by Todd Borg
I asked Jerry if he’d keep a watch on Janeen and Phillip and he said he’d stay by the window.
I got Mallory on the phone as Street drove around to the east side of the lake. I explained the situation with Janeen and he said he would continue to send patrols by. Street pulled in at her condo. She had wanted to go solo before we went to Kauai. Now the moment of separation was back. “Call me tomorrow?” she said, giving me a peck on the lips.
“Sure,” I said, loneliness suddenly poking into all my soft spots, making me swallow, making my breathing unsteady. “Say hi to your bugs.”
She touched the bandage on my forehead and caressed my cheek.
I turned back to my Jeep before she saw my eyes get moist. Some tough guy you are, Owen. I eased myself into the driver’s seat and headed home.
TWENTY-FOUR
I drove the short distance down the highway and headed up the mountain to my cabin.
The Douglas County Sheriff Department Explorer that Diamond Martinez drove was in my drive. I honked, my cabin door opened and Spot came running out. He understands the No Jump command, but I didn’t use it, so he was all over me. I gritted my teeth against the pain as I shadow-boxed with him, gave him a bear hug and let him do the pretend chew on my forearm. He stood up on his hind legs and put his front paws on my shoulder. We danced two or three measures while he sniffed my facial bandages.
“Who is Rogers and who is Astaire?” said a voice from behind me.
Spot and I did a little pirouette so I could face Diamond.
“My dog’s getting better,” I said. “You been practicing with him while I’ve been gone?”
“Sure. Why not. Best way I can think of to spend my time. What happened to your face? You look like a squished eggplant.”
“Helicopter crash,” I said.
Diamond looked at me for a moment. “So the putative drama of the private investigator’s lifestyle is really true, eh?”
“Putative?” I said. “That a Mex word?”
Diamond shook his head. “English. Means ‘supposed.’ Helicopter crash, huh? What happened?”
I filled Diamond in on everything from the time we met Jasper and learned more details of the secret shrine, to the crash at the hand of the Viking.
“Why are you back in Tahoe so soon?”
“Because the Viking came back to Tahoe. He attacked Janeen’s neighbor Jerry Roth last night. Looks like he’s okay, though.”
“Oh,” Diamond said. “What is the Viking’s name? Mallory told me, but it is one of the funnier white-boy names and it slips my mind.”
“Ole Knudson was the name on the ID that he showed the airline ticket agents.”
“Any idea what this guy is after?”
“Just that the Kahale family is connected to something that this guy wants. One possibility is a hand-written manuscript by Mark Twain.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. Twain met the family when he went to Kauai in the eighteen sixties. He supposedly gave them a story.”
“The putative story?”
“Something like that,” I said.
We went inside my cabin and I got a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale from the fridge. I offered one to Diamond and he declined. When I opened it, Spot walked over by the kitchen counter, sat down and gave me the look of expectation that means he’s hungry.
I noticed his food bowl was empty. Diamond watched as I filled it up with dog food and refreshed his water bowl.
Spot continued to sit there. He glanced from me to the fridge and back to the counter where the microwave sits. Then he stood up, walked past his food bowl, turned a few circles on the rug by the woodstove and lay down.
“Spot looks with total boredom at his food,” I said.
“That’s funny. He’s had a hearty appetite the whole time you’ve been gone,” Diamond said. “Especially for breakfast. Every morning we ate together at the kitchen counter.” Diamond saw me looking at him. “Don’t worry. I wiped the counter clean.”
“He ate his Science Diet on the kitchen counter?”
“No, no,” Diamond said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “The dog food I put in his bowl.”
“Then what did he eat for breakfast?”
Diamond acted like it was a silly question. “A Danish. Just like me.”
“You gave him Danishes for breakfast?”
“He’s a Great Dane, ain’t he? Anyway, he loves ‘em. You should see the look on his face when I take them out of the microwave.”
I turned toward where Spot was lying on the rug. He lifted his head off the floor and looked again toward the microwave. Then he rolled over onto his side and sighed.
TWENTY-FIVE
It was late afternoon when Diamond left. My head was pounding worse than ever so I decided to call it a day. I found a T-Bone in the freezer and a Black Mountain Cab I’d picked up cheap at Trader Joe’s in Reno. Although I often barbecue on winter nights, I didn’t want to be on view in case the watcher was in the snowy clearing. Nor did I want to face the cold weather with how the wind had picked up outside. My body missed the tropics. So I turned on the broiler to warm up while the steak defrosted in the microwave. I knew a sensible dinner would include vegetables and salad, but I was too tired and this was my first night without Street in months. Making a full dinner just for myself would make me even lonelier.
Spot jumped up and trotted over when the microwave beeped. I pulled out the steak and transferred it to the broiler. Spot studied my every move, his ears focused, eyes intense, nostrils flexing. “I suppose you think, ‘Danish for breakfast, ergo steak for dinner?’ Don’t you know you’re a dog?”
Spot stared at me. “Sorry,” I said, shaking my head. I walked over and pointed at his food bowl. “Science Diet. Yum! Yum!” Spot hung his head. He ambled over to the rug in front of the woodstove and lowered himself down with a groan. He lay in an S-curve with his rear legs facing to the right and his front legs and head to the left. He hooked a paw over his nose and pretended to sleep.
When I was through eating I took the scraps of fat and stirred them into his dog food. Spot jumped up and stood waiting for the okay, tail held high. By the look in his eyes you’d think an Omaha Steaks truck had just pulled up in the drive.
When I said, “Okay,” he dove his head into the bowl. He didn’t inhale the dog food Hoover-style as was his norm, but instead rooted out the scraps of fat. He pushed the bowl across the floor, hit the wall and proceeded toward the bedroom until he extracted every piece of fat leaving the dog food untouched. Then he lay back down and went to sleep, this time for real.
Leaving the indoor lights blazing, but the outdoor lights off, I pulled on a dark baseball cap and stepped out on the deck. There is a place next to the corner of my cabin that is out of sight from the clearing where the watcher had stood. When my eyes adjusted, I pulled the brim of my cap down low and peeked out.
In my former life as a cop, before the kid who robbed the bank, I had some practice on stakeouts. The most important skill for the job is patience.
I waited a long time without moving. My thoughts went to Street and the Calder mobile that she’d given me. It seemed that I was after something similar to what Calder wanted. Take the different parts of my life – Street, Spot, art, and detective work – and arrange them so they balanced. I’d made a kind of emotional mobile. Street was the biggest part, but often the farthest away. So I kept Spot and art and my work on the other side of the balance point, close by, always accessible, pulling my emotional core back toward center.
Twenty minutes later, nothing had moved in the clearing. Maybe the watcher had decided it wasn’t a good place to hang out. Never know when McKenna comes flying down the mountain behind you, on the skinny boards, unpredictable, out of balance.
I went back inside, put on a Borodin String Quartet CD and sat in front of the fire, thinking of Street and her need for independence. Twice I glanced at the woman in Rodin’s Eternal Spring. She arched up toward the man. Her desire
for physical love was evident. But her passion for romantic love seemed even stronger. More than an idealized figure, she conveyed idealized emotion. But in the real world a perfect woman sometimes needs to go home and sleep alone.
Eventually, I followed suit and had dreams of helicopters crashing in tropical jungles.
The next morning I ate several aspirin with my coffee and took Spot with me in the Jeep. I headed south down the east shore and turned up Kingsbury Grade to my office. Spot trotted up the stairs in front of me.
There was a pile of junk mail and bills inside the mail slot. I tossed it all on the desk and turned on the computer to check my email. Spot stood and looked out the window, his chin resting on the windowsill.
I had dozens of messages, mostly junk. I scrolled down, clicking briefly on each one that might have been a reply to the letter I sent to the names in Thos’s address book.
I came to one with a subject line that said, Re: Your Question About Thos.
I clicked on it. It was from Tad at the .com address of a Napa Valley winery.
“Got your email. Didn’t know about Thos. So sorry! I didn’t know him well. We sold wine to his distribution company, so our relationship was mostly business. But we had lunch a couple times when he came to Napa. I can’t think of anything he would have told me that would help, but you asked me to respond regardless. Call anytime and we can talk.”
I hit reply, told Tad thanks and said I’d be in touch if I had any questions.
I scrolled down farther and came to several more messages that were similar from people who’d had social contact with Thos but offered nothing revealing.
Then came a message from Suz at a Hawaiian ISP address. I remembered that she was one of the people whose last message to Thos came after his death. In it, she’d said, yes, she would fly to Honolulu with Thos for a night on the town.
“Dear Mr. McKenna, My name is Suzy Moffett. I’m not sure what to say except that Thos was my boyfriend. We weren’t necessarily a permanent thing, but the closest thing to it. I loved him and he maybe loved me. I know he liked me a lot. He confided in me to some extent, but about nothing that would get him killed. Why would someone kill him? If you find out, please let me know. It’s just that...I guess I thought we might get married or something some day. If you want to ask me questions or whatever, write me back. I’ll do my best to help. I’m praying that you find whoever did this, Mr. McKenna. All I’ve done is cry since I heard the news. Suzy”
I clicked on the next email and the next and the next. There were several more from people wanting to be helpful but probably not in possession of the kind of information I needed.
Then came another name I recognized from reading Thos’s messages when we were at his townhouse. It was from Hermes at the msn.com address.
The subject said, “Re: What got Thos killed.”
“Hello Owen McKenna. I’m a friend of Thos Kahale. Before Thos died he emailed me about something he used to have that was very valuable. He said it had caused the deaths of three people and that a fourth person was after it. So Thos destroyed it. He said the person who was after it would know that he destroyed it.
I can’t believe that Thos had to die. But now the murderer must know the thing is gone and this will be over. Hermes”
I hit reply and typed,
“Hermes, Thank you for writing. Unfortunately, I think you may be in danger. Thos’s killer won’t believe Thos destroyed the item in question. Worse, the killer might assume that you know something of this item and may try to find you. Even if he finds you and is convinced you know nothing, you will still be in danger because then you will know who he is. Would you please identify yourself to the police or to me? In the meantime be on the watch for a man with long blond hair and a beard. His name is Ole Knudson and I believe he is Thos’s killer. Please write immediately.”
I hit send.
I knew that Microsoft owned msn.com. I assumed it would be extremely difficult to get them to turn over information about Hermes. Even if they did, email addresses can be obtained with fictitious names.
Nevertheless, it might be worth pursuing. I got Diamond on his cell phone and explained the situation. He said he’d contact the District Attorney and find out what was involved in trying to crack open the Microsoft archives.
I hung up and pondered the situation. I was confident that if the Viking could track down Hermes he’d get whatever information he could by any means. I had to find out Hermes’s identity first.
I’d brought the Zip disk that I’d copied Thos’s address book onto. I loaded it into my computer, then wrote another email.
“Hello, this is Detective Owen McKenna. I have learned that one of Thos’s email friends is in grave danger from the same person who murdered Thos. This friend goes by the name Hermes. It is imperative I learn Hermes’s identity as soon as possible. If you know or can even guess at Hermes’s identity, email me immediately. His or her life is at stake. Thank you, Owen.”
I sent it to everyone in Thos’s address book except Hermes.
There was nothing else I could think of to do so I turned off the computer. I snapped my fingers. “C’mon, Spot. Let’s get some breakfast and go for a drive.”
We headed across town and stopped at the Red Hut. When I was done with my breakfast omelet, I brought out the requisite leftover morsels, a single one of which, to Spot, is like the Hope Diamond to a jeweler. Every time I lifted one to his snout I risked losing fingers.
I started the Jeep and drove around to the west side of the lake.
It was blustery as I left town and went north on 89. Light snow filled the sky. I thought I’d check in again on Janeen and Phillip.
I turned in on Spring Creek Road, took a right on Cornice Road and pulled slowly up the white tunnel-like driveway. Jerry waved at me from his window.
Lyla Purdue’s Buick was still there. Phillip was outside, standing in his snowshoes on a snow bank near the house. He didn’t run away as I expected. Was school closed because of snow? Or was it the weekend? My head hurt as I thought about it and I wondered if my concussion had done permanent damage.
I pulled to a stop and got out carefully, trying to go easy on my throbbing head. I kept my face turned somewhat so Phillip wouldn’t see the worst of my bruises and bandages. Spot’s head was hanging out the window. I pet him as I called out to Phillip. “I brought Spot again, Phillip. You can pet him while I go talk to your grandmother. Or if you want, I can let him out to play.”
I hesitated, giving Phillip time to respond. “He likes to play with kids.” I kept petting Spot’s head. He leaned into it, turning so I could better scratch his ears. “What do you say, Phillip?”
“I don’t believe you,” Phillip suddenly said, the first time I’d ever heard him speak beyond a whisper. His voice was tiny, but high and clear in the cold winter air.
“Believe what?”
“I don’t believe he’ll play. He’ll just run away.”
“Spot won’t run away, Phillip. I promise.”
“Adults don’t keep promises.”
“Sure, they do,” I said, feeling bad as soon as I uttered the phrase. Obviously Phillip had a reason for his thoughts.
“No, they don’t.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Thos didn’t. He said he was going to take me to Hawaii. Now he’s dead.”
“He probably was going to take you there. Dying isn’t the same as breaking a promise.”
“My mom said she was going to bring me to L.A. to live with her. She said I could go to the beach. She promised. But she’s just a druggie.”
“I’m sure her intentions for you are good.”
“I don’t care about intentions. She broke her promise. Jerry did, too. He said he was going to take me out on his boat some day. He said we’d sail on the ocean.”
I turned toward Phillip. I gestured toward my face. “Just bandages. I was in an accident.”
Phillip didn’t speak. But he didn’t run, either. Owe
n, you devil, you are so smooth with kids.
“Phillip, you know the kids at your school. Some of them are careful about what they say. Others say anything that pops into their minds whether they mean it or not. Most are somewhere between. Well, adults are the same way. I’m sorry some of them have broken promises.”
I smiled across the snow bank at Phillip. “Shall I let Spot out of the car while I go inside to talk to your grandmother?”
“No,” Phillip said in a frightened voice. He turned and ran off into the snowy forest.
“Sorry, your largeness,” I muttered. I gave him another pet and walked to Janeen’s door. It opened before I knocked. “Hi, Janeen. I asked Phillip if he might want to play with Spot.”
“I saw out the window. It was nice of you to try.” She gave me a weak smile, then turned and looked toward the trees where Phillip had disappeared. “It’s okay, isn’t it, for Phillip to go into the woods?”
I glanced toward the forest, then down their drive.
Janeen continued, “I know Jerry was attacked, but Jerry probably took a swing at him first. Jerry can be very abrasive. Besides, I think it wasn’t as bad as Jerry makes it sound. He’s kind of a hypochondriac in my opinion. And I think he’s going through some financial distress.”
“Really? I thought he was wealthy.”
“He is,” Janeen said. “But even wealthy people can have setbacks, right? One day when I stopped by and knocked, he hollered for me to come in. I waited while he finished a phone call. He only said a few words that I heard, but you know how you sometimes get the drift of something? Well, it sounded like he owed money to somebody. And when he hung up, he muttered something about bill collectors.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I think that kind of stress really brings out aches and pains in a hypochondriac, don’t you? As for Phillip, I can’t keep a little boy cooped up inside day and night. He’d go crazy. And the woods are really safe for a boy.” She seemed to look at me for approval.
“I agree the woods are probably quite safe as far as bad people are concerned. I don’t know about animals. Phillip is quite small.”