Cold Skies

by Thomas King

  “Has Dr. Mooney performed your fasting blood test yet?”

  Thumps closed his eyes. Damn. He had forgotten about the blood test.

  “It is a most important test.”

  “Absolutely.” Thumps made a casual gesture with his hand. “All done.”

  “Excellent,” said Rawat. “Shall we begin?”

  “Sure.”

  “This one,” said Rawat, holding up the first box, “is perfectly fine, but it is larger than the mini.”

  “Okay.”

  “Whereas this one is smaller.” Rawat held up the second box. “Some of my customers prefer the reduced size as they can slip it into a pocket.”

  “Is there a difference in price?”

  “Of course.”

  “Which one is cheaper?”

  Rawat smiled. “That depends.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, Rawat gave Thumps a consumer tour of glucose meters.

  “So you see, the cost of the meter is not the important issue. It is also the cost of the strips and the lancets and how easy these are to obtain.”

  “Pick one for me.”

  “You have no preference?” Rawat sounded somewhat astonished. “This is a most important decision.”

  “Something cheap and simple.”

  Rawat went to the shelves and came back with two more boxes. “These are both convenient and affordable,” he said. “This one comes with a book where you are to write down all the things you eat each day.”

  “And this one?”

  “Does not have the book.”

  Thumps looked at both boxes. “The one without the writing book.”

  “A good choice,” said Rawat. “Writing in the book is quite depressing. Did Dr. Mooney speak to you about losing weight?”

  “She might have mentioned it.”

  “Then I shall say no more about it,” said Rawat. “And did she talk to you about the medical regime she has prescribed?”

  “She said I could control it with diet.”

  Rawat smiled. It was a broad smile, almost a chuckle. “Yes, this is possible for a period of time, but evidently you have exceeded that period already.”

  “I was just diagnosed.”

  “This drug has been rigorously tested.” Rawat held up a plastic bottle. “And the side effects are generally mild.”

  “Such as?”

  “A slight metallic taste in the mouth. Diarrhea. Upset stomach. Impotence.”

  “Impotence?”

  “Did Dr. Mooney talk to you about insulin and the insulin pump?”

  “Pump?” Thumps could feel the sweat beginning to rise out of his body. “No, she didn’t.”

  “Then,” said Rawat, “I shall say no more about it.”

  BY THE TIME Rawat had finished compiling all the lancets and test strips and alcohol swabs along with the meter and the pills, a bottle of multivitamins, and several brochures on diabetes, Thumps had a sizable sack to lug around.

  “Do you have a drug plan, Mr. DreadfulWater?”

  “No drug plan.”

  “Ah,” said Rawat, handing him the bill. “A misfortune to be sure.”

  Thumps knew the medication wasn’t going to be cheap, but the figure on the slip stopped him dead. “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “You could die from the cost of the disease.”

  “Yes,” said Rawat. “Many people do. It’s unfortunate you do not live in Canada. In Canada, many of these costs are covered.”

  Thumps took out his wallet. “At least they’re working on a cure.”

  “Oh, the drug companies don’t want to find a cure,” said Rawat. “All the profit is in controlling the disease.”

  Thumps slowly laid each bill out on the counter. The stove was going to have to wait a little longer.

  “Diabetes, cancer, heart disease,” said Rawat, “all most profitable.”

  THE CONVERSATION WITH Rawat had been mildly depressing. But as Thumps walked down the street with his bag, the main emotion he felt was embarrassment, as though he were fifteen again and his mother had caught him with a box of contraceptives.

  Not that diabetes was embarrassing.

  Thumps paused for a moment in front of Budd’s Clothing and tried to find the right word. Inconvenient. Diabetes was inconvenient. And somewhat scary. Thumps had always thought that he would die suddenly. A heart attack. A car crash. When he was a cop, there had always been the chance that he would be killed on the job. Disease had not been on the radar then, and now, suddenly, here it was.

  It took him a minute to realize that he was staring at himself in the store window. So that’s what diabetes looked like. Somewhat middle-aged, somewhat out of shape, somewhat sad.

  And very much alone.

  Twenty-Four

  When Thumps got to Al’s, Wutty Youngbeaver and Jimmy Monroe were sitting where they always sat, near the front door across from the grill.

  “The key is a positive attitude,” Jimmy called out to him, as Thumps made his way to the far end of the counter. “They’re curing all sorts of cancers these days.”

  “Diabetes,” said Wutty, shaking his head. “Still not an auspicious prognosis.”

  “Russell Plunkett had cancer,” said Jimmy, “and he beat it.”

  “Russell had gallstones,” said Wutty.

  Al was waiting for him with the coffee pot. “Looks like your little buddy was right all along.”

  “Is there someone in town who doesn’t know?”

  “I’m willing to swap the hash browns for some nice sliced tomatoes,” said Al. “How does that sound?”

  “Eggs, scrambled. No milk, no cream, just butter. Multigrain toast. Hash browns with salsa. Coffee. Black.”

  “That sounds like the usual.”

  “It is the usual.”

  “Okay,” said Al. “I’m not your mother.”

  Thumps looked around the café.

  “That guy from Sacramento been in?”

  “Mr. Fancy Specs?” Al shook her head. “Haven’t seen Archie’s girlfriend either, now that I think about it.”

  “She’s not Archie’s girlfriend.”

  “But I’ve been working on my frappés,” said Al. “Just in case she shows up again.”

  Thumps set the pharmacy bag on the floor next to the stool where no one could see it. He didn’t want to take the medication and the testing kit out until he was somewhere private. Opening the bag in the café would just bring Wutty and Jimmy to his end of the counter with sympathy and advice. In terms of his overall health, the sooner people forgot that he was diabetic, the better he’d feel.

  “Hear the sheriff arrested Norm Chivington.”

  “He did.”

  “You were there?”

  “I was.”

  Al grinned as though she had just told herself a good joke. “That must have put a spring in Duke’s step.”

  “It did.”

  “Hear Norm’s threatening to sue.”

  “You know what would put a spring in my step?”

  “Breakfast?”

  “Breakfast.”

  “Did you get the mini or the standard?”

  “Al . . .”

  Al glanced back at Wutty and Jimmy. “If you’re going to stick your finger, the guys said that they’d like to watch.”

  “I’m not going to stick my finger.”

  “Suit yourself.” Al strolled back to the grill. “But you’re going to have to get into the bag sometime. Archie says you’re supposed to take the pills with food.”

  “My aunt had diabetes,” Wutty called out from the front of the café. “They had to appropriate her toes.”

  “Guy I bowl with,” said Jimmy, “couldn’t control his blood sugars and wound up with a heart problem.”

  Thumps closed his eyes and tried to shut out the Greek chorus. He didn’t hear the front door open and close until it was too late.

  “Damn it, DreadfulWater.”

  Beth slid onto the stool next to
him.

  “Last night. What was the last thing I said last night?”

  “Something about a blood test?”

  “Before you ate breakfast.”

  “I haven’t had breakfast.”

  “Good.” Beth put her bag on the counter and opened it.

  “You’re joking.”

  “Roll up your sleeve and relax.”

  THE REST OF breakfast was a tortured affair. Beth drained his body of blood, and his arm ached so badly he had to eat with his left hand. Al cut back on his hash browns and gave him two slices of fresh tomato, so he could see how delicious healthy eating could be, and when Thumps complained about the shortage, Wutty and Jimmy raced to her defence.

  “They didn’t confiscate Auntie’s toes all at once,” Wutty explained. “They eradicated them one at a time.”

  “Wasn’t all bad news,” said Jimmy. “Frank had to give up bowling, but he was able to get one of those handicap parking stickers.”

  Thumps tried to sneak into the bag while the two men were debating whether they’d rather have a wonky heart or no toes, but he wasn’t completely successful. Each time he reached in, the plastic packaging made a crackling sound, and he could feel Wutty and Jimmy rise off their stools like a pair of hunting dogs looking for a rabbit.

  In the end, he left the bag on the floor next to the stool and stayed hunched over his coffee, holding his arm and feeling sorry for himself.

  Twenty-Five

  The sheriff was sitting behind his desk, bent over a folder. The old percolator was making strange wheezing noises, as though it were gasping for air.

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “Ran out of coffee,” said Duke without looking up. “Had to make a new batch.”

  Thumps couldn’t remember the last time he had caught Duke brewing a fresh pot of coffee. Not in the last six months. Maybe not in the last year. Mostly he just added water to the resident sludge.

  “Fresh coffee is always hard on the pot.”

  “Maybe I’ll take a photograph,” said Thumps. “Call the newspaper.”

  Hockney raised his head. “You keep making jokes about my coffee and I’m not going to tell you about my exciting day in law enforcement.”

  Thumps listened for a moment. Except for the percolator, the building was quiet.

  “You let Norm go?”

  Duke shut the folder. “Mr. Chivington is enjoying the amenities of the west wing.”

  “The cell with the foul stench?”

  “Lance found a dead rat in the floor drain,” said Hockney. “It doesn’t smell that bad anymore.”

  Thumps tried to settle onto one of the new chairs. “So, Norm shot Lester?”

  The sheriff made a sour face. “Norm couldn’t shoot himself in the foot.”

  Thumps tried resting on his right hip. Then he tried resting on his left. He didn’t know who had designed the chairs. Someone who didn’t have a butt.

  “So, Norm didn’t shoot Lester.”

  “According to Norm,” said Duke, “he was at home with the wife when he got a call from Orem at the airport to alert him to a possible problem with one of the rentals. And being an honest businessman . . .”

  “Honest businessman?”

  “His words, not mine.” Duke wasn’t smiling, but he was thinking about it. “Anyway, Norm goes to the airport and finds James Lester passed out in one of the rentals.”

  “Passed out?”

  “Passed out,” said the sheriff. “Norm swears he didn’t notice the gun or the hole in Lester’s head until he got to the motel.”

  “Amazing.”

  “That’s exactly what I said,” said the sheriff. “And this is the part I like the best. Norm, upon finding said gun and said hole, determined that Lester had committed suicide, and he further determined that a suicide in a Chivington Motors’ rental and a suicide in a Wagon Wheel motel room were, in fact, the same suicide.”

  “The argument being that it didn’t matter where the suicide was found.”

  “Indeed,” said Hockney. “And what should Norm have done?”

  “Call the sheriff’s office.”

  “Exactly,” said Duke. “But as Norm explained to me, while he is an honest businessman, he was also fearful . . .”

  “Fearful?”

  “That’s the word he used,” said the sheriff. “Fearful that if he reported a dead body, I would impound the Jeep as part of my investigation.”

  “Which you would have done.”

  “Which I would have done had I had the chance.” Hockney got up and went to the percolator. “So, Norm . . . fearful that I would do exactly that, decided to make some minor adjustments to the crime scene. He told Orem that Lester was just drunk, drove the body back to the motel, left it in the room, and drove away in the Jeep.”

  The coffee that came from the spout of the percolator looked almost normal. It was dark brown, not blue-black, and had a viscosity that was closer to water than it was to warm tar. Thumps considered trying a cup.

  “You believe him?”

  The sheriff took a sip, made a face, and poured the coffee back into the pot.

  “Unfortunately,” said Hockney, “Norm’s story fits most of the facts.”

  “Yet he’s still in jail.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  Thumps held up one hand and began ticking off the offences on his fingers. “Disturbing a crime scene, impeding an ongoing investigation, removing evidence . . .”

  “Pissing me off.”

  “He tried to avoid arrest.”

  “I’d forgotten that one,” said Duke. “Anyway, I’m going to let the city’s attorney and Norm’s lawyer sort things out.”

  “He’ll make bail.”

  “I imagine he will,” said the sheriff. “Just not today.”

  “I guess that wraps it all up.”

  The sheriff banged the percolator on the table and swirled the liquid around. “A little agitation helps to sweeten the brew.”

  “Except for the gunshot wound.” Thumps waited to see if Duke wanted to step in.

  “Yes,” said the sheriff, banging the percolator, harder this time. “Everything except for the gunshot wound. You got any ideas?”

  Thumps tried sitting up straight in the chair. He could feel the chrome bars digging into his back and thighs. “I think Lester and Knight had dinner reservations at Shadow Ranch the night they were killed.”

  Hockney shook his head. “I checked all the restaurants personally including Shadow Ranch. No reservations.”

  “Wasn’t in either of their names,” said Thumps. “Boomper Austin made the reservation. He showed up, but the other two didn’t.”

  “Austin? Again?”

  “Talked to the front desk.” Thumps pulled Deanna’s card out of his pocket and slid it across the desk. “Reservation was for three.”

  The sheriff looked at the card. “Deanna Heavy Runner? She related to Roxanne?”

  “Sister.”

  “She as fierce as Roxanne?”

  “Major in criminology at the college. She’s working on a practicum.”

  The sheriff didn’t bite. “Reservation could have been for anyone.”

  “True enough,” said Thumps.

  “But it’s a shitload of coincidences.” The sheriff cocked his head and gave Thumps a squinty look. “Lester and Knight get all dressed up for an evening out. Austin makes a reservation for three the same night they’re killed. He shows up for the dinner, but the other two, whoever they are, don’t. Is that about it?”

  “That’s about it.”

  “And Mr. Austin didn’t bother to mention this?”

  “No reason he should.”

  “I guess I’ll have to have a little talk with our Texas billionaire.”

  “Maybe you could talk to Deanna while you’re at it.”

  “Damn it, DreadfulWater,” said Duke, “I’m not an employment agency.”

  “You’ve been trying to hire me.”

  From somewhere
deep in the back of the sheriff’s office, Thumps could hear what might have been muffled shouts followed by the vague sounds of someone banging on metal.

  “That’s Norm,” said Duke. “He must have heard your voice and thinks you’ve come to rescue him.”

  “So Norm didn’t shoot Lester.”

  “Swears on his mother’s grave,” said Duke. “And other clichés.”

  “Hard to discount a cliché.”

  “And truth be told, I believe him.” Hockney reached down and twiddled with one of the knobs at the side of the chair and the back reclined. “Why put a bullet in a dead body? A corpse in one of his cars was trouble enough.”

  Thumps took a moment to consider the percolator. “Maybe I’ll try a cup of coffee.”

  “Help yourself.” Duke twiddled with the knobs again and the back of the chair came up. “It’s sort of like a recliner,” he said. “But without the comfort.”

  “So you think Lester and Knight were murdered.”

  “I’ll wait until I hear from Beth.” Duke opened the drawer of his desk and took out a large manila envelope. “In the meantime, why don’t you take a look at this.”

  “That the stuff Stick got off the cellphones and laptops?”

  “He dropped it off this morning.”

  The envelope wasn’t all that thick. The college’s logo was in one corner in gold and blue lettering. “Computer Services” was printed below it in basic black. Someone had written, “Eyes Only,” across the face of the envelope with a bold marker.

  Thumps held the envelope up. “You couldn’t find your ‘Top Secret’ stamp?”

  Hockney ignored him. “How about you take a gander. See what you can find.”

  Thumps could see that Duke wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll do it if you stop bugging me about being acting sheriff.”

  “How about doing it because you’re a concerned citizen?”

  “And I’m concerned about what again?”

  “Not getting on my bad side.”

  “Some folks would argue that you don’t have a good side.”

  “That’s because they don’t know me.” The sheriff spun the chair in a slow circle. “I’m a generous and forgiving man.”