The Children of Eli

by Mike Cranny

  He went back down the trail to his car and picked up the highway and headed south. The Chinese Cemetery was only five miles away but, once off the highway, he’d have to go down a long stretch of half-washed out road to get there.

  A few minutes before three in the afternoon, he drove out onto a low sandstone bluff that overlooked the Strait. He pulled off to the left and backed the 4Runner into a flat space behind some cedars, a place where he could see without being seen. Backing in gave him the option of chasing after Norgard if that became necessary, even though that was unlikely.

  His was the only vehicle in the parking lot, which suited him fine. He let his mind wander as he watched Harlequin ducks work the edge of the rocks. Then he mentally catalogued cloud formations over the mountains, and waited.

  The half-abandoned cemetery was a popular spot in better weather, mostly because it got more sun than many places around Harsley. It was a good place for picnics, for watching birds in the winter, but not well visited when it was raining or threatening. After an hour had passed and Norgard had failed to appear, Archie gave up on him. He was angry now, mostly at himself for being strung along. A non-descript SUV drove past with two men in it, neither of whom he recognized. He started the 4Runner, made a wide circuit of the parking lot, and headed down the road.

  He thought back to his conversation with Norgard at Moffat’s and remembered the interaction between him and the barmaid. They’d been leading him on all along, having a joke at his expense. He swore and stabbed the accelerator with his foot. The 4Runner lurched across a hummock in the road and almost bounced into the trees. Fighting to control the vehicle, he didn’t have time to regret losing his temper.

  The 4Runner lurched one more time, a big bounce off an exposed chunk of bedrock. Archie spun the wheel hard to correct and overcompensated, sending the vehicle bouncing hard the other way. That movement saved his life. Bullets smashed through the windshield, knocked out the driver side window and pattered into the metal of the 4Runner’s body.

  Archie stepped on the accelerator and held on, barely; he gripped the wheel with his left hand while he pulled at the SIG in its holster with his right. He hooked the gun out of the leather only to feel it slip from his fingers as the 4Runner lurched. The pistol hit the passenger seat before it skipped away and disappeared towards the floor.

  He cursed again, held the wheel loosely enough to compensate for its wild gyrations, and drove on. Almost on level ground, he checked the rear-view mirror just in time, saw two men wearing camo and balaclavas running up the road after him. The taller of the two raised a weapon and fired. Archie ducked down and spun the wheel, throwing the 4Runner sideways. Bullets whumped into the tailgate and shattered the back window, covering him with diamonds of glass.

  And then he was on the highway. He accelerated until he was out of range, did a high-speed spin-around so that the 4Runner’s nose was pointed at the egress, braked, and caught his breath. He calmed himself, unclipped his seatbelt, ducked down and found the SIG in the passenger footwell. He sat up, leaned forward on the wheel and looked back in the direction he had come. Then he got out of the cab and stood on the highway ready to meet his attackers, his gun in hand. After a few minutes, he started to walk back in the direction from which he had just come.

  CHAPTER 12

  Archie bent down and picked a 9mm parabellum cartridge case from the hardpack on which it was lying, examined it in gloved fingers. He placed the cartridge back down and pegged in a yellow location marker beside it. The men who had attacked him, plus their vehicle, an SUV from the tracks, were long gone. The SWAT team that had come down from Rochville in response to his emergency had left, leaving Archie and his team to continue the investigation. Archie, still pissed at being fooled, plugged into a simmering resentment that was never far below the surface for him. He wished he had had time to at least shoot back. But he had not. He looked down the road to where Lee and Patsy were searching for additional evidence. Patsy stopped, picked up something, called Archie over. She held up a business card — English on one side and Vietnamese on the other. She passed it to Archie.

  “Bill Tran, Imports and Exports,” he read. He passed the card back to her. “That’s for the legitimate part of his business.”

  “It’s looking like gang stuff, isn’t it?” she said.

  “Right now it is anyway.”

  Things were slightly easier between them. She was trying hard, again, to be collegial. He was keenly aware of the social distance between them. She was a university professor’s daughter, or something like that; she came from money — the opposite of him.

  Once they had done all they could at the ambush site, Archie gave the order to pack it up. It was late in the afternoon and there was little more that they could do in daylight. As they got into their cars, Stoney arrived in a patrol car with another uniformed cop and work lights. They would have a final look around, with fresh eyes — to complete the report. They would also wait for the tow truck that had been called to come and pick up Archie’s bullet-riddled 4Runner, which had taken a slug through the block and was now useless.

  Archie briefed Stoney and then went to where Lee was waiting in his BMW. Lee opened the door. Without a word, Archie got in, hunkered into the passenger seat and motioned Lee to go. Patsy stopped them before the car began to move, leaned in to the driver’s side window and suggested they meet later over supper at the Satsuma Café to discuss what had happened. Lee seconded the motion. Archie didn’t object, although he wanted to; he was feeling strange and would much rather have gone home.

  Archie was still thinking through what had happened when Lee dropped him off in the elaborate Porte Cochere of the condo tower at four thirty. It was getting dark. Fricke told him that he would have a man watching the place in case there was another attack; no protest from Archie seemed to change his mind.

  Archie looked for a patrol car, was relieved when there wasn’t one, then saw a cruiser pull up and park in plain view halfway down the block. He walked over to it. A young officer, Tracy Gillot, rolled down his window and greeted him. When Archie tried to send him on his way, Gillot grinned and shook his head.

  “Fricke said you’d try something like this. He also said that if I left my post he would can my ass. So, upshot, I’m staying.”

  Archie shook his head, turned on his heel and headed for his building. He heard the whine as the window on the cruiser went up. He walked back to the front door to let himself in. He did not look back. The presence of a fresh-faced young rookie in a patrol car didn’t reassure him one bit.

  In the lobby, he passed an older couple who regarded his dishevelled clothes and dirt-covered cowboy boots with some disgust. He’d seen that same look before, when people saw him somewhere that they didn’t expect to see someone like him. His transformation had only gone so far. At that moment, he probably looked like a street person looking for the opportunity to steal something

  He checked his mailbox, chucked the offers for credit cards in the junk mail bin, found a letter from the woman whose apartment he was borrowing, and took it with him to add to the pile that was building on the table in the vestibule.

  He had been surprised that the ambush hadn’t affected him the way he expected but, as he went up to his floor in the elevator, the emotional distance he’d created suddenly wore off. Just inside his door, the light-headedness hit. He slammed the door shut, put his back against it, slid down until he was sitting with his legs straight out, helpless. Visions almost overwhelmed him — aggressive, punishing — scenes of flowing blood, of shattered glass, of the horror of Nick’s slashed throat. He took his head into his hands and pressed his fingers into his temples, tried to stop the flow. He felt nauseous and his head felt heavy. Suddenly, he lost consciousness.

  When he opened his eyes, he knew that he had blacked out and that some time had passed. It bothered him that he had lost control of himself but, he reasoned, he hadn’t had more than half a dozen hours of sleep over the past three nights and a co
uple of serious shocks. It was a poor excuse but he’d take it. He certainly felt better, more refreshed. His head was clearer and the sleep-deprived spacey feeling he’d had for the past day or more had passed. He got to his feet, went to the settee, pulled his boots off, dropped them on the polished tile and then kicked them out of his way. Then he padded to the fridge in his sock feet, got the last of the diet soda he’d recently stocked, and went out onto the darkened balcony to think.

  The condo had a great view in daylight but at night the lights of the city thrilled him. He would miss that view when he had to give the place up. The wind from the sea was cutting but it further revived him. He thought about the incriminating business card left at the ambush scene. That seemed too convenient. There were lots of oddities in the investigation.

  The oppressive feeling that he was missing some key element and that there was a whole dimension to the case that he didn’t understand returned. He remembered a Swaixwe mask he had seen once, an old one from a hundred years ago. It was skillfully carved, with the usual peg eyes and bird crests. It was the nose that was remarkable­ — a water bird tugged back the upper lip as if it was a skin. It was what the Swaixwe was all about — pulling back the skin of one world to open up the world beneath the obvious reality. Certainly, Nick’s murder was one layer of reality but there was another one below it. He knew that, absolutely.

  CHAPTER 13

  Lisa Wainright was working the evening shift when he arrived at the Satsuma. She had never made a secret of the fact that she didn’t like Archie, especially after his and Streya’s breakup. Now she seemed more welcoming than usual, which was ironic because she’d been a significant factor in that breakup happening in the first place. In any case, he didn’t go to the Satsuma much anymore, except when the urge for a good steak got too powerful. Then, he lingered, enjoying the satisfaction he got from the knowledge that his being there got under Lisa’s skin. This time, however, she waved and smiled.

  He had expected that either Lee or Patsy would be there ahead of him but neither had showed. There was always the chance they’d had some insight, or that one, or the other, had some new piece of information that might help confirm the theory he was developing. That was unlikely. He almost wished he’d cancelled. Having to wait irritated him intensely. At least he didn’t have to worry about the upcoming press conference he’d been supposed to run. Fricke had taken that off his hands after the ambush on Chinese Cemetery Road.

  He looked for and found the booth he had in mind, empty and isolated on the far side of the room and started for it. He glimpsed Wes Means sitting on the opposite side of the room. Means had been a public prosecutor and was now a private practice lawyer. He had an antagonistic manner and Archie’s experience with him as a prosecutor had not been good.

  Means spotted him and grinned, expecting, perhaps, that Archie would join him. Archie acknowledged him with a nod in his direction and carried on, hoping he’d be far enough away from Means that Means wouldn’t be able to table-talk. But Means came towards him, carrying his coffee. He pulled around a chair from a nearby table, sat down, turned towards Archie. Archie noticed that he grimaced as if in pain when he did so.

  “Hurt yourself, Wes?”

  “Did something at the gym, I guess.”

  It could be true.

  “Heard you almost bought the farm today, Archie.”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Where wouldn’t I hear it? Everybody in the business knows.”

  “I guess.”

  “You’re a lucky man.”

  “Not so much now that you’re here.”

  Means shook his head.

  “Not a scratch — too bad,” he said. “Maybe you should stick to traffic or whatever it is you’re good at. Stay away from things that don’t concern you.”

  Archie resisted the urge to jam his fist into Means’ face.

  “What do you mean about things that don’t concern me, Wes? Do you know something about this?”

  “Not me — just wouldn’t like to see you get hurt. I’m concerned that’s all.”

  Archie was finding it more and more difficult to avoid being drawn into a situation that could do him nothing but professional harm.

  But at that point, Lisa Wainright arrived with a full coffee pot in one beefy hand and a menu in the other. She looked at Means, who lifted his shoulders in a kind of shrug, and squinted his eyes as if some hurt had returned. Then, unexpectedly, he got to his feet.

  “Take care, Detective Stevens.”

  Means went back to his seat across the room, retrieved his coat and then he was gone. But something about the exchange with Means bothered Archie. He just wasn’t sure exactly what it was.

  Lisa rubbed her free hand through short, stiff, red hair and grunted something that sounded vaguely like ‘hello there’. Then she dropped a menu on the table and stood waiting for Archie’s order. He took his time, but then ordered steak and coffee. She didn’t even bother to write it down — he never ordered anything else. She went back into the kitchen. She definitely seemed less hostile than usual, but Archie figured that might be his imagination overworking itself.

  He noticed with some satisfaction that his irritation had dissipated more quickly than usual — maybe he was making progress after all. The slight interaction between Lisa and Wes Means had also picked up his interest. It was like questions had been asked and answered, a silent, secret conversation. It occurred to him that they might be lovers. If they were, they had been pretty good at keeping it a secret. Harsley was a small town and word got around fast.

  Lee arrived at last. He entered briskly, walked across the room and sat down on the bench seat opposite Archie. He apologized for being late, carefully arranged his coat, and took off his mauve silk scarf. Lisa arrived with Archie’s meal, watched Lee settle in, raised an eyebrow, took his order, and left.

  “So nice,” Lee said sarcastically.

  “Lisa is never what you’d call friendly.”

  “Not that I’ve ever noticed in the years I’ve been coming here.”

  “She sure as hell doesn’t like me either.”

  Lee looked askance at Archie, like he wanted to ask questions, to probe deeper but Archie’s look scotched that possibility. Lee took out his tablet and touched it into life.

  “You want me to wait for Patsy before I start?”

  Archie shook his head.

  “You can start.”

  Lee turned the tablet so that Archie could see the screen. The data had been organized into a highlighted table.

  “Very pretty. Got anything new?”

  “I like things organized,” Lee said. “The blood tests for Robbie’s truck aren’t in so nothing conclusive there.”

  Archie had heard that bit of news already.

  “I’m sure it’s Nick’s,” he said.

  Lee nodded.

  “We found a bag of immature abalone stashed in a bin near the Dive Shop parking lot so Nick was poaching as you thought,” he said. “I also finished up with the tire tracks. He had more than a couple of visitors that day.”

  “Garbage or service trucks maybe?”

  “Only in the summer. I checked with the power company and every other agency I could think of who might send out an emergency truck. Nobody had sent anybody but there were at least three different sets of tracks, not counting yours. It had rained in the afternoon so one set was indistinct. After that two other vehicles were through the lot the evening Nick died.”

  “He must have been selling poached stuff to somebody, so maybe one of the vehicles belonged to the buyer. Was there anything near the bin where he stashed the abalone?”

  “That’s hard to tell, but maybe. There were lots of older tracks there anyway.”

  “Any tire matches?”

  Lee shook his head.

  “As we know, Robbie’s truck was at the ferry terminal where it had been left. We had it towed in and I took tire impressions from it. They matched one set at the scene, mos
tly near the shop and boat ramp; and there are the repeats. Robbie’s tracks weren’t the ones at the bin.”

  “I guess that would be unusual.”

  Lisa Wainright appeared, slid Thomas Lee’s ‘Steelhead Platter’ onto the table. Lee blocked his tablet with one hand so she couldn’t read it over his shoulder. Archie forked in a mouthful of potatoes. Lee waited until he figured Lisa was out of hearing.

  “It doesn’t look good for John Robbie. Anyway, Stoney checked at Moffat’s in case he’d been there but nobody had seen him since before the homicide. Moffat said he figured Robbie had been working with Nick recently. He said you’d been there.”

  “I was. Put it all together for me the way you see how things happened with all the traffic on the day Nick died.”

  Lee nodded.

  “First, Robbie was there with his boat. He left and then he came back. Did he kill Nick then — probably not. Somebody came to pick up the contraband abalone from the garbage bin between Robbie’s first visit and the second. At least one other vehicle came and went. I figure Robbie came back, maybe drunk, and I still wouldn’t discount the fact that he killed Nick for some reason.”

  Archie was pondering this when Patsy walked through the door. She saw Lee and Archie, navigated her way to their table through the rapidly filling restaurant, slid into a chair next to Lee and unzipped her jacket. Lee smiled at her. She gave Archie a look full of reproach.

  “You shouldn’t be wandering around unprotected after what happened,” she said.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He could see that she did not agree with his assessment. He cut her off before she could say anything else. He was, nevertheless, rather glad to see her.