by Thomas King
“We never got together,” said Parrish. “The sheriff has my full statement.”
Thumps nodded. “The sheriff probably asked you where you were when Redding was killed.”
“He did.”
“And?”
“Here,” said Parrish. “Buffalo Mountain. Ms. Redding called me here around five yesterday afternoon. We arranged to meet around nine that night. I was late.”
“And from five until you drove to Chinook?”
“This is all in the statement I gave the sheriff.”
Cruz tapped the edge of the table. “Humour him, pendejo. He used to be a cop.”
“Early dinner,” said Parrish. “In the resort dining room. I had the risotto. Surprisingly good. After that, the casino. Didn’t do so well there.”
Thumps stood and motioned to Cruz. “Thank you for your time.”
“My pleasure,” said Parrish.
Thumps was at the door before he stopped and turned. “You were in Great Falls when Lester and Knight were killed.”
“That’s right.”
“At a motel.”
“Comfort Inn,” said Parrish. “Wouldn’t recommend it.”
“And then you flew into Chinook the next day.”
Parrish waited.
“Did you know it’s a little under three hours to drive from Great Falls?”
Parrish’s face brightened. “Are you asking me if I drove over from Great Falls, killed James and Margo, drove back, and jumped on the plane the next morning?”
“Sure sounded like that was the question,” said Cruz.
“You think I killed them?” Parrish was smiling now. “Lester, Knight? What, and Redding?”
“But you didn’t have opportunity or motive, did you?”
“No,” said Parrish, the smile slipping into something harder and colder. “I didn’t. But while you’re at it, maybe you should ask Boomper Austin the same question.”
Thumps frowned. “Now why didn’t I think of that?”
Parrish checked his fancy watch. “I have to get to a panel on aquifer measurement technology or something like that. Help yourself to the food and coffee. Make sure the place is locked when you leave.”
Thumps stayed seated. Cruz wandered the room, looking at the furnishings.
“How much you figure one of these places costs?”
“To rent?”
“No, vato, to buy.” Cruz reached into his jacket, took out his cellphone, and looked at the screen.
“Problem?”
“Mr. Austin wants to see me.”
Thumps helped himself to a handful of grapes. “Why would Parrish stay at a Comfort Inn?”
“Great Falls has better hotels?”
Thumps rubbed his eyes. “There’s a Hilton, a Holiday, and a Hampton. If you like boutique, there’s the Arvon on First Avenue.”
“Probably close to the airport.”
Thumps shook his head. “There are two Comfort Inns. One is right at the airport. The second one is on Ninth. It’s as far away from the airport as you can get.”
“And Parrish stayed at the Comfort Inn on Ninth?”
“He did.”
“Curious.” Cruz wandered into the kitchen. “What are your plans for the day?”
“Get some breakfast.”
“I brought you breakfast.” Cruz opened and shut the refrigerator door. “Jayme told me about Eureka.”
Thumps stiffened. “Long time ago.”
“Sure,” said Cruz. “And it’s none of my business.”
“What are you going to do?”
“See el jefe.” Cruz ran a hand across the granite countertop. “Rattle the bushes. See what flies out.”
Cruz left. Thumps stayed in the chair. He thought about checking his blood sugars to see how much damage the one doughnut had done. Instead he waited for the memories of that night on the North Coast to crawl back into the shadows.
And for his heart to stop pounding.
Forty-Six
The dining room was a beehive. There were people everywhere with name cards clipped to lanyards hanging around their necks. As Thumps made his way through the pack, he couldn’t help but think of dog collars and leashes.
The breakfast buffet was extensive, and he took his time wandering around the hot trays and platters, looking at the choices and trying to decide what he could eat. The meat selections would probably be fine, except for the sausage, which had a high fat content, and the bacon, which had no nutritional value to speak of. The scrambled eggs would be okay, though the ones in the tray looked somewhat tired and worn out. There was cottage cheese and fruit and pastries of all sorts, as well as three different kinds of bread along with French toast, waffle squares, and hash-brown patties.
“Thumps.” Archie and the sheriff were sitting at a small table piled with dirty dishes. “We’ve gone national.” Archie held up his tablet so Thumps could see the screen. The banner line read, “Water Conference Turns Deadly.”
Thumps read the first paragraph. It was about the murders. “Don’t imagine this is the kind of publicity you wanted.”
“Publicity is publicity,” said Archie. “Sure, they’ll show up for the blood, but some of them will stay for the water.”
Duke was toying with a sausage. He didn’t look particularly happy. Not that he ever looked happy. Even when he was.
“I’ve got to chair a panel,” said Archie. “But if you find anything, I want to be the first to know.”
Thumps watched the little Greek work his way through the room, stopping almost every step to shake hands and say a few words of encouragement—the conference version of speed dating.
“You get a good night’s sleep?” asked Duke. The bags under the sheriff’s eyes were a little fuller and there was a noticeable droop to his jowls.
“You were up all night?”
“Dead bodies will do that to a person,” said Duke.
Thumps’s stomach began to growl. He could hear the buffet calling.
“I talked to Detective Walter Chang this morning.” Duke worked the keyboard of his laptop. “Sent me the crime-scene report.”
“And?”
Duke turned the laptop around. “Amanda Douglas. Thirty-one. Worked for the state. Chang is sure it’s the work of the Kanji Killer.”
“Great.”
“Don’t know why they do it.”
“I’m not sure anyone knows what makes serial killers tick.”
“Not the perp,” said Hockney. “The media. Why those idiots give this idiot a fancy nickname. ‘Kanji Killer’ my ass. Sounds like something out of one of those stupid zombie movies.”
“You watch zombie movies?”
“Macy,” said the sheriff. “She loves the damn things.”
Thumps scrolled down the crime-scene report. “They don’t have much.”
“There’s a photo,” said Duke.
The image on the screen was of a young woman in a black robe and mortarboard hat. A university graduation picture. Amanda Douglas smiling out at the world, imagining what lay ahead, never suspecting what she would find.
The report didn’t say if she was married or if she had children, and Thumps didn’t want to know. Reports such as this were always cold and impersonal. Sad. A life reduced to a series of notations on a sheet of paper.
“A child.” Duke’s voice was almost a whisper. “Just a child.”
It was difficult looking at Douglas’s face. Auburn hair. Blue eyes. A crooked smile. She didn’t remind Thumps of Anna or of Callie. And then again, she did.
“I’m guessing Redding was going to pick up where she had left off.”
“Work the serial-killer story?”
“Didn’t strike me as someone who liked to let sleeping dogs lie,” said Duke.
The smile. It hit Thumps like a punch. He had seen that smile before. Another place. Another time.
“You had breakfast?” Hockney waved a hand at the buffet. “It’s okay if you like steam-table food.”
Thumps pushed the laptop across the table. “You got the files from Lester’s cellphone on this thing?”
“Sure.”
“I need to see his photos.”
Duke shrugged and started working the keys. Then he stopped. “Shit.”
“Yeah,” said Thumps. “I think it’s her.”
The photograph of the young woman on Lester’s cellphone was taken from a distance.
Duke squinted at the screen. “What do you think?”
“Can you make it bigger?”
“Probably,” said the sheriff. “If I knew how.”
“It’s the same woman,” said Thumps. “It’s Amanda Douglas.”
“So what the hell is her photo doing on Lester’s cellphone?”
Thumps tried to think of the combinations that made sense. “Someone he knew?”
“Or a friend of a friend,” said Hockney. “She was a state employee. Maybe she worked for an agency that had dealings with Orion.”
Thumps shook his head. “No,” he said. “You see the way she’s looking off at something to the side?”
“This some sort of photography quiz?”
“She doesn’t know her picture is being taken.”
Hockney tried to sound impressed. “And how would you know that?”
“Women are sensitive about pictures.” Thumps moved his finger across the touchpad. “Look at the way she’s slouching. Look at the way her hair is partly in her face. If she knew she was being photographed, she would have sat up and fixed her hair. She would have looked at the camera.”
“You think Lester was the Kanji Killer?”
“You know how cellphone cameras work?”
“Nope.”
“Neither do I,” said Thumps. “But as luck would have it, we know someone who does.”
Forty-Seven
Stick answered the door. Claire was in the kitchen. As soon as she saw Thumps and the sheriff, she mouthed a silent plea, “Help me.” Stick stood in the doorway like the three hundred Spartans at Thermopylae.
“She doesn’t want to see anyone.”
“Stick.” Claire looked ready to butcher her son on the spot. “Let them in.”
“You don’t need this bullshit, Mom.”
“I’ve just made coffee.”
“Actually,” said Duke, “we’re here to see Stanley.”
“Thank God,” said Claire.
Claire looked tired. If she had gotten any sleep last night, it didn’t show. Thumps had a twinge of admiration for Stick’s protective instincts, but he couldn’t imagine that Claire was all that crazy about her son bunking with her and pulling round-the-clock guard duty, keeping everyone away, friend and foe alike.
Hockney tried his congenial face. “You remember the cellphones and laptops you processed?”
“The two stiffs?”
Claire closed her eyes. “James Lester and Margo Knight,” she said. “Not ‘two stiffs.’”
“Whatever.”
“As it turns out,” said Duke, “we need you to look at those files again.”
“Stanley will be happy to help,” said Claire.
“Sure,” said Stick, “but I’m not leaving you.”
Hockney nodded. “There’s a photo on Lester’s phone. We need to know who took it.”
“Lester’s phone,” said Stick. “Lester’s photo.”
“That’s why we need you to look at the file,” said Duke. “We’re thinking someone sent it to him.”
Stick looked at his mother. “I can’t do that here. I’d have to go to the lab.”
It wasn’t a smile on Claire’s face, but it was close enough. “Then go. If it will help with the investigation, then we need to help.”
“But . . .”
“Thumps will look after me,” said Claire. “Won’t you, Thumps?”
“Absolutely.”
“This is official police business,” said Duke.
“Okay.” Stick was grinding his teeth. “But as soon as we’re done, I’ll be back.”
Duke draped his large arm around Stick’s shoulders. “I’ll drive you back myself.”
Claire waited until she was sure her son was gone before she let out a long breath. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
“If I had had to put up with his empathy and help for another minute . . .”
“He’s your son,” said Thumps. “He loves you.”
Claire held Thumps’s eyes with hers. “And you think that would have saved him?”
There was a word for mothers who ate their young, but Thumps couldn’t remember what it was. Savaging? Filial infanticide? Something like that.
“He’s got his own place now. He wants me to move in with him.”
Thumps didn’t mean to laugh.
“It’s not funny.” Claire poured herself a cup of coffee. “My son goes from petulant brat to dog soldier.”
“He’s worried about you. You won’t talk to him.” Thumps put his arms around Claire and drew her in. “You won’t talk to me.”
“Yes, I will,” said Claire. “When I have to.”
Thumps could smell the shampoo in Claire’s hair. A floral scent. Soft, white flowers. Delicate petals that bruised easily.
“Maybe you can come with me to Seattle.” Claire didn’t sound particularly happy about the prospect. “I’ll probably need someone to drive me around.”
Claire’s body was warm and alive. He could feel her breathing against his neck, feel the beat of her heart against his chest. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear bells ringing.
Claire pushed away and went to the door. “You expecting someone?”
Thumps wasn’t expecting anyone. He certainly wasn’t expecting Cooley and Moses, but there they were, standing in the doorway. Cooley had a pizza box in one hand. Moses was carrying a paper bag.
“We had some pizza left over,” said Moses. “Cooley didn’t want to eat it until he checked to see if you wanted it.”
“It’s pepperoni and onions,” said Cooley, “with extra cheese.”
Thumps shook his head. Claire grabbed the box and took out a large slice that bent under the weight of the toppings.
“Stanley wants me to eat vegetables and yogurt.”
“Vegetables are good food for rabbits,” said Moses.
“I’ve tried yogurt,” said Cooley, “but I prefer ice cream.”
Claire finished the pizza slice in five bites. “God, that was good.”
“There’s one slice left,” said Cooley.
Claire didn’t have to be asked twice. “Don’t you dare tell Stanley.”
Thumps zipped his lips. Cooley and Moses stood still as stones.
“Why are you guys here?” Claire licked at her fingers.
“Thumps deputized Cooley and me,” said Moses. “Deputy Blood. You got to like the sound of that.”
“And Deputy Small Elk,” said Cooley. “Makes you feel important.”
Thumps looked to see if there was a third slice of pizza.
“It was an expensive job.” Cooley took a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Thumps. “There was the pizza, the soft drinks, the gas for Randy’s truck, and the rental.”
Thumps looked at the total. More than he had hoped.
“The pizza and the soft drinks were on sale,” said Cooley. “The gas and the rental were regular price.”
“Randy’s still at the site?”
“He is.” Cooley held up his cellphone. “As soon as he gets those photos, he’ll send them to us.”
Moses set the bag on the counter. “I don’t know if this is what you wanted,” he said, “but it’s what we found.”
Thumps opened the bag. “You guys did well.”
Claire stopped licking her fingers. “What is it?”
“Not sure,” said Thumps. “But I’ll let you know as soon as I am.”
“And now you’re going to run off,” said Claire.
“I have to go meet Stanley and Duke at the college.”
> Claire pursed her lips. “Then you’ll miss lunch.”
“Lunch?” said Cooley.
“Cooley’s pretty hungry,” said Moses. “He was thinking about those pizza slices all the way over.”
Claire took a card from her purse and slipped it to Thumps. “I’ll take care of Stanley. When you get back, let yourself in. I don’t care what time it is.”
“Yes,” said Cooley. “It was difficult sitting in my truck with the smell of fresh pizza in the air.”
Claire turned to the two men. “Come on,” she said. “Lunch is on me.”
“See.” Moses patted Cooley on the shoulder. “Being a deputy is full of unanticipated benefits.”
HE WASN’T SURE how he was going to start the conversation. Maybe when Boomper opened the door, Thumps would just show him the bag and see where things went. But Boomper didn’t open the door.
“Pancho.” Cruz stepped back and waved him in. “If you’re looking for me, you’re in luck.”
“Actually, I’m looking for Austin.”
“Not so lucky then,” said Cruz. “He took off. Be back this afternoon.”
“Not at the conference?”
“Never came for the conference,” said Cruz. “He came for the deal.”
Thumps let the bag swing against his thigh. “Deal’s done. Why is he still here?”
“Good question.” Cruz waited to see if Thumps had an answer. “What’s in the bag?”
“Don’t know.”
“You haven’t looked?”
“I’ve looked.”
Cruz pointed at the bag with his chin. “Can I look?”
Thumps put the bag on the counter. Cruz opened the top.
“Yeah,” he said. “I see your problem.”
“I’m going into town, to the college. May have something new.”
“On Redding?” said Cruz.
“On everything,” said Thumps.
“Okay,” said Cruz. “But can we take your car?”
“What happened to the Cadillac?”
“Mr. Austin took it,” said Cruz. “And besides, I’ve been fired.”
CRUZ DROVE THE Volvo down the winding laneway to the main road with practised efficiency. Slow into the turns, power out. Thumps couldn’t be sure, but the car seemed to be enjoying this new approach to driving.
“Brakes pull to the left.”
