Obsidian

by Thomas King

  “Nope,” said Leon. “We just need a third opinion.”

  Morris’s face brightened. “You guys are working that serial killer case.”

  Thumps sighed silently to himself. He wondered if Dumbo had had money in the pool.

  “What’s the first thing you would do?”

  Morris set the coffee pot on the table and pulled up a chair. “I get out of prison, and you want to know the first thing I’d do?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long I been in?”

  “Let’s say . . . twenty years.”

  “Get laid,” said Morris. “No question.”

  “And after that?”

  “A good meal.”

  “And after that?”

  Morris’s face darkened. “Twenty years. Man could lose a lot of friends in that time. Family too. Be like starting over. What was I in for?”

  “Bank robbery,” said Leon. “Murder.”

  “So, I’m a badass.”

  “No,” said Thumps, “you were just a kid when you went in.”

  “Am I Black?” said Morris. “Like you? Or Indian like the chief here?”

  “No,” said Leon. “You’re poor White trash.”

  Morris threw his head back and cackled. “I guess I’d try to find a job. Or I’d rob something. I’ve got a sister in California. Place called Roseville, just east of Sacramento. I’d go there.”

  “Roseville?”

  Morris nodded. “Yeah, first thing I’d do is go see Franny.”

  “Because she’s family?”

  “I’d be starting over,” said Morris. “When you start over, family is where you begin.”

  Twenty-Eight

  It was a short drive from Dumbo’s to the bookstore. Thumps wasn’t sure whether Archie would be at the Aegean or supervising the renovations at Budd’s, but given that the one was clean and bright and the other was noisy and dirty, he’d start with the bookstore.

  And hope for the best.

  “A bookstore?” Leon got out of the car and stretched his back. “You read?”

  “Let me do the talking,” said Thumps.

  “Sure,” said Leon.

  “This another Dumbo doughnut moment?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Leon shook his head. “You got some interesting friends.”

  “Whatever you do,” said Thumps, “don’t mention Aztecs.”

  “Damn,” said Leon. “Aztecs were on the tip of my tongue.”

  THINGS WERE ON the move in the bookstore. The last time Thumps had been in the Aegean, there had been racks of vintage clothing against the far wall. Now, the racks were gone and Archie had added a long table with four computer monitors.

  “This looks like one of those old libraries.”

  “Used to be,” said Thumps. “Archie bought it and turned it into this.”

  “Archie?”

  “Archimedes Kousoulas,” said Thumps.

  “Greek?”

  “Every inch.”

  Leon looked around. “And we’re here . . . because?”

  “Thumps!” Archie stood in the doorway of his office. “About time.”

  Leon leaned in. “Seems he’s upset with you.”

  “He’s always upset with me,” said Thumps.

  “And you must be Leon Ranger.” Archie rushed forward and took Leon’s hand. “Deputy sheriff. Retired. Parents with a sense of humour.”

  Leon smiled. “My mother had a thing for guys in masks.”

  “Who doesn’t,” said Archie. “Come on. I don’t have all day.”

  ANDERSON COLE WAS relaxing on the sofa near the window. She didn’t get up.

  “Mr. DreadfulWater,” she said. “George tells me Mr. Blood decided against a car.”

  “This is Leon Ranger,” said Archie. “Friend of Thumps from the coast.”

  “East or west?” said Anderson.

  “West,” said Leon. “Northern California.”

  “Ah,” said Anderson. “The Obsidian Murders.”

  “Anderson’s car show was in Redding at the time of the killings,” said Archie. “How’s that for a coincidence?”

  “The story was in all the papers,” said Anderson. “Terrible.”

  Thumps hadn’t expected to find Cole in Archie’s office. “Thought you were off to Cheyenne.”

  “George will set it up,” said Anderson. “I’ll drive down in a couple of days.”

  “Ms. Cole is going over to Black Swan.”

  “The thermal springs?”

  “I figure a girl’s entitled to a little R and R,” said Anderson. “George doesn’t need me, and I could use some downtime.”

  Black Swan was just north of Glory. Thumps had never been to the resort, but now that he thought about it, maybe Black Swan was something that he and Claire and the baby could do. A quiet drive in the country, a day in warm water. Something slightly romantic. Something slightly domestic.

  “Sell many cars?”

  “Enough for a night at the resort.” Anderson smiled at Leon. “You look like a man who would appreciate a vintage car.”

  “RV,” said Leon.

  “Pity,” said Anderson. “I could never get used to having to drain the you-know-what.”

  “You guys find her car yet?”

  “You’d have to ask the sheriff,” said Thumps.

  “Good chance it’s in pieces by now,” said Leon.

  “Don’t think so,” said Anderson. “Got a feeling we’ll get lucky.”

  “Lot of money to lose if you don’t,” said Archie.

  “They say there are more important things than money,” said Anderson. “I’d like to think they’re right.”

  “Good books,” said Archie. “Good food.”

  “And a soak in hot water.” Anderson pushed off the sofa. “I should get going. If you change your mind about a car, we’ll be in Cheyenne. Just a short drive from here.”

  “Six hours,” said Thumps.

  “More like seven,” said Archie.

  “Archie says he’s solved the Obsidian Murders,” said Anderson. “So that should free up some time.”

  THUMPS WAITED UNTIL Anderson had left the store. “You’ve solved the murders?”

  “Generally speaking,” said Archie.

  “That’s impressive,” said Leon. “You want to share?”

  “I didn’t tell Anderson that I had solved the murders,” said Archie. “I said that I have a theory that may lead to the case being solved.”

  “A theory.” Leon suppressed a yawn. “Is that like an educated guess?”

  “A theory is a type of contemplative and abstract thinking.” Archie pushed his glasses up his nose. “For instance, the police look for and consider physical evidence.”

  “This theorizing,” said Leon, “is this something the ancient Greeks did?”

  “Exactly,” said Archie. “Socrates. Plato. Aristotle.”

  “The big three,” said Thumps, trying to head off the lecture that was coming.

  Leon nodded. “So you want us to think like Socrates?”

  “It couldn’t hurt,” said Archie.

  “Didn’t the Greeks kill him?” Thumps couldn’t help himself.

  “What has that to do with anything?”

  “That’s right,” said Leon. “The Greek government made him drink arsenic.”

  “Hemlock,” said Thumps.

  “All right,” said Archie. “Stop. You want to hear my theory or not?”

  “Is there any coffee?” said Leon.

  IT TOOK ARCHIE a few minutes to arrange the large library table. Archie sat at one end, and he had Leon and Thumps sitting across from each other.

  “Here’s what I’ve been able to put together so far.” Archie handed each man a folder. “The research isn’t complete, but I think it’s pretty significant.”

  Thumps started to open the folder.

  “Not yet,” said Archie. “First, we need the background and the premise.”

  “Premise?” Leon rubbed his face
.

  “A statement that is assumed to be true for the purpose of an argument,” said Archie.

  “Background and premise,” said Thumps.

  “Okay,” said Archie. “We’re all in agreement that the killings on the coast, what the press called the Obsidian Murders, were the work of a serial killer.”

  “Me and Socrates here would call that a fact,” said Leon.

  Archie made a face. “Are all your friends as annoying as you?”

  “There’s this Greek guy,” said Thumps, “who runs a bookstore . . .”

  “Very funny.”

  “The premise?”

  “Right.” Archie shifted in the chair. “What do we know about serial killers?”

  “They kill people.”

  “And they don’t stop,” said Archie. “Once they begin, they don’t stop.”

  “Is this going to take long?” said Leon. “’Cause I got a date with a dancing fool.”

  “Annoying,” said Archie, “and impatient.”

  “Serial killers,” said Thumps. “They kill people. They continue killing until they’re caught.”

  “The Obsidian Murders could have been his first kick at the can,” said Archie, “but I’m betting it wasn’t.”

  “Yeah,” said Leon. “We went through all this in the original investigation.”

  “Then we’re in agreement,” said Archie. “Clam Beach wasn’t his first rodeo. Ten killings in a matter of a few days is the work of someone who knows what he is doing.”

  “And we looked at other serial killings,” said Leon. “FBI, state, locals. We looked hard and came up empty.”

  Archie began to fidget. Thumps wasn’t sure if it was nervous energy or if the little Greek was excited.

  “That’s because you asked the wrong question,” said Archie. “You asked about unsolved serial killings that matched the Obsidian Murders.”

  “That would be the question, all right,” said Leon.

  “What you should have asked,” said Archie, “is, of the reported serial killings in North America, which ones had commonalities.”

  “We asked that question too.”

  “And then what did you do?” said Archie.

  “We looked at all the cases,” said Leon, “to see if we could find any, as you say, commonalities.”

  “So, you looked at the unsolved cases,” said Archie, “and discarded the solved ones.”

  Thumps suddenly saw it. The point that Archie was trying to make. “You think that our serial killer is among the solved cases?”

  “That’s a little crazy,” said Leon. “I like it.”

  “All right, children,” said Archie. “Now let’s open our folders to page one.”

  Twenty-Nine

  Thumps and Leon spent the next twenty minutes reading through Archie’s research, while the little Greek made coffee.

  Leon was the first to speak. “You got one hell of an imagination.”

  “So, you think it’s possible?”

  Thumps closed the folder and leaned back in the chair. “All of these cases were solved.”

  “That’s the link,” said Archie. “And they were all solved because the person responsible died.”

  “Suicide,” said Leon. “Another suicide. Another suicide.”

  “All suicides,” said Archie. “Five serial killers and five suicides.”

  “Okay.”

  “How many serial killers do you know who commit suicide?”

  “You know,” said Leon, “I hadn’t really thought of it.”

  “Ted Bundy,” said Archie. “Lonnie Franklin, Israel Keyes, Anthony Sowell, Gary Ridgway, John Wayne Gacy.”

  “FBI estimates that there are probably twenty-five to fifty active serial killers in the U.S. at any given time,” said Leon.

  “Sixty-eight percent are White. Twenty-three percent are Black,” said Archie. “No offence.”

  “None taken,” said Leon. “Once again, I’m a minority.”

  “And what do they all have in common?”

  “Serial killers?”

  “No,” said Archie, “just the ones who get caught.”

  Thumps took in a deep breath. “They don’t kill themselves.”

  “Vero nihil verius,” said Archie. “Nothing is truer than the truth.”

  “Jesus,” said Leon. “Now we’re quoting Plato?”

  “Not Plato,” said Archie. “It’s the motto for the Mentone Girls’ Grammar School in Mentone, Australia. They translate it as ‘Nothing is truer than truth,’ but it’s close enough.”

  “Archie . . .”

  “The point is, you have five serial killings that match the Obsidian Murders and in each case, the killer committed suicide. Five serial killers. Five suicides.”

  “Okay,” said Leon. “Let’s back up. You’ve arranged these cases together because the killings took place over a short period of time.”

  “Two to three days,” said Archie. “Max.”

  “And because they occurred at the same time each year.”

  “Between late summer and early winter.”

  “And because each of the killers killed himself.”

  “If they actually were the killers,” said Archie.

  “Another conspiracy theory,” said Leon. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

  Thumps tried to remember who had said that you couldn’t invent a conspiracy theory so absurd that someone somewhere didn’t already believe it.

  “Not theory.” Archie waved the folder at Leon. “Evidence.”

  Leon rubbed the back of his neck. “What time is it?”

  “Time to solve this case,” said Archie.

  “Leon has a date,” said Thumps.

  “You just got to town,” said Archie.

  “Ora Mae Foreman,” said Thumps.

  “Ora Mae?”

  “Yeah, I know,” said Leon. “She’s a lesbian. And she’s a great dancer. And she’s fun.”

  “Fun?”

  Leon got to his feet. “And you guys are boring.”

  “You’re going?”

  “Have to shower and shave,” said Leon. “Looking good. Feeling good.”

  “You can’t just leave,” said Archie.

  Leon took the silver dollar out of his pocket. “Call it.”

  “What?”

  Leon caught the dollar on the back of his hand and peeked at it. “Mustang time,” he said. “If you two solve the case, you can tell me over breakfast.”

  ARCHIE SAT AND POUTED. Thumps went through the research again, going over the cases one by one.

  “This is good work,” he said.

  Archie brightened. “You think so?”

  “Yeah,” said Thumps. “The pieces fit. The FBI wouldn’t have looked too long at cases they considered solved. Neither would we. The general details of these five are close enough to have warranted a look if the killer hadn’t been dead. But for all of them to have committed suicide is more than a little odd.”

  “I knew it.”

  “There’s only one problem.” Thumps closed the folder and tried the coffee. It was cold. “In the Obsidian Murders, we never found the killer, and as far as we know, no one killed himself.”

  “What if he was supposed to kill himself?” Archie opened the folder and spread out the pages. “Each one of these supposed serial killers had the same sort of background. High school education at best. Minor run-ins with the law. Some even spent time in jail. Minimum-wage jobs. Thirty-six to forty-eight. White. Anger issues. And most important, loners. No family. No friends to speak of.”

  “A fall guy.”

  “It’s beautiful,” said Archie. “You’re a serial killer who kills and then dumps the blame on a patsy.”

  “That takes planning,” said Thumps.

  “Maybe that’s why all these killings are a year apart,” said Archie. “Maybe it takes that long to put everything in place.”

  “So, he hires someone to come to Eureka?”

  “Maybe for a job,” said Arch
ie. “Or the possibility of a job. Or maybe he’s getting paid as part of a study. Hundred ways to do it.”

  “And then our killer does his thing and arranges to blame it on this poor slob.”

  “It would be interesting to find out how the police got on to each of these individuals.”

  “As in anonymous tips?”

  Archie nodded. “As in.”

  “And when the police arrive, they find their suspect dead with incriminating evidence in their possession.”

  “Game, set, match.”

  “Pretty elaborate,” said Thumps.

  “Not if you like the long game,” said Archie. “I think this guy’s smart.”

  “So did Maslow,” said Thumps. “Smart and rich.”

  “There,” said Archie. “All the pieces.”

  “Then what happened on the coast?”

  “Okay.” Archie was on his feet and pacing. “Let’s call our serial killer ‘Obsidian.’”

  “Let’s not.”

  “So, Obsidian hires a guy to play the patsy. But when he goes to kill the guy, make it look like suicide, and plant the incriminating evidence, he discovers that said patsy has flown the coop.”

  “Run away?”

  “Or maybe, just maybe, he was taken off the board.” Archie stopped in his tracks. “Maybe he goes out and gets drunk or gets into an altercation.”

  Thumps rubbed at the back of his neck. “And is thrown in jail.”

  “And Obsidian doesn’t know about this until it’s too late. Because now, the man who was supposed to take the fall has an ironclad alibi.”

  “And Obsidian is out in the open.”

  “Or at least he doesn’t have the cover he had planned.”

  “Leon,” said Thumps. “We’re going to need Leon.”

  “They won’t give you the information?”

  “On prisoners who were in county jail during the time of the murders? Probably not. But Leon still has friends on the force. He’ll be able to find out.”

  “Except he’s out dancing with a lesbian.”

  “I’m pretty sure lesbians dance.”

  Archie looked hurt. “That’s not what I meant. You think it’s a racial thing?”

  “You mean because Ora Mae is Black, and Leon is Black?”

  “It doesn’t sound very enlightened when you say it like that.”

  “You’re wondering if lesbians and straight men have sex.”

  “I’m wondering if Leon is straight.” Archie looked pained. “Does Beth know?”