by Thomas King
CRUZ STOOD WITH Thumps as they waited for the elevator.
“What’s your next move?”
“I’m going to get dinner,” said Thumps. “You?”
“Go back into town,” said Cruz. “See what I can find.”
“You believe Austin?”
“I work for the man,” said Cruz. “He pays me to believe.”
“Any limits to that faith?”
“Nothing to do with faith,” said Cruz. “He’s rich. He’s arrogant. He’s smart. He’s hard. He changes staff like you and I change socks. I suspect I won’t be working for him much longer.”
The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Thumps hit the lobby button.
“Seeing as you’re about to be unemployed, is there anything you want to add to that conversation we just had?”
Cruz rolled his neck in a circle. “Just odd.”
“What?”
“I can see buying Orion’s technology for the corporate-leverage angle,” said Cruz, “but why come all the way to Buffalo Chip by the Lake?”
“Buffalo Chip by the Lake?”
“No offence,” said Cruz. “It’s just that he could have made the same deal from the comfort of his office tower in Houston.”
“Office tower?”
“Big sucker. Glass and granite. Looks like a dildo.”
“Does he have an office tower in Bangkok?”
“Thailand?” Cruz looked genuinely surprised.
“Or a business deal on the go in that part of the world?”
“Not that I know of.”
“It would be a mistake.”
“What?”
“Firing you,” said Thumps.
“It’s okay,” said Cruz. “You’d be amazed at the number of guys like him who need a guy like me.”
THE LOBBY WAS QUIET. Deanna wasn’t at reception. Thumps wandered into the dining room, with its banks of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the land. The evening had turned to night, and the trees and the mountains were silhouettes against a dark sky.
“Thumps!”
Archie was sitting with seven other people. Thumps stopped in his tracks and began to think of an excuse as to why he couldn’t stay, when he saw Claire at the far end of the table.
“Join us.” Archie grabbed a chair and began wedging it in next to Claire. “We got food coming.”
An evening out with one other person was ideal. Four was okay. Anything more than that was problematic. Eight was impossible. And exhausting.
For the next hour, Thumps sat next to Claire, while plates of food came and went, and Archie held court on every subject from bottled water to the national debt. Every so often Claire would smile or nod or both. Thumps wanted to tell her that he wasn’t going anywhere, that he’d be there for her, but the voices at the table drowned out any hope of intimacy.
The party began to crack apart around ten. A couple whom Thumps did not know excused themselves and then two guys from the state environmental agency drifted away. By ten-thirty, it was just Archie and Claire.
“Nothing on the Orion deal so far.” Archie helped himself to a spoonful of chocolate mousse.
“Don’t need it,” said Thumps.
Archie stopped the spoon in mid-air. “Because?”
“Austin bought RAM for a little over four million.”
Archie put the spoon down. “That’s crazy. That technology is worth a hundred times that much.”
Claire stood and straightened her dress. “I’m going to bed. Big day tomorrow.”
“Sure, sure,” said Archie. “Me and Thumps have to talk.”
Thumps stood and shook his head. “No, we don’t.”
“You need to fill me in. Tell me what’s happening.”
“No, I don’t.”
Thumps could see Archie’s eyes flit from him to Claire and then back again. “Oh,” he said. “Right. I get it. Sure, we can talk later.”
Claire waited until Archie was in the lobby on his way to the elevators. “That wasn’t subtle.”
“Subtle doesn’t work with Archie.”
“So, is this where you try to charm your way into my chamber?”
“I’m hoping for an invitation.”
“You need a second?”
CLAIRE’S CONDO WASN’T as fancy as the one that Austin had, but the balcony had just as good a view. The night air was cool but not uncomfortable. Each day from now on, it would warm until it got August hot. And then fall would come to the High Plains, and the earth would begin to go quiet again.
“I have to do this myself.”
“Why?”
“Because I do.”
“That doesn’t sound like a reason,” said Thumps. “That sounds like depression.”
“What do you know about depression?”
“How about I come to Seattle with you? Drive you around. Feed you. Be your Cisco Kid.”
“My what?”
“Television show,” said Thumps. “I could be your chauffeur, your chef, your massage therapist, your bodyguard.”
“Someone who would hold me?”
“Definitely.”
“I don’t like depending on anyone.”
“I know.”
Claire leaned in, and Thumps took her in his arms. Just like in the movies. Moonlight, stars, a river running through a canyon, a night breeze, a bedroom.
A phone.
At first, Thumps tried to imagine that it wasn’t a phone ringing. But it was. He was going to suggest that Claire not answer it. Phone calls at this time of night were never good news.
“Hello . . . Yes . . . Hi, sheriff . . .”
Thumps began making frantic throat-cutting motions for Claire to hang up.
“He is,” she said, a small smile forming on her lips. “Do you want to speak to him?”
The sheriff was brief and to the point.
Claire waited for Thumps to hang up the phone. “Is it as bad as you look?”
“It is.”
“And you have to go back into town.”
“I do.”
“If this were a movie,” said Claire, “this would be the scene where I get upset, the scene where you tell me you love me, the scene where I cry and say that if you really loved me, you wouldn’t leave.”
Thumps sighed, more a groan. “I never did like that scene.”
“Me neither,” said Claire. “Be careful. Come back when you can.”
Thumps touched Claire’s cheek. “You know the Spartan women used to tell their men to either come back victorious or come back on their shields.”
“God.” Claire kissed him gently on the lips. “You guys are such drama queens.”
Forty-Two
When Thumps got to the Tucker, the place looked like a movie set for a cop show. All of Chinook’s finest were on duty. The entrance to the hotel was cordoned off, and Lance Packard was directing traffic. The news media had been herded off to one side, and Thumps could see that no one was going to get in or out of the hotel unless they had an invite and knew the special handshake.
Thumps stood against the yellow crime-scene tape and waited for Lance to notice him.
“Hey, Thumps.”
Lance was about thirty-two, tall with a head of thick brown hair that reminded Thumps of fudge.
“Busy night.”
Lance smiled. “You don’t know the half of it. Duke’s not a happy camper. I can tell you that.”
“Can I get through?”
Lance checked an imaginary guest list. “You’re among the anointed.”
The deputy made it sound as though the distinction was first prize in a raffle.
“Fourth floor,” said Lance. “You can’t miss it.”
“At least the weather’s good.”
Lance nodded. “Temperature’s supposed to drop. When you see the sheriff, could you ask him if we could get some coffee sent out?”
DUKE WAS STANDING in the middle of room 424 with Beth Mooney at his side. Cisco Cruz was sitting on the far sofa,
flanked by two more deputies. The air was heavy from too many bodies in too small a space, and everyone was talking in half tones, as though there was someone sleeping in the next room whom they did not want to disturb.
Thumps didn’t have to ask.
Hockney looked up from his conversation with Beth. “About time.”
“How?”
“Well,” said Duke, “on the surface, it appears to be an accident.”
Thumps glanced around the room. Hockney and his deputies. Beth. A couple of paramedics from the hospital.
“Doesn’t look like the accident investigation squad.”
“Cruz found the body,” said Duke. “Claims he got to the hotel around eight, knocked on the door, got no answer, so he let himself in.”
“Let himself in?”
“Seems he had a key card.”
“Body’s in the bathroom,” said Beth. “In the tub.”
Cruz was not looking good. His eyes were swollen and there was a tired tilt to his body.
“Cisco here says he was with you at Buffalo Mountain.”
Thumps looked at Beth and then back at Duke. “Time of death?”
“No idea,” said Beth.
The bathroom was larger than Thumps expected. There was a double sink and a free-standing shower stall, along with a new toilet that looked like an old toilet. And a bidet. The bathtub was a porcelain trough, expensive with thick sides, a sloping back, and a chrome basket for soap and shampoo. There were clothes—slacks, blouse, panties, bra—strewn in clumps on the floor. In front of the tub was a thick bath mat, and next to the mat was a long-stem glass of what looked to be white wine.
The tub was full. Jayme Redding was floating in water the colour of blood. She had a small ring on her left hand. Aside from that she was naked.
“If we are to believe the initial impression,” said Beth, “we might conclude that Ms. Redding drew herself a bath, disrobed, stepped into the tub, slipped, hit her head, and drowned.”
Thumps stood and waited. Death was a funny business. Naked live bodies and naked dead bodies had little in common.
“But there are two problems,” said the sheriff.
“Cruz having a key for the room?”
“Three,” said Duke.
“Cruz and Redding were on-again, off-again lovers.”
“Yes,” said the sheriff. “Mr. Cruz has already offered up that piece of information.”
Beth waved a hand over the pile of clothes. “Valli slacks, Phillip Lim blouse, Fleur of England undergarments. Those aren’t brands you just dump on the floor.”
“That’s problem number one,” said Duke.
“She’d been drinking?”
“Maybe,” said Beth.
“What’s number two?”
Hockney rubbed the back of his head. “Why don’t you take a run at number two.”
Thumps stepped back into the doorway so he could see the room whole and at once. Then he slowly walked to the bath mat, reached down, and pressed his hand into the thick pile.
“How long has she been in the tub?”
“That will be a bad guess at best,” said Beth. “The water in the tub is room temperature. I’m guessing that it was hotter to begin with.”
“Because no woman would fill a tub with lukewarm water.”
“Sexist,” said Beth, “but true.”
“And the temperature of the water is going to screw up the time of death.”
“The best we can hope for is to run it back to the last time anyone saw her alive and run it forward to when she was found.”
“And,” said Duke, “it appears the first person to find her dead was also the last person to see her alive.”
“Don’t think Cruz did it.”
“Didn’t say it was murder,” said Beth.
Thumps shook his head. “High-end clothes in a pile can be explained. But I don’t see how you can get around the water.”
“How do you take a bath?” asked Beth.
“I take showers.”
“Okay,” said Beth, “if you took a bath, how would you do it?”
“Macy takes baths,” said Duke. “She fills the tub, tosses in some of that oil stuff, lights a couple of candles.”
Beth nodded. “And then she gets into the tub.”
“And then she gets into the tub.”
Thumps reached down and felt the mat again. “And if she stepped into a tub full of water and slipped, there would be water all over the place.”
“That’s problem number two,” said Beth.
“No water on the floor,” said Thumps. “The bath mat is dead dry.”
“Cruz says he saw Redding at seven last night,” said the sheriff. “Says he was here for about twenty minutes and when he left, Redding was alive.”
“And if we believe him,” said Beth, “that gives us a time frame of about fifteen hours.”
“Plenty of time for the floor to dry,” said Duke.
“Sure.” Thumps rubbed his eyes. “But not the bath mat.”
“Marble,” said Beth. “Any water that dried on this floor would have left marks. I figure Redding was put into an empty tub.” Beth took off her gloves. “Her head was bashed against the porcelain, the tub was filled, and someone held her under until she drowned.”
“The wineglass?”
“Stagecraft,” said Duke. “Act one, scene one.”
Thumps turned back toward the living room. “You talk to Cruz yet?”
“We have,” said the sheriff. “But maybe you should have a chat with your friend.”
“He’s not my friend.”
“Have a chat with him anyway.”
Cruz was still sitting on the sofa. The two deputies were still standing on either side. Cruz looked relaxed. The deputies looked as though they needed to sit down. On the coffee table was an envelope. Thumps recognized the college logo.
“I found Jayme.”
Thumps nodded. “So I heard.”
“Didn’t kill her.”
“Don’t think the sheriff is going to take your word for that.”
“Hell,” said Cruz, “I wouldn’t take my word either.”
Thumps sat on the chair across from Cruz and opened the envelope. The files were all there. So was the thumb drive.
“Okay, so you left Buffalo Mountain, came here to find Redding.”
“I called on the way in,” said Cruz. “No answer. I knocked when I got here. Again, no answer. So I let myself in. Found her in the tub.”
“And you called the sheriff.”
“I called the sheriff.”
“Right away?”
Cruz shifted on the sofa. “No.”
“Because?”
“It’s not going to make a lot of sense.”
“Try me,” said Thumps.
Cruz leaned back. “Finding her like that was . . .”
“A shock?”
“Yeah,” said Cruz, “it was.”
“But?”
“A phone call,” said Cruz. “I had just found Jayme’s body when the phone rang. I let it go to voice mail. It was that fresa Oliver Parrish. Said he was running late but that he’d be there shortly.”
“So you waited.”
“Sure,” said Cruz. “Sometimes waiting is the best strategy.”
“And?”
Cruz glanced at Duke. “About twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the door.”
“Parrish?”
“No se,” said Cruz. “I didn’t answer it.”
“You wanted to see if Parrish had a key card as well?”
Cruz shrugged.
“And then you phoned the sheriff?”
Duke snorted louder than necessary.
“No,” said Cruz. “I ran the crime scene first.”
“As in cleaning up evidence?” The sheriff had his “not amused” face on.
“Didn’t touch anything,” said Cruz. “I just looked.”
“Well,” said Duke, “we certainly appreciate your assistance in thi
s matter.”
“She was murdered.” Cruz touched his finger. “The ring. Black opal set in gold. Jayme got it when she was in Australia. Expensive. Opal doesn’t do well in soapy water. She’d never take a bath with that ring.”
Hockney rubbed his forehead. “Well, this is jolly. We all seem to be in agreement that what we have here is a homicide. Maybe we can put our heads together and figure out who killed Ms. Redding.”
“I’m good with that,” said Cruz.
“I wasn’t talking to you.” Duke took his handcuffs off his belt. “You’re under arrest.”
Cruz turned around and put his hands behind his back.
“Don’t think I’m not sympathetic,” said Duke. “Which is why I’m going to let Thumps read you your rights.”
“Didn’t do it, vato.”
“I know,” said the sheriff. “But you can ask Thumps. I just like arresting people.”
Forty-Three
It was almost midnight by the time Thumps and Duke and a handcuffed Cisco Cruz arrived at the sheriff’s office. Hockney turned on the lights and plugged in the old percolator. Which Thumps saw as an ominous sign.
“Just how long you figure we’re going to be here?”
Duke rearranged the handcuffs and fastened Cruz to the arm of one of the morgue chairs.
Cruz tried to look hurt. “Is this really necessary?”
Duke put two evidence bags on his desk. Redding’s cellphone was in one. Her laptop was in the other.
“Either of you know anything about phone logs and browsing history?”
Cruz raised his free hand.
“Don’t look at me,” said Thumps. “I have trouble with my answering machine.”
“But you’ll have to take the handcuffs off,” said Cruz.
Duke sat in his chair and tried to look like a stone wall. “I’ll bet you can check things out with one hand.”
“I can,” said Cruz. “But I won’t.”
Hockney tossed the keys to Cruz. “You take the cellphone. I’ll try the computer.”
Thumps yawned. “They’re probably both password protected.”
Cruz was already tapping his finger on the phone. “Try NellieBly2.”
“The journalist?”
“Did you know Bly faked insanity in order to get committed to the asylum on Blackwell’s Island?” Cruz looked up from the phone. “Qué mujer. Spent ten days in appalling conditions just to be able to write a first-hand exposé on the brutality of the place. She was one tough cookie.”
