Irrational Numbers

by Robert Spiller

  Lloyd reached across Bonnie and tapped Dobbs on the wrist. “I need to know something, Harold.” Lloyd made the request sound like a command and not a friendly one. “The killer came for a rifle, am I correct?”

  “Yes. I caught a fleeting glimpse of it.”

  “The M 24.”

  From what Dobbs said about contacting Byron, Bonnie was fairly sure they were the first to hear this story. Not good for Rattlesnake. I wouldn’t give a fig for his chances.

  Bonnie checked her Mickey Mouse watch. “It’s past three, Harold. What time did you go to Rattlesnake’s?”

  “Some time before ten.”

  Bonnie wanted to smack the man. Over five hours had elapsed and the police still hadn’t been notified about Rattlesnake’s abduction. She inhaled a long breath and held it in an effort to gain equilibrium.

  When she felt sufficiently calm, she asked, “Harold, why did you wait so long before telling anyone?”

  Red climbed from Dobbs’s neck into his face. He shut his eyes. His lips moved in a silent prayer. When he opened his eyes again, he said, “Please forgive me. This is proving harder than I thought.”

  He held Bonnie’s gaze for a long moment. “My vanity was my undoing. First, I convinced myself that Alf would emerge from this encounter relatively unscathed.”

  When Bonnie opened her mouth to disagree, Dobbs raised a silencing hand. “I know I deceived myself, but such was my self-deception and fear that I believed it. From there I reasoned that no purpose would be served if I was seen in a state of filth.”

  Bonnie could hold her tongue no longer. “Do you mean to tell me that you went home and changed?”

  For a fleeting moment, Pastor Harold T. Dobbs went rigid. Again his eyes grew hard and a dark storm raced over his features.

  The moment passed and in the next, the spiritual leader of the Saved by the Blood Pentecostal Tabernacle seemed to diminish. He nodded. “My shame goes further than that. By the time I’d reached home, I’d determined to tell no one of my visit to Alf Quinn’s. I even went so far as to change into my funeral coat to give the impression I planned to attend.”

  This final admission purchased a grudging respect from Bonnie. If our positions were reversed, could I have told this man the lousy things he’s confessing to me? “Then you heard about Jason.”

  Once more, the big man nodded. “I can’t even remember who called … someone from the funeral no doubt. Even then, I refused to believe I had an obligation to publicly embarrass myself. You see by then, I would have to explain why I didn’t immediately report the abduction.”

  “Didn’t you realize the rifle was more than likely used to shoot your own son?” Lloyd asked.

  From years in her principal’s company, Bonnie could tell Lloyd’s temper was on the rise. He had, no doubt, moved into a mental state where he had little use for the Reverend Harold T. Dobbs.

  Dobbs grimaced. “When a man is running from God, sometimes he’s afraid of his own mind lest he find his Savior there. And by then, I was running as fast as I could. Only later, after I encountered the two of you at the information desk, did I …” Dobbs shuddered and his face collapsed into a mask of sorrow.

  You poor schmuck.

  Bonnie reached into her fanny pack and pulled out her cell phone. She dialed Byron Hickman’s office. Her former student picked up on the second ring.

  “Youngster, there’s someone here you need to talk to.” She handed the phone to Dobbs.

  For the next few minutes the man looked positively cowed. As he related his tale to the deputy, Bonnie was struck once again that something was missing. Events simply could not have transpired the way Harold was delineating them. The fact that she couldn’t pin down the problem was driving her batty.

  “Deputy Hickman is coming here immediately. He’ll meet us in Jason’s room.” Dobbs handed the phone back to Bonnie, who snapped it shut. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to repeating my disgraceful story in front of my son.”

  “I don’t blame you.” Lloyd didn’t appear as if he was ready to cut Dobbs any slack. His face was tight with disapproval, all planes and angles. “You don’t come off looking so good in all this, pastor.”

  The remark and Lloyd’s stern appraisal obviously stung Harold. His cheeks colored. “I don’t deserve to.”

  Unlike Lloyd, Bonnie found herself surprised with how willing she was to forgive this man, who just twenty-four hours before was prepared to toss her from his office. Despite her misgivings about his tale of woe and shame, Bonnie definitely preferred this incarnation of Harold T. Dobbs over the preacher she’d grown to detest.

  Face it, Pinkwater. You’re a sucker for folks who are up to their armpits in the deeper caca.

  She was about to reach out and comfort Dobbs when the solution to her mental dilemma sprang fully formed in her mind. “How the hell did he get there?”

  Both Lloyd and Dobbs turned to stare at her.

  “Beg pardon?” Dobbs asked.

  “You say the man abducted Rattlesnake at gunpoint. And Rattlesnake’s employee said Alf’s truck was missing. A reasonable assumption is that both the abductor and Alf left in that truck.”

  Lloyd’s face registered understanding. “But how in God’s name did the kidnapper get to the shooting range in the first place? That range sits in the middle of nowhere, at least three miles off Highway 84.”

  “Byron needs to check out all the cars that were present when he and his deputies talked to that lone paintball employee.” Bonnie reached for her fanny pack and her cell phone. “For all we know, the abductor’s vehicle is still parked there and the lunatic will return for it.”

  Even as she said this last, Bonnie felt certain the sheriff’s department would come up empty-handed. If she were kidnapping someone at gunpoint, she certainly wouldn’t leave her own car behind at the scene of the crime. It would make more sense to force Alf into Alice and drive off in that.

  From the look on Lloyd’s face, he was having similar doubts.

  “This just isn’t playing out, boss.” Bonnie set her fanny pack on her lap, not sure what she could tell Byron if she called. “Certainly, you don’t kidnap someone and then take separate vehicles. And, like you, I don’t think the man walked the three miles from Highway 84.”

  Lloyd nodded. “No way. That would mean planning to depart Rattlesnake’s on foot carrying a sniper rifle. Besides, we can be reasonably sure two hours later our killer plans to be positioned on the roof of Memorial Hospital. Going for a stroll in the desert doesn’t figure into this scenario.”

  From the corner of her eye, Bonnie saw Harold Dobbs tentatively raise his hand. The act was so childlike, it brought a smile to her lips. “Yes, Harold?”

  “I probably should have told this to Deputy Hickman, but before the intruder showed, I heard the sound of a motorcycle.”

  CHAPTER 18

  HIS EYES HEAVILY LIDDED AND UNFOCUSED, JASON Dobbs slowly turned toward Harold, Bonnie, and Lloyd as they filed into the hospital room. A sliver of diagonal sunlight sliced across his pillow and chalky face, revealing a hint of a smile. The light gave the young man a beatific aura.

  A clear oxygen tube pinched at Jason’s nostrils like a translucent mustache, while an IV tube ran from the crook of his left arm up to a rotund plastic bag. Completing the young man’s connections to medical technology, a flesh-colored vise capped the index finger of his right hand. A similarly hued wire ran to an oscilloscope, which regularly blipped, displaying evidence that Jason Dobbs remained among the living. The entire upper left side of his body was swaddled in bandages.

  “Father.” Jason’s voice rasped as if every molecule of moisture had been surgically removed.

  Harold strode across the room and gently laid a hand on his son’s chest. “I’ve brought visitors.”

  Jason licked his lips. His eyes seemed to move independently, then hone in on Bonnie. “Missus Pinkwater.” The two words came out in a breathless rush.

  “How you doing, Jason?” Bonnie
felt in the throes of a pair of simultaneous and contradictory impulses. One part of her wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around this damaged young man. She grappled with an equally strong urge to run from the room rather than inflict on Jason the questions she needed to ask.

  “Pretty good.” He tilted his head to see past Bonnie. “Principal Whittaker, come on in.”

  Lloyd stepped around Bonnie and nodded. “Looks like you should have ducked, buddy.”

  A dry chuckle escaped Jason Dobbs’s lips. “No fair. I’m so doped up, I’ll giggle at anything.”

  Bonnie inwardly winced as the young man’s comment brought to mind her own callous suggestion that Jason would be easy prey because of painkillers. Serves you right, Pinkwater. A guilty conscience is the least price you should pay for being such a sphincter.

  As she was readying herself to speak, she heard Lloyd clear his throat. She turned her head just enough to catch his eye. His conspiratorial expression told her he hadn’t forgotten their agreement. He would play the inquisitor.

  Bless you, Lloyd Whittaker.

  “You gave us quite a scare there, hoss.” Lloyd took a step toward the bed. “You got any idea who might have wanted to take a potshot at you?”

  Jason looked puzzled by the question, his mouth open and his eyes darting from Lloyd to his father.

  “Give it some thought, my boy,” Harold said.

  Jason shook his head. “I’ve been doing nothing else since I woke up. I got no idea who’d want to kill me.”

  Lloyd placed a hand on Harold’s arm. “I need to ask some hard questions, Harold, and I want your permission to ask them.”

  An eternity passed before the preacher responded. “I think I know the nature of your questions, but my son has to be the one to decide.” He patted the boy’s hand.

  In that moment, Jason’s vision apparently cleared. He stared levelly at Lloyd. “I think I know, too, Principal Whittaker. Fire away.”

  “Fair enough. Remember that night in the grandstands, when we were talking about Leo Quinn?”

  A faint hint of pink crept into Jason’s pale cheeks. “I remember.”

  “You said you hadn’t seen Leo in quite a while. I think the implication was that it had been more than a year, maybe a couple of years.” Lloyd knitted his fingers behind his neck as though asking this leading question was making him ache.

  You’re doing great, boss. Keep it up.

  Jason Dobbs’s face went hard. “We might as well cut to the chase, Principal Whittaker. I lied.”

  Lloyd seemed taken aback by the sudden admission, but he quickly recovered. “I know.” He delivered this brief response as though he was giving absolution. “You saw Leo just two months before his death, didn’t you?”

  Jason nodded. “Since you know a lot about my comings and goings—and I believe I know how—you probably also know what Leo and I talked about.” The young man glanced nervously at his father.

  Harold Dobbs gave his son a reassuring smile. “The Lord abhors the darkness, my boy. Bring everything into the light and rest easy in the knowledge that I and Jesus will love you no matter what.”

  Nicely said, preacher. I hope this new Harold T. Dobbs sticks around for a while.

  Lloyd scratched at his craggy face, obviously trying to find a tactful way of completing Jason’s thought. “You told Leo that you’d made up your mind to follow in your father’s footsteps. That you and Leo were through.”

  Jason pursed his lips and turned toward the window. “Leo took it badly. Called me a coward and worse. Said I was denying who I really was, was living a lie. I tried to tell him I still loved him, but he wouldn’t listen. He insisted I take him back home.”

  “And that was the last time you saw him?”

  Jason Dobbs’s head made a slow pivot on the pillow as if he was reentering the world of the present. “What are you suggesting?”

  Lloyd, his brow furrowed and his hands clenching and unclenching, clearly wasn’t enjoying his role as inquisitor. “Leo Quinn’s body was found on a remote stretch of Squirrel Creek Road. Do you have any idea what he was doing out there?”

  Now Jason’s eyes bore straight into Lloyd’s. “No, Mister Whittaker, I have no idea whatsoever. I did not meet Leo again as his lover or his killer. Leo Quinn was the best friend I’ve ever had and probably the best I ever will have. I wanted nothing for him but his happiness, and you see how that turned out.”

  Lloyd shook his head. “Sad business, this.”

  “You have no idea, Mister Whittaker.”

  A rattle at the door made Bonnie start. She turned to see the unhappy countenance of Deputy Byron Hickman.

  Lloyd moved a three-year-old copy of Newsweek from the plastic seat next to Bonnie’s and sat. They had the hospital waiting room to themselves.

  Bonnie slapped Lloyd’s knee. “How are you holding up, big guy?”

  “I’ll live.” He stretched and, lacing his fingers in front of him, cracked his knuckles. “What do you think of Jason’s story?”

  Bonnie shrugged a your-guess-is-as-good-as-mine shrug. “It’s basically the same story we got from Seneca. And still, I don’t know what to think. If Jason was out there on Squirrel Creek Road, then what we got is one odd bundle of sticks.”

  Lloyd grunted and gazed unhappily toward the waiting room door. He obviously didn’t want to be cooling his heels in some hospital waiting room, but Byron had said he needed to speak with them after he was finished with Harold.

  Bonnie had to admit she felt the same as her friend and principal. It had been a long day, and she was anxious to get home and soak in a hot tub. “Let it go, Lloyd. Staring at the door won’t make Byron show up one minute quicker.”

  “It’s not just the waiting. I’m worried about Rattlesnake, Bon.” Lloyd shook his head, anger reappearing on his face. “Dobbs should have done something, dammit. The least of which was to report the kidnapping the minute it happened.”

  “I agree with you, boss, but be reasonable.” Bonnie shifted in her chair so she could force eye contact with Lloyd. “If Harold would have come barging out of that stall, he most likely would have been killed. I admit, the man didn’t acquit himself in an admirable fashion—”

  “You can say that again.”

  “If you insist. The man didn’t acquit himself admirably, but he made a clean breast of it, and I, for one, think we should forget Dobbs and concentrate on Rattlesnake. Now that Byron knows what we know, he’ll be on the lookout for Alf’s truck.”

  Lloyd’s knuckles were white as they gripped his knees. “Now it’s your turn to be reasonable. The shooter certainly didn’t bring Alf with him to the roof, and he damn well couldn’t let the man go. Not with what the killer was about to do.”

  Bonnie sighed, feeling Lloyd’s despair. There was no denying the logic of her principal’s argument. Still, a nagging voice impelled her to consider another possibility. “What if Rattlesnake wasn’t abducted?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that. What if everything Dobbs saw was staged.” Bonnie could feel a full head of steam building. “Stay with me. Remember Dobbs saying he couldn’t make out anything the intruder was saying and initially couldn’t even hear Rattlesnake? Why not?”

  Lloyd gave her a perplexed look. “Because they didn’t talk loud enough?”

  She slapped his arm. “Duh! But why did they talk quietly? Picture this. The intruder walks in. Rattlesnake signals to him that Dobbs is in the bathroom. They talk in hushed tones until Rattlesnake says, No more killing. By that time, both men have come to the conclusion that since Dobbs had failed to emerge, he had no intention of doing so. They intensify their conflict, even to the point of faking a pistol-whipping and firing a gun toward the tiny stall.”

  “That shot could have killed Harold.”

  It was Bonnie’s turn to give Lloyd a jaundiced stare. “These are men who have murdered at least once and plan to kill the son of the man in the bathroom. I think the welfare of one Pastor Harold T. Do
bbs wasn’t high on their list of priorities. Besides, I’ll bet the shot wasn’t as close as Harold makes it out to be.” Although it was close enough to make Harold wish he’d worn a diaper.

  “All right. All right. You’re saying Rattlesnake and our killer finish up by traipsing off together. So, where is Rattlesnake now?”

  Bonnie shrugged. “Where is the intruder now? Why couldn’t they be together?”

  Lloyd scratched at his stubble of beard. “Okay, what about the motorcycle that Dobbs heard?”

  Bonnie sat back in her chair. She’d been thinking of this angle ever since Harold had mentioned it. “I admit this one bothered me for a while. If the intruder rode in on a motorcycle, then he’d no more want to leave it behind than leave a car. There’s only one possibility. Somehow, the bike was loaded into the back of Rattlesnake’s truck.”

  Looking decidedly unconvinced, Lloyd pursed his lips. “I’m having trouble picturing the logistics of this one. Either Rattlesnake loaded the bike all by his lonesome, with our killer looking on …”

  “Which isn’t beyond the realm of possibility. Alf is a big man.”

  “Or they loaded the bike together. In which case—”

  Bonnie slapped Lloyd’s knee. “Now you’re getting it. In which case, they were probably working together.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  Bonnie shook her head, disappointed in her friend. “You know, there a fine line between playing devil’s advocate and just being contrary. Alf Quinn is six-foot-six, all marine muscle. Are you telling me our intruder sidles up—within arm’s reach of Alf—and makes himself vulnerable by lending a hand?”

  Lloyd reddened. “He could have kept one hand on the pistol and—”

  “Now we’re just talking silly, not to mention awkward.” Bonnie shook her head, definitely negating the last possibility. “If we accept Harold’s assumption that our intruder rode in on a motorcycle, then we have two cases. Either Alf was truly abducted at gunpoint …”