City of Sand

by Robert Kroese

  Glazier must have sensed his discomfort. “Strange how reality shifts right underneath your feet, isn’t it?” he asked. “Sometimes it happens suddenly, and other times the change is so gradual that you don’t realize it’s happening until one day you look around and you don’t recognize your own city.”

  “Sunnyview feels like a completely different place to me,” said Benjamin. “And I guess most of the change has been good—it’s busier, wealthier, more diverse—but somehow it feels less real to me. I feel like I’m walking around a Hollywood set. Does that make any sense?”

  “Welcome to the twenty-first century,” said Glazier. “Nothing has seemed real to me since the Moon landing. You know, it occurs to me that you may be interested in attending Glazier Semiconductor’s fiftieth anniversary celebration tomorrow night. They’re going to be doing a big presentation about the history of the company and Sunnyview, and if I’m not mistaken, Jessica helped put the presentation together.”

  “I’m not sure I’m in the right frame of mind for a party,” said Benjamin.

  “Understandable,” said Glazier. “I’m sure we can arrange for you to see the presentation another time. Supposedly they are putting it up on our website after tomorrow. In any case, I’ll add your name to the guest list in case you change your mind. Six p.m. at the social hall downtown.”

  “I appreciate it,” said Benjamin. “I’m sure the presentation will be fascinating. I remember when you and Dominick Spiegel were just starting out in that old body shop west of town. A lot has changed since then, with Glazier Semiconductor and Sunnyview.”

  “Indeed it has,” agreed Glazier.

  The remainder of the dinner was spent reminiscing about the Sunnyview of Benjamin’s childhood. Benjamin didn’t feel comfortable probing any more deeply into Glazier’s relationship with his daughter, and doubted he would provide any more information of value in any case. There was an old adage that a lawyer should never ask a witness a question he doesn’t know the answer to, and the adage often applied to cops as well. It was impossible to tell how much of what Glazier had told him was true, and Benjamin felt no desire to climb out onto an epistemic edifice of Glazier’s construction. What he needed was a foundation of verifiable facts, and he wasn’t going to get that from William Glazier.

  After dinner, Benjamin excused himself, and found himself being escorted back through the house by the housekeeper, Lucia. “Gracias,” he said as she opened the front door for him. Benjamin’s Spanish vocabulary was limited to about a dozen words, but he tried to conduct basic pleasantries with Mexican immigrants in their native language, as a show of respect. Or maybe it was just Benjamin’s white guilt expressing itself. In any case, Lucia seemed amused, if not impressed. “I hope dinner was okay,” she said. “Mr. Glazier didn’t give me much warning you were coming.”

  “It was excellent,” said Benjamin. “Muy bueno.”

  “Don’t hurt yourself,” Lucia said, with a wry smile.

  “I’m sorry,” Benjamin said. “I don’t speak much Spanish.”

  “No kidding,” said Lucia, in mock surprise. “I thought you just got off the bus from Tijuana.”

  “By way of Portland, yeah,” he said, grinning back at her. “Actually, I grew up here, and I always felt a little bad I never learned the language. Most of my father’s… the people who worked on my father’s farm spoke Spanish.”

  “Well, it’s not too late to learn,” she said. “usted es un hombre joven todavía.”

  It took Benjamin a moment, but he caught the meaning: you’re still a young man. In fact, he was at least twenty years older than Lucia, but he wasn’t about to correct her. “Gracias,” he said.

  “De nada,” she replied. “Goodnight, Mr. Stone.”

  “Goodnight.” Benjamin let the door close behind him and he walked to his car. He felt a fluttering in his chest that he hadn’t felt since long before Katherine died.

  Chapter Five

  In the dream, it was spring. Dazzling white and pink blossoms covered the trees that extended in endless rows. The view was the same any direction he looked; with the sun directly overhead, it was impossible to tell which direction was north. Benjamin wandered aimlessly through the trees for some time, but it felt like he was walking on a treadmill. He would occasionally stop, trying to get his bearings, but the way the trees were planted, it felt like anywhere Benjamin stood, he was at the epicenter of the orchard. He had no frame of reference, no way of knowing from whence he had come or where he was going.

  Then he noticed the boy. At first, just a dark flicker of movement, twenty or so trees away. It could have been a coyote or jackrabbit. But somehow he knew it wasn’t.

  Benjamin ran. The boy had come from somewhere, and he was going somewhere. If Benjamin could follow him, he might have a chance to escape the endless maze of trees.

  The boy was fast, but Benjamin was faster. The boy frequently changed directions, and Benjamin occasionally lost sight of him and had to stop until he caught sight of him again. Sometimes the boy seemed to reappear in impossible places, as if he’d blinked out of existence behind one tree and re-materialized behind another. Even so, Benjamin was slowly gaining on him. It was hard to tell what he looked like—he was young, maybe eight or nine, with straight, jet black hair and swarthy skin. And he ran like a deer.

  The boy showed no signs of tiring, and Benjamin was soon sweating and out of breath. It had been a long time since he had run like this. If the boy didn’t stop soon, Benjamin was going to lose him.

  Benjamin’s calves began to ache, his eyes stung, and his heart felt like it was going to explode, but still the boy ran, and still there was no sign of any variation in the endless sea of trees. Somehow Benjamin knew that if he lost the boy, he’d be stranded amongst the trees forever, a hopeless wanderer in an endless arboreal landscape. Anything—even collapsing from a heart attack—seemed preferable to that. So Benjamin ran.

  And then, suddenly but almost imperceptibly, something changed. The ground had dipped, and there was a break in the trees. Benjamin stopped, dizzily grabbing hold of a trunk to steady himself while he scanned the trees for the boy. Between gasps of air, he noticed something else new—the unnatural still of the orchard was broken by a constant, barely audible sound—the sound of flowing water.

  Letting go of the tree, Benjamin took several steps forward, finding himself in a long, irregular break in the orchard. He saw now that the incline grew more pronounced ahead, until it gave way to a near-vertical drop of several inches, terminating in a nearly-flat creek bed. Maybe six inches of water rushed along the bottom, gurgling and sputtering as it went.

  As Benjamin staggered toward the creek, he wiped his brow with his shirt sleeve, trying to find the dark-haired boy. But he was nowhere to be found. How could he have gotten away? Had he fallen into the creek? There was so little water in the creek, it would be nearly impossible to drown, but he could conceivably have fallen and hit his head on a rock.

  As if in response to his thoughts, something seemed to flutter in the water, and Benjamin ran to the edge of the creek to get a better look. It was hard to tell with the way the sunlight glittered on the creek’s surface, but Benjamin thought he saw a vaguely human shape under the water.

  Benjamin took a step forward, his shoe splashing into the water and sinking into the sandy muck at the bottom. Losing his balance, he pitched forward, landing on his hands and knees on the creek bed. Cold water swirled and bubbled around him, and his hands sank into the sand. If he tried to extract one hand, the other would sink deeper, and soon he was hopelessly mired. His shoes were completely enveloped and his knees were stuck as well. He was helpless to prevent himself from being pulled into the cold water. Still panting for breath, it wouldn’t take him long at all to drown. He took one final breath as he disappeared under the surface. So this is how you die in six inches of water, he thought.

  Benjamin awoke with a gasp, disoriented and surprised to find himself in the motel room. Sunlight was streaming thr
ough the cracks in the curtains, and everything seemed the same as it was yesterday when he awoke. For one hopeful moment, before memories settled into their proper places in his mind, he imagined that everything that had happened the previous day—the call from Detective Lentz, seeing his daughter’s body being moved into an ambulance, the press conference, the dinner with William Glazier—was all some horrible dream. But no, his daughter was really dead. It was the orchard that wasn’t real, not anymore. The trees had long ago been torn out to make way for stucco boxes crammed full of Sunnyview’s underclass.

  Benjamin got up, used the bathroom, showered, and got dressed. His headache was mostly gone, but he felt exhausted even though he had—according to the clock—slept almost ten hours. The dream of the orchard was fading, but he felt a tightness in his muscles as if he really had been running. In the shower he had found himself trying to wash imaginary mud off his hands.

  When he turned off the shower, he heard his phone ringing. He swiped a towel across his face and ran to pick up the phone. The display showed that it was Jessica’s number calling. He suppressed the kneejerk feeling of hopefulness that momentarily welled up inside him. Jessica is dead, he told himself. She isn’t calling you. She never even called you when she was alive.

  “Benjamin Stone,” said Benjamin.

  “Hey, are you the guy who called me?” asked a woman’s voice.

  “Yes,” said Benjamin. “Are you Valerie?”

  “Yeah. You’re really Jessica’s dad? Not a reporter?”

  “I’m Jessica’s father, yes. I was hoping to ask you some questions about Jessica.”

  “Ok,” said Valerie. “What do you want to know?”

  “Can we meet in person?” asked Benjamin.

  Long pause. “I guess. Right now?”

  “Sure, if that works for you.”

  “Ok. Blake’s Coffee, downtown. Corner of Third and Alta Vista. I’ve got a break coming up. I can be there in twenty minutes.”

  “That works,” said Benjamin. “How will I know you?”

  “People say I’m elfish,” said Valerie. “So look for someone elfish.”

  “Ok,” said Benjamin, uncertainly.

  “If that’s not enough, I have pink hair and three nose piercings.”

  “Got it,” said Benjamin. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “See you.”

  Benjamin finished drying off and got dressed as quickly as he could. He found Blake’s Coffee without difficulty and went inside. It didn’t take him long to locate Valerie Rocha: a diminutive, pink-haired woman with multiple facial piercings sat alone at a table in the corner.

  “Valerie?” asked Benjamin, approaching the table.

  “Yeah,” said the girl, who was wearing headphones and holding an iPod. She didn’t look older than seventeen, but Lentz had told him she had been a college friend of Jessica’s, so she had to be in her early twenties at least.

  “Let me get some coffee,” said Benjamin. He was still feeling foggy, and his headache was creeping back. Valerie nodded and went back to tapping buttons on her iPod.

  Benjamin ordered a large coffee and returned to the table, taking a seat across from Valerie. He sipped his coffee while he waited for her to acknowledge him. Finally she looked up.

  “So, I guess Jessica died?” she said. She was still wearing her headphones.

  “Yes,” replied Benjamin. “They found her body yesterday.”

  “Jeez,” said Valerie. “I’m sorry. That sucks.”

  “Thank you,” said Benjamin. It was, oddly, the most sincere-sounding expression of condolences he’d heard. Valerie didn’t seem particularly broken up, though. Her slightly glum expression could be explained by annoyance at her need to find a new roommate. “How long did you live with Jessica?”

  “Like six months,” said Valerie. “But we knew each other a little before that in college. Was she murdered?”

  “I think she was,” said Benjamin. “Do you know anyone who might have wanted to hurt her?”

  Valerie shook her head. “No way,” she said.

  “What about her boyfriend?”

  “She didn’t have one.”

  “I’m thinking of Chris Sandford.”

  “They broke up.”

  “She broke up with him, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Was he upset about it?”

  “Upset? Sure, Jessica was like… I mean, she was out of his league, you know? But Chris wouldn’t hurt anyone. He was a vegetarian.”

  “So was Hitler.”

  “Yeah, you got me there, inspector,” Valerie said sardonically. “Chris Sandford killed like six million Jews. But I’m pretty sure he didn’t hurt Jessica.”

  “Why not?”

  “Honestly, he just isn’t that motivated. The guys works at In’N’Out Burger.”

  “You said he was a vegetarian.”

  “Yeah. Complicated fucking guy.”

  “Did Jessica talk much about her job?”

  “Are you a cop?” Valerie asked. “Jessica said her dad was a cop.”

  “Yeah?” said Benjamin. “What else did she say about me?”

  “She said you were kind of an asshole.”

  Benjamin couldn’t help but smile. Finally, something that sounded like the truth. “Do you think I’m an asshole?” he asked.

  Valerie shrugged. “I just met you. I once dated a guy for two years before I realized he was an asshole. Are you trying to find out who killed Jessica?”

  “Yes,” said Benjamin, trading honesty for honesty.

  “Aren’t the regular cops supposed to do that? I already talked to some guy named Lint.”

  “Detective Lentz,” said Benjamin. “And I hope they do. I’m here in case they don’t.”

  “So what do you want to know? Where she worked?”

  “I know she worked for XKredits.com, and before that she worked for Glazier Semiconductor. Do you know what she did for those companies?”

  “Web stuff,” said Valerie. “Jessica was good with graphics. And sometimes she wrote content for their websites. You know, like marketing stuff.”

  “Did she ever talk about doing anything else for those companies?”

  “Like what?”

  “I mean, did it seem like she had other responsibilities, besides just working on the websites?”

  “Not really. She did a lot of research for Glazier, but it was all for their website.”

  “Research on what?”

  “They were doing some kind of retrospective thing on their website, to celebrate their fiftieth anniversary. Jessica was just supposed to be putting the site together, but she ended up having to spend a lot of time going through their historical archives for pictures and stuff. Jessica did this cool time progression thing with Flash that shows how Glazier Semiconductor changed from 1950 until now. She showed it to me once.”

  Benjamin nodded. It did seem that Jessica had developed some talents he wasn’t aware of. He doubted she was killed because of an online slide show she’d made, though. “Did she ever have any arguments with people at work?”

  “I don’t know,” said Valerie. “I guess. Doesn’t everybody? My boss is a complete douchebag, but I don’t think he’d, like, kill me or anything. She worked really long hours at Glazier, but I don’t think they were forcing her to or anything. She just really liked her job.”

  “Why did she leave?”

  “It was a temporary project. They didn’t need her anymore when the retrospective site was finished.”

  “And she went to work for XKredits right after the contract ended?”

  “Pretty much. Web design people are in demand these days. Jessica kept trying to get me to take some classes in Photoshop or whatever, but I don’t think I have the kind of natural talent she has. Had. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” said Benjamin. “Did she seem to like her job at XKredits?”

  “Yeah,” said Valerie. “Although… I don’t know, it was weird. Their office is pret
ty small, so they let people work from home a lot. So Jessica would be working on her laptop in the apartment, and sometimes she’d get a call from her boss.”

  “Cameron Payne?”

  “I guess so. Anyway, she’d be talking about boring work stuff, like graphic resolutions or something, and then all of a sudden it would get kind of hushed and secretive.”

  “What did they talk about?”

  “Well, that’s the thing. It was all boring stuff, except sometimes she’d start talking real quiet, and sometimes she’d go outside. I don’t think all their conversations were about website stuff.”

  “Do you think something was going on between Payne and Jessica?”

  Valerie shrugged. “Like, romantically? I doubt it. Payne is single, right? Why would they keep it a secret? Anyway, I didn’t get the impression they were hooking up.”

  “So what do you think they were talking about?”

  “When she got quiet? How would I know? That was the point, right? She didn’t want me to hear.”

  “I’m asking you to make a conjecture,” said Benjamin. “What sort of thing might Jessica and Cameron Payne be talking about in secret?”

  Valerie gave him a puzzled look. “That doesn’t sound like a cop question.”

  “I’m not a cop.”

  “Well, I have no idea.”

  “Not a romantic tryst,” said Benjamin. “So, what? A surprise party? A plot to take over the world?”

  “Neither,” said Valerie. “But more like the second one.”

  “World domination?”

  “Nothing on that scale. But, like, conspiratorial.”

  “Something illegal?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Would you say the mood was more excited, like they were getting away with something? Or more anxious, like they were worried they were going to get caught?”

  “I couldn’t hear them!”

  “I understand that,” said Benjamin. “But the human mind is extremely adept at picking up the emotional subtext of a conversation, even when most of the conversation can’t be heard. Don’t think about it too hard. Just give me a kneejerk reaction. Anxious or excited?”