by MK Alexander
I also looked for Jumping Mongolians though my search parameters led me to frustration. Finally, buried on You-Tube, I came across the Kazakh Riders and an eerily familiar scene. It was a badly shot video from a cellphone, very shaky. Someone on horseback focused on two men standing on a large flat rock. They were talking, but all you could really hear was the wind making hollow static in the microphone. One of the men scrambled to the edge, and in the next moment, jumped into the sea of riders. There was laughter, yelling in a foreign language, and some sort of scuffle. I heard the faint strains of singing, Mocking Bird. Then the screen went black. While it had a couple of thousand views and even some derisive comments, I could learn nothing more about it except that it was posted a few weeks ago. A very strange feeling crept over me. I was oddly thankful that the video quality was terrible and no one would ever recognize the jumper, whoever he was. Inspector Fynn on the other hand was unmistakable in his appearance, the white hair and immaculate suit gave him away in a moment.
* * *
chapter eight
car pool
Early the next morning, my phone started ringing and someone was knocking at my door pretty much at the same time. I wasn’t sure which to answer first. I was awake but just barely. I pulled on my pants and headed down the hall intent on answering them both.
“Hello?”
“It’s me, Cindy. Good morning. You awake yet?”
“Of course…” I replied. “Where are you?”
“Outside.”
I opened the door and there she was on my stairs: Cindy Ramirez, on her phone and dressed for a very cold day. My eyes traveled from her head to her toes. She was as cute as usual, wearing a funny cap, a stylish wool coat and furry boots, maybe like big foot’s ankles.
“Ready?” she asked and hung up her phone with a devouring smile.
“Give me two seconds… Come on in.”
“We’d better hurry, traffic’s probably bad already.”
“Really? The sun isn’t even up.” I gave her a doubtful glance. “Let me just grab my stuff.”
“So this is it?” Cindy asked and reluctantly stepped inside.
“What?”
“Your apartment.”
“Yeah?”
“Typical.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Bachelor reporter, that’s all.”
“Just what you expected, huh?”
“Thought there’d be more piles of laundry.” Cindy smiled.
“You must have brothers.”
“Yeah, three brothers. How did you know?”
“Just a guess.”
“How ’bout you?”
“Me?” I had to think about it. “No… no brothers.”
“Only child, huh? That’s trouble.”
She was probably right. “Almost ready, just have to find my keys.”
“Got any pets?” Cindy asked.
I looked at her and then down to her boots. Zachary was there winding between her legs. “A cat.”
She looked down as well and gave off a small shriek then stepped back. “I hate cats.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
“I’m a dog person.”
“Well, I like dogs… and cats.”
Cindy scrutinized my expression. “You’re either a dog person or a cat person, can’t be both.”
“Why not?”
“Someday you’re gonna have to choose, Jardel.”
“I don’t like to generalize like that.”
“Like what?”
“Well, I don’t hate all cats or all dogs. I like to take them one at a time. Some are nice, some are not.”
“I still hate cats,” she said.
“He seems to like you.” I looked down at Zachary who continued rubbing up against her.
“He likes my boots.”
“So do I,” I said then paused. “Okay, how ’bout neither then?”
“What?”
“Maybe I like aquariums.” I smiled.
“Like fish?”
“Yeah.”
“Better than snakes, I guess.”
“Snakes? No, I don’t think so.” I made a face.
“Sure, like Douglas.”
“Drummond has a pet snake?”
“Sure does… creeped the hell out of me once.” Cindy headed for the door. “Went to a party at his house. Walked into the dining room, right? There’s a big table and a low chandelier made of all these fake candles, lightbulbs. I look over, and god as my witness, there’s a big snake coiled around the whole damn thing. Jumped out of my own skin.”
“That’s pretty weird.”
“Douglas told me that’s how his pet snake likes to keep warm.” Cindy made a face of unabashed disgust. “Goddamn, feeding it live rats… not my idea of a pet. Give me a dog any day of the week.”
“Would you take a cat over a snake?” I asked.
Cindy laughed. “At least they’re warm blooded.”
“Now dogs, they’re all about dominance, the pack. Who’s alpha, who’s beta.”
“You got that right, but don’t forget complete loyalty and unconditional love.”
“So, you have a dog, I take it?”
“A black lab… like, ninety pounds worth. Sweet as pie.”
“That’s bigger than you are, but probably only half as nice.”
Cindy smiled. “You’re a real charmer, Jardel.”
“Well, we all share one thing in common.”
“What?” Cindy asked.
“None of us are cold blooded around here, right?”
“You haven’t been outside yet,” Cindy said and then laughed at my expression.
“Whose car are we taking, yours or mine?”
“Neither.”
“What?” I asked.
“Andy is downstairs. He decided to come with… In fact, he’s driving.”
***
Andrew Williams was waiting across the street in a dark maroon town car. It was enormous and doubtless quite old. The engine was running, purring in fact. The window slid down and he called to us to hurry with a waving hand. Oddly, though massive, the car only had two doors. Cindy and I struggled into the back and it seemed more like a sofa. The front passenger seat was off-limits. Williams called it his office, though it was more like a living room, strewn with papers and folders, a laptop, several cameras and cellophane wrappers scattered about. He pulled out onto an empty street, chomping on a breakfast burrito while turning the wheel with one finger.
“Nice ride,” I said. “Had you pegged as an SUV kind of guy.”
“Nah, hate those things… I like the low ride, you know built for comfort.”
Cindy laughed from the corner. She had no leg room and sat on an angle, yeti feet up. I longed to sit closer to her, if just to combine our body warmth. The upholstery was still icy cold.
“Got you a coffee, Patrick… and Cindy, a diet cola.” Williams said and passed them back. “Hope it’s not frozen already.” He laughed and accelerated down Iris Avenue. I noticed the sun beginning to light the east side of town. I looked to the west and saw the mountains glowing at their peaks. Their bases still lay in shadow.
“What kind of car is this?”
“A Lincoln Continental Mark IV, nineteen seventy-two.”
“Freaking huge, like a boat.”
“Funny, Patrick, so long as we’re not a submarine, it’s all good,” Cindy commented.
“I used to have a sixty-nine El Dorado, even bigger.”
“Must be a story behind this car,” I said.
“A story? Not really, just a hobby of mine. I’m good with old cars.” He laughed to himself and swung to the left. The vehicle felt more like a cabin cruiser. “Wouldn’t believe me if I told you how much I paid for this…” he said and waited, then continued, “four hundred and seventy-five bucks.”
“How much did you put into it?”
“That’s a question I never want to answer.” Williams chuckled again. “Like my pap
a always said, Son, you’re gonna drive me to drinking if you don’t stop driving that hot-rod Lincoln,” he added in a singsong voice and let go a long laugh. Andrew drove south, past the numbered avenues towards Route 119.
“So what happened at the meeting last night?” Cindy asked.
“What meeting?”
“The Nederland Board of Trustees. You did show up, right?” Williams shot several glances in the rearview.
“Everything else was tabled… just a lot of speculation about the murders.”
“You mean shelved?”
“Right, I always get those mixed up.”
“Isn’t it the same thing?” Cindy asked.
“Jamal Morris was there, answering questions,” I continued, “Seems like they’re setting up a big investigation. Something about taking over the hotel.”
“The Lodge?”
“Yeah.”
“Good for business, I guess,” Williams commented.
“And someone gave a presentation about inflatable ballast bags.”
“To raise the cars?” Andy asked.
I nodded unseen. “Oh, and somebody mentioned the NedCam. I have no idea what that means.”
Williams chuckled. “The NedCam is a streaming video feed that looks out over the reservoir. It’s an internet thing.”
“Like a witness?” I asked.
“Could be…”
“The police, they used the word murder, right?” Cindy asked.
“Yes, they did.”
“Well, I talked to Doc Ollie again,” Andrew said from the front seat, swiveling his head needlessly. “Cops kept him there all day yesterday… found some other stuff too: a bunch of oil drums, a couple of stoves, refrigerators, old mining equipment, and a Ford pickup from the nineteen thirties… no more bodies though.”
“A pickup? Another vehicle?”
“Yeah, I don’t think it’s related to our serial killer.”
“Serial killer?” Cindy said. “I’m not so sure about that yet.”
“What else could it be?” Williams asked.
“I don’t know, but that’s the first question I’m going to post. Thanks.”
“You’ll have to ramp up at Cindy-Sez,” Williams went on, “How many followers you got?”
“Like twenty K or so.”
“How many of those did Kaiser buy for you?”
“All of them,” Cindy shot back and laughed.
“That’s going to double in, like, two days. Play this right, and you’ll go national.”
“I hope so.” She turned to me. “You sure you’re okay with this, Patrick?”
“Okay with what?”
“Me doing the whole social media thing. I mean, you could be famous and all.”
“Really, it’s totally fine… besides, Mr Wayne’s orders.”
“You should have seen the look on Kaiser’s face when Patrick came up with the hashtag.”
“What look?” I asked. “Wayne doesn’t have a face, just a beard and sunglasses.”
Williams laughed. “I’ve known him a lot longer than you, Patrick. You didn’t notice how his lip curled, huh?”
“I didn’t.”
“Well, he was pissed as hell.”
“Pissed? At me?”
“In a good way…” Williams said. “He doesn’t like surprises much. A status-quo kind of guy.” He glanced back through the rearview mirror. “But I think you earned his respect.”
“You came up with the Murder-Lake handle?” Cindy faced me.
“Well… yeah.”
“It’s brilliant, thanks.”
“You still have a lot to learn, Patrick,” Williams continued.
“What— about Boulder?”
“That too, but I mean the Broadsheet, and who works here.”
“Like the Texas Tech Twins, you mean.”
That made Cindy laugh and Williams curse: “Screw those guys. They’re complete idiots— freaking flag-waving nazi-fascist libertarians,” Williams spit out the words in a confused angry rant.
I grinned. “Isn’t that a complete contradiction in terms?”
Williams’ eyes hit the rearview again. He chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“Tell Patrick about the matching tattoos you saw,” Cindy said.
“I’m not going to even go there. I’m not going to mention swastikas or skin heads.”
“Wow…” I muttered.
“Wow is right, you don’t want to know these rancheros up close and personal.”
“What the hell do those guys do all day, typing in their office?”
“Writing their memoirs,” Andrew joked.
“I bet you never noticed their matching belt buckles,” Cindy added.
“What?” Andrew and I asked almost simultaneously.
She smiled. “Well, they’re very weird, a snake eating its own tail.
“A uroboros…” I said.
“A what?”
“The snake eating—”
“Oh right, but what’s really weird, is that Drummond has the exact same belt.”
“Probably a gift,” Andrew commented.
“What do you mean?”
“A souvenir from Texas.”
“Why do you call them the Texas Twins? Are they from there?”
Cindy and Andrew both laughed. Cindy was in near hysterics, covering her mouth with her hand.
“The Texas Twins, eh? Not really sure how that got started. Anyhow, I think they’re from Minnesota…” Williams laughed again.
“Must be the hats,” Cindy managed to say between giggles.
“I think they just went to school in Texas someplace… They didn’t go here.”
“Here? You mean the University of Colorado?”
“Yeah, Cindy and me, we’re both UC alum who never left.” Williams tried to see her in his mirror. “Maybe a couple of years apart, right hon?”
“In your dreams, Andy.”
“You’ve both been here since college… Before that?”
“There was no before that,” Williams said too severely. “Cindy is from down east though.”
“Where?”
“Campo or Springfield. She’s almost from Kansas, that dust bowl town… don’t tell me she hasn’t told you her story yet?”
“What story is that?”
“Oh, about how her great grandparents survived the depression. Buried alive, or something, right Cindy?”
“At least I’m not an Okie, like you,” she countered.
“You got me there, Ramirez.”
Williams swung his Mark IV right on Boulder Canyon Drive and accelerated up the long hill as it merged into a single lane. The canyon was still in shadows, but the tops of the mountains were now ablaze from the rising sun. There was no traffic at all.
“What about Drummond? What’s his story?” I asked after a while.
“Don’t get me started on him…” Williams replied. “He is from Texas though, for real.”
Cindy let go a sigh of utter contempt.
“He’s a fire and brimstone kind of guy. Never talk religion or politics with him— or even the weather,” Andy said.
“What’s left?”
“You’re catching on, Patrick.”
Cindy laughed.
“Thing is, I don’t get why he lives here… I mean, it’s probably the most liberal place you can think of… a benevolent government and all…”
“Well, he’s very active with the church,” Cindy said.
“Which church?”
“Hmm, not exactly sure.”
“I think he’s gay. Ever hear him talking to the twins, fawning all over them?” Williams asked.
“He’s not gay,” Cindy replied emphatically. “Seems to me, it’s more parental than anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. He acts more like their father or their uncle, admonishing them or cajoling them.”
“Ooh, admonishing and cajoling in the same sentence. You are good, Cindy,�
�� Andy teased from the front seat.
“Funny, Andrew. Besides I’m pretty sure Drummond was married a bunch of times.”
“Really?”
“He has a daughter.”
“What’s her name?”
“Don’t know. Hardly talks about her. I met her once though. She was nice.”
“Is Drummond back?” I asked.
“Yeah, came in last night. Said he’d meet us up there.”
“Back from where?”
“Vacation…” Cindy said and gave me a funny look.
“Right, but where’s that?”
“Oh, someplace in Texas, that’s where he always goes…”
“You do know he’s best buds with Kaiser?” Williams said.
“Is he? I didn’t realize that.”
“Sure, they go way back… like thirty, forty years. Both of them made a ton of cash together by investing, rumor has it.”
“Drummond?” I asked.
“Let’s put it this way, he’s not like you, me, or Cindy. He doesn’t need to work at the paper, he likes to work here. He’s like semi-retired. Already has scads of money, family money, I think.”
***
We were all surprised to come across a scene of tremendous activity in the otherwise sleepy little town of Nederland. It was a cold circus at Barker Meadow Reservoir, or more like a carnival. For rides there were looming cranes; for a boardwalk, oversize rafts and barges lined up along the narrow dam. Parked trailers took up every foot of shoreline, the Midway. An army of divers, the black skinned freak show; technicians like wandering barkers, and uniforms beyond counting. Less than festive yellow tape kept everyone at bay, onlookers, locals and tourists alike.
Williams pulled off to the right after showing his press pass and dropped Cindy and I. We struggled from the backseat into the freezing cold. “Sorry, I got a couple of errands to run. Should be back in an hour,” he told us.
I could instantly see that Cindy was not happy.
“I hate being at the mercy of someone else.”
“What?”
“Andy… just dumping us here. How the hell are we supposed to get back? I wish I had my own ride… I feel so stranded, so helpless.”
“I know what you mean. Tell you what, next time we’ll take your car.”
“Next time?” Cindy asked and then nodded to herself. “Yeah, I guess we’ll be here a lot, huh?”