by Thomas King
Thumps looked around to see if there were any 1982 Volvos in the show. The Honda Element that Sydney Pearl had given him was a fine car, but he still felt bad about having deserted an old friend.
NORMALLY, CHINTAK RAWAT would be behind the counter, dressed in a bright white lab coat that had been starched and polished to a shine. Today, he was dressed in a black polo shirt with red and white trim and a Jaguar badge on the left breast.
Jaguar. E-Type.
And he had a Jaguar cap on his head.
“Ah, Mr. DreadfulWater,” Chintak sang out, “did Mr. Moses find the car of his desires?”
“Maybe he should get a Jaguar.”
“That would be imprudent.” Chintak touched the bill of his cap. “While the Jaguar is the epitome of styling and grace, to own one is to invite frustration and garage expenses.”
“Speaking of expenses”—Thumps took the insulin kit out of his bag—“I’m going to need to refill my prescription.”
“And it will be my pleasure to assist you in this matter,” said Chintak. “However, you must first speak with Dr. Beth.”
“What?”
“I believe she wishes to monitor your condition.”
“I have to see her before I can get the prescription filled?”
“This is correct.”
“I don’t want to see her.”
“No one wishes to visit a doctor,” said Chintak. “Inevitably, there are tests that involve machines and injections and blood. Most distressing to be sure.”
“I feel fine.”
“Most encouraging,” said Chintak. “Dr. Beth will be delighted to hear of this.”
“I really have to see her?”
“And while you are there,” said Chintak, “perhaps she can help you with the questions you have been requested to answer.”
“What?”
“Chief Heavy Runner was in the other day,” said Chintak. “She and several other women were talking. Your name was mentioned.”
“She’s not a chief.”
“Most certainly,” said Chintak. “But neither is she a woman with whom I wish to argue.”
“Did Roxanne actually show you the questions?”
Chintak reached under the counter and came up with a sheet of paper. “She left a copy in case I saw you before anyone else.”
“Anyone else?”
“Yes,” said Chintak. “I believe she left a copy with Mr. Archie and with Sheriff Duke as well.”
“Great.”
“It is not just the women, of course,” said Chintak. “All of your friends are curious as to your intentions with Chief Merchant and what transpired on the coast.”
Maybe, Thumps thought, he should rent a hall for an evening and do a PowerPoint presentation complete with visuals and music. My Private Life and the Obsidian Murders. Coming soon to a Rotary Club near you.
“And Chief Heavy Runner suggested that I encourage you to purchase candy and flowers. These are, I believe, intended for Chief Merchant.”
“Suggested?”
“Yes,” said Chintak. “Perhaps ‘suggested’ is of insignificant import.”
“If you see Roxanne,” said Thumps, “you might tell her to mind her own business.”
Chintak paled. “We are friends, are we not?”
“We are.”
“Friends should not suggest such dangerous enterprises.”
“Roxanne is all bark.”
“Ah,” said Chintak, “then the stories of gratuitous violence are not true?”
THUMPS HAD READ somewhere that you should never put something off, that if you open a bill, for example, you should pay it immediately rather than throw it in a pile to be dealt with later. The article went on to talk about returning phone calls and doing other jobs as they presented themselves. Thumps could see where this was good advice, but he also knew that most people tended to do the easy and the pleasurable tasks first and to leave the difficult and distasteful to the very last.
Himself included.
Still, here was a chance to put theory into action. He did need the prescription. The old Land Titles building was at hand, just down the block. He didn’t have any pressing engagements. With luck, he could slip in, convince Beth Mooney to take the hold off his prescription without him having to brave any medical experimentation, come back to the pharmacy, pick up the supplies, and disappear into his house before anyone else could run him down.
The old Land Titles building was a two-storey affair with a basement. Beth Mooney had installed an intercom at the front door with a three-button keypad. The top button rang the second floor, where Beth had her living quarters. The middle button rang the main floor, where she had her medical office. The bottom button got you the county morgue, where autopsies were performed and bodies were stored.
Thumps was trying to decide where to start when there was a sharp clicking sound and the front door swung open.
“So, you’re back,” said a voice.
The remote-control door was new. So was the camera mounted just above the brick lintel.
“Beth?”
“Second floor,” said the voice.
The second floor of the old Land Titles building was Thumps’s favourite floor. It had comfortable chairs and a sofa. There would be tea and cookies. And it was as far away from the basement as you could get.
Beth Mooney was waiting for him on the landing.
“Took you long enough.”
“I just got back into town.”
“Your doctor should have been your first stop.” Beth led the way into the apartment. “Remember the blood work we did just before you left?”
The last time Thumps had been in the apartment, the walls had been painted a soft yellow. Now they were a medium coffee. Beth had never been one for home decor and accessories, but now there were two old movie posters in frames, Moon over Miami and The Invisible Woman.
“Place looks nice.”
“Don’t change the subject. You want tea?”
Thumps wasn’t going to ask what had prompted the paint job or the vintage posters, and he wasn’t going to ask about the blood work.
“Aren’t you curious?”
“Nope.”
“You know, you give men a bad name.”
Thumps could think of only one reason for the apartment facelift. “You and Ora Mae back together?”
“The results are troubling.” Beth put the kettle on. “I want to redo the blood work.”
“What?”
“Tomorrow. Nine thirty,” said Beth. “And I want to send you to a specialist in Helena.”
Thumps felt his body go cold.
“You’re anemic,” said Beth. “And I don’t know why.”
“What if I work out more?”
“It could be nothing.”
“I could reduce my ice cream.”
Beth’s head snapped around. “You’re eating ice cream?”
“What’s with the door and the camera?”
Beth poured the water into the pot and brought it to the table. “Let’s stay on subject.”
Thumps didn’t notice the sheet of paper until he had settled himself in the chair.
“That’s for you,” said Beth. “Roxanne dropped it off.”
“Did everyone in town get a copy?”
“So your red blood cell count is down.” Beth paused and sipped her tea. “Some anemia is hereditary. Sometimes it’s caused by poor diet. Other causes are ulcers, overuse of aspirin, menstruation.”
Thumps waited.
“Then there’s things such as sickle cell anemia, kidney disease, diabetes.”
“And I’m diabetic.”
“Yes,” said Beth, “you are. But I’m not sure that the diabetes is the cause. That’s why I want you to see the specialist.”
“How about I improve my diet and see if that helps?”
“How about you listen to your doctor?”
“Helena is a long drive.”
“Says the man who just drove to the
California coast and back.”
Thumps could see he was losing the argument. The smart move would be to agree to the specialist and then decide whether or not to go.
“Okay.”
Beth adjusted her glasses. “Is that an ‘Okay, I’m going to listen to you and see the specialist,’ or is that an ‘Okay, I just want to get out of here’?”
“Will this involve more blood tests?”
“You’ll probably have to have a CAT scan, maybe an MRI.”
Thumps took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So, why did you fix the place up?”
Beth pushed the list across the table. “So, what are you going to do about these questions?”
Seven
Duke Hockney was standing next to the old percolator.
“Your lucky day.” The sheriff patted the pot as though it were the family dog. “Just made fresh.”
“Yippee.”
“That was last month,” said Duke. “Mayor cancelled the ‘Howdy’ program. So, we can talk normal again.”
“Yahoo.”
“Roxanne Heavy Runner?” said Hockney.
“Okay,” said Thumps quickly. “Truce.”
“New coffee roaster in town.” Duke handed Thumps a cup. “This is a dark Ethiopian.”
How much had changed in a month? Beth and her high-end security system and new paint job. And now the sheriff talking about coffee varieties, when Duke had always prided himself on buying the cheapest beans and boiling them into submission.
“You even know where Ethiopia is?”
The coffee in the cup looked normal. Thumps rocked the cup to see if the coffee would move. It did. Having seen the sheriff’s coffee in the past, this was a good sign.
“Try it,” said the sheriff, “before you go all sarcastic on me.”
Thumps took a sniff. “Just came from Beth’s.”
The sheriff carried his cup back to his desk and sat down. “The security system.”
“Pretty sophisticated.”
“There was a break-in,” said Duke. “Couple weeks back.”
“They take anything?”
“Beth says no, but she’s still looking.”
“Drugs?”
Duke shook his head. “Nothing of note on the premises.”
“They wouldn’t have known that.”
“The break-in wasn’t some smash and grab,” said the sheriff. “It was smooth, very professional.”
“But they took nothing.”
“How’s the coffee?”
The coffee was good. Thumps took another sip to be sure. Normally, what came out of the old percolator looked and tasted like roofing tar.
“Hard to believe you made this.”
Duke shuffled around in his chair. “You ever think of getting back into law enforcement?”
“No.”
“Can’t be a photographer all your life.”
“Yes, I can.”
“And photography’s not what it used to be. Everything’s digital now. Where’s the joy in that?”
“I still use film.”
“Damn it, DreadfulWater,” said Hockney. “I’m serious.”
“I don’t want to be a deputy.”
Duke nodded his agreement. “You’d make a lousy deputy. But you just might make a respectable sheriff.”
“Sheriff?”
Duke turned to the window. “I’ve got prostate cancer.”
“What?”
Duke held up a hand. “And don’t go getting all sympathetic on me. They say they caught it early.”
“Shit.”
“I go to Helena at the end of the month. They’ll cut it out or they’ll zap it with their X-ray gun, and I’ll probably be okay.”
“Hell, Duke, I’m sorry.”
“There you go getting all sympathetic.” Hockney pushed his cup off to one side. “It’s going to be fine. But it got me thinking about life, and what I want to do with the rest of what’s left.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It’s Macy,” said Duke. “She’s always wanted to travel.”
“You hate travel.”
“True enough,” said Duke. “But I love that woman, and over the years, she has put up with a lot, so I figure fair’s fair.”
Duke opened the desk drawer, took out a folder, and slid it to Thumps. “Been working on the job announcement. Tell me what you think.”
The announcement was a single page. Thumps could see right away where all this was headed.
“Preference will be given to Native American applicants?”
“This is Indian country,” said Duke. “Need someone who understands both worlds.”
“No one is going to hire me.”
Duke cleared his throat. “Already talked to several council members.”
“Duke . . .”
“Drink your coffee and shut up.” The sheriff lumbered over to the percolator and filled his cup. “All I’m asking is that you think about it. You got the skills and the experience. You know the town and you know the reservation.”
Thumps stared at Duke.
“Course you could say yes, and save me the time and effort of convincing you.” Hockney tried to look vulnerable. “In case I don’t have as much time left as I think.”
Thumps felt like laughing. He’d hardly been back a day, and he had already been dragged off to a classic car show, served with a list of personal questions, and offered a job he didn’t want. And he hadn’t even spoken to Archie Kousoulas yet. God knows what the little Greek had for him.
“What do you know about women?”
“Jesus,” said Duke. “Is that a trick question?”
“If Macy had been married before she met you, would you expect her to tell you?”
“This got something to do with Anna Tripp and that serial killer case?”
So this was how it felt to get hit in the head with a stick. “How do you know about Anna Tripp?”
Duke gave up trying to look vulnerable and had a go at looking friendly. “Known since you arrived in Chinook.”
“What?”
“Hell, DreadfulWater,” said the sheriff. “Scruffy drifter lands in my town out of the blue in a beat-to-shit Volvo, claiming to be a former cop, and you don’t think I’m going to check it out?”
“Scruffy drifter?”
“Didn’t say anything because I figured it was your business.”
Thumps took a deep breath and tried to slow everything down.
“I take it Tripp had a husband you didn’t know about.”
Anna hadn’t talked much about Callie’s father. Except to say he was dead. If she had ever mentioned his name, Thumps hadn’t remembered it.
“Is that what you found out on the coast?”
Thumps remembered the sheet on Raymond Oakes that Ranger had received from Deer Ridge, remembered the name in the “next of kin” box.
Anna Tripp.
“Guy named Raymond Oakes,” said Thumps. “Anna told me he was dead.”
“But he wasn’t?”
“He was in prison,” said Thumps. “Oregon. Life sentence.”
Hockney pushed back in the chair. “He escaped?”
“No,” said Thumps. “There was a problem with the conviction. He got out.”
“Just before the killings started?”
“A friend of mine at the Humboldt County Sheriff’s Office may call,” said Thumps. “Leon Ranger. I gave him your number.”
Duke nodded. “Anything I can do?”
“No.”
“You think this Oakes character is the serial killer?”
“Don’t know.”
“But you think he killed Tripp and her daughter.”
“Don’t know that either.” Thumps could feel the tension in his face. “What I do know is that she lied to me. Why wouldn’t she tell me about Oakes?”
“Embarrassed, maybe?” Duke rolled his chair around the side of the desk so he was knee to knee with Thumps. “But that’s not what’s eating you
, is it?”
“Nothing’s eating me,” said Thumps. “I’m just curious.”
“You’re thinking that if you had known about this guy, you could have protected the people you loved. If you had known about Oakes, Tripp and her daughter would still be alive.”
“She didn’t trust me.”
Duke sighed. “She was probably afraid if you found out she had been married to a murderer, she would have lost you.”
“That wouldn’t have happened.”
“She didn’t know that.”
Thumps finished the coffee and set the cup on the edge of the desk. “So, what does that say about me?”
“No profit in going there,” said Duke. “This Oakes character on parole?”
“No,” said Thumps. “Oakes was released clean.”
“So, he could be anywhere.”
“He could.”
“And you’re going to try to find him.” Duke rolled the chair back to his monitor. “We talking vengeance here?”
“Justice.”
“Justice is good,” said Duke. “Problem is, sometimes people have trouble keeping the two of them straight.”
“I know the difference.”
“Knowing it now,” said the sheriff, “isn’t the same thing as remembering it when it counts.”
Eight
Duke was right. Photography had changed. Much of the film stock Thumps had used over the years had been discontinued. The same with the paper. He had considered moving over to digital, had gone so far as to price out a digital set-up and had come away shaking his head. It was not just the expense of a new camera and lens.
New computer.
New printer.
New computer programs.
And there was the learning curve. Digital would take him back to a new beginning where much of what he already knew would be obsolete. Light and shadow, framing, depth of field would all transfer to the digital world, but nothing much else would.
Maybe he shouldn’t be so hasty in dismissing the chance for a career change. Being a cop had a certain analog simplicity to it.
Find the bad guy.
Arrest the bad guy.
Put the bad guy in jail.
The walk along Main Street to the Aegean gave Thumps time to sort through a selection of excuses. He had been gone for over a month, and Archie was going to want to know why Thumps hadn’t bothered to call. Why he hadn’t bothered to write.
