A Gambling Man

by David Baldacci

  He laid out the map of Bay Town on the table and started going over it. But this time with a different focus. He was looking at the water instead of the land.

  He didn’t know how far out Armstrong had gone in the boat, but common sense told him it couldn’t have been too far. They sure weren’t going to Hawaii in a boat that size.

  His breakfast came and he ate and drank while he studied the map.

  “What are you doing, Mr. Archer?”

  He turned to see Madame Genevieve standing next to him clutching a sack about the size of his old Army duffel.

  “Just learning more about the town. What are you doing here?”

  She held up the sack. “I was at the dock buying fish for dinner tonight from a vendor and saw you through the window.” She sat down across from him. “You know, for two dollars more per day you get breakfast and supper at my place. I make a better breakfast than they do here. And I get my fish fresh for dinner, as I just told you.”

  He lit a cigarette and nodded. “Thanks, I’ll sure keep that in mind.” He glanced at the map and then back at her. “Hey, how well do you know this area?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  He stabbed the Pacific with his finger. “What’s off the coast here that a person could get to relatively fast by boat? I know about the northern and southern Channel Islands. Anacapa is the closest to the coast but it’s still about twelve miles out and over an hour by boat. And it’s about an hour-and-a-half boat ride to Santa Cruz. The others are a lot farther out, up to seventy miles or so. Anything closer than that?”

  Madame Genevieve studied the map for a few moments. “I do remember hearing about an island that was built about three miles out, so you could get there in about fifteen or twenty minutes in a fast boat depending on the sea conditions.”

  He looked at her strangely as his smoke dangled from his mouth. “Wait a sec, you said an island that was built?”

  “During the war the military took over the Channel Islands, but they needed more capacity for some sort of special work. There was a very shallow spot about three miles directly out from here, where the land was just at the surface. The military built upon that base of earth to make a new island there.”

  “Who owns that piece of rock now?”

  “I suppose the military still does. Why all the interest?”

  “Just curious.”

  “I suppose all good private eyes are.”

  “We can assume that, yeah.”

  “Where did you go last night?”

  “Just out for a walk. Found this place and had some coffee.”

  “And now you go to work as a detective?”

  “That’s right. A very tardy detective.” He folded up his map and put it in his pocket. “See you later.”

  He put down money for his meal, tipped his hat, and left.

  She watched him every step of the way.

  Chapter 38

  HEY, SHAMUS, HOW’S IT GOING?” said Earl as Archer stepped into the elevator car.

  “It’s going faster than I thought.”

  “Got you a juicy murder to work on?” said the little man as he closed the gate and hit the button for the fourth floor. He had on his uniform with the shirt untucked, and Archer spied a half-empty bottle of Southern Comfort tucked behind his fold-up seat.

  “Why do you say that?”

  Earl cackled. “Afternoon edition of the Gazette. Gal killed at Midnight Moods. You working on that?”

  “It’s confidential.”

  “Yeah, I thought so, all right. Now, don’t you go get sliced and diced, Archer. Lotta that going around, it seems.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  The car clanked to a stop and he got off. He looked back to see Earl leaning out of the car and watching him like Archer was about to combust and the man didn’t want to miss the spectacle.

  Connie Morrison looked up from her desk as Archer walked into the office of Willie Dash, Very Private Investigations.

  “Hey, sorry I’m late, Connie, I—”

  She interrupted. “Willie is in his office. He wants to see you. Right now.”

  Her tone was a bit severe and her tight hair bun pulled her eyes back to such a degree that Archer wasn’t sure if she was glaring at him or merely reacting to the pressure on her hair.

  “Everything okay?” said Archer.

  “Just go see him, Archer.”

  Archer hooked his hat on the wall peg, buttoned his suit jacket, and rapped on Dash’s door.

  “Come,” said the voice.

  He opened the door and walked in.

  Dash was behind his desk, his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His black toupee lay next to him, its wisps of hair sticking up like the man’s finger had met a light socket while he was wearing it.

  He took off his steel-rimmed spectacles and eyed Archer.

  “Grab a seat, Archer, and let me finish this letter for Connie to get out.”

  Archer sat and waited patiently while Dash’s ballpoint skated in cursive across the paper. Done, Dash rose, left the room with the paper, and came back a minute later without it. He was in his socks. Archer looked around the room for the bottle of Beam but didn’t see it. The wall bed was nestled all snug up in the wall. He looked at Dash’s eyes and saw not a trace of drunken red.

  Dash sat down and eyed Archer right back.

  “No, I did not sleep here, and no, I have not been hitting the bottle. And, yes, I know my toupee looks like a Sherman tank ran over it. Fact is, it blew off and landed in a ditch where a squirrel decided it was his new best friend.”

  “Keen eye, Willie. Sherlock Holmes has nothing on you.”

  Dash adjusted his plastic suspenders, smoothed down his shirt, and glanced at his watch. “You have a funny idea of a workday.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. But I was out really late doing some sleuthing.” He paused and then let loose with his changeup pitch. “Ruby Fraser is dead.”

  “Yeah, I heard.”

  Archer looked deflated. “Okay.”

  “And you and your friend were at Midnight Moods last night?”

  “How’d you hear about that?”

  “I hear lots of things, Archer. What were you doing there?”

  “My friend was auditioning for a job, which she got. And I went there to talk to Ruby again. I planned to have a second go at her. And when I got back here yesterday, Connie had my ticket ready and said I was to basically have at it, that you trusted me. Was she selling me a line or what?”

  “Connie doesn’t sell lines. So just drop the hurt-feelings crap, compose yourself, and tell me what you did after we parted ways yesterday.”

  Archer went through the whole gambit, from A to Z. Going to see Sheen and getting the list of names from him. Driving to Midnight Moods with Callahan. And then Archer got around to telling Dash about finding Fraser.

  “So you walked in and there she was, dead?”

  “And then I phoned the cops from the lobby, without identifying myself.”

  “You might have put you, me, and this agency in jeopardy, Archer.”

  “So you would have volunteered your name to the cops?”

  “No, I’m not saying that. But did anyone see you and the lady go in or out? Because if they did, you two might be looking down the barrel of a murder charge, or at the very least intent to obstruct a police investigation.”

  “I don’t see how I obstructed anything. But for me, they would’ve found Fraser a lot later than they did.”

  Dash stroked his chin. “What you say makes perfect sense, only some coppers have never quite grasped that concept. So you found Fraser dead, but no sign of anyone having been in her place.”

  “Right.”

  “Okay, you called the cops. Then what?”

  “I went back to the boardinghouse where I’m staying.”

  “And then?”

  “I went to sleep.”

  “I thought you said you had a late night. Hell, when I was yo
ur age, late to me was the next morning. But you got up and came here in the afternoon? So that was what, about thirteen hours’ worth of shut-eye?”

  Dash stopped talking and eyeballed him in a way that was making Archer wish he’d driven through Bay Town and kept going right into the ocean.

  “Before you say anything, Archer, keep in mind that if you lie to me, and I’ll know if you are, you’re fired.”

  “I couldn’t sleep. I went for a walk and ended up at a diner, where I saw Mrs. Kemper.”

  “What time was this?”

  “Around three in the morning.”

  “What was Beth Kemper doing at a diner at three a.m.?”

  “Having a cup of coffee and a cigarette. She said she has a place to stay in town, had it before she was married. So I don’t think she went back up the mountain last night.”

  “How did you get home? Walk?”

  “She gave me a lift. Let me check my notes.” He pulled out his pad and consulted the pages, while Dash watched him with grudging approval.

  “She said her old man told her about Ruby. I told her she might be a suspect, since Fraser might have been sleeping with her husband and they might assume she knew about it. But she said she had an alibi.”

  “What was it?” asked Dash sharply.

  “She was at dinner with friends from five to midnight. She wouldn’t tell me who with. She doesn’t know where her husband was during that time. When I went over to his office to get the list, I don’t think he was there.”

  “You found Ruby’s body when exactly?”

  “Ten minutes to twelve. I looked at my watch. One more thing—Ruby died from someone almost cutting her head off. But there was no blood around the body.”

  “Meaning she was killed elsewhere. Did you check out her rooms?”

  “There was nothing anywhere. So she was killed somewhere else and her body carried to her room. Tell me how the hell does somebody not see that.”

  Dash took this all in and then focused on Archer’s facial injuries. “Who beat you up?”

  “Right. Forgot about that. Armstrong’s boys did the pummeling. He was at Midnight Moods. He wanted to hire us to find out the truth behind the blackmail. I told him I’d have to take that up with you and that we already had a client paying us for pretty much the same thing. He didn’t like it that we went to talk to his daughter. He made me show him the list of suspects I got from Wilson Sheen. And maybe I said some things they didn’t like, and fists started flying and we got into it.”

  “For starters, Archer, Douglas Kemper did not hire us to find the truth. I’m not sure what he did hire us to do, but I’m certain it wasn’t that.”

  “Okay, but I also told Beth that her husband would be a suspect. She didn’t know if he had an alibi or not.”

  “Oh, so it’s Beth now?”

  “We had a cup of coffee last night. I saved her from a trio of punks. She was grateful.”

  “I bet she was. Only you don’t want that kind of gratitude. And how does anyone know they have an alibi if no one knows when the woman was killed?”

  “Beth said the police do. Her old man told her so.”

  “Sawyer Armstrong told her when? You found the body at 11:50. You called the cops. They came while you hightailed it. You said Beth was at a dinner until midnight. Then she left, went somewhere, and then ended up in the diner at three a.m. So when did Armstrong tell her? And when and how did he find out?”

  Despite the risk, Archer could not bring himself to tell Dash about seeing Kemper and her father together down near the wharf, when Sawyer Armstrong might very well have told his daughter about Ruby Fraser. “I don’t know. Maybe he phoned her. And she said he’s friends with Carl Pickett, the chief of police.”

  Dash sat back and mulled over this. “That could be. Carl Pickett is as big a brown-noser as they come. But why would he give Armstrong the heads-up about Ruby?”

  “He might if he knew there was a connection between Ruby and Douglas Kemper.”

  Dash put out a hand. “Let me see the list Wilson Sheen gave you.”

  Archer handed it across, and Dash ran his eye down the page.

  “I don’t see much here, Archer. Looks to me more like a keep-us-busy list.”

  “So they want to keep us busy so we won’t look where we’re really supposed to look? This is a funny town.”

  “And getting funnier by the minute. Let’s take a walk.”

  Chapter 39

  THE SUN WAS SHINING, and the breakers could be clearly heard. What looked to be a golden eagle soared above them with dizzying grace and power, while a black and white osprey spread its wings in another part of the sky and abruptly changed its vector to the oceanside as the bird no doubt went in search of lunch.

  Dash had glued on his toupee before topping it with his hat. They walked for quite a few blocks in silence. One of Dash’s shoes became untied as they crossed Sawyer Avenue and turned down De la Guerra Street. Dash stopped and bent down to lace it back up. Cars passed them and ladies window-shopping graced them with smiles, even as a beggar rumbled through in his near rags, hat in hand, to see what he could get from the women.

  What he got were stern looks, tosses of hatted, refined heads, and sharp waves away. He headed toward Archer with not a hopeful look. Archer handed him a half dollar and the gent ambled on with a smile.

  “Booze, you know,” said Dash.

  “Let’s be optimistic. Maybe some soup. Surprised to see him on the rich side of town.”

  “He’s doing what we’re doing: following the money. You read up on this place before you came here, Archer?”

  “Not really.”

  “A good shamus needs to know the lay of the land, the people who matter here. And I don’t mean that everybody doesn’t matter, but the way the world works there are two kinds of people: those with money and/or power, and those with neither one. And those with money and power have one thing in common: They can never get enough of either one.”

  “Okay.”

  “The Chumash people were here before any white folks. They had villages all over. This was hundreds and hundreds of years ago, you understand. Then the Spaniards came along in the 1700s to settle the area and to also fortify it. They tried to convert the Chumash to worship God; not sure how well that worked out. But what the Spaniards brought was smallpox and that came real close to wiping out the Chumash. So I guess if you can’t convert ’em, you can kill ’em.

  “After that the Mexicans came along and knocked out the Spanish, and their flag flew over this town but not for very long. That’s why you have the street names you do here. Like the one we’re on, De la Guerra, and then there’s Carrillo, Torres, Alonso, Hernandez, Navarro, Gonzalez, the list goes on and on.”

  “But not the most important one, namely, Sawyer,” said Archer.

  “Right. Here’s how that came about. The Mexican governors gave out land grants to prominent folks around here, like the Armstrongs. They did it to make them loyal and to cultivate allies. That’s when the ‘rancho period’ started here. And those ranchos were used for cattle raising. And then they’d ship the cattle out for slaughter and the meat went all over.”

  “Beth said her grandfather, Atticus, was in that business. And she also said he got out and went into real estate. And you mentioned that the Armstrongs got out of the cattle business before it all went to hell. What happened?”

  “A drought is what happened, Archer, like nobody’d ever seen before. And cows drink a lot of water. Now, Bay Town and Santa Barbara and other places in the region fell to the Americans when John C. Frémont came calling with a bunch of armed soldiers. A peace treaty was signed, and this was no longer Mexican dirt. It was a dangerous place back in the Gold Rush days. Every sort of criminal type headed this way before the gold petered out. Then the Armstrong Wharf was built in the early 1900s, and that made Bay Town both a commercial and tourist town. Then the railroad came along and connected us to San Fran to the north and the City of Angels to the south.
Now all things are in place for the town to really take off.”

  “Armstrong Wharf, huh?”

  “Atticus Armstrong built it and Sawyer made a lot of improvements to it, bringing in new cranes and warehouse space. Everybody in town knows who they owe for that.”

  “How’d they make their money after the cattle business died?”

  “Let’s just say the Armstrong family knew how to relieve men of their dollars, whether it be by gambling, women, whiskey, or the long barrel of a gun. Then they discovered oil and gas out there in the bay. You can see the derricks pumping and you got the drilling operations down near the pier.”

  “Do the Armstrongs own that, too?”

  “They have their fingers in every pie, Archer.”

  Archer looked out toward the water and thought back to the night before with Sawyer Armstrong in that boat. “So the point of the history lesson?”

  “If you know the history of a place, you’re not doomed to repeat the mistakes of others who came before you, Archer.”

  “And what mistakes are those?”

  “Thinking you can hobnob with the likes of Beth Kemper and get away unscathed. You can’t. And you won’t. And I didn’t get you that damn PI license just to see you end up in the ocean where the water’s over your head.” He looked at Archer’s injuries. “It won’t be bruises next time, it’ll be something more permanent.”

  Archer kept his gaze on that very same water. “What’s this I hear about some island out there the military built and now owns?”

  “Who told you about that?”

  “I forget. But what’s the deal?”

  “It’s a chunk of rock with no more purpose in life.”

  “Okay. Mrs. Kemper told me about her mother’s plane crash.”

  Dash’s manner grew subdued. “Yeah, Eleanor Armstrong was a fine woman. Tragic accident.”

  “Her body was never recovered?”

  “The wreckage was, but no, she wasn’t. There are sharks out there, Archer. And other sea critters that just look at a body as a meal.”

  “And what caused the crash?”

  “Some folks said they heard the engine cut off and the plane went into a dive. She never had a chance.”