“I’ll take my gun,” I said. “And the thirty-eight, I want that back now, too.”
“I told you to get out.”
“You can yank my carry permit, Dalrymple, but you can’t keep my property without cause.”
“We’ll keep it until the paperwork’s done, which could be a long time if it happens to get lost.”
“What paperwork?”
“The paperwork.”
“You don’t have the right to—”
He slammed his fist on the desk hard enough to make the .357 jiggle.
“Don’t tell me about rights, Lomax!” he roared, his face red, his scar yellow-white. He glared at me for a few heartbeats, and when he spoke, his voice was strained, barely under rein. “We both learned about rights ten years ago,” he said. “We both acted properly in the line of duty, the way we saw fit, the way we’d been trained. And then you left me hanging out there alone. And for that”—he touched the puckered line on his face—“I got this and a suspension and a permanent obstacle to my career and you got a goddamn medal. That’s all I need to know about rights. Now get the fuck out.”
I walked to the door.
“Enjoy your freedom while you can,” Dalrymple said. “It won’t last long.”
23
SUNDAY MORNING I WENT downstairs to see how Vaz was coming with Fontaine’s journal.
“I’ve finished copying it into something legible,” he said. “But so far I’ve had no luck with the code.”
I picked up a ruled yellow sheet from the dining table. Vaz’s careful printing filled the lower half of the sheet
9-15
HGXUO RTOEG SGDNI HTLFI MIPHD EECNL LIBEK AJNEE SLNLI TSARI FSWEM AOQST UOBTU CELWF ILNLA RODFY TNUEL PMXEH THOTI WNQIE MEDKA TOJTE VADHL LYCEH TAGVE UNPAL LISVD NAQRE TSPEO TSDOT OHNPE HTBWO HSELL ITSHG INSOT
“That’s an exact copy of the last page of his diary,” Vaz said. “If ‘nine-fifteen’ is the date, then he made this entry the same day he came to your office.”
“Christ, Vaz, it looks impossible.”
“It may be, Jacob. If Fontaine wrote this using a chart or code wheel, there’s no way I can decipher it. You’d need an expert. Our only hope is that he used a quick and easy method, and then perhaps I can hit it by trial and error. And it’s entirely possible that this code is so childishly simple that we’ll kick ourselves for not seeing it at once.”
“How are you proceeding?”
“First I tried a straight substitution of letters—A equals B, B equals C, then A equals C, B equals D, and so on. I got nowhere. Then I counted the letters to find those most frequently used. In normal writing, E appears most often, followed by T, A, O, and N. But in Fontaine’s journal—”
Sophia bustled out of the next room, talking as she came.
“Vassily, get that mess cleaned up before—oh, hello, Jacob, how are you?—before my friends arrive, which is in exactly ten minutes. We have important work to do, do you hear me, Vassily?”
“Yes, yes, Sophia,” he said, picking up his papers. “As I was saying, in Fontaine’s journal the order of frequency is E, T, L, O, and I. So he may have substituted for some letters, but not for others. I am working under that assumption. Of course, he may have used a different method entirely.”
“If it weren’t so important, Vaz, I’d say forget it.”
“I know. Don’t worry, I’m not ready to quit. Now tell me what’s been going—”
“I mean it, Vassily,” Sophia called from the kitchen.
“Yes, yes.” He smiled sheepishly at me and shook his head. “Some women friends or other for some church group or other. Let’s go outside. I want to know what’s been going on with you.”
Before we left, Vaz tucked his battered chessboard and box of pieces under his arm. They were his security blanket and prayer beads, and he never went far without them.
We walked out to the backyard—Mrs. Finch’s pride and once joy. An era ago she’d played back here with her older sisters, rolling hoops, playing tag, pushing each other in the tree swing. Her father had been a wealthy merchant when he’d built this house—the finest mansion on the block. Life had been simple and good and would, it seemed, last forever. But now the fortune was gone and Mrs. Finch was alone and the great house was split up into eight apartments.
Vaz and I sat near the huge elm. He set up the board on the rickety folding table and began arranging the pieces for a game, the white men on his side. The late September sun was warm, and the air was still and dry.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind, Vaz, I don’t know if I’d be much competition.” Not that I would anyway. Vaz had been to the chess world what Mickey Mantle had been to baseball—maybe not the best who ever played, but definitely Hall of Fame material.
“Come, Jacob, it will help you relax. I will give you rook odds.”
“At least make it queen odds.”
“As you wish,” he said, removing his queen from her square with great reluctance, as if he’d already lost the game. This from a man who’d once played blindfolded against twelve lesser opponents, beating ten, drawing with two. He moved his pawn to king four.
“I haven’t seen you since Wednesday,” he said. “Any new developments since then?”
I answered with pawn to king four. “A few. For openers, I’ve been formally charged with the murder of Zack Meacham.”
He looked up from the board. “What? That is insane.”
“Nevertheless.” While I filled him in on the tireless efforts of Lieutenant Dalrymple, including the forged statements against me, we both played pawns to our queen three and king bishop four squares. “Dalrymple says I can save myself if I give him Helen Ester.”
“Then he suspects her?” Vaz’s heavy eyebrows did a few push-ups. “And he’s willing to trade you for her?”
I nodded and so did Vaz.
“What, you’re agreeing?”
“No, no, Jacob. Not exactly.”
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
“There’s no reason to get angry.”
“Who’s angry?” I took a breath and gestured with open hands. “Okay, okay, I’m not. Really. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
He played his queen knight to bishop three.
“These statements by Miss Ester, you’re certain they are forgeries?”
“Absolutely certain,” I said and snapped up his king pawn.
Vaz took back with his queen pawn. “You see, Jacob, I was just wondering, what if Miss Ester is working in concert with Archuleta?”
“Christ, Vaz, where the hell’d you get that idea? Never mind, there’s no way. Archuleta tried to kill her.” I told him about yesterday morning in the parking garage, when Archuleta had shot at me and attempted to run over Helen. I moved pawn to queen rook three, a purely defensive move, perhaps wasted. Vaz remained silent.
“Well?”
“Well, okay,” he said. “My suspicions about her were false.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I told him how I’d learned that Archuleta had rented the car using the name “Villanueva” and how I’d made a wasted trip to Vail. We exchanged pawns in the center, relieving the tension. Then I backtracked a bit and described my talk with Wendy Apple, my trip to Las Vegas, and my conversation with Vince Pesce.
Vaz slowly shook his massive head and attacked my pawn with his king’s knight.
“You attacked an innocent man, Jacob?” His tone of voice was meant to inspire feelings of guilt. It worked.
“He didn’t look innocent,” I said lamely, then changed the subject to Harry Witherspoon. I told Vaz about the Gazette’s editor explaining how and why Lloyd Fontaine acquired the photos of Ed Teague.
Vaz nodded. “So Fontaine had no prior knowledge of the Lochemont robbery.”
“Apparently not.”
I played bishop to queen knight five, pinning his knight to his king. Vaz seemed unperturbed.
“Could Fontaine have teamed up with Archuleta si
nce the robbery?”
“It’s possible, I suppose. Why?”
“If not, then perhaps Soames and Archuleta are working together.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” I said. “What are you getting at?”
“We’ve been assuming that Archuleta killed Meacham because Meacham was threatening Soames, right? If so, how did Archuleta learn of these threats?”
“I’m not sure. He may have one or more accomplices.” I told Vaz about Willy Two Hawks and sons and the blond guy I’d seen tailing me in the tan Ford. “Those Indians probably know everything that’s going on in Caroline Lochemont’s house.”
“I see. And now Archuleta wants Ester out of Caroline’s house and out of the picture.”
“It would appear.”
Vaz attacked my queen with his bishop. I pushed her ahead two squares, out of the line of fire. Vaz attacked her again, this time with his rook.
“Then he certainly wants you out, too,” he said.
“No doubt. But I intend to stick close to Soames until Archuleta shows himself again.” I moved my queen to safety on king knight three.
“That is most dangerous,” Vaz said.
He brought his rook all the way to my edge of the board, giving check. I had only one move—king to bishop two.
“I don’t have much choice, Vaz. One thing, though: I think I have an ally in Caroline Lochemont. I’m meeting her today at noon. She wants me to help her and Soames with something.”
“Perhaps to dig up the jewels?” Vaz said, a gleam in his eye.
“Fat chance.”
“But if so, what would be your share?”
He checked me with his white-squared bishop. I was running out of moves.
“My main interest in Soames is Archuleta,” I said. “That little killer is sticking close to the old man, and when he shows up again, I intend to drop on him like a safe.”
“Are you saying you’re not at all interested in buried treasure?”
“I suppose a bit.” I blocked his bishop with mine.
Vaz snorted. “A bit. Hah!” He dropped his knight on my king pawn. “Checkmate.”
“Shit.”
“Your game needs work, Jacob.”
“No shit.”
“You’re not thinking far enough ahead. Let me show you something.” Vaz usually didn’t preach, but now he moved his rook back to queen one and tapped it with his forefinger. “When I moved my rook here,” he said, “you should have taken it with your queen, even though it meant losing her. True, it can be most unpleasant, giving up your lady, but in this case it is forced, essential to your survival.” He picked up my black queen. “If you try too hard to protect her, it can cost you everything.”
“Are you talking about Helen Ester?”
“Why, no, Jacob,” he said with exaggerated innocence. “I’m talking about chess.”
24
ON THE WAY TO Caroline Lochemont’s house, I thought I spotted the blond guy in the tan Ford. But if it was him, he was keeping his distance. I parked in front of the house, right behind the beat-up Chevy of Willy Two Hawks. Caroline answered the front door, and I followed her inside. She limped.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I twisted my ankle on a rock.”
“She stumbled around up there like a drunken squaw,” Willy said from the couch. He sipped beer from a can and smiled at me from behind his dark glasses.
“What’s he talking about?” I asked Caroline.
“Willy made Grandpa show them where he’d run.”
“Run?”
“After the Lochemont robbery,” Willy said with a belch. “When he ran away from Teague and Archuleta and hid the satchel of jewels.”
“He never had the jewels.”
“He never had the jewels,” Willy mocked.
Caroline turned to me. “Willy and his sons forced my grandfather and me to—”
“We never forced nobody,” Willy said, getting off the couch. “What’s taking Charley so long out there, anyhow? I need another beer.” He walked bowlegged to the kitchen.
“He didn’t actually hold a gun to our heads,” Caroline said when he’d gone, “but the threat was plain enough—show them or else. My grandfather’s not well, but we went along to avoid violence. The more we tried to tell them there are no jewels, the harder they pushed us on—especially that big ape, Tom. So I ended it by twisting my ankle.”
“On purpose?”
She nodded yes with a smile.
“How is it now?”
“I’ll live,” she said.
Willy came back.
“Charley’s making lunch out there,” he told Caroline. “He wants your help.”
Caroline went to the kitchen. Willy popped the top on a fresh can of Coors and sprawled on the couch.
“I’m surprised you came back here,” he said, “after that little run-in with my boys the other day. Mathew told me he used a tire iron to get his point across.”
“I hardly noticed.”
“That ain’t what I heard,” he said and smiled wide enough to let me admire his gold molar.
“Willy, why don’t you take your beer and hit the road. You’ve worn out your welcome.”
His eyebrows raised above his blacked-out eyes. “What makes you think I ain’t welcome here?”
“Just an educated guess. As in education. You’ve probably heard of it.”
Willy’s mouth turned down. I’d hurt his feelings. Then he grinned. “I get it, Lomax. You want some of that action out there.” He raised his whiskery chin toward the kitchen. “Don’t worry, though, she’s a frisky enough bitch to take care of us all, maybe even two at a time. But my boys get first crack at her, you remember that.”
I stepped over to Willy and grabbed him one-handed by the neck and yanked him off the couch. He dropped his beer on the floor and pried at my fingers. His toes barely touched the carpet.
“I don’t want to see you around here again,” I told him, trying hard not to choke the little bastard to death.
He swung feeble fists at my head, but his arms weren’t long enough to reach past my shoulder. His mouth was round and turning blue.
“If you bother these people again, you’ll wake up in intensive care.” I slapped off his glasses with my other hand, revealing bloodshot eyes. “Blink twice if you follow my meaning,” I said.
He did.
I let him go, then gave him a shove toward the front door. He gasped for air and rubbed his throat.
“What’s going on?” Caroline asked, entering the room.
“Willy was just leaving.”
Willy picked up his glasses with one hand, still rubbing his neck with the other. He tried to speak but could only sputter.
“You’ll be … sorry …”
I stepped toward him. He scrambled out the door and down the walk, then got in his truck and drove away.
“Whatever you said to him, thanks,” Caroline said.
“My pleasure.”
“There’s lunch, if you’re hungry. The weather’s so nice, we set up outside.”
I followed her through the kitchen and out the back door to the cement-slab patio covered by a green-and-white-striped plastic awning. Warm green sun washed over the redwood picnic table, which was set with a platter of sandwiches, a bag of potato chips, and a six-pack of Coors. Suburban cuisine.
“Where’s Willy?” Soames said. The greenish light on his gray face reminded me of a fish underwater.
“Jacob told him to leave.” Caroline put her hand on my arm. “Sit down. Grandpa and I have a proposition for you.”
I figured it had to do with protecting them from Willy and his sons.
“I rarely work as a bodyguard,” I said.
Caroline glanced at Soames. He popped the tab on a beer and shoved it at me. “We don’t need you to guard any bodies, Lomax. Have a sandwich.”
“We want you to help us find the jewels,” Caroline said.
I looked at Soames. He grinned and guzzle
d beer. I think my palms started to sweat. Five million dollars.
“You’re, uh, are you saying you know where they are?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t need you,” he said.
“Grandpa knows approximately.”
“I dropped the satchel down a mine shaft,” he said. “The problem now is finding the right shaft.”
My palms were sweating. I rubbed them on my pants.
“Then you were in on the robbery after all.”
“Hell no, I wasn’t,” Soames said. “Teague forced me to help.” His eyes challenged me to disagree. I took a bite from my sandwich—bologna and American cheese on Wonder bread. Mmm.
“You told me Archuleta got away with the jewels.”
“So I lied.” But Soames looked away when he said it. “While Teague was in that shack, blowing the others to bits, I grabbed the satchel of gems and ran for my life. Then Teague came after me with his scattergun.”
“What about Archuleta?”
His eyes narrowed. “What about him?”
“Was he chasing you, too?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Soames wasn’t telling all he knew about Archuleta, but now wasn’t the time to press him about it. And there was something else that bothered me: Why would armed robbers leave an unattended hostage alone with their swag?
“Anyway,” Soames said, “I hid the satchel in case he, I mean they, caught up with me. I planned to lead the cops back to the mine if I made it to safety.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because by the time they found me, I’d been wandering around for four days. I’d damn near frozen to death each night, and I’d taken a bad fall and cracked open my head. I don’t even remember being found. They told me later that I’d been about one day away from dying.”
“But eventually you remembered,” I said. “I mean about hiding the satchel.”
Soames took a long pull on his beer.
“Sure, eventually. But by then I realized my situation.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning they were out to pin everything on me.”
“‘They’ being the cops?”
“The cops, the insurance company, my boss, even my own daughter and her goddamn husband. Everyone wanted the jewels back, all right, but they also wanted to hang me for the little girl who got it during the robbery. I was the patsy. It wouldn’t have helped me one damn bit to lead them to the jewels. My only consolation was that nobody would get them.”
Blood Stone (The Jacob Lomax Mysteries Book 2) Page 14
