A Matter of Malice

by Thomas King

“But they’re old,” said Hockney. “Emmitt got a whole shitload of crime-fighting stuff on a federal grant back in the last century, and we still haven’t used it all up.”

  “That’s because you’re an exceptional crime fighter.”

  “Oh shucks,” said Duke. “Seeing as you’re so sweet, you can have two.”

  Thumps found the bags in the third cabinet, in the bottom drawer. Brown paper stamped with the appropriate blank fill-in lines for evidence—date of collection, location of collection, type of offence, victim—and the chain of custody report—who received what from whom and when.

  “These are perfect,” said Thumps. “Can I have some coffee?”

  Duke didn’t even look up. “Help yourself. You’ll be surprised by the rich bouquet.”

  Thumps took the evidence bag to the percolator, flattened the bag on the table, and slowly dripped coffee on it. Then he dropped the bag on the floor and stepped on it.

  “What the hell!” Duke stood up. “You know how much those bags cost?”

  “No idea.”

  “Well, they aren’t free,” said Duke. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “You have any toothpicks?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed,” said Hockney, “this is a sheriff’s office, not a convenience store.”

  Rattler made a double jump. “Another king.”

  Duke looked back at Rattler and the board. “See what happens when you distract me.”

  “We got to watch the time,” said Rattler. “Don’t want to be late to the set.”

  Thumps blotted the bag with a paper towel. “Thought he was under arrest?”

  “Not my idea,” said Duke. “That producer woman said they can’t do the show without him.”

  “Sydney Pearl.”

  “That’s her,” said Duke. “Do you know the impact national exposure can have on a local economy?”

  “Nope.”

  “Neither did I,” said Duke. “Anyway, Ms. Pearl sat down with the mayor, and the two of them had a nice chat about such matters. And then the mayor sat down with me. You get the idea?”

  “Howdy,” said Thumps.

  “Yippee,” said the sheriff.

  FREDDY SALGADO WAS on the phone when Thumps got to the dealership. He waved Thumps into his office and pointed to the chair in front of the desk.

  “You’re kidding.” Freddy tried to control the exasperation in his voice. “There are no direct flights?”

  The Corvette was still in its place of honour on the showroom floor. Thumps wondered if the front seat was as tight as Calder had hinted. Maybe Freddy would let him sit in the car. Get the feel of an all-American sports car.

  “Does a six-hour layover sound reasonable to you?”

  The car was probably just fine if you were short and thin. But Thumps could see several problems if you happened to be tall and large. No leg room for starters. And then there was the problem of sitting with your head jammed against the roof.

  Freddy was off the phone and steaming. “You ever try to fly from Great Falls to San Francisco?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, don’t.” Freddy shook his head. “First you have to fly to Seattle. But the flight from Great Falls to Sea-Tac is always late, which means you miss the noon flight to SFO and have to wait around for the evening run.”

  Thumps made sympathetic noises.

  “Six hours,” said Freddy. “Who wants to sit in an airport for six hours?”

  “You could read a book.”

  “I could write a book,” said Freddy. “And then on top of that, the evening plane from Sea-Tac to the City by the Bay will be late as well, because nowadays, all planes are late.”

  “Don’t fly much.”

  “Do you know what the industry on-time average is?”

  “Not good?”

  “Mornings aren’t so bad. After that, things start to fall apart.” Freddy swung back and forth in his chair. “After five, less than 50 percent of the flights are on time. You know what would happen if I ran my business like that?”

  “You’d be out of business.”

  “You got that right.” Freddy took a deep breath and forced a smile. “So, you’re back.”

  “I’m back.”

  “The pickup? Right?” Freddy tented his fingers. “Once I get it, it won’t last long. Well maintained, low mileage. She’s a beauty.”

  “So, when you fly to San Francisco,” said Thumps, “do you take WestAir?”

  “WestAir?” Freddy frowned. “WestAir doesn’t fly this part of the country. You’d have to get to Salt Lake or Dallas to catch one of their planes.”

  “What if I wanted to go to Las Vegas?”

  “Can’t get to Vegas from here on WestAir,” said Freddy. “Best bet would be to catch Delta or Alaska out of Helena.”

  “But not WestAir?”

  “And you’ll have to make at least one stop. Why do you want to go to Las Vegas?”

  “I don’t.”

  “I have to go there every year for the big auto show. Five days of hell. Deep-fried food. Grumpy people. Place is a neon armpit.”

  “You still have that stuff in the frame?”

  “For the Corvette?” Freddy grinned. “You just want to see how much the car cost new. Am I right?”

  “You got me.”

  Freddy opened the trunk. “Read ’em and weep,” he said. “In 1963, this beauty went out the door for under five grand. Know what it’s worth today?”

  Thumps looked at each of the items in the frame.

  “Average value today is over fifty thousand,” said Freddy. “At Barrett-Jackson, this one would go for eighty, a hundred thousand easy. Hell, my first house didn’t cost that much.”

  “How’d the shoot go?”

  “For the TV show?” Freddy ran his hand along the top of the windshield. “They had this beauty shining like a diamond. When that episode airs, my phone’ll be ringing off the hook.”

  Thumps glanced at the clock. Just before noon. He didn’t know how film crews worked, but he guessed that they wouldn’t start shooting until after lunch.

  “You know, when those television people first contacted me,” said Freddy, “I thought it was a joke. I mean, I don’t hear a thing from them for about three months, and then suddenly they’re in town with their lights and cameras and it’s wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.”

  “Think I’m going to have to pass on the truck.”

  “What you going to do for a ride?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “No point fixing the Volvo,” said Freddy. “Good money after bad.”

  “Maybe I’ll move to Amsterdam,” said Thumps.

  “Amsterdam? That the place with all the canals and the windmills?”

  “Everybody rides bikes in Amsterdam,” said Thumps. “Hardly any cars.”

  Freddy turned to the large windows that opened out onto the high plains. “This look like Amsterdam to you?”

  “Can’t say that it does,” said Thumps.

  “You got a bike?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then,” said Freddy, “I’d reconsider the pickup.”

  Forty

  The Samuels’s living room took up much of the second floor of Budd’s. The last time Thumps was here, the set had been a corpse of lumber and paint.

  Now it was alive.

  Lights had been hung on overhead bars, and large soft boxes lined the perimeter. A fixed camera on a dolly waited just off centre stage, while a guy in a Handycam rig prowled about, checking his shooting angles. People Thumps hadn’t seen before stood in small bunches, talking to each other. A few appeared to be talking to themselves.

  Chaos and order. Everywhere Thumps looked. Chaos and order.

  Sydney Pearl was sitting in the eye of the storm, relaxing in an easy chair, her eyes hooded as though she were hunting rabbits.

  “Mr. DreadfulWater.” Pearl waved him to a seat. “So good of you to join us.”

  Thumps put the shopping ba
g next to a chair and sat down. Pearl glanced at the sack.

  “We brought groceries?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Mrs. Samuels and her son haven’t arrived yet, nor has Mr. Rattler,” said Pearl. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I hope our talk isn’t going to be about your not wanting to interrogate Mr. Rattler on set.”

  “No,” said Thumps. “It’s about Nina Maslow.”

  “Ah,” said Pearl. “And you’ve come to the conclusion that Nina wasn’t killed because of the Samuels case.”

  Thumps had underestimated Pearl. He’d have to remember not to do that again.

  “Don’t look so surprised,” said Pearl. “There were only two people who knew that Nina had solved the case.”

  “You and Nina.”

  “Correct,” said Pearl.

  “Except there were three,” said Thumps. “Nina told Rattler what she had learned.”

  Pearl remained silent.

  “It’s the only way she could have gotten him to agree to be on the show. All the rest was nonsense and smoke. Which also means that Rattler didn’t have a reason to kill Maslow.”

  “Touché, Mr. DreadfulWater,” said Pearl. “So you’re not just a pretty face. So, what else do you have?”

  “WestAir.”

  “The airline?”

  “Maslow called WestAir in Las Vegas several times.”

  Pearl shrugged. “Nina was going to go to Vegas once we finished this shoot, to prepare for the episode on Amelia Nash.”

  Thumps nodded. “Except that WestAir doesn’t fly to Vegas from here.”

  “Okay,” said Pearl. “Same question. What does it mean?”

  “There you are.” Calder appeared in the wings of the set, looking spiffy in his new vintage jacket. “What the hell is going on?”

  Pearl lowered her eyes to mouse-hunting mode. “Exactly which hell are we talking about?”

  “Gloria says that you want DreadfulWater to do the interview.” Calder shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Come on, Sydney, this is my show.”

  “Actually,” said Pearl, “it’s my show, and Mr. DreadfulWater isn’t going to do the on-camera interview. He’s going to do the blocking and the rehearsal.”

  “We don’t need him.”

  “Mr. DreadfulWater has law-enforcement experience,” said Pearl, as though she were teaching a class on simple addition. “He knows how to interview suspects. He knows how to order and frame the questions. He can be your model for the actual interview.”

  “I don’t want your job,” said Thumps.

  “You couldn’t do my job,” said Calder. “And where are my sides?”

  “No sides,” said Pearl. “I want real spontaneity in the scene.”

  “Confrontation,” said Calder. “Sparks and feathers.”

  “Can you do that?”

  At the far edge of the set, Gloria stepped into the light with Adele Samuels and Ethan Price in tow.

  “We’re here,” she said. “Yeah?”

  Pearl stood and motioned to the sofa. “Please,” she said, “Mrs. Samuels, why don’t you sit here. Ethan, how about you take that chair next to your mother.”

  Adele Samuels didn’t look to be in a good mood. And her disposition didn’t improve when she saw Thumps.

  “Why is he here?”

  “Mr. Banks will do the actual interview,” said Pearl. “But I’d like Mr. DreadfulWater to stand in for the rehearsal.”

  “Again,” said Adele, her voice sharp and brittle, “why?”

  There was no rush in Pearl. She kept her voice level and calm. “Mr. Banks doesn’t have the police experience that Mr. DreadfulWater has. We don’t want Mr. Rattler interrogated by an actor, do we? Watching Mr. DreadfulWater at work will give Mr. Banks the methodology and the motivation that he needs to do a good job.”

  “It’s fine, Mom,” said Ethan. “Matter of fact, I think it’s a good idea.”

  Thumps kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t his show. It wasn’t his life.

  Adele shifted on the sofa. “And just where is Tobias Rattler?”

  “Here.” Sheriff Hockney plodded up the last few stairs with Rattler at his side. “Sorry we’re late.”

  “Mr. Rattler,” said Gloria. “Why don’t you take the big chair. Yeah?”

  “We’ll put you off stage, sheriff,” said Pearl. “If you don’t mind.”

  “Nope,” said Duke. “A little distance will make it easier to keep an eye on everyone.”

  “Maybe,” said Adele, “you’ll even be able to find someone to arrest.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Duke, touching the brim of his hat. “It would be my pleasure.”

  Pearl was suddenly in action, moving about the set, talking with everyone. She spent most of the time with the two cameramen and a bearded man in his late fifties who looked as though he might be related to Ernest Borgnine. Maybe he was the director.

  If reality shows had directors.

  And then Pearl was back.

  “How about we try a dry run,” she said. “See how this might play out. Then if we need to, we can re-block and make any changes.”

  “What do you want us to do?” said Ethan.

  “Just be yourself,” said Pearl. “Answer Mr. DreadfulWater’s questions. Keep it simple. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

  Pearl gave a signal with her hand and the set lights came on. They were sudden and brilliant, and Thumps had to squint until he got used to the brightness.

  “Do we really need this?” Adele shielded her eyes. “For a rehearsal?”

  “I have to see how everything will look for the actual shoot,” said Pearl. “I want to make sure we get it right.”

  “They’re quite dazzling,” said Rattler.

  “My apologies,” said Pearl. “All right, Mr. DreadfulWater. The set is yours.”

  Suddenly, what had been an abstract concept was now an unpleasant reality. How the hell had he let Pearl talk him into this?

  Adele was waiting for him. “Have you ever done this before, Mr. DreadfulWater?”

  “He used to be a cop,” said Rattler. “Of course he’s done this before.”

  “Yes,” said Thumps, finding his voice. “I’ve done this before. But before we get started, I’d like to go over what we know.”

  “We know Mr. Rattler killed Trudy,” said Adele. “Or caused her death.”

  Thumps could see that he wasn’t going to enjoy this. He’d be more than happy to turn it over to Calder. Sooner, rather than later.

  “Actually, we don’t know that,” said Thumps. “We know Trudy Samuels was found dead at Belly Butte. And we know the coroner found no indication of foul play.”

  “We do know a bit more than that,” said Ethan.

  “We do,” said Thumps, warming to the task. “We know that Trudy was an unhappy young woman. We know that she and Tobias Rattler had formed a friendship, two loners coming together. We know that Trudy had a fight with her stepmother and that she moved from the Samuels estate to an apartment in town. We know she had a car. A 1963 Corvette split-window.”

  “What does the car have to do with anything?” said Adele.

  “First question is for Mr. Rattler,” said Thumps. “The night that Trudy died, the two of you were supposed to go to a movie.”

  “That’s right.”

  “But Trudy didn’t show up.”

  “No,” said Rattler, “she didn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Thumps watched Toby’s face. “That’s a lie.”

  “Of course it’s a lie,” said Adele.

  “You and Trudy had had a fight earlier that day, didn’t you?”

  Rattler waited.

  “But before we get to that, let’s back up a bit.” Thumps could feel his mouth drying out. He could use a glass of water. Or a cup of coffee. What he really wanted, now that he thought about it, was to be somewhere else. “Mrs. Samu
els, why did Trudy leave home?”

  “Why do teenage girls do anything?” said Adele.

  “She felt trapped,” said Ethan. “She and Mom didn’t get along.”

  “Ethan . . .”

  “It’s not a secret, Mom,” said Ethan. “Everyone knew. And we were just as happy to have her gone. She was always angry. Or she was drunk. I figured that she’d kill herself in that car of hers.”

  “She drove fast?” asked Thumps.

  Ethan smiled. “Made the mistake of riding with her a couple of times. Didn’t think I’d survive.”

  Thumps glanced at Pearl, then turned to Rattler. “When was Trudy supposed to meet you for the movie?”

  Rattler took a moment. “It was the early show,” he said. “Six-thirty, seven.”

  “Why didn’t she come?”

  “You’ve already asked that question,” said Adele. “Christ! She didn’t meet him at the movie because she was already dead. Because he had killed her.”

  “No,” said Thumps, “Trudy Samuels wasn’t dead. At 7:15 she was very much alive. And at 7:15 Mr. Rattler was waiting for her at the show. There were witnesses.”

  “Then he killed her after.”

  “Hard to imagine,” said Thumps. “How’d he get out to Belly Butte? He didn’t have a car. And there was no way he would have known that Trudy would go out to Belly Butte that night.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Ethan. “You can’t know that Trudy was alive at 7:15. What, you have a crystal ball or something?”

  “This is how we know,” said Thumps, and he reached into the shopping bag and held up a sheet of paper. “This is how Nina Maslow figured out what happened to Trudy Samuels.”

  “And what is that supposed to be?” said Adele.

  “It’s a Xerox of a ticket,” said Thumps. “A speeding ticket for one Trudy Samuels, driving a 1963 Corvette, issued at 7:15 on the night she died.”

  “So, she got a speeding ticket.” Ethan leaned forward. “Trudy collected speeding tickets the way my mother collects shoes.”

  “Ethan!”

  “It’s true,” said Ethan. “It would be unusual if a week went by when she didn’t get a ticket.”

  Thumps sorted through the material in the bag. “I’ve got a road map in here somewhere, but all of you know the geography as well as I do. Maybe even better.”

  “God,” said Adele. “Get to the point.”