For the Trees

by Brett Baker

  “It’s just easier to handle some things in person.” I nodded my head in agreement. “So you think he was just going to come see you instead of calling?”

  “Think of it from his perspective. He’s working on stopping this project. According to you, hundreds of millions of dollars are at stake, and some very powerful people are advocating for the project. If he thinks that I’m the key to stopping it, then wouldn’t he choose to talk to me in person? Why risk trying to handle it over the phone? I could hang up on him, I could stop taking his calls, I could clam up and not tell him anything. Best to come see me in person, get a read on my reaction, convince me to help. The same reasons you came to see me instead of calling me.”

  “But he never made it,” Tanner said.

  “No. They killed him before that could happen.”

  “Why the delay in coming to see you then?”

  “Who says there was a delay? Maybe he just got my contact information.” I stood up and began to pace around the room. Long ago I discovered that moving around helped make my brain work better. The physical stimulation somehow translated to my brain as well, and questions that stumped me suddenly became clear. “I assume Chamberlain was organized. It’s impossible to run an operation like he did without making sure everything’s in its place. The police found the slip of paper with my name in a folder marked H.R. 3650.”

  “That’s the bill we needed your help with. It’s a horrible piece of legislation. Hundreds of millions of dollars at stake, almost entirely at the environment’s expense.”

  “Right, I gathered that. I’m just not sure how I’m supposed to help. But anyway, if this information was so important to him, yet he hadn’t acted on it, then we should assume he didn’t have a chance to act on it. And he didn’t have a chance to act on it because he just received it. He was murdered early in the morning, right? Media reports claim that he came upon some burglars after his morning run. So it’s likely that he received the information the night before. Maybe late at night.”

  “I think that’s right,” Tanner said. “If he got your contact information earlier in the day he would have told me about it.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I said. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he kept that information to himself. It seems like he kept everything else to himself. But I think he would have acted on it. If you say it was so urgent, and he’d been so obsessed with contacting me, then if he got my information earlier in the day he would have contacted me, maybe hopped on a plane right away and come to Chicago.”

  “No doubt,” Tanner said. “So he got the slip of paper late at night. What the hell good does that do us?”

  “It might tell us who gave it to him. How do we find out who he was with that night? Does someone keep his schedule for him? Did he have an assistant or someone who helped him? They might know.”

  “No, he didn’t need anyone like that. I could make a few calls and see what I can find out.”

  “Do that,” I said. “Don’t tell them why you’re asking. It’s best if no one else knows that you’ve met me.”

  “If no one else knows then there’s no way you can help us,” Tanner said.

  “Tanner, I can’t help you. I’ve got nothing to do with anything related to this bill. And why anyone told Chamberlain that I could help is beyond me. But if we find out who told him that I could help, then I might be able to figure out why they thought that. Until then, I’m useless to you.”

  “All right,” Tanner said. He stood up, dragged the chair over to the desk, and walked toward the door. “I’m sorry for coming so late. This is just really important work, and the sooner we figure it out, the better for everyone. Not just you and me, but everyone.”

  “Make your calls, then, and let’s get it done.”

  I didn’t intend to work against Tanner’s mission, but my primary concern for finding the source of Chamberlain’s information was self-preservation. And if I happened to save a forest in the meantime, then even better.

  26

  Chapter 26

  At breakfast the next morning, as I ate an omelet overflowing with veggies, which tasted better than any free-breakfast hotel omelet should taste, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and before I could register it, Davis appeared and sat in the chair across from me. He held a half-eaten piece of toasted smothered in butter, and I hoped he hadn’t touched my shoulder with his buttered hand.

  “Mount struck again,” he said. “New Mexico. Near Albuquerque. Probably at the exact moment you and I were talking about him at that diner.”

  “Who’d he get?” I asked. “An agent?”

  “No. Owner of a local concrete company. Sounds like a political hit, actually. The guy had just been indicted along with a town councilman on some bribery charges or some shit. They wanted to shut him up.”

  “That’s one way to do it,” I said. “How do you know it’s Mount?”

  “Same M.O.”

  “Single shot, from a distance?”

  “Exactly,” Davis said. “I already checked with Polestar and they couldn’t find anything on the concrete guy. He’s not an agent. Polestar had never heard of him. So Mount’s not just killing agents. He’s still doing jobs for hire.”

  “Chamberlain proved that, didn’t he?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I guess. Always nice to have more examples though.”

  “Not too nice for the concrete guy,” I said.

  “How’d it go hanging out at tree hugger paradise?”

  “Unproductive there. But I got a visit in the middle of the night from a guy who worked with Chamberlain. Said he and Chamberlain had been looking for me for weeks. Apparently they thought that I had some information or special skill or something that would help restrain this environmental bill before Congress. I’ve got no idea what they’re talking about though. So now I’ve got to figure out why Chamberlain thought I could help.”

  “Anything to go on?” Davis asked.

  “Just the note. The guy I talked to last night, Tanner, he’s going to ask around today to see if he can find out who gave my information to Chamberlain. We’re hoping maybe he mentioned it to someone, but I’m not expecting anything. I don’t think too much time passed between when he got the information and when they dry gulched him.”

  “You should check with his girlfriend. She’d probably know.”

  I almost choked on my egg. I began coughing and had to drink half a glass of water to keep from dying. “Girlfriend? I didn’t even know he had a girlfriend. No one said anything about a girlfriend.”

  “I’m speculating,” Davis said. “The people I’ve talked to maintain that he’s too focused on the environmental stuff to worry about a girlfriend, but that’s almost never the case. Yesterday I tracked down the two guys who found Chamberlain. It was like talking to a wall for the most part. Neither of them could form a complete sentence half the time. I met them over lunch, and one of the guys kept asking if I was going to finish my sandwich. I got so tired of him asking I just gave him the damn thing. We’re talking about what they saw, and I’m hoping they saw Mount and could give me a description, or maybe saw his car or something. We’re going back and forth for half an hour or so, I’m asking them, ‘Did you see who did it? Did you see anyone suspicious? Any fresh footprints?’ Basic stuff, you know. They keep saying, no, no, nothing. One of the guys says, ‘We didn’t take anything from his wallet. It was empty when we found it.’ And then the other chimes in, ‘Those tree huggers don’t have no use for money anyway.’ But whatever, I’m not there to interrogate them about stealing from a dead guy. So I get nothing from them except a lot of ‘I don’t know’ and the occasional ‘I can’t remember.’ I thank them for meeting with me, stand up to leave, and I see one of them whisper to the other. I almost let it go. My first thought was that they were making some joke about stealing from Chamberlain, or about my earnestness. I actually walked away a few steps, but then I thought about leaving no stone unturned, so I went back, and asked the guy what he said. He wouldn�
�t tell me at first, but finally the other guy says, ‘Calm down. He’s just asking whether we should tell you about the car that passed us.’ I wanted to strangle them. I asked them why they didn’t lead with that information, and they just shrugged their shoulders.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “Most people have zero ability to decipher useful information from worthless bullshit. It’s been my experience that the smarter the person, the worse the witness. Usually the dummies don’t let their thoughts get in the way and are able to just relay what they saw because they’re so caught up in the moment. Congratulations on finding two guys so dumb they can’t even figure out if they should talk about what they saw!”

  “They were horrible. I wanted to punch them both in the face by the time I left.” Davis held his left hand in front of his chest and punched the palm of it with his right hand. A spritz of butter flew into the air, but he didn’t notice. “Anyway, I told them they needed to tell me about the car. So he tells me the make and model, Ford Mustang, probably 2014, but maybe 2013. As if I can tell the fucking difference. Red, no striping, and the right rear tire had no white lettering on it, but the right front did have lettering.”

  “Golly fuck, all of the sudden they’re Rainman and know every detail.”

  “Cars, man. The dude liked cars. He was into them. So not only does he tell me all of that, he says, ‘I memorized the license plate, too.’ Now I’m really impressed because this guy has such attention to detail, and seems absolutely sure of everything he’s telling me. I get out my phone to record the license plate number so there’s no doubt about it later. I’m expecting him to rattle off some letters and numbers and he says, ‘Jam, the number four, ever.’ A fucking personalized plate. Jam four ever.”

  “Oh dear God,” I said. “I wish people knew how truly ridiculous they look with vanity license plates. They might as well wear a sign that says, ‘There’s absolutely nothing interesting about me, so let me try to be witty on my license plate.’ It’s so sad. I actually feel bad for those people.”

  “Fuck ‘em,” Davis said. “I’ve got neither the time nor the inclination to give two shits about those fuckwads.”

  “What did you find out about the car?”

  “I did some checking and the car is registered to Jake Flume. Not Jacob Flume. Jake. Just plain Jake.”

  “How does that translate into Chamberlain having a girlfriend?”

  “Because our friend the idiot also happen to see that a woman was driving the car. A real knockout, he thinks. He couldn’t tell because she drove fast and he was trying to hide. But he said she looked good in the car. And Jake Flume just happens to have a wife named Cleo.”

  “Cleo?” I asked. “Are you sure that’s not his dog?”

  Davis laughed, and said, “No, it’s his wife. And the interesting thing about Jake and Cleo Flume is that last year Jake filed for divorce, but then six weeks later withdrew the petition. So they’re still married, but they obviously had some hard times.”

  “Why isn’t this woman a suspect in the murder?” I asked.

  “Because I’m the first person the two men have told. When the cops questioned them they conveniently left that part out. They didn’t want to have to talk them to for any longer than necessary.”

  “Yeah, probably because they had their pockets filled with Chamberlain’s belongings,” I said.

  “I think that’s right. Anyway, I’ve got Cleo’s address. It took me all damn day yesterday, but I finally got it. I was going to pay her a visit this morning. You can come along if you’d like.”

  “I need to talk to her,” I said. “But do you mind if I go alone? If she was having an affair with Chamberlain and you show up, she might think that she’s being busted. You’re buddies with Jake or something. Let me know what you want to ask her and I’ll take care of it. I can record the conversation if you’d like. I just want first crack at her. I’m afraid she’ll clam up if she’s scared, and I’m more likely to put her at ease.”

  Davis looked at me and shook his head. I could tell he didn’t want to let me take the lead on this, but he also knew I was right. A woman is much more likely to confess an affair to another woman than to another man. If I got her to confess the affair and she was worried about it becoming public, then she might be tremendously useful to both Davis and me. “All right, you can have her. But if you blow this, you have to explain it to Polestar. They’re antsy about finding Mount, and if Cleo knows something and we don’t get it from her because you start snooping around, trying to save your own ass, they’re not going to be happy, and I don’t want to take the fall for it. You break it, you buy it.”

  “Deal,” I said. “I accept full responsibility on this.” In almost every social and professional situation, most people are so used to others deflecting responsibility when something goes wrong, that I’ve found that simply taking responsibility for a failure will get people on your side. It’s so unusual, and so self-deprecating that most people can’t help but forgive whatever you’ve screwed up.

  We talked for another half hour as Davis explained what he wanted from Cleo, and how I might phrase the questions. We discussed what he knew about Mount, which wasn’t much more than he’d already told me, and how much we should tell Cleo about our investigation into Chamberlain.

  Before I left Davis we made plans to meet in the hotel lobby at nine o’clock that night to exchange information. I hoped to have plenty to share with him. His revelation of Cleo’s existence might provide the opening I needed.

  27

  Chapter 27

  I left the hotel and drove to the Roost, which took me an hour away in the exact opposite direction from Cleo Flume’s house, but I wanted to check in with Polestar. For some reason Davis hadn’t asked Polestar for information on Cleo. I preferred to go into a meeting with a stranger with some information, if possible. Polestar’s lack of information about a particular person didn’t mean that that person wasn’t a criminal, but just knowing that they hadn’t been previously involved with The Summit meant that they weren’t among the worst of the worst.

  The apartment that served as the Roost was almost a mirror image of the Roost in Chicago, down to the roses on the end table. It was as if The Summit had decided to employ the model set by McDonald’s where a restaurant in the northeast can look exactly the same as a restaurant two thousand miles away in the west.

  The conversation with Polestar was quick. I identified myself, gave my location, and the agent on the other end of the line began asking me questions. Every time I made contact with Polestar I intended to glean information from them, but they always ended up getting just as much, if not more, information from me. I told them about my conversation with Tanner, and the meetings I’d had with Davis, and my plan to meet Cleo. When they returned no record of Cleo, the agent told me to pay particular attention to where she wanted to direct the conversation, on the assumption that she’d try to get away from the issues that she didn’t want to discuss, which probably meant they were the issues most in need of discussion. Basic, first-year recruit advice, but Polestar knew that agents sometimes forgot elemental lessons that could save their lives.

  I hung up the phone and exited the building, making sure the large, black steel door closed behind me. I hadn’t spent much time in the Fresno, Bakersfield, Tulare County area, so when I left the building and walked two blocks in the wrong direction, away from my car, instead of toward my car, I blamed it on my unfamiliarity with the area. Never mind that most people can remember if they approached a building from the right or the left in even the most unfamiliar locales. I found it easier to accept that geographic novelty, and not a basic lack of paying attention, was responsible for my wrong turn.

  When I realized my mistake I stopped, turned around, and simply walked in the opposite direction. My preoccupation with finding my car, and rationalizing such a basic error in my own head, caused me to ignore the man in the alcove of a store a hundred feet in front of me. Not only did I not see the man,
but I didn’t notice that while standing in the alcove he perused the display window of an out-of-business store. Had my mind not wandered, I might have noticed the oddity of a grown man’s interest in a bottom-half mannequin that still wore a red pencil skirt that hadn’t been in fashion in more than a decade, and appeared to be covered with a quarter-inch of dust.

  And if I hadn’t noticed that man, then perhaps I would have noticed the other man, rotund, with a dark mustache, and wearing a newsboy cap at least two sizes too small for his gigantic head. But I didn’t notice either man until, in an act of perfect timing and opportunity, Newsboy approached me just as I reached the alcove, and shoved me with two hands into the alcove where Pencil Skirt caught me, and wrapped his giant arms around my body. Had I screamed right away I might have attracted the attention of a passing stranger, but instead I chose to fight, and as Pencil Skirt squeezed, I jerked my head back and butted him in the eye. I could hear his socket crack, and he cried out in agony. He had the presence of mind to pull me deeper into the alcove though, and as I kicked my legs in an effort to find my footing, and every possible offensive maneuver raced through my mind to see what was possible, he let go of me with one arm, and punched through the glass door. Through shear luck the door had no alarm, and Pencil Skirt reached in, unlocked the door, and dragged me into the deserted building. Newsboy stood at the entrance to the alcove and looked up and down the street to make sure no one saw what they were doing. As Pencil Skirt dragged me deeper into the store I wished someone had heard the commotion, both so they might save me, but also because I wanted to see how Newsboy would explain away my kidnapping to anyone who confronted him.

  No one heard anything though, and Pencil Skirt dragged me as I kicked the ground with my legs, and finally began screaming. I didn’t screech, but rather cursed at him, threatened him, and tried to convince him that he had the wrong person, all at the same time. He ignored me, and kept dragging me. Newsboy, who by then had followed us into the building, and who, on the way into the building, performed the peculiar action of taking the time to close a door whose window pane had been completely shattered, followed behind us, imploring me to keep quiet, and then resorting to threats.