by Todd Borg
THIRTY
It was the middle of the afternoon when I got back to Tahoe. There is a lot of dead space coming up the American River Canyon. When I got back into signal range, two messages popped up on my cell, one from Ryan, one from Diamond. I called Ryan first.
“I need to take Lily over to the school for a meeting. They’re trying to decide whether to skip her a grade. Should we go alone? Or take Praeger with us?”
“Ask Praeger what he thinks. My guess is that it’s okay to go alone in broad daylight as long as you keep your doors locked, and don’t get out except in public places where other people are around. It’s good for Praeger to watch the house.”
“What about Spot? Should I just leave him in the house?”
“When do you leave?”
“An hour.”
“I’ll be there by then.”
Next I returned Diamond’s call.
“Douglas County spends all this money on patrol units,” he said when he found out it was me, “but they don’t check the batteries,” Diamond said. “It’s dead.”
“McKenna transit company at your service, sergeant.”
“I called both deputies that are up here at the lake. Both are busy. Then I called our road service provider, and they said it’s an hour and a half wait.”
“Where’re you at?” I asked.
“We’ve had some vehicle break-ins at the trailhead at Spooner Summit. So I stopped to check. I heard a noise I couldn’t place, so I hiked up the trail a bit. Didn’t see anything, so I came back. Now my patrol unit won’t start. I’m down to two options. One, you come get me. Two, I hitchhike.”
“Looks bad for passersby to see Douglas County’s finest hitching a ride. I’ll be there in twenty-five minutes.”
Diamond’s SUV was easy to spot. I pulled up.
“Solenoid not kicking in?” I said.
“You gringos are so into cars. What’s that gearhead thing about? You read art books, yet you know about solenoids.”
“I don’t know anything about solenoids. Just a word I heard. But I also heard that when the battery gets low, the solenoid won’t pop out and engage the starter. It just clicks.”
“So?”
“So, did it click?”
“I turned the key. No click.”
“Then it’s more than just a low battery.” I looked at the hood latch. The sheet metal was bent. The release cable had been cut.
I popped the hood and showed Diamond. “Check it out. Battery cable was cut. These are big cables. He must have had a bolt cutter. Or a hammer and chisel.”
I dropped the lid.
“For every bandito in Mexico,” Diamond said, “we’ve got a norteamericano vandal making our life miserable up here.”
“Is this the same patrol unit you brought to Ryan’s house?”
“Let me think. Yeah. Twice. You think this is the guy screwing with Ryan?”
“Could be.”
Diamond got into my Jeep, and I drove down the long and winding road from Spooner Summit.
After we went through Cave Rock, I said, “I need to pick up Spot at Ryan’s house.”
Diamond shrugged.
I turned off toward the lake, and drove to Ryan’s drive.
In the lot next door, a small articulated crane was lifting a Glulam beam up onto a framework of posts. Two men on each end were fitting it into heavy metal brackets. Eventually, the Glulams would hold up the roof of the Washoe Spirit Center.
Lily, Spot, and Ryan came out of the front door as Diamond and I got out.
“Any news?” Ryan asked.
I shook my head. “I want to talk to the woman at your party named Champagne.”
“Why?”
“She knows you.”
“Not really.”
“Sort of, then. And she knows other people who know you. She’s close to Preston Laurence.”
“Do you suspect him of something?”
“Everybody who knows you or knows of you is a suspect until we catch this guy.”
Ryan widened his eyes. “That’s not what... I didn’t think you would pursue my friends.”
“The killer is probably a friend or an acquaintance.”
Ryan frowned. He looked at Diamond. “Is that really true?”
Diamond nodded.
“I don’t like thinking that,” Ryan said.
“No one does,” I said. “Do you know how to reach Champagne?”
“I don’t have her phone number. But she lives with her parents in Reno. Or at least she did last I knew. The number is probably in the book. I think her father’s name is Paul. Paul Pumpernickel.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know if I learn anything.”
“What will you ask her? Will you be sensitive?”
“Asking questions is the nature of my job. I poke around. I look under rocks and see what slimy creatures crawl out. Sometimes I ask uncomfortable questions. I try to trip people up, catch them in inconsistencies, get them to say things they later wish they hadn’t said. Champagne may not like talking to me. But she won’t hold you responsible for that. If she gets upset, she’ll just think that I’m a jerk.”
After a moment, Ryan said, “Okay.”
Diamond and I got in the Jeep. We waited until Ryan and Lily pulled out, then we followed them to the highway.
The tourist traffic was heavy enough to reduce us to slow-and-go before we even got to Kingsbury Grade. In front of us were a bunch of motorcycles. I got into the left lane just as the light turned red. Everybody eased from crawl to stop. We were the last in line. Should have stayed in the right lane.
“Two, four, six, eight, ten, twelve bikers,“ Diamond said. “All riding two-up, all wearing black leather. Like a uniform.”
To the side of the road was a constant line of bicyclers. Part of some Tahoe circumnavigation ride.
“Even more bicyclists,” I said, “all wearing brightly colored Spandex and special shoes.”
“Bicyclists are mostly skinnier people than motorcyclists,” Diamond said. “Need narrower uniforms.”
“You Mexicans are observant.”
“The cop in me.”
I pointed at Edgewood golf course. “Numerous foursomes on the links, all wearing the same cut of pants and shirts.”
“Just like the bikers,” Diamond said. “You rode some over the years.”
“Nothing more fun. Still got my jacket and helmet,” I said.
“They black?”
“Yeah.”
Diamond nodded approval. “Just making sure you fit in.”
“But my helmet is a full-face model. Makes it a lot harder to spill your brains.”
“Always a nonconformist in some way,” Diamond said.
Spot pulled his head in from the right rear window. He shook his jowls. Nothing hit me, but Diamond made a show of wiping his cheek.
A silver Mustang convertible with the top down pulled up next to us on Diamond’s side. There were four young women in it. They all wore bikinis in different colors.
“Mustang uniform,” Diamond said under his breath.
They all talked and laughed with great animation. Maybe they were practicing for a Mustang commercial. Maybe there was a helicopter and cameraman above at that moment.
Spot put his head back out the window.
“Oooweee!” one of them shouted, pointing. “Look at that dog! Mister, what kind of dog is that?”
Before Diamond could answer, another one shouted, “It’s a Dalmatian.”
“No it’s not,” said another. “It’s, like, waaaay bigger.”
“No kidding,” said a third.
“What is it?” repeated the first.
“Harlequin Great Dane,” Diamond said.
Spot was wagging at the attention. He looked like he might jump into the Mustang.
“I’m calling Bo,” the driver said.
“No way your sugar daddy gonna buy you a Great Dane,” another woman said.
“He bought me this car. He’d buy
me a Great Dane to sit in it. Right where you’re sitting.” She pointed at the other woman.
The light turned green and the motorcycles all roared so loud that two of the women put their fingers in their ears. Everybody moved ahead. I rolled my window up against the noise.
“Too loud for you?” Diamond said when the bikers finally got far enough ahead that we could hear something else. “You could put your fingers in your ears like those girls.”
“I would have if I weren’t driving. Protect my hearing. You coulda put your fingers in your ears.”
“I don’t put my fingers in my ears,” Diamond said.
“That the cop in you, too?”
“That’s the Mexican in me.”
I turned left on Kingsbury Grade, drove up and turned into my office parking lot.
Two guys in muscle shirts and cowboy hats came walking down Kingsbury Grade carrying beers in tall glasses. By their walk, they’d had more than a few.
“Check out the cowboys,” I said to Diamond. “Street and I saw them up on the mountain. Jerks on horseback. Making cracks about the color of Lana’s houseguests.”
I got out of the Jeep, let Spot out the back door. Diamond didn’t immediately get out. Maybe on purpose. Maybe calling for backup.
“Lookie here,” one of the cowboys said. “We got the big doggie and McKenna the private detective.”
“Hey guys,” I said. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
One of them gestured with his beer. “Up at the bar, two different people had a quick answer to the question about the tall guy and the big, spotted dog.”
“Still didn’t get your name,” I said.
“Didn’t offer it,” the other said.
They walked up to a white Ford pickup with a full-width silver tool box at the front of the bed. It reminded me of the pickup that belonged to Lana and her nephew Tory. The cowboys paused at the pickup’s doors.
I willed them to get in and start it up so that Diamond could use the powers of the state to shake them down for drinking and driving. If they didn’t, he could still probably get them on public alcohol consumption, but it would be much easier if they got in and turned the key. They didn’t move. They each drank beer.
“On your way, boys. Hope you enjoyed your stay in Tahoe.” I took Spot’s collar and walked toward my office.
“Not very welcoming to tourists, is he,” one said.
“Mountain cretins everywhere,” the other said.
I turned and walked toward them. “It’s been a long day. Please leave.”
“Polite,” one of them said.
“Standard attitude for those kind of guys,” the other said. “That’s how they try to avoid confrontation. Let’s go.”
They got in their truck, started it up, revved the engine, and drove out of the lot only to jerk to a stop as one, and then two, Douglas County patrol units pulled up, light bars flashing.
Diamond got out of my Jeep, and the men saw him, and their eyes were aflame as the Douglas County deputies put them through the routine.
Spot and I sat down on the curb and watched. When they took the men away in the back of one of the SUVs, the one on my side of the back seat looked out at me with rage.
“Names?” I said to Diamond as he walked up afterward.
“Mark Marwell and Evan Paguette. Oakland address for the former, Hayward on the latter. Both went silent as if they’ve been through this before. I’ll let you know when we learn more.”
Diamond got into the other patrol vehicle, and left.
THIRTY-ONE
I went into my office to check the machine and scan my calendar. I pulled the Reno book off the shelf and found Paul Pumpernickel’s phone number. I dialed. Spot lay down while it rang. A woman answered.
“Hello, Mrs. Pumpernickel. My name is Owen McKenna. I’m calling for Carol. Is she in, please?”
“Who are you, again?”
“Owen McKenna. I met Carol at a get-together up at the lake.”
“Chrissakes, that girl attracts more boy pals than a show horse attracts flies.”
“I’m not interested in her in that way,” I said.
Long pause. “Are you one of Mr. Laurence’s men?”
I thought about her tone. Suspicion and worry.
“I’m not connected to Preston Laurence. I’m a private investigator, and I’m working on a case that involves Laurence.”
“Don’t tell me that Carol has done something wrong.” She sounded like she was pleading.
“Did she give you a reason to think that?”
“No. But Mr. Laurence did. I’ve only met him once, but he scares me. I’m worried for my girl.”
“Have you seen her recently?”
“That’s just it. We haven’t heard from her for a week, no, eight days now. That’s not like her. If she was back living in LA, I wouldn’t expect her to check in much. But when you’re staying with your ma and pa, it’s just common decency to call if you’re not going to come home at night.”
“You’re saying she’s been missing for eight days?”
“Yes.”
“Have you heard from any of her friends?”
“Five, six days ago, I got a call from her friend Darin, and he said he saw her a few days before, but he couldn’t find her. He wondered if she was at home. I don’t know what to think. Mr. Laurence worries me. He seemed like his interest in my girl wasn’t... healthy. Please tell me that your investigation doesn’t mean she’s been involved in a crime. She has hung around some bad men in the past.”
“I can’t say that for sure, but our primary interest is Preston Laurence. Do you think Darin has found her?”
“I don’t know. You could call him.”
“Do you know his number?”
“No. But his last name is Smirnoff. Like the vodka. You could look in the book. Or you could try his work. He works at that big condo development in Incline Village. I forget the name. He’s the concierge or something like that.”
“Which development is that?”
“On the main highway there in Incline. It’s on the corner of... There I go. Talk about senior moments. Lake side. Brown with dark brown trim. Maybe six or eight different buildings. Good looking place.”
“Got it,” I said. “Thanks, Mrs. Pumpernickel.”
“Will you ask her to call me when you find her?”
“Will do.”
I dialed information for Incline Village, but they didn’t have a Darin Smirnoff. So I got in the Jeep and went back to Ryan’s.
He and Lily weren’t back from the school appointment, yet. I let Spot run around while I waited. I got out my wallet and pulled out the note with Herman’s code.
I took it from another direction. Instead of multiplying the beats by two and figuring what the letters would be, I multiplied by three. Unfortunately, there were several notes with beat rates of more than eight per second. Multiplying by three gave results higher than twenty-six, so there were no letters that corresponded. I stared at the letters, willing them to make sense. A few minutes later, Ryan and Lily pulled up.
“I start second grade instead of first,” Lily said as she ran up to Spot.
“Because you’re smart?”
“Because I have good ideas.”
“Actually,” Ryan said, “it mostly gets down to her reading level.”
I congratulated them. Then I explained to Ryan that I needed to borrow Spot for the evening. I asked Ryan if he could take Lily out on the town, go to the movies, dinner, stay in public, maybe hang out in one of the hotel lobbies for a duration to be determined. When I got back to his house, I’d call and tell him that the coast was clear.
He agreed.
So I waited while he checked movie schedules, and found warmer clothes for Lily.
When he and Lily left, Spot and I left, too.
I drove up to the north shore.
I cruised the main drag in Incline, saw a possible condo project, continued on. When I got to the Mt. Ro
se Highway, I turned around. On my way back through town I saw no other good possibilities. So I parked, and went into the office.
A pleasant woman greeted me and asked if I had a reservation.
I smiled. “No, I just stopped by to see Darin, tell him I found his sunglasses.”
“Oh, he’s on break. Said he was going to grab a chocolate shake. I swear I don’t know how that guy stays so skinny with all the shakes he drinks.”
“Me neither,” I said. “Any idea when he’ll be back?”
She looked at the clock. “Ten minutes or less. He can’t be late, ’cause that laundry’s got to be all folded and stored before he clocks out.”
I thanked her, and waited out in the lot, thought about what it meant that Carol’s mother thought that Carol’s good bud in Incline was a concierge. Five minutes later, an old rusted Subaru drove up and parked. The guy who got out was in his early thirties and was skinny like the picture on a famine-relief brochure. His white shirt was untucked on the left side. He shambled his way toward the office, walking so slow that it was obvious that work wasn’t at the top of his list of hot activities.
“Hey, Darin,” I called out as I walked toward him.
He turned and stopped.
“I’m Owen, a friend of Carol Pumpernickel.”
He shook my hand, looked me over, looked at my old Jeep. I was glad I wasn’t driving a new BMW.
“Wassup?” he said.
“I was trying to reach Carol. But she hasn’t been home for awhile. Her mother thought you might know where she is.”
He regarded me. “I never heard nothin’ ’bout you. You even know what her new name is?”
I chuckled. “Oh sure, Champagne Forest. I’m totally onboard with the showbiz thing. You want to get on the big screen, Pumpernickel probably ain’t the ticket. But I haven’t made the switch to calling her Champagne myself. How ’bout you? Champagne or Carol?”
He made a little grin. “She’ll always be Carol to me. But Champagne’s kind of a babe handle. Makes sense when you think about it.”