by Thomas King
Hockney opened the cylinder and dumped the cartridges on the glass top. They made a clicking sound like ball bearings running into each other.
“.22 long.”
“If you say so,” said Parrish. “We all had identical guns. Lester, Knight, me.”
“Sort of a dress code?”
“I guess,” said Parrish. “He also insisted that we have the same model cellphone and laptop. Man had control issues.”
“Lots of that going around.”
“Which reminds me,” said Parrish. “When can I get their effects?”
Hockney pushed himself out of the chair and went to the percolator.
“Because there may be sensitive material on their phones and the laptops.” Parrish’s tone had turned serious. “Wouldn’t do to have Orion’s proprietary material wandering off.”
“You staying in town?”
“Is this where you tell me not to leave?”
“Nope,” said the sheriff. “That only happens on television. Just want to know where to find you if I have any more questions.”
“The Tucker,” said Parrish. “I’m staying at the Tucker.”
Hockney poured himself a cup. “Not the Wagon Wheel?”
“Lester could be a cheap sonofabitch. I’m not.”
“What about it, DreadfulWater,” said the sheriff. “You kill someone to keep from staying at the Wagon Wheel?”
“Absolutely,” said Thumps.
“Yeah,” said the sheriff, putting the cup to his lips and inhaling the warmth. “Me too.”
Seventeen
When Parrish left the sheriff’s office, he did not take his coffee with him. Hockney rocked back and forth in his new chair and fiddled with several knobs.
“Thing’s got a lumbar support. Just haven’t found it yet.”
“Where’s your old chair?”
“In storage,” said the sheriff. “Along with my desk.”
“Did you know it’s National Dark Skies Week?”
Duke stopped playing with the knobs and stared at Thumps.
“No joke,” said Thumps. “According to Archie, we’re supposed to do what we can to reduce the amount of light we use.”
Hockney reached out and turned off his desk lamp. “So tell me about this Boomper guy.”
Thumps shrugged his shoulders and tried to breathe out the weariness. “Randall Boomper Austin. Boomper is some kind of family name. He’s rich, smart, and has a chauffeur/bodyguard named Cruz. Owns something called Austin Resource Capital.”
“And?”
“That’s it,” said Thumps. “Wants to hire me.”
“To do what?”
“Spy on you, I think.”
“Pay well?”
“Probably.”
“We’re in the wrong business,” said the sheriff. “You stop by Beth’s?”
“I did,” said Thumps.
“And?”
“Bits and pieces. Evidently, Knight wasn’t shot while she was on her feet. She was shot while she was lying on the ground.”
“People wind up on the ground for all sorts of reasons.”
“No trauma to the body.”
“Blood alcohol?”
“Not enough to be falling-down drunk.”
“That still leaves drugs.” The sheriff scratched at the side of his thick neck. “Beth say anything about our couple’s evening attire?”
Thumps smiled. “She said it’s difficult to walk on the prairies in heels.”
Duke eased himself out of the chair. “You want a cup?”
“No.”
“Don’t be a baby. It’s fresh.”
“Yesterday fresh or last week fresh?”
“When the pot’s empty, I refill it.” Hockney lumbered back to the chair. “Only time I put on a sports coat is when Macy and me go out to dinner.”
“You own a sports coat?”
“Macy generally puts on a dress and heels.”
“You think Lester and Knight were going out to dinner?”
Duke didn’t change his expression.
“And you’ve already checked the fancy restaurants.”
“Hell,” said Duke, “I’ve checked all the restaurants. No reservations anywhere for either Lester or Knight.”
“So Lester and Knight get dressed up and go out to the test site. Lester kills Knight and then drives back to the airport, where he shoots himself.”
Hockney squeezed his lips together. “Except that before he can pull the trigger, he’s already dead.”
“Okay, so Lester kills Knight, drives back to the airport, drops dead of a heart attack, is shot by a person or persons unknown, and is then driven back to his room at the Wagon Wheel, where he’s staged to look like a suicide.”
Hockney turned his head to one side. “And behind door number three?”
Thumps tried not to think about Beth’s large syringe. “Lester and Knight are killed by a person or persons unknown.”
“That’s about it,” said the sheriff. “And then the Jeep Lester had rented magically drives itself back to Chivington Motors.”
“You think Norm shot Lester?”
“Ah, yes, good old Norm.” Duke’s face softened. “Can’t wait to talk to him.”
Thumps glanced at the old percolator. Maybe a cup of the sheriff’s coffee wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Maybe it would help drive the fatigue away.
“I don’t suppose you have any cream or sugar?”
“What?”
“Cream,” said Thumps. “Sugar.”
“You sure as hell better not be thinking of putting cream and sugar in my coffee.”
“Just a little.”
“Christ,” said the sheriff. “Maybe Archie’s right. You are sick.”
Thumps could feel himself drifting off. Suddenly there was music. Soothing instrumentals that seemed to come out of nowhere. Bach. One of the Brandenburg Concertos.
“Sheriff’s office.”
Thumps opened his eyes.
“Yeah.” Duke had a cellphone to his ear. “Yeah . . . Great . . . On my way.”
Thumps took a moment to organize his thoughts. “You have a phone with a ring tone?”
Hockney stuffed the phone back into his pocket. “Nice to see you’re awake.”
“A Bach ring tone? What happened to good old ring-ring?”
“Brandenburg Concerto no. 3,” said the sheriff. “First movement. Part of the mayor’s brightening initiative.”
“I’m going home.”
“Actually,” said the sheriff, “going home will have to wait. I need your expertise.”
“I’m a photographer.”
“Then you’ll enjoy this.” Hockney fumbled with the knobs at the side of the chair. “Hey, would you look at that.”
“What?”
“The lumbar support,” said Duke with a big grin. “I found the lumbar support.”
Eighteen
A few years back, Thumps had contemplated teaching a photography course at Chinook Community College. He had never taught photography but had thought that it would be an interesting winter activity, an easy way to supplement his income when the weather kept him out of the field.
The woman at the continuing education office had been helpful. “You’ll need to submit a course proposal to the curriculum committee.” The package she gave him weighed about a pound.
“That’s a lot of forms.”
“When you fill in the book list, you might want to double-check to make sure all the books you need are in print.”
“I don’t think I’ll be using any books.”
“And you should be particularly precise in your course description,” the woman had said. “The description is all the students will see when they’re making a decision as to which classes to take.”
“Okay.”
“But the most important thing is the lesson plans.”
“Lesson plans?”
“The course is ten weeks,” the woman had told him. “The committee will want to
see your lesson plan for each of the ten weeks.”
Thumps had taken the course proposal package home, spread the forms out on the kitchen table, and began filling in the blanks. When he got to the section on lesson plans, he stopped. He knew the technical process of taking a photograph. And he knew how to print a negative. Digital remained a mystery, but he could probably bull his way through. Still, knowing how to do a thing was not the same as knowing how to teach it.
What are the goal(s) and objective(s) for Week One?
How will progress be measured?
What testing devices and strategies will be used?
Thumps had made himself a cup of coffee. Then he had made a sandwich. Then he had had a nap. Then he had watched television with Freeway on his lap.
Then he had slipped all the forms back into the folder and put everything in the hall closet.
THE COLLEGE WAS on the eastern edge of town. Hockney drove the ring road around the campus and pulled into a parking lot. Thumps stepped out of the cruiser. From here he could see the land fold and fall into the river. Under the high sun, the water was a curl of polished steel.
“Sterling Noseworthy wanted all of this land for a housing development,” said Hockney. “You remember that?”
“Before my time.”
“He was not happy when the city gave it to the college.” The sheriff took off his hat and wiped the inside of the brim. “Said we shouldn’t be using public money to destroy private enterprise.”
“Heck of a view for a parking lot.”
“That it is.” Duke put his hat on. “And to think, it could have been someone’s backyard.”
“Not mine.”
“No,” said the sheriff. “You can’t even afford a stove.”
The campus had grown since Thumps had stopped in to see about teaching the photography course. There were new buildings that looked more like expensive trailers than permanent structures.
“Portables,” said the sheriff, making the word sound like phlegm. “They look just like trailers, but they’re called ‘portables.’”
“What’s the difference?”
“Portables cost more.”
Duke headed to a portable with a Computer Services sign on the side of the building.
“We got a contract with the college,” said Hockney. “They do a lot of our technical stuff.”
The temperature outside was pleasantly warm, almost hot. Inside the portable, the temperature plunged.
“Yeah,” said the sheriff. “Feels like a meat locker. Evidently, they need it cold to keep the computer stuff from overheating.”
The portable was one large open room with a series of free-standing cubicles. Thumps could see the tops of people’s heads as they bent over their computers. The scene reminded him in no small measure of Fritz Lang’s 1927 dystopia, Metropolis.
“There’s our boy.”
It took Thumps a moment to recognize the young man sitting at the desk.
“I think you two know each other,” said the sheriff.
“Hello, Mr. DreadfulWater.”
The last time Thumps had seen Stanley Merchant, Claire’s only child had been a skinny, long-haired, angry adolescent in dirty jeans and cowboy boots.
“Stick?”
“Stanley, please.”
Now Stick’s hair was cut short and styled. And he was heavier. Not fat. Just more filled out. Thumps never thought he’d ever see the boy in a dress shirt and slacks.
“Stanley here is on loan to my office,” said Hockney. “He helps us with all the newfangled electronics stuff.”
“Mom said to say hello.”
Not that Stick was a boy any longer. How had that happened?
“Good to see you . . . Stanley.”
Stick smiled, all warm and charming. “You should come around more. Mom’s always talking about you.”
The lawyer from Missoula. That was it. All this friendly chit-chat was simply camouflage. Thumps knew that the old Stick was lurking somewhere in the shadows.
“I hear she’s got a new boyfriend.”
The smile on Stick’s face faded. “Thought you might want to do something about that,” he said. “Guess I was wrong.”
“Imagine your mother will make up her own mind.”
“So why the hell you here?”
“He’s with me,” said the sheriff. “Thumps is going to be acting sheriff for a week or so.”
“No, I’m not.”
“That should do wonders for the crime rate,” said Stick.
“So,” said the sheriff, “what do you have for us?”
The blue plastic container was sitting on a long table. Inside, Thumps could see two laptops and two cellphones all neatly sealed up in evidence bags. Stick arranged the bags on the table in pairs.
“Mr. Lester’s cellphone and laptop,” he said, touching each bag. “Dr. Knight’s cellphone and laptop. Where do you want to start?”
Thumps almost raised a hand. “Weren’t the laptops and phones password protected?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Thumps knew he had made a mistake.
“Duh,” said Stick. “Of course they’re password protected.”
“But old Stanley here knows how to get around such inconveniences,” said Duke. “Doesn’t he?”
Stick screwed his face into a friendly sneer. “Yes, he does.”
“And?”
“Lester used his laptop for email in and email out. No Facebook, no Twitter, no social networking whatsoever. Couple of games. Bunch of movies. Porn sites.” Stick put the laptop back in the blue container. “Used his cellphone for calling people. Man had no imagination.”
“And Knight?”
“Knight, on the other hand,” said Stick, “used her laptop for everything. Lot of scientific shit, social networking, games, music, all sorts of apps. Used her phone as a camera. Woman took a photograph of everything she saw.”
Hockney laid his large paw on Thumps’s shoulder. “You hear that?” said the sheriff. “Photographs. Now there’s something you understand.”
“I’ll make hard copies of all the correspondence and put the photos on a thumb drive,” said Stick. “Drop everything off first thing tomorrow.”
The sheriff put his hat on and set the brim at an angle. “Anything in the emails that you saw would give us a hint as to why they are dead?”
“Hell,” said Stick, grinning like a weasel with a fish in its mouth, “if you believe the emails, they killed each other.”
WHEN THEY GOT back to the car, Duke didn’t get in right away. He leaned against the roof of the cruiser and considered the land and the sky.
“You know, I never get tired of it.”
“What?”
“The land,” said the sheriff. “The sky. I know lots of people find it desolate and depressing ’cause it can make them feel small and insignificant, but it’s got a grandeur you don’t find in places like Los Angeles or Dallas or New York.”
“Or Sacramento?”
“Never been to Sacramento.”
“You could ask Parrish about the city. Maybe he could give you some geographical insight.”
“Ollie and me have already had a nice long talk.”
Thumps wasn’t going to ask. Asking was just going to encourage the sheriff.
“Don’t you want to know what we talked about?”
“Nope.”
“Not even a little bit curious?”
“Nope.”
“You know,” said Duke, “some people might think you don’t care.”
“I don’t.”
“But I know better.” Hockney shooed a bug away from his face. “Ollie flew in from Sacramento to Great Falls. Afternoon flight. Had to stay overnight in Great Falls. Comfort Inn on Ninth.”
“Comfort Inn doesn’t sound like our Ollie.”
“It does not,” said the sheriff. “You know Black Jack Kramer?”
“Chief of police in Great Falls?”
“The very same.” Hockney chuckled to
himself. “Most people think that Black Jack got his name because he likes to play cards or because he carries a sap.”
“But it’s not.”
“It’s the gum,” said Duke. “It’s the gum he likes to chew.”
“So Black Jack checked out Parrish’s story?”
“He did,” said Hockney. “And so far as Black Jack can tell, Mr. Parrish did indeed spend the night at the motel.”
Thumps remembered Black Jack gum from when he was a kid. Each stick was black and tasted like licorice. “It’s a little over three hours one way. He could have driven from Great Falls, killed Lester and Knight, and then driven back.”
“True,” said the sheriff, “but we still don’t know if we’re dealing with two homicides.”
“But you had Black Jack check on the car rental companies.”
“I did.” Duke sucked his cheeks in. “And nothing appears to have been rented in Ollie’s name.”
“Orion Technologies?”
“Nope.”
“And we know he caught the morning flight from Great Falls.”
“We do.”
“Al thinks Parrish did it.”
“Norm Chivington is my sentimental favourite,” said the sheriff.
“What about Knight?” Thumps opened the door and got into the passenger seat. “Find anything in her room?”
“Place was a mess,” said the sheriff. “Pizza boxes, soft drink cans, clothes all over the place. Should have seen the bathroom. Woman was a slob.”
“You find anything useful?”
“You mean why someone shot her?”
“That would be useful.”
“But you know what I didn’t find?” Hockney sat in the driver’s seat and waited.
“Her gun?”
“Bingo,” said the sheriff. “Wasn’t in her purse. Wasn’t in her room.”
“Lester had his gun.”
“Indeed, he did,” said Duke. “So where is Knight’s gun?”
“Maybe she left it in Sacramento.”
“Possible, but if carrying a weapon was protocol and seeing as she apparently liked guns, why would she leave hers at home?”
“The killer?”
“Seems reasonable.”
“But if Lester killed Knight, then he would have had her gun as well as his own.”
“You know, I could sit here all day and listen to your mind work.” The sheriff slipped the keys into the ignition. “So, what was all that about?”