he thought about it.
By now, the sheriff and Deputy Lance would have taken Rattler into custody. Or the five of them were standing around the kitchen table, eating deep dish and playing humpty dumpty with the Bierstadt landscape. Thumps was betting on pizza and the puzzle.
Sausage and onion? Pepperoni and extra cheese? Why miss a free meal?
They could always take Rattler to jail later.
Gloria Baker-Doyle and Calder Banks were in the vintage-clothing section, talking with Archie. Calder was still in his shirt sleeves, trying on a tweed jacket with elbow patches, while Gloria was working her way through a display of pillbox hats.
“DreadfulWater!” Calder waved him over. “What do you think? 1940s chic? Do I look like Bogie or what?”
“I think he looks more like Tab Hunter,” said Gloria.
“And you look like Mamie Van Doren.”
“Don’t have the ass for that.” Gloria took a dark suit off the rack and held it up to Thumps. “You could be Clark Gable.”
“Or Johnny Weissmuller,” said Calder.
“Tarzan,” said Gloria. “Brilliant.”
Archie looped a black feather boa around Gloria’s shoulders. “See how much fun you can have with vintage clothing?”
Thumps checked his watch. “You finish with the filming already?”
“Professionals,” said Calder. “Always faster when you work with professionals.”
“I’m going to take the pillbox,” said Gloria.
“And I’m going to go with the jacket.” Calder ran his thumbs under the lapels. �
�I can write it off as a business expense.”
“Office is all set up,” said Archie. “Just like you asked.”
“Great,” said Thumps. “Hard copies of Maslow’s notes? The telephone numbers?”
“Just like you asked,” said Archie.
“And that fedora,” said Calder. “Bogie wore one just like it in Casablanca.”
The office had been turned into a command centre of sorts. Archie’s desk had been pushed to one side, and the little Greek had set up a large library table in the middle of the room, along with a whiteboard on wheels that could be moved around.
“I only printed two copies of everything,” Archie said. “I’ll work off the computer, and two of you will have to share.”
“I hate sharing,” said Calder.
“I’ll work with Mr. DreadfulWater,” said Gloria. “He looks as though he plays well with others.”
The top of the green metal filing cabinets had been turned into a giant party tray. Coffee. Sandwiches. Fruit. Thumps tried to remember if he had had lunch. Or dinner for that matter.
“Help yourself,” said Archie. “We could be here a while.”
Calder took one end of the library table. Archie took the other. Thumps and Gloria sat together in the middle.
“So,” said Gloria, “where do we start?”
Archie went to the whiteboard and wrote “Trudy Samuels” on one side and “Nina Maslow” on the other.
“So,” he said, “what do we know?”
“Both dead,” said Calder.
“That’s rather heartless,” said Gloria. “Yeah?”
“But accurate,” said Archie, and he wrote “dead” under each name. “And do we know how they died?”
“Nina thought that Samuels had been murdered.” Calder looked at Thumps. “Any news about Nina?”
Thumps wasn’t sure that this was the way to begin an investigation. It felt more like a daytime game show.
“I have it on good authority,” said Archie, “that Nina Maslow was murdered.”
“So she didn’t fall accidentally,” said Calder.
“Evidently,” said Archie, warming to the task, “she died from a blow to the head.”
“You’re going to hit your head if you fall off a cliff,” said Calder.
Archie shook his head. “If the coroner says murder, then it’s murder.”
“Cui bono?” said Gloria.
“What a bonus?” said Calder.
“It’s Latin,” said Gloria. “It means, who profits by Nina’s death?”
“Sure,” said Calder, “but what if it’s not about profit. What if someone just didn’t like her.”
“Okay,” said Archie, his marker at the ready. “Who didn’t like Maslow?”
Calder and Gloria looked at each other for a moment and then Calder raised his hand.
“I didn’t like her all that much.” Calder smiled a quick smile. “And she didn’t like me. If she had had her way, I would have been dumped long ago.”
“And she and Pearl didn’t always get along,” said Gloria.
“That’s an understatement,” said Calder. “Remember the time Sydney threw that phone at Nina?”
“Stapler,” said Gloria. “And she missed completely.”
Thumps looked over at the table with the coffee. Now that he could see food, he was hungry. “You were at the party that night.”
“I was,” said Calder. “Am I a suspect?”
“What about Pearl?”
“No idea,” said Calder. “Probably working. It’s all she ever does.”
“The problem,” said Archie, “is we don’t know enough yet.” And he tapped the marker on each of the names. “We have two cases, and we don’t know if they’re connected.”
“But if Samuels was murdered,” said Gloria, “then Nina could have been killed because she discovered who did it. That would narrow down the list of suspects.”
“To just one,” said Calder. “Tobias Rattler.”
“And if the two cases are not related,” said Gloria, “then we’re back to looking for someone who wanted Nina dead.”
“Why?”
“The Latin thing again?” said Calder.
“Why would someone want Maslow dead?” Thumps waited for the question to settle in. “If Maslow isn’t related to Samuels, why was she killed? So far as I can tell, getting along in show business isn’t necessary.”
“That’s true enough,” said Calder. “Tension helps us keep our creative edge.”
“So the two cases must be related,” said Gloria. “And we’re back to Mr. Rattler.”
Archie put the marker down. “How about we break for food and coffee? Then we can go over Maslow’s notes and the phone records.”
Thumps was out of the chair before Archie finished the sentence.
The ham and cheese on a kaiser was a bit on the dry side, so Thumps only ate two. The coffee was hot, and the grapes were hard and sweet. All in all, the sheriff and Deputy Lance had probably gotten the better end of dinner. As he ate, Thumps tried to imagine that the sandwich was a piece of deep-dish sausage and onion pizza.
With extra cheese.
“How about we work on the phone records,” said Archie. “Places Maslow called in the last month. We got Barcelona, New York, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, and local.”
Calder held up a hand. “I’ll take L.A. and Vegas,” he said. “My kind of town.”
“That’s Chicago,” said Gloria. “Then Thumps and I will take Spain and the Big Apple.”
“And I’ll do local,” said Archie. “Then we can all work on her notes.”
Thumps had no expectations that this shotgun approach to police work was going to yield any results, but there was a comfort to the ordering and arranging of phone numbers in a column and matching them to actual locations.
“See this,” said Gloria. “All the calls to Barcelona are to the same number.”
“A hotel?” said Thumps.
“Probably.” Gloria set her cellphone on the table. “Barcelona is about eight hours ahead of us, so if I’m wrong and it’s a residence, someone is going to be pissed off.”
The number in Barcelona was for the Hotel Casa Camper.
“Boutique hotel,” said Gloria. “Between Las Ramblas and the MACBA. Expensive. I’ve seen it from the outside.”
“Try the New York number,” said Thumps.
The New York number was for The Carlyle. Archie had to look it up on the Internet. “Upper East Side,” said Archie. “Madison and 76th. 1930 Beaux-Arts building. Some of the rooms have views of Central Park. You want to know what the rooms cost?”
“No.”
“Just as well,” said Archie. “You can’t even afford a car.”
Thumps glanced at Calder. “What about you?”
“In Vegas, we’ve got the Wynn,” said Calder. “And WestAir.”
“The Wynn is high-end,” said Gloria. “And WestAir has regular flights between Vegas and L.A.”
“Nothing else?”
“Just Los Angeles,” said Calder. “Head office. And some of the equipment rental houses we use. Business calls. So far as I can tell.”
Thumps set the phone numbers to one side and put a hand on the printout Archie had run off. “Maslow was researching three stories.”
“Samuels,” said Gloria. “Key West and Amelia Nash.”
“But,” said Thumps, “she was only working Samuels and Nash.”
“And you know this how?” said Calder.
Thumps held up the phone records. “She made calls to Barcelona, New York, Los Angeles, and Las Vegas.”
“Don’t forget the local calls,” said Archie.
“I haven’t,” said Thumps. “I’m betting the calls to Barcelona and to New York were to Tobias Rattler.”
“How the hell could you know that?” said Calder.
“Rattler was in both those cities,” said Thumps. “It won’t take much to match up the dates and the times.”
“Or we could just a
sk Rattler,” said Archie.
“Yes,” said Thumps, “or that.”
“Nina didn’t make any calls to Key West,” said Gloria. “But she did make calls to Vegas.”
Archie bent over his computer and worked the keys. “Here we go. Amelia Nash. Twenty-three. Killed by her boyfriend, who then shot himself.”
“Donny Berlin,” said Calder. “Bad news. Drugs, booze. Man was a walking crime scene.”
“You knew him?”
“Sure,” said Calder. “Same business. But we weren’t friends. To tell the truth, the guy scared me.”
“According to this, Nash was all set to star in a new television series,” said Archie. “The Streets of San Francisco.”
Thumps turned to Calder.
“Amelia was my co-star.” Calder took a deep breath. “Hell, she was the reason the series got the green light.”
“You and Amelia Nash were going to do a remake of Streets of San Francisco?” said Gloria. “That would have been brilliant.”
“I think Maslow wanted to do the Nash story just so she could rub my nose in it,” said Calder. “Woman was a bit of a sadist. Doing the Nash story was her way of reminding me how close I came to prime time.”
“And murder-suicide is always good television,” said Gloria.
Calder made a disparaging sound. “Sure as hell beats tattooed bodies on a yacht.”
“But why would Maslow do a murder-suicide?” Thumps looked at Gloria and then at Calder. “There’s no case. There’s nothing to solve.”
“Mind of the mystery,” said Gloria. “Sensational crimes are almost as good as unsolved crimes. What happened in that hotel room that fateful evening? Were drugs and alcohol involved? What drove Berlin to shoot his lover and then kill himself?”
“And Maslow had me as the narrator,” said Calder. “The guy whose career was destroyed in the time it took Berlin to pull that trigger.”
“Nothing like a bit of pity,” said Gloria, “to tug at the old heartstrings.”
“Jesus,” said Archie. “Television is worse than the book business.”
Calder pushed back from the table. “I have to be up early tomorrow. Big day on set. The Samuels family is coming in. Need my beauty sleep.”
“Me too,” said Gloria, “though I do adore all this hunting about for clues. Can we do it again?”
“Pearl expects that you’ll be on set as well,” said Calder. “She was quite specific about that.”