by Thomas King
Beth stood and stretched her legs. “Let me know when you two are done with the home-furnishing segment.”
“Can I move him a bit?”
“Be my guest.” Beth stepped back from the body. “You know what suspicious deaths and natural deaths have in common?”
Thumps knew the answer to that one. “They’re both dead?”
Hockney patted Thumps on the shoulder. “See, you still got all the right moves.”
Beth pulled off her gloves and opened her notebook. “The bodies normally don’t get up and move around after they die.”
Duke bent over the body for a closer look. “You got a time of death?”
“Don’t you want to know how he died?”
“I know he didn’t die in that chair.” It wasn’t a question, and Hockney didn’t expect an answer.
Beth held up an evidence bag. Inside was a wallet. “James Lester.”
“Lester?” Thumps turned to Duke, but he could see that this was not a surprise.
Duke flipped open his book. “James Lester. California licence. Sacramento address.”
“The same James Lester who was passed out drunk at the airport?”
“So it would appear.” Hockney shook the bag. “You two find any car keys?”
“No car keys.”
“Remarkable.” Duke turned to Thumps. “Don’t you find that remarkable?”
“Happens all the time,” said Thumps.
Duke put on a glove and fished the pistol out of the bag. “Smith & Wesson, internal hammer, .22 magnum.”
“Kind of cute,” said Beth. “For a gun.”
“Holds seven rounds.” Hockney cracked the cylinder. “Three rounds fired.”
Thumps wondered if the stove he wanted came with a removable grill or if he would have to buy it separate. Next time he stopped by Chinook Appliances, he would ask Danielle about that.
The sheriff dropped the gun into the evidence bag and handed it back to Beth. “So, DreadfulWater, what do you think?”
“I’m a photographer.”
“I do so love wasting my time watching grown men work.” Beth resealed the bag and turned to Thumps. “Two o’clock today,” she said. “My office.”
“I don’t need a physical.”
“Don’t be late.”
ELEANOR DIDN’T CHEER up, even after Duke and Thumps loaded Lester’s body into the back of Beth’s station wagon. “Can I clean the room now? The day ain’t getting any younger.”
“Room’s a crime scene, Eleanor.”
“How the hell do you arrest someone for shooting themselves?”
“Don’t suppose you heard a gunshot.”
“What the hell kind of place do you think I run?”
Hockney hitched his pants. “I’m going to get some tape and seal the room. Then I’m going to send a couple of my deputies over here, and they’re going to process the place.”
“You mean make a bigger mess,” said Eleanor.
“And when we’re all done, you can have the room back.”
“You got two hours,” said Eleanor. “After that, I start vacuuming.”
The sheriff shook his head. “Eleanor, my deputies find you in that room with your vacuum and you’ll wind up in my motel. We clear on that?”
Eleanor stormed back to the office, kicking up sparks as she went. Duke leaned against a post and leisurely scratched his back.
“You know that woman used to be a nurse.”
“Maybe she’d like to be acting sheriff.”
“Let’s take a walk,” said Duke. “Enjoy the spring air.”
The sheriff walked to one end of the parking lot and then he walked to the other.
“How’s your math?”
“One bullet in Lester,” said Thumps. “Two bullets missing.”
“Maybe he tried to kill himself,” said Hockney, “but missed the first two times.”
“We looking for a green Jeep?”
“We are.” Hockney took off his hat and rubbed his head. “You see one?”
“Nope.”
“How’s that Volvo of yours doing?”
“It’s doing fine.”
“Maybe you should forget about that stove and start thinking about another car.”
“I don’t need another car.”
Duke opened the door of his cruiser and slid behind the wheel. “And seeing as you’re in the market for a new ride, I know just the place.”
Five
Chivington Motors was a sprawling acreage of used cars and trucks on the western edge of Chinook. Norm Chivington liked to boast that his business was the largest used car lot in the state. Not that the claim mattered to anyone except Chivington.
“You ever buy a car from Norm?”
“Nope.”
“I did,” said Hockney. “This is going to be fun.”
“This about that Buick you got for Macy?”
“It is.”
“The one with the cracked engine block?”
Hockney hummed a few bars of something bright and bouncy. “You got any ideas as to how our Mr. Lester wound up dead in his motel room?”
Tatum had arrived after eleven. Maybe he had a checked bag, maybe he didn’t. Ten minutes at the car rental desk, another ten to stroll to the parking lot. Half hour maximum. He discovered Lester in the green Jeep that Lester had rented and reported the problem to Orem. Orem called Norm Chivington, who came to the airport, roused Lester from his drunken stupor, and drove him back to the motel.
“Lester was dead before Tatum’s flight landed.”
“Yes, he was,” said Duke.
So what Chivington would have found was a dead body. Even if rigor hadn’t set in, there would be no mistaking a dead guy for a drunk.
“And Norm didn’t call you.”
“No,” said Duke, “he didn’t.”
“You got it solved yet?”
“Nope. But I’m pleased as peaches that Norm is involved.”
FROM A DISTANCE, the car lot looked impressive. Thumps had to give Norm full marks for curb appeal. Chivington Motors was a glass-and-aluminum prefab showroom and sales centre set on a slight rise overlooking a regimented field of cars and trucks, their windshields decorated with exhortations, low-mileage stickers, and clearance prices. Off to one side, Norm had set up a long, white tent to protect the more expensive vehicles from the sun and from the hailstorms that could hit the prairies any time of the year.
Thumps had almost forgotten about Andy Hooper, but as the sheriff pulled into a parking space in front of the sales centre, there Hooper was, grinning as though he had just spotted his two best friends in the world.
“Sheriff!”
“Hello, Andy.”
Andy Hooper was one of those tall, lean, young men you see in catalogues, posing in underwear and swimsuits. He had been a football star in high school. He had been prom king. He had been voted most likely to succeed.
“And Thumps.” Andy grabbed Thumps’s hand and gave it a good pumping. “How the hell you been?”
Hockney tried to approximate a smile. “Your CEO around?”
“What?”
The only thing missing from Andy’s arsenal was a brain. Which, in some ways, was just as well. So far as Thumps could tell, Andy hadn’t yet figured out that high school was probably as good as it was going to get.
“Norm?” said the sheriff.
“Hell, Duke,” said Andy, holding on to his grin, “anything Norm can sell you, I can sell you. Keep it in the family. If you know what I mean.”
“Afraid this is official business.”
The smile remained fixed on Andy’s face, but it had lost much of its sparkle. “Norm do something wrong?”
“Suppose I’ll have to talk to him first.”
“Got some primo units,” said Andy. “No charge for looking.”
“You know,” said Hockney, “now that you mention it, Thumps here has been talking about getting another car.”
Andy brightened again. “Nothing like
a new car to put zip in your life.”
“So, while I’m talking to Norm,” said the sheriff, “maybe you can show him around.”
“You bet.”
“You might want to start with a Jeep,” said Hockney. “Thumps has always struck me as a Jeep guy.”
The late model cars were under the big tent, every one of them polished and sparkling. Thumps thought about his Volvo and tried to remember the last time he had cleaned the vehicle.
“A lot of people buy private,” said Andy. “Craigslist, AutoTrader, classifieds. But that’s always a mistake. I had a guy come in who had sold his car for cash to some stranger. Guess what happened?”
Thumps ran a hand along the hood of a late model Ford Mustang. He could feel the soft wax of the finish.
“The clown who bought the car didn’t bother to transfer title or take out insurance. A few days later, he hit a delivery van and totalled the car. Guess whose insurance had to pay for the damage?”
There were four Jeeps under the tent and not a green one in the bunch.
“A woman I know bought a used car off the bulletin board at a supermarket. Turned out to have been stolen.” Andy stopped and shook his head sadly. “You got to do these things right. Work with a professional.”
“These are all the Jeeps?”
“Low mileage, fully loaded,” said Andy. “Which one you want to take for a test drive?”
“I was thinking green.”
“Green?”
Thumps held his face in check. “Yeah,” he said, “green’s a traditional Native colour.”
“No shit.” Andy wrapped his arm around Thumps’s shoulder and hurried him back toward the showroom. “Then today is your lucky day.”
THE GREEN JEEP was sitting in one of the mechanic bays, all shiny and wet.
“This little beauty is a steal,” said Andy. “Hey, you’re Cherokee, right?”
Thumps nodded.
“Jeep Grand Cherokee.” Andy tried a wink that was more twitch. “That’s got to be an omen.”
“Somebody washed it.”
“No charge for that.” Andy tried to open the door.
“Locked?”
“Let me get the key.” Andy hustled off toward the showroom. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Thumps walked around the Jeep and tried the rest of the doors. Of course, this might not be the green Jeep that Lester had rented. This might be a green Jeep fresh off a three-year lease, looking for a good home. Thumps tried to imagine himself behind the wheel. It was a Cherokee after all, and maybe Andy was right. Maybe it was an omen. Four-wheel drive would be handy in the winter, and the Volvo wasn’t getting any younger.
Then again, neither was he.
“So what do you think?” Andy was back on the run with a large ring of keys. “You name the price, and I’ll work with you.”
“What’s the mileage?”
“I’m on your side.” Andy began trying out the keys. “If I don’t make the sale, I don’t get the commission.”
Thumps was mildly fascinated watching Andy work his way through the keys, and he didn’t hear Hockney until the sheriff was standing at his side.
“Hey, sheriff,” said Andy. “Can you picture Thumps behind the wheel of a great car like this?”
Hockney had two cups of coffee. He handed one to Thumps. “Norm’s got one of those fancy one-cup brewing machines in the showroom. You ought to see the different kinds of coffee the damn thing will make. I got you a Pumpkin Spice Latte.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Got you a bottle of water too. Just in case.”
“I’ll take the water.”
“Customers are crazy about that machine,” said Andy, as he began to run through the keys a second time.
Hockney set his cup on a tall metal tool box. “Looks like you’re having a little trouble.”
“Not to worry,” said Andy, picking up speed, “key’s right here.”
But it wasn’t. Thumps and Hockney stood by the side of the Jeep and watched Andy work his way through the keys a third time.
“You know what,” said Andy, “I’ll bet Norm has the keys.”
Hockney nodded. “And Norm seems to have disappeared.”
“Must have gone to lunch,” said Andy. “He probably took the keys with him.”
“Now that’s awkward,” said Hockney. “Can’t sell a car without the key.”
“He brought it in early this morning,” said Andy. “Must have forgotten to leave the keys on the board.”
Hockney turned to Thumps. “Just how keen are you on this particular vehicle?”
“Very,” said Thumps.
“Hey,” said Andy, “I’ll bet you got a slim jim in your car. Am I right?”
Hockney smiled. “So long as Norm won’t mind.”
“Hell, no,” said Andy. “Norm’s motto is ‘Anything for a sale.’”
It took the sheriff less than thirty seconds to open the Jeep. The rental agreement with Lester’s name on it was in the glove box.
“Can make you a great deal.” Andy rocked back and forth on his heels. “I’m in a crazy dealing mood today.”
THUMPS GOT THE crime-scene kit from the cruiser while the sheriff called his office to arrange for a tow truck to take the Jeep to the police impound lot.
“You smell that?” Hockney wrinkled his nose. “You normally use ammonia to clean the cars?”
Andy had lost his good spirits. “How the hell should I know?” he said. “I sell the cars. I don’t clean them.”
“Ammonia destroys blood evidence,” said the sheriff. “You’d know that, wouldn’t you?”
“Blood? What blood?”
Hockney stuck a crime-scene seal on each door and handed his former deputy a business card. “Tow truck’s on its way. Norm’s not answering his cell, so when you see him, tell him to call me.”
“Not my job,” said Andy. “Tell him yourself.”
Hockney turned to Thumps. “Then I guess we’ll have to take old Andy here down to the office and get a signed statement from him.”
Andy shoved his hands into his pockets. “Okay, I’ll tell him.”
“Don’t want to put you out.”
“I said I’ll tell him.”
“And while we’re being all co-operative,” said Duke, taking out his notebook, “what time did you get to the airport last night?”
“Airport?”
“You were there checking on Norm’s rental cars.”
“Sure, it’s part of the job.”
“Eight o’clock,” said the sheriff, “nine o’clock, quarter to ten?”
“What the hell difference does it make?”
“Now think hard,” said Hockney.
“Nine, nine-thirty. Something like that.”
“And was this particular green Jeep at the airport at that time?”
“Wasn’t there.” Andy tapped the side of his head. “If it had been there, I would have noticed it.”
Duke gave Andy a quick smile. “On behalf of the city of Chinook,” he said, “I want to thank you for your assistance.”
“Norm’s not going to like this,” said Andy, “you taking his car and all.”
“Yeah,” said the sheriff, “I know.”
AS THEY WALKED back to the patrol car, Thumps noticed that the sheriff had acquired a noticeable spring to his step.
“You forgot your Pumpkin Spice Latte.”
Duke shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”
“You know,” said Thumps, trying to sound concerned. “You may have to arrest Norm.”
“God,” said Hockney, “some days I just love this job.”
Six
Hockney dropped Thumps off in front of the Aegean. “I’m betting that one of Andy’s old uniforms will fit you.”
Thumps shook his head.
“Don’t be like that,” said Duke. “Think about Macy. She’s not going to be pleased that you won’t play acting sheriff for a lousy week.”
“Macy’s your w
ife,” said Thumps. “She’s your problem.”
“Woman takes her vacations seriously,” said the sheriff. “You know what I mean?”
“I’m not the man you want.”
“That’s true,” said Duke, “but you’re the man I’ve got.”
THE AEGEAN WAS Chinook’s only authentic bookstore. It was located in the old Carnegie library, which Archie Kousoulas had rescued from the jaws of a Denver developer who wanted to tear the building down and put up condominiums.
The idea of heritage armageddon had sent Archie into a frenzy, and he rushed to city council with a counter-proposal. He’d buy the building for a nominal price, apply for federal funds to fix it up, and turn the Italian Renaissance structure with its columns, semicircular arches, and hemispherical dome into a high-end bookstore and community centre, thereby adding to the cultural life of the town and, at the same time, preserving a piece of the city’s history.
AS THUMPS WALKED into the old library, he tried to decide whether he would simply remind Archie, in a gentle and generous way, that personal information—such as health—should remain a private matter.
Or whether he would forgo the niceties and just wring the little Greek’s neck.
The lights in the store seemed unusually dim, as though the place had fallen on hard times and Kousoulas had been forced to cut back on the utilities.
“Thumps!” Archie was standing at a small display table next to a large poster. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”
“Have you been telling everyone that I’m sick?”
“You are sick,” said Archie. “We just don’t know what it is.”
“I’m not sick.”
“So what did Beth say?” Archie folded his arms and waited. “Did she take blood? Is it serious?”
Thumps rubbed his eyes. “For one thing,” he said, “Beth doesn’t jump to conclusions. For another, I don’t need a blood test.”
“You’re kidding,” said Archie. “You haven’t seen her yet?”
THE DENVER DEVELOPER got the council’s blessing. Most people would have given up at that point.
Not Archie.
He spent the next several months haunting city hall, annoying the mayor and council, badgering the planning department, and excoriating the heritage committee. He wrote the governor. He phoned every representative and senator in a four-state area. He called the National Register of Historic Places in Washington, D.C., and wrote letters to the editors of all the major newspapers in North America.