by Thomas King
“I’ll be waiting.” Beth shut the door and started the engine. “It’ll be the high point of my evening.”
Anthony Mercer was sitting in the back seat of Lance Packard’s cruiser.
“He puke yet?” asked the sheriff.
“Nope,” said Leon, “but he’s not happy.”
“Not my problem,” said Duke.
“That’s what I told him,” said Leon.
Thumps suddenly felt as though he were moving in slow motion. “Wait a minute. Who found the bodies?”
“Wondering when you were going to get around to that,” said Duke.
“Mercer?”
“You’re slowing down, Tonto,” said Leon.
“Man says he got a call,” said Duke. “Voice told him to come here.”
“And he did?”
“According to our Mr. Mercer,” said Duke, “that’s exactly what he did.”
“An anonymous call? To go to a deserted barn in the middle of the night?”
“Appears our Mr. Mercer is an adventurous fellow.”
Anthony Mercer didn’t look adventurous. He looked ill. He was genetically pale to begin with, but now he was almost translucent. His eyes were ringed in red, and his nose was dripping. Thumps wasn’t sure whether he felt sorry for the man or was just put off by his appearance.
Duke squatted down by the open door. “Well,” he said, “we got a whole bunch of questions. Where would you like to start?”
Mercer sat in the back seat of the cruiser and looked straight ahead.
“Okay,” said Duke, “I’ll start. Did you kill Mr. Shipman and Ms. Gerson?”
Thumps could see the man’s lips moving.
“Didn’t hear that,” said Duke.
“No,” said Mercer. “I didn’t kill them. What kind of a monster do you think I am?”
“You do work in the film industry,” said Leon.
“Was that supposed to be funny?” Mercer stared at Leon.
“Yes,” said Leon, “it was.”
“All right,” said Duke. “Now that you’ve recovered some of your nerve, let’s take it from the top.”
“I got a call,” said Mercer. “At the hotel.”
“Male? Female?”
“Couldn’t tell,” said Mercer. “They didn’t chat.”
“And this voice said?”
“‘The barn at the fairgrounds has the answers.’” Mercer wiped his nose. “I thought it was Shipman.”
“Shipman?”
“He liked to be mysterious,” said Mercer. “I thought it was a joke.”
“But you went.”
“Sure,” said Mercer. “I mean, maybe he and Runa had actually found something.”
“And when you got here?”
“I found them in the car.” Mercer’s nose began dripping again. “Jesus.”
“Then what?”
“I called you guys.”
“You didn’t look around?” Duke glanced at Thumps and Leon. “You didn’t search the barn? Check to see if the killer was still here?”
“Oh, Christ,” said Mercer, visibly shaken. “I didn’t even think of that.”
“Evidently not,” said Duke.
“I could have been killed as well.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Mercer began hitting the back of the seat. “We’re doing a movie about a serial killer. It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”
“I tend to be a bit dense,” said Duke.
“He’s killing us off,” said Mercer. “One by one.”
“Actually,” said Leon, “he’s doing two at a time.”
“You’re not fucking funny!”
Thumps waited to see if the sheriff was going to pick up the conversation. “You said you thought the voice on the phone was Shipman.”
“Who else would call me at the hotel?” Mercer sat back in the seat. “We don’t know anyone in town. Shipman liked to do voices. And to be honest, the man could be an asshole.”
“Hard to work with?”
“Thought he was in charge of the project.”
“But he wasn’t.”
“You ever hear of a writer being in charge of anything?”
Duke shook his head. “He’s got a point.”
“Producer, director, writer,” said Mercer. “That’s the pecking order.”
Leon kept his voice level. “So, you two didn’t get along?”
“What?” Mercer got out of the car. “Of course, we got along. It’s Hollywood. Nobody likes anyone, but we all get along.”
“Don’t mind Mr. Ranger,” said Duke. “He’s just looking for a motive.”
“That’s me,” said Leon. “But you don’t have to worry. I’m retired.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“Nope.” Hockney tipped his hat back. “Would appreciate it if you didn’t leave town just yet.”
“And if I do?”
“Damn,” said Duke, “but I hate the hard questions.”
“Then I’m going back to the hotel.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Duke. “Have a drink. Get a good night’s sleep. Maybe stop by the office in the morning.”
“Why?”
“Just routine,” said the sheriff. “Since you identified the bodies, we’ll need a signed statement.”
HOCKNEY WAITED UNTIL Mercer drove off in his car. “Ideas?”
“Autopsy,” said Thumps.
“Autopsy isn’t an idea,” said Duke.
“Smart money says Shipman and Gerson have obsidian in their mouths,” said Leon.
“Because there’s a serial killer in town?” The sheriff looked skeptical.
“None of this makes much sense,” said Thumps.
“I was good with the ‘doesn’t make sense’ answer,” said Duke, “before the bodies turned up.”
“Why were they killed?” said Leon. “Did they find something? Wrong place, wrong time? Strikes me they were more of a threat to themselves than to a serial killer.”
“Or an angry husband.”
“Wasn’t Raymond Oakes,” said Thumps.
“And you know this how?”
“It’s Obsidian,” said Thumps. “You’re right. He’s here in town.”
Duke grunted. “Obsidian?”
“Our clever name for the serial killer,” said Leon.
“Sounds like a character from Game of Thrones,” said Duke.
“Good show,” said Leon. “I really like the little guy.”
“Okay.” Duke pulled his gun belt up. “Let’s do this the old-fashioned way.”
“Wait for an anonymous phone tip?” said Leon.
“The autopsy,” said Duke. “We’ll start with the autopsy.”
Thirty-Six
Thumps followed the sheriff back into town. Leon rode with Duke. Which gave Thumps time to go over the original case, page by page, in his head. Claire was right. He knew less about the case than he thought he knew.
How had that happened?
What was Anna doing on the beach that night? Why was Callie with her? The three of them had only gone to the beach once. To watch the big race. The Trinidad to Clam Beach Run and Walk.
THE SHERIFF’S CRUISER was already parked in front of the old Land Titles building. The place was dark, but that was because the basement windows were at the back, in the alley. Thumps pressed the button for the morgue, and the door snapped open.
Abandon hope, Thumps thought as he stepped inside, all ye who enter here.
Beth was standing to the side of the stainless-steel table. Duke and Leon were standing across from her. What was left of Runa Gerson was lying between them. Her head had been crushed by something heavy, wielded with force. She had probably died with the first blow.
Thumps stopped on the last step and waited.
“You’re safe,” said Beth. “If she rises up from the dead and comes at you, the sheriff here will shoot her with one of his silver bullets.”
“No, I won’t,” said Duke. “You know what kind of paperw
ork I have to fill out if I discharge my firearm?”
“Silver bullets are for werewolves,” said Leon. “I’m not sure how you kill zombies.”
“I don’t have all night,” said Beth. “I’d like to get some sleep before I start thinking about breakfast.”
Thumps could feel the walls of the morgue closing in around him. “Why are morgues in basements?”
Beth stopped what she was doing and yawned.
“I mean, why are they all below ground? Every morgue I’ve ever been in has been below ground.”
“How many morgues have you been in?” said Beth.
Now that Thumps thought about it, he hadn’t been in all that many morgues. “Three. Maybe four.”
“So you’re an expert on morgues.”
“I’m just asking,” said Thumps. “It might help if they were on the second or third floor. Then you could have windows and the place wouldn’t feel so gloomy.”
“Can we get on with it?” said Duke.
“And miss the lecture on morgue architecture?”
“Please,” said the sheriff.
“Rigor has set in.” Beth forced Gerson’s jaw open. “And it looks as though there are no losers.”
Duke and Leon leaned in. Thumps took a step back.
“I can’t say for certain that this is obsidian.” Beth held up a small black stone. “But I’d say the chances are good.”
“It’s obsidian,” said Leon.
“Head crushed in,” said the sheriff. “Obsidian in the mouth. Maybe it is time for me to retire.”
“Missing part of the little finger on the right hand,” said Beth. “But it’s an old injury.”
“Door jamb accident,” said Thumps. “Could we see Shipman for a moment?”
Beth went to the stainless-steel locker and pulled out a drawer.
“He looks worse in the light,” said Leon.
“Damage is more severe,” said Beth. “What did you want to see?”
“Thumps is checking the ring and the tattoo,” said the sheriff. “But we’ll run the DNA.”
“Hope you don’t expect to get that back in your lifetime,” said Beth. “Ring looks expensive. The star’s kinda cute.”
“Who gets a black and white tattoo of a star on the back of their hand?”
“You prefer a rose?” said Beth.
“No,” said Leon, “but at least you could get it in colour.”
Duke cleared his throat. “How long have they been dead?”
Beth slid the drawer closed. “I’ve just started on Gerson, and all I can give you is a guess, but I’d figure anything between twelve and twenty-four hours.”
“So, Shipman and Gerson leave the Mustang together. And they never get back to the hotel.” Leon turned to Thumps. “We could have been the last ones to see them alive.”
“Except for the killer,” said Duke.
“Still don’t know why,” said Thumps.
“And I don’t do why,” said Beth. “I only do how.”
“And how is blunt-force trauma,” said Duke.
“No fair,” said Beth. “You looked.”
“I’ll need that stone.”
“Patience.” Beth picked up the Stryker saw. “Let me do my job. And then you can do yours.”
THUMPS HAD SEEN the sheriff in bad moods. This was one of them. Hockney didn’t say a single word as they walked back to their cars.
“We fucked up,” said Leon.
Thumps took his cue from Duke and kept his mouth shut.
“We missed something, Tonto.”
“Go home,” said the sheriff. “Get some sleep.”
“And then what?”
Duke’s cell began playing a tune that Thumps tried to place. The sheriff turned his back to the other men and stalked off with the phone, his neck and head bent to one side.
“The theme from Knight Rider?” Leon smiled at Thumps. “He sure as hell doesn’t look that old.”
Thumps tried to remember the show. There was a talking car that could think and was pretty much indestructible.
And then Duke was back, waving the cellphone at Thumps and Leon, looking happy and energized. “Saddle up.”
“That sounds like a posse,” said Leon.
Duke set his hat on his head and pulled down the brim. “Get a rope.”
THE TUCKER HOTEL was bright with light. Duke jogged up the steps, pushed his way through the revolving doors, and went straight to the front desk, where Deputy Lance Packard was waiting for him.
“Where?” said the sheriff.
“Parking garage,” said Lance.
Duke made for the fire exit. Thumps and Leon hurried after him.
“Hurrah, boys,” he shouted, taking the stairs two at a time. “We got them.”
Leon kept pace. “Isn’t that what Custer said when he saw the Indian encampment at the Little Bighorn?”
Hockney hit the bottom of the stairwell and burst through a red door marked “Level 2.” The parking garage was dimly lit and damp with the smell of cold concrete. Duke began walking the long line of parked cars.
“Spread out.”
“What are we looking for?”
Hockney pulled his gun and laid it against his thigh. “There.”
Near the bottom of the ramp, Anthony Mercer was loading suitcases into the back of a red SUV.
“Sheriff’s department,” Duke shouted.
The effect was electric. Mercer dropped the bag and bolted down the ramp.
“Don’t even think about it.” Duke showed the gun. “I’m tired, and I’d just as soon shoot you as arrest you!”
Leon moved quickly to flank the man. Thumps stayed with the sheriff.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“On the ground.” Hockney closed the gap. “Hands behind your head.”
“He’s going to kill me!” Mercer’s eyes were wide with fear.
“On. The. Ground.”
Mercer stayed on his feet. “You can’t make me stay. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Duke brought the gun into a shooting position. “You’re a suspect in a double murder, and I will shoot you if I have to.”
“I heard that the sheriff likes shooting people,” said Leon.
“No, I don’t,” said Duke. “But I will.”
“I’m not going to stay here.” Mercer went back to the SUV and started loading the suitcase. “Shoot me if you have to.”
“Ah, hell.” Duke put his gun away and took out his handcuffs. Then he grabbed Mercer by his belt, lifted him off the ground, and dropped him face down on the floor of the parking garage. “Now you got me angry.”
Thumps watched as Duke handcuffed Mercer and pulled him to his feet.
“I’m going to sue you for police brutality.”
Leon leaned in, his face close to Mercer. “Did you know that in the list of hazardous workplaces, jails are number seven?”
“Would you stop trying to scare my prisoner?”
“Just trying to be helpful.”
“Okay,” said the sheriff. “Stop trying to be helpful.” Duke took Mercer by the arm and marched him up the ramp. “We can do this one of two ways. One, you can tell me why you were trying to escape my jurisdiction. Or, two, I can put you in jail as a material witness.”
Mercer had regained most of his courage. “Shipman and Gerson are dead. I’m not about to be number three.”
Duke leaned Mercer against the wall and pushed the button for the elevator. “Why do you think you’re next?”
“The guy calls me. Gets me to come out to the fairgrounds so I can find my friends.” Mercer paled. “Then when I get back to my room, there it is.”
“There what is?”
“A fucking black stone,” said Mercer. “Sitting in the middle of the coffee table.”
DUKE TOOK THE cuffs off Mercer on the promise that the man would not try to run away, and the four of them rode the elevator to the third floor in silence, while Norah Jones quietly sang “Don’t Know Why.”
“You’ve got the statement I gave Deputy Dawg,” said Mercer, who had recovered his equilibrium and was working on his sarcasm.
“Deputy Lance Packard.” Duke stopped in front of the hotel door and waited for Mercer to find his key. “Deputy Dawg is a cartoon character.”
“People ever tell you that you look like Ned Flanders?” said Leon. “Only Ned is smarter.”
“Okay,” said Mercer. “How about you cut me some slack. I almost got killed tonight.”
“At the barn,” said Duke.
“Yes, at the barn,” said Mercer. “The guy who killed Shipman and Gerson could have been there laying in wait for me.”
“Lying,” said Thumps. “Lying in wait.”
Mercer opened the door. Duke quickly stepped around him and entered the room. “Mr. Mercer,” he said, “I’d like you to wait right here at the door. Can you do that?”
“So, you believe me.”
“When you came back from the barn and opened the door to your room, did you notice anything out of place?”
“No.”
“What did you do?”
Mercer thought for a moment. “I went to the bathroom. I had to pee.”
“Okay. And after that?”
“I came back into the living room, and that’s when I saw the piece of obsidian.”
Duke walked over to the coffee table. There was a small black stone right in the centre of the wood top.
“Did you touch it?”
“No.”
“Or move it?”
“No.” Mercer waved a hand as though that was going to explain what had happened. “I saw the stone. I packed my bags and got the hell out of here.”
“Thumps,” said Duke, “you want to take the bedroom? Mr. Ranger, would you do the honours in the bathroom?”
“You don’t need me,” said Mercer.
“But I do so enjoy your company,” said the sheriff.
THE BEDROOM WASN’T particularly large, nor was it well furnished. A bed. A dresser. A small easy chair and a round glass table that you could set a cup on, and that was about it. There was a painting over the bed. The standard western landscape with mountains and rivers and a couple of antelope peeking out from the edges of the frame.
The closet was empty except for something someone had wrapped in a white towel. Thumps didn’t touch it. The stains on the towel made guessing unnecessary.
“Duke,” Thumps said in a matter-of-fact tone. “You might want to bring Mr. Mercer in here.”
