by Thomas King
“Daniel Takashi.”
“Oh, very good. Was that a guess or did you know?”
“It was a guess.”
Duke put a finger through one of the bullet holes. “Something tells me you’re not that good a guesser.”
“Sheriff, does it make any sense for Stick to keep the jacket of a man he is supposed to have killed?”
“Like I said, it’s an expensive jacket.”
Thumps was suddenly tired. He was going to have to call Claire and tell her that her son had been shot. For all he knew, Stick might already be dead. “That’s not the evidence Stick was talking about.”
“Now how would you know that?”
“Because he was surprised to see the jacket.”
Hockney motioned Thumps over to the Mustang. “You see anything else?”
The trunk of the car had the usual collection of junk—empty oil bottles, jumper cables, a tire iron, as well as the waders and the fishing pole—but nothing that had “clue” written on it.
“So, where’s his big evidence?”
“He said it was here.”
“And you believe him?” Duke motioned for his men to move the cars out of the alley. “I don’t mind loyalty. And I don’t even mind you snooping around. Who knows, you may find something we missed. But if you get in my way again . . .” He winked and opened the door of his car. “Well, you fill in the cliché.”
Thumps decided to take a run at it. “How did you know Stick was here?”
Duke let his face go blank. “Good police work.”
“That’s what we used to call anonymous tips, too.”
“What makes you think we got an anonymous tip?”
“Then you’re not going to arrest me?”
“Got enough bad guys already,” said the sheriff. “But I wouldn’t get too cheery. Andy says he’s going to sue you.”
The hospital looked bright with its lights on, almost festive, when Thumps pulled into the emergency entrance and parked his car in a stall that said Reserved MDs. He had called Claire from the house. There had been no time to sort out all the details. He simply told her that Stick had been injured and to meet him at the hospital. It would take her at least twenty minutes to get into town. By then, Thumps hoped he would have answers for the questions Claire was going to ask.
The first order of business was to find out if Stick was still alive.
The nurse at the desk wasn’t terribly helpful. “He was just admitted. I don’t have any other information.”
“He was shot.”
“Are you family?”
“Yes,” said Thumps, knowing that the only people who were going to get any information were family members. “I’m his father.”
People with children are generally willing to help other people with children. Evidently the nurse had several of her own because she got on the phone and within two minutes knew everything there was to know.
“He’s in surgery.”
“He’s alive?”
“Yes,” said the nurse. “Doctor Hoy is the surgeon.”
“Is he any good?”
“She’s excellent,” said the nurse. “The cafeteria is still open, if you’d like to get some coffee.”
“Maybe I’ll just wait.”
“He’ll be fine,” said the nurse, in a way that made Thumps sorry he had lied to her. “If I hear anything, I’ll send someone to find you.”
Anna had been a nurse. Thumps had met her one evening in the Mad River Hospital emergency room after a fight with a drunk had left him with a nasty knife wound on his shoulder. Anna had cleaned and dressed the wound, given him a tetanus shot, and told him to stay away from men with weapons. It was her quiet sense of humour that first attracted Thumps. And her green eyes.
Between the stitching and the needle, he found out that she was divorced with a daughter. The next day he went back to the hospital and asked her out. She said no.
“Can I call you next week?”
“It’s not a good idea.”
“I like the way you sew.”
They started seeing each other. Slowly at first. Sometimes just the two of them, sometimes with Callie. They never talked about getting married or living together. Anna wanted her space. Space for herself. Space for Callie. It wasn’t Thumps’ choice. And he understood that it wasn’t his decision to make.
He had been in San Diego at a forensics conference when their bodies were discovered on Clam Beach. Lying side by side in the sand. Officially they were number nine and number ten in the Obsidian Murders case. Thumps buried Anna and Callie. Then he resigned from the police force, packed his things, and headed north. Someplace away from the coast and the ocean and anything that reminded him of how miserably he had failed to protect the people he loved.
Somewhere on the road, between the numbing pain of losing everyone who mattered and suicide, he found Chinook.
The cafeteria was empty except for an old couple seated at a table by the coffee machine, staring at their hands. Thumps got a cup of coffee and a cup of green Jell-O and found a table at the far end of the room in the shadows.
The coffee was old and thick with that slightly burnt smell that coffee takes on when it’s been boiled too long. Thumps was fond of green Jell-O, but while the squares in the cup moved and looked like Jell-O, the resemblance ended there. How could someone screw up Jell-O? Hot water and a refrigerator. That’s all you needed. Thumps pushed the cup off to one side and went to work on the puzzle.
It had been a set-up. Someone had put Takashi’s jacket in Stick’s trunk and called the cops. The timing had been too good for anything else. No doubt Stick’s evidence had vanished at the same time. But how did the killer know Stick was going to be at Thumps’ house? Thumps doubted that anyone had been following Stick, which left only one possibility. Someone had watched his house. Someone had seen Stick arrive.
“They said I’d find you here.”
Even at this hour of the night, in the harsh fluorescent lights of the cafeteria, Virginia Traynor looked elegant.
“You mind if I join you?”
“Why not?” said Thumps. “You like Jell-O?”
“You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”
Thumps shrugged. “You like hospitals at night.”
“Are ex-policemen always so disingenuous?”
“Only when someone shoots at me.”
“What?” Either the woman was surprised, or she was very good. “You were shot?”
“No,” said Thumps. “Friend of mine.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Who are ‘they’?”
“What?”
“The people who told you where to find me.”
Traynor shook her head. “They said you might be at the hospital. The police, I mean. When I got to your house, there were several police officers there.”
Thumps frowned.
“You were going to show me some of your photographs, Remember?” Traynor looked at her coffee. “I was in town tonight and thought I’d stop by.”
Thumps waited.
“All right.” Traynor pushed her hair to one side. “And I wanted to find out if you had made any progress on who killed Takashi.”
“I thought you were only interested in ‘whyTakashi was murdered.’”
“It’s the same question, don’t you think?”
Thumps had to admit Traynor was right. Finding out why Takashi was killed would probably give them the killer in the same way that finding the killer would tell them why. The chicken and the egg. At this point, Thumps didn’t care which came first.
“The sheriff thinks he has the man who killed Takashi.”
“Your friend?”
“Stanley Merchant. Stick, to his friends. Nineteen. Passionate. A computer whiz. A general pain in the ass. Sound like a killer to you?”
Traynor smiled a sympathetic smile. “Sounds more like someone’s child.”
�
��Yeah,” said Thumps, “that, too.”
“You don’t think he did it?”
“I know he didn’t do it,” said Thumps. “What I don’t know is who did.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Why? You don’t know Stick.” It was a cheap shot, and Thumps was sorry he had taken it.
Traynor didn’t flinch. “Because I have a vested interest in finding out who did.”
“All right,” said Thumps. “Are you still at Shadow Ranch?”
“Yes,” said Traynor. “At least for the time being.”
“How about getting together tomorrow? Around noon.”
“Just me?”
“Might as well make it a foursome.”
“Elliot and George will be there.” Traynor stood up. “You know something you’re not telling.”
Thumps gave the Jell-O one last shake. “Don’t we all.”
Actually Thumps knew nothing. As he watched Traynor walk down the corridor, he reminded himself that everything he knew for sure dead-ended with Stick. What he needed to find out was what Stick had discovered that had seemed so important. And from the look of things, that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.
It took Claire just under half an hour to get the hospital. Thumps was waiting for her in the lobby.
“What happened?”
“Stick was shot.”
Claire looked at Thumps’ face, not wanting to ask the next question. “No, so far as I know, he’s not dead.”
“Who?”
“The police.”
Claire sat on the couch, her body stiff. “Were you there?”
Thumps had hoped Claire wouldn’t ask that question. “Stick was at my house when I got home.”
“You called the police?” There was rage in Claire’s voice now.
“No,” said Thumps quickly. “The police got an anonymous tip. Someone set him up.”
“Oh, God.”
“They found Takashi’s leather jacket in the trunk of his Mustang. Hockney is convinced that Stick killed both Takashi and Floyd.”
“Don’t let him die.” The rage was gone. There was nothing in Claire’s voice now but desperation.
Dr. Hoy was a slender woman with close-cropped hair. Thumps tried to read her body language as she came down the hall, but all it told him was that she was exhausted.
“Mr. and Mrs. Merchant?”
Thumps nodded and hoped that Claire was too distraught to notice. “How is he?”
“He’s in critical condition.”
He could feel Claire tighten against him.
“The bullet fragmented badly. It took us a while to remove all the pieces.”
“It hit bone?”
“No,” said the doctor, “just tissue damage.” But her mind seemed to be elsewhere.
Thumps tried to read her eyes. “But?”
“It was just odd,” said the doctor. “The amount of damage. The bullet breaking up like that.”
“Breaking up?”
“It split into several fragments.”
Thumps could feel the first stirrings of real anger. No, he thought, it’s not odd at all.
“When can I see him?” asked Claire.
“He’s in recovery. You have to understand that he’s sustained a tremendous amount of trauma.” The doctor stopped there and left the rest of the prognosis hanging.
Claire turned pale. “Is he in a coma?”
“We don’t know. His vital signs are good. He’s young. We’ll know more in forty-eight hours.”
“Isn’t that what they say on those television hospital shows?” said Thumps.
The doctor managed a tired smile. “Yes,” she said. “I guess they do.”
“Can I sit with him?”
Doctor Hoy nodded. “It can’t hurt. Come on. I’ll show you where he is.”
Claire turned back to Thumps. “I have to see him.”
“Go ahead,” he said. “I have some business to take care of.”
As soon as Claire and the doctor had disappeared, Thumps went back to the front desk. The same nurse was still there.
“How’s your son?”
“Not too good,” said Thumps.
“I’m so sorry.”
“There was a policeman who was injured. His ankle, I think. He’s a friend,” Thumps added quickly.
“Oh, yes,” said the nurse. “Officer Hopper. It was just a bad sprain. I’m afraid you’ve just missed him.”
Not for long, thought Thumps as he pushed his way through the double doors and headed to his car. Not for long.
NINETEEN
The lights were still on at the sheriff’s office. Andy Hopper was sitting in a chair with his bad leg elevated, wrapped with a Tensor bandage, and packed in ice. Hockney was behind his desk sorting through files.
“Well, if it isn’t the big chief,” said Andy, grinning that nasty grin he had. “Hope you can afford a good lawyer.”
Grin away, thought Thumps, as he crossed the room without breaking stride and kicked the chair out from under the deputy. It was Andy’s lucky day. His face kept his brain from hitting the floor.
“Jesus!” Duke was out of his seat, but Thumps knew the sheriff was too slow to stop him. Andy wasn’t. Thumps had surprised him, but the deputy recovered quickly, rolled over on his side, and went for his gun. Which was what Thumps was hoping he would do. Andy got the revolver clear of the holster just as Thumps stomped down on his hand. Thumps didn’t enjoy inflicting pain any more than he enjoyed receiving it, but in Hopper’s case, he was willing to make an exception.
“Goddammit, Thumps!” Duke was out from behind his desk now.
Thumps twisted the gun out of Andy’s hand and jammed the barrel under the deputy’s left ear.
“Whoa. Now hold on, Thumps,” said the sheriff. “You don’t want to do that.”
“Shoot the sonofabitch,” screamed Andy, whose hand was still pinned under Thumps’ foot.
“Shut up, Andy!” yelled Duke. “Now Thumps, let’s put the gun down.”
Thumps cocked the hammer. “Sheriff, I need a little clarification. If I were to shoot your deputy with this gun, what kind of a hole do you think it would make?”
“Thumps, you’re not thinking straight.”
“What kind of a hole?”
“Shoot him!”
“Thumps, I know you’re upset, but it wasn’t Andy’s fault Stanley’s getting hurt like that.”
There was a telephone book on Andy’s desk. It wasn’t as thick as Thumps would have liked, but it would have to do. “Throw it on the floor!”
“What?”
“The phone book. Throw it on the floor!”
“Come on, Thumps, this is getting way out of hand.”
“What’s standard issue for your department, sheriff?”
“What?”
“Standard issue. Police standard issue.”
“Thirty-eight,” said Duke. “Look, I’m tossing the phone book on the floor. Okay? Let’s just all calm down and stop talking crazy.”
“Not guns,” shouted Thumps. “Bullets. What kind of bullets?”
“What?”
Thumps lowered the muzzle of the gun and fired a single shot into the phone book. “What kind of hole?”
The sheriff didn’t move for a moment. “You’re not going to shoot me, are you, Thumps?”
“No,” said Thumps, softly and he flipped the phone book over with his foot. “I’m not going to shoot anyone.”
The hole in the front of the phone book was small and neat. But the back of the phone book was gone, as if it had been blown away. Thumps cracked the cylinder and let the last bullet drop into his hand. He looked at it for a minute and tossed it to Duke. “This standard issue?”
The bullet had an X cut into its soft lead nose. A dumdum round. Around designed to kill, to expand on contact and tear a man apart.
Duke turned the bullet over in his hand
. “Sonofabitch.”
Thumps took his foot off Andy’s hand.
The deputy struggled to his feet. “It’s a setup,” he shouted. “I don’t use dumdums.”
Duke glared at Andy. “Who said anything about dumdums?”
“You hope I got a good lawyer?” Thumps set his feet in case Andy wanted to try for round two. “That boy dies and you’ll be chin-deep in lawyers.”
“Screw you!” Andy was rubbing his hand and trying to balance on one foot all at the same time.
“Shut up, Andy!” The sheriff looked at the bullet in his hand. “You wouldn’t be threatening me, would you, Thumps?”
“Nope.”
“This could disappear.”
“I’ll take my chances,” said Thumps, and he tossed Andy’s gun to the sheriff.
“You know,” said Duke, “you’re not making many friends.”
“It’s okay,” said Thumps. “I have more than I need.”
Duke nodded and glanced at Andy. “What do you expect me to do about him?”
“He’s your dog,” said Thumps. “He’s not mine.”
Thumps didn’t get his heart rate back to normal until he got in his car. Charging into the sheriff’s office like that had been a singularly stupid thing to do. The sheriff could have shot him. Or Thumps might not have been as fast as he thought he was, in which case Andy would have shot him. Andy might still shoot him, once his ankle healed and his hand stopped hurting. But Thumps didn’t think so. Hopper was that special kind of bully who didn’t like to play with anyone his own size. He’d already had his chance at the house. He wasn’t going to try again. Not right away.
Thumps knew that he should have been arrested, at the very least. Threatening an officer. Assaulting an officer and causing bodily harm. Discharging a firearm in a reckless manner. Public mischief. Disturbing the peace. The choices were endless. But the sheriff wasn’t going to do that. He had been blindsided by his deputy, and he didn’t like it. If Thumps was any judge of character, Duke was probably more inclined to throw Andy in jail for impersonating an officer.