Tahoe Ice Grave

by Todd Borg

  “Well,” Street said, “for whatever it’s worth, the title sounds like something Twain would write.”

  “I agree. Jasper said the story was about a kid who had a magical stick of Koa wood. The boy coaxed his gullible friends into paying him to put them under a spell with it.”

  “That also sounds like Twain. Maybe Jasper and the rest of the family read a lot of Twain. Could be his stories inspired them to create their own story about Twain.”

  “Yes, although Jasper said he’s never read any Twain. He even knew that Twain earned his way to Hawaii by writing letters back to a California newspaper. Again, he said it was his granddad who told him that.” I thought of Thos’s emails. “There was an email to Thos from someone in the California school system, judging from the return address. Apparently, Thos had made an inquiry about an antiques expert in the Reno area and this person responded with the name of someone at the Sierra Nevada College in Incline Village.”

  “Which suggests,” Street mused, “that Thos had an old and valuable item – a short story manuscript, maybe?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Why an antiques expert in Reno? Why not San Francisco?”

  “Twain spent some time in the Reno/Tahoe area and a few years nearby in Virginia City. It could be that something about the story or maybe the physical characteristics of the manuscript would draw Thos to the Tahoe area.”

  “Then again,” Street said, “because Thos went to Tahoe to visit family, maybe he just wanted to find an expert close by so he wouldn’t have to travel far.”

  “That makes more sense.” I patted the computer disk in my pocket. “I copied the email so I can look the person up when we get back.”

  “Suppose that Twain’s leather notebook did survive the hurricane,” Street said. “Would it have been hidden in the shrine all these years?”

  “According to Jasper, that would be unlikely. He made it sound like anything made of paper or leather would have quickly rotted away.”

  “Because rain gets in the shrine?”

  “No, he said the cave is protected from rain. But not from small animals and humidity.”

  Street looked at me. “And insects. Bugs can chew their way into practically any container except a tight metal box.”

  “I’m assuming that you found no such thing when you went through the kitchen cabinets?”

  Street shook her head. “If there is a metal box in this townhouse, it would have to be in a very good hiding place. Same for a leather notebook. I would have noticed either.”

  “How much time are we down to?”

  “About forty minutes,” Street said.

  TWENTY-TWO

  We made another search of Thos’s townhouse, this time looking for a hiding place large enough to put a leather notebook or the insect-proof box it might be in. Having been a homicide cop prior to going private, I have a good idea of where people hide things.

  There is a three-tiered hierarchy of places. The obvious places comprise the first tier, like putting the door key under the doormat. Clever places like inside jars in the freezer comprise the second tier. But they are still obvious because they seem like they would be good places to hide something. The third tier is made up of the places that people think aren’t hiding places at all and hence are places where no one looks.

  So Street and I concentrated our search on those places. We found some screwdrivers in a drawer and used them to look inside the toaster, the microwave, the bread machine, the giant-screen video, the stereo speakers. I got my hand behind the bathroom exhaust fan and into the vent hood above the stovetop and the air-conditioning vents throughout the townhouse. Street dismantled furniture, picture frames, lamps and electrical sockets. We looked for false panels in the cupboards, the kitchen drawers, the bathroom vanities and the closets. Street crawled around the perimeter of the floors in every room tugging at the carpet to see where it might lift up. I pulled out every file drawer in Thos’s office, looked in the laser printer, the computer tower and even took apart the fax. Exhausted, I sat down in his desk chair to think.

  It was possible, of course, that Thos had nothing to hide, metal box, leather notebook or otherwise. Or that he had left it in the secret shrine all along.

  I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the dark computer monitor. I looked like hell. Every bit of skin that wasn’t bandaged showed bruises so sickening that, had I been filming a horror movie, they would have sent me back to makeup for a more realistic treatment. In fact, I could see myself so clearly it was almost as if I were looking in a mirror.

  Which led me to the answer.

  I turned the computer monitor on its swivel base. It was a standard model, but old, with a 17-inch screen and about 20 inches deep. The depth was for the old-style cathode ray picture tube. The plastic housing narrowed toward the back in a cone shape that approximated the picture tube inside the housing. Turning the monitor back around to face me, I saw my reflection again. The reason my reflection looked so clear was that the front of the monitor was flat. Not the convex curve of older style monitor.

  I looked more closely at the edge where the plastic housing met the glass. The plastic was curved and made a little gap on the flat glass. A thin bead of clear silicone filled the space.

  Thos had taken the cathode ray tube out of the monitor housing and replaced it with one of the newer flat screen monitors and glued it in place. Some flat screen monitors are only a couple inches thick, so that meant the monitor housing was mostly empty inside.

  “I found it, Street,” I called out.

  She came into the room as I was removing screws. “A hiding place?”

  “Yes. A good one. And bigger than a bread box.” I popped the thing apart and turned it to look inside.

  It was empty. But there were some foam sheets wadded into place to keep any item hidden there from rattling around.

  Street pointed at the desktop. “Look at the desk near the base of the monitor. The wood is scratched like what would happen if you moved the monitor around a few times to put something inside it or take it back out.”

  “So we found the hiding place,” I said. “Now we just need the item that was kept there.”

  “My guess,” Street said, “is that Thos got it out of the cliff before the Viking could, hid it here in the monitor, then took it to Tahoe. The Viking followed Thos to Tahoe, and tried to force the location of the box out of him. When he thought he’d gotten the information, he shot Thos to cover his tracks. But Thos tricked him and the box wasn’t where Thos said it was. So the Viking thought that Thos left it in the cliff all along. The Viking came back to Hawaii and hiked back up to the shrine when we were going on the helicopter ride. Now the Viking is gone, possibly back to California, maybe even back to Tahoe. Why?”

  “Because,” I guessed, “he finally found the item and wants to sell it to the antiques person in Tahoe. Or else he didn’t find the item and he thinks Thos must have hidden it in Tahoe after all.”

  “Or,” Street said, a frown wrinkling her brow, “he found the box and is going back to Tahoe to cover his tracks.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe,” she said, “he learned of other witnesses he needs to silence.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  When we landed in L.A. early the next morning, I tried Janeen again.

  She answered on the third ring. “I’m glad you’re coming back,” she said after I identified myself. “I heard about my nephew John. That is so terrible. And we’ve had a scare here.”

  “What was that?” I said, alarmed.

  “We weren’t harmed directly. But our neighbor Jerry Roth was.”

  “What happened?”

  “Jerry was attacked last night. He often has insomnia and he couldn’t sleep last night. When he got up he looked out the window and saw someone coming up our mutual driveway. Jerry went outside to confront the man and that’s when he was attacked.”

  “Is he all right?” I asked.

  “He will be e
ventually. Jerry had grabbed a snow shovel and the man took it from him and hit him on the neck with it. The gash required several stitches. He’s still at the hospital for observation. They are worried that he hit his head hard when he fell to the ground. But I just spoke to him, and he said he’s coming home soon.”

  “Did he say what the attacker was doing?”

  “No. Just that he accosted the man and, well, Jerry can be brusque.”

  “Was Jerry able to see what the man looked like?”

  “Only a little. When Jerry fell to the ground, he managed to get his cell phone out and quickly dial nine-one-one. The man saw him do that and ran. Jerry didn’t see his face well because the man had long blond hair and a big bushy beard.”

  “Janeen,” I said calmly, “I’ll be in Tahoe in a few hours. In the meantime, I’m wondering if there is anyone you can go and stay with?”

  “Do you think we’re in danger?” Her voice, shaky before, was worse now.

  “Possibly. Is there a friend you can call?”

  “Yes, I suppose. I’ll call Lyla Purdue.”

  “Does she live nearby?”

  “She’s on Mountain View Court. It’s just two blocks from here.”

  I wrote the number down as she gave it to me. “Do that and stay inside. Phillip, too. Keep the blinds closed and don’t open the door to anyone you don’t know.”

  “Okay. You’ll be in town soon?”

  “I’m in L.A. now and will be back in Tahoe in three or four hours.”

  We said goodbye.

  “What’s wrong?” Street asked.

  “The Viking is in Tahoe and it appears he’s stalking Janeen and Phillip. Their neighbor surprised him coming up the drive in the middle of the night and was attacked.” I explained what happened as we headed to the gate where the plane to Reno departed.

  I called Captain Mallory. They put me through to him in his cruiser. He knew of the incident with Jerry Roth. He said the county deputies had sent patrols out to check on Janeen and Phillip. He also said he’d tried to get surveillance on Brock Chambers, but the man was gone, out of town according to people at the Rubicon Lodge.

  When we got back to Tahoe, we didn’t stop at either Street’s condo or my cabin and instead went straight to Lyla Purdue’s house. The house numbers were large and easy to find. There were no cars in the drive. There was a large ice flow across the walk and driveway. I stepped over the ice and knocked on the door. After a minute I called out, but there was no response. We drove over to Janeen’s house.

  There was a dark blue Buick parked in the drive. When I knocked, Janeen looked out through the living room window before she opened the door.

  “Mr. McKenna,” she said after I’d introduced her to Street. “You look terrible. What happened?”

  “Street and I were in the helicopter with your nephew John when it crashed. I’m sorry about John.”

  She put her hand to her mouth. “The police chief called me about John. He said two other people survived the crash, but I had no idea.”

  We were still standing outside.

  “Come in,” Janeen suddenly said. She ushered us inside. “Lyla’s house had a broken pipe yesterday. Everything was flooded. The workmen can’t get to it for another day, so she is staying here with us. That man who attacked Jerry hasn’t been back.” She turned to Street. “You were in the crash, too. I’m so sorry. All because I hired Owen. I didn’t mean to start something that would cause more pain.”

  “Don’t worry,” Street said. “I wasn’t hurt at all. I only wish John could have been so lucky.”

  Janeen asked about John and the crash and we filled her in, leaving out the worst details. She shook her head as we explained.

  “The car out there belongs to your friend?”

  “Yes. Lyla is in with Phillip. I’d ask her to come out, but Phillip is happy right now and, well,” she gave me an embarrassed look, “with your bruises, maybe it would be better to wait a few days?”

  “Of course. Janeen, the man who attacked Jerry was probably coming to your house. Whether he intended to see if you were home or something else, I don’t know. My best guess is that he wants to search your house in case Thos hid something here. I’d like you to relocate for the time being. Maybe you could stay with your father down in the Carson Valley?”

  Janeen immediately shook her head. “No. He has mellowed over the years, but no. He doesn’t have room, anyway. He lives in a little camper. With Lyla here, we have safety in numbers. Lyla understands there is a possible threat. She is prepared.”

  “Isn’t there someplace else you can stay?”

  Janeen shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t have friends like that. And I can’t afford a hotel. Besides, the disruption would be difficult for Phillip and his school schedule.”

  “What about Jerry?”

  “His place is no better than mine. Now that he’s laid up, about the only thing he can do is call the cops. I wouldn’t feel comfortable over there. He’s a good neighbor, but not a friend like that.”

  Short of staying on her floor, I couldn’t think of a good solution. My only thought was to swing by whenever I got a chance.

  Street and I said goodbye and left. Street backed down the drive and swung into a space near Jerry’s garage. I wanted to see if he was back from the hospital. Street held my arm as I eased myself up Jerry’s snow-covered steps.

  “Come in,” a voice called out after I pushed the doorbell.

  Street and I walked into a dark interior that had a Craftsman design from the early 20th Century. Jerry was in a leather recliner that faced away from us, his legs up, his crutch leaning to the side. He lifted a remote and clicked off a huge video screen. He had a bandage on the side of his neck.

  “Hi, Jerry,” I said.

  “Sorry, old boy, about not taking Janeen in,” he said as he reached for his crutch, laboriously got up out of the chair and turned toward us. “But this bloody sod came up the drive and... Good lord, what happened to you? Here I am feeling sorry for myself because I’ve got some pesky stitches while you look like hell. What on earth happened?”

  “We had an accident in Hawaii.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ve always said Hawaiian roads are the worst on the planet. Narrow little things, one-lane most places. It’s a wonder they even paint a line down the center.”

  “No matter, I’ll be all right in time. Jerry, I want you to meet Street Casey.”

  He hobbled over. His head was bent toward the dressing on his neck. “Pleased to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand. “Sorry about my bandages. I’m actually a handsome bloke when I’m not grimacing in pain.”

  “Jerry,” I said, “Janeen told us about the man who attacked you last night.”

  “It was the bugger you told me about when you called from Hawaii. Ole Johnson.”

  “Knudson,” I said.

  “Oh, right. Long hair, big beard, looks like some movie version of a Swede. I could tell he was up to no good. On his way up to Janeen’s, he was.”

  “He was on foot?”

  “Yes. I wondered about that. He must have parked out in the road so I couldn’t see his license plate. And with these walls of snow, I couldn’t even see his car. When he knocked me down, I got out my phone. Lucky for me I always carry it with me.” He pulled the yellow phone out of his pocket and held it up. “That sod saw it and ran. I didn’t even hear him start up his car, but then all this snow muffles sound.”

  “He hit you with your snow shovel?”

  “Righto. Grabbed it from me and had a swing at my face. Luckily, I’m quick with the reflexes. I ducked and he got the base of my neck. Still, it took the doc a bit to close me up.” Jerry tugged at the bandage to show us the edge of his wound. There was a vertical row of stitches ending at a horizontal row, making the shape of a T.

  Street bent down and picked something up off of the carpet. She said, “Jerry, when you dialed nine-one-one, did the ambulance come and get you? How did you get home?”


  “The call didn’t go through. My injuries weren’t that bad and Ole whatshisname was gone. So I drove myself to the emergency room. They were a little concerned I’d gotten smacked worse than I had – I suppose I carried on a bit too much. So they kept me there a couple hours after sewing me up. But I didn’t start drooling on myself, so they let me go.” He turned and spoke directly to Street. “Why do you ask about the ambulance?”

  “I’m wondering if Ole Knudson came back and let himself into your house when you were at the hospital.”

  “I don’t understand,” Jerry said.

  Street gestured with her hand, her thumb and forefinger held together. “I just found a dead insect on your carpet. A beetle that looks to be of a species that is not native to Tahoe.”

  “What of it?” Jerry said.

  “This is a tropical beetle. If I’m not mistaken, it is found in ecosystems from Papua New Guinea to the islands of the Pacific. This bug may have come from Hawaii.”

  Jerry’s face colored with anger. “Why, that son of a bitch!” Jerry spun around, leaning on his crutch, looking at his house in a new way. “When I went to the hospital I was in such a hurry I didn’t stop to lock up. If that bugger has been through my house... goddammit!”

  I said, “Jerry, did you know Thos Kahale?”

  “Not really. We’d say, ‘hello, how do you do,’ when he was coming and going. But that’s about it. Seemed like a nice enough chap.”

  “I’m wondering if he gave you anything to hold for safe-keeping.”

  Jerry shook his head.

  “Could he have come in when you weren’t here and hid something in your house?”

  Jerry’s eyes widened. “That would explain why Blondie was in here poking around, wouldn’t it?” Jerry turned again and looked around. “Maybe I’ll poke around a bit, myself. What would I be looking for?”

  “An old leather notebook is one possibility. Or a metal box big enough to put a notebook in.”

  “I’ll let you know if I find anything.”