by Thomas King
“Why were you fired?”
“And you should have your front end checked out.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“Enjoy the drive.”
Sheriff Duke Hockney and Stanley Merchant were waiting for them when Thumps and Cruz got to campus and the computer lab.
“You’re just in time,” said the sheriff. “We’ve already done all the hard work.”
“I’ve already done all the hard work,” said Stick.
“Which is why,” said Duke, “I’ll let Mr. Merchant explain what he has discovered.”
Stick swivelled in the chair. “I checked Lester’s phone. He didn’t take the photo.”
“Who did?”
“Someone sent it to him as an email attachment.”
“Same question,” said Thumps.
“Margo Knight,” said Stick.
“Margo Knight took a photo of Amanda Douglas?” Thumps tried to connect the dots. “Knight took a photo of a murder victim?”
“This is where things get a little muddy,” said the sheriff.
Stick held up a cellphone. “This is Knight’s phone. I’m sure the photo was sent from this phone. But there’s no such photo on her phone.”
“Which means it was erased,” said Cruz.
“That’s what Stanley figures,” said Duke.
“Whoever erased the file knew what they were doing,” said Stick.
“But you can retrieve the file?”
“Maybe.”
“So, Knight takes a picture of a woman who is murdered by a serial killer and sends it to Lester. The image is erased from Knight’s phone but not from Lester’s. Does any of this make sense?”
“How long will it take you to restore the missing file?” said Cruz.
“Anything from a couple of hours to never,” said Stick.
“Lots of ways this could go,” said Duke.
Cruz shifted his weight. “Am I still a suspect?”
Hockney slapped Cruz on the shoulder. “Hell, no,” he said. “You’re just the closest thing I’ve got to one.”
“I’m going home,” said Thumps. “Don’t call me. You guys can take it from here.”
“Going to miss all the fun.”
“Diabetics,” said Thumps. “We can only handle so much fun.”
Forty-Eight
Thumps left Cruz to fend for himself. He was sure the sheriff would take good care of Austin’s bodyguard. Stick was trying to explain cellphones and how computer memory and SIM cards worked. The last thing he saw as he slipped out the door were three grown men staring at a computer screen, the electronic version of watching paint dry.
The weather had turned, and Thumps could feel his body open up to take in the unexpected warmth. Summer was around the corner. Too bad Claire had to go to Seattle. Even in the summer, the city could be damp and cold. Summer never saved the Northwest Coast the way it did the High Plains. Then again, winter didn’t bury it either.
The two of them would manage. Maybe the time together, even on the back of a crisis, would pull the relationship out of the rut into which it had fallen. Best of all, they wouldn’t have Stick in their face or in their bedroom.
DIXIE WAS SITTING on the front porch, enjoying the day. Pops was lying next to him and Freeway was on his lap. “Traitor” was the first word that came to mind. The second word that popped into his head was not nearly as nice.
“Hi, Mr. Awfulwater.”
“Dixie.”
“Remodelling started yesterday. New cupboards, countertops, appliances. Going to take about a month, but it will be worth it.”
“Great.”
“Friend of yours stopped by,” said Dixie. “Wanted to talk to you. When he saw you weren’t here, he talked to me.”
Thumps gave Freeway the hardest look he could muster. The cat didn’t flinch. “About?”
“Cars,” said Dixie. “He seemed quite concerned that you might buy a car privately.”
“Andy.”
“That’s right,” said Dixie. “Andy. Said you were looking to get a Jeep.”
“Not anymore.”
“He wanted to sell me a car, but I already have a late-model Honda.”
“Good car.”
“It is,” said Dixie. “Bought it off the internet. When I knew I was coming to Chinook, I jumped on a couple of websites, found the car I wanted, and bought it. Easy as it could be. Was waiting for me when I got to town.”
“You tell Andy that?”
Dixie shook his head. “No,” he said. “Didn’t seem friendly. Him being a salesman and all.”
“Wouldn’t mind seeing your kitchen when it’s done.”
Dixie sprang out of the chair. Freeway landed on the floor with all the grace of an Olympic gymnast. “Come on. Show you what we’ve done so far.”
Dixie’s kitchen was a mess. The old cupboards had been torn out, and plastic was hanging from all the doorways to keep the dust out of the rest of the house. Against one wall was a brand new stainless steel refrigerator.
“Freezer’s on the bottom,” said Dixie. “It’s better that way.”
“Big fridge.”
“It’s just me for now,” said Dixie. “But you never know what might happen.”
Sitting close to the new refrigerator was a large lump draped in a heavy drop cloth.
“I always wanted a six-burner gas.” Dixie raised a corner of the cloth. “And the store had one left.”
Thumps stood and stared.
“Got lucky.” Dixie ran a hand across one of the dull-black cast-iron grills. “The woman at the store said there was another guy looking at the stove but that he hadn’t been able to make up his mind.”
Thumps left Dixie to double-check the measurements for the cabinets. The stove was going to look good in his neighbour’s new kitchen, better than it would have looked in Thumps’s. Maybe that was the universe reminding him of necessary balances. New stoves needed new kitchens. You couldn’t put them into worn-out spaces and expect them to be happy.
Pops and Freeway had disappeared. Run off again, so it seemed. Just as well. Thumps wasn’t in the mood for society. The cat had made her choice. The only bright spot in his day was Claire, and she could change her mind in a moment. In fact, as Thumps thought about it, he imagined that she already had.
He didn’t see the car at the curb until he was almost on his porch. A black sedan. Thumps stood and waited for the door to open. He was pretty sure he knew who it was, but there was still the chance he might be surprised.
“I hope you don’t mind.”
Thumps spun around to find the voice. Oliver Parrish was standing in the doorway of Thumps’s house, resplendent in a polished grey sports jacket and charcoal slacks. The red plastic glasses were gone. In their place was a designer model with yellow lenses that made Parrish look like a blond Elvis Presley. Freeway was rubbing herself against the Orion executive’s leg.
“The door was open,” said Parrish, “and your cat didn’t seem to object.”
“She’s a fierce watchdog.”
“I thought we might talk.”
“Sure,” said Thumps. “You want coffee?”
“You make your coffee like the sheriff makes his?”
“No.”
“Then I’d love a cup,” said Parrish.
Thumps filled the kettle and set it on the boil. He was struck by how shabby his kitchen looked compared to the imagined kitchen that Dixie was building. Even under plastic, with only the refrigerator and stove in place, Dixie’s looked better. Thumps’s cabinets and countertop were outdated. His appliances were prehistoric. The linoleum floor was scuffed and beginning to curl up at the edges. Overall, the place looked sad, as though someone had left it alone in the dark too long.
“Great kitchen,” said Parrish. “Is that a 1959 Frigidaire Imperial?”
“The stove?”
“Have never seen one in this condition,” said Parrish. “Does it work?”
Thumps wasn’t sure wh
ether Parrish was having him on.
“Really smart.”
“What?”
“Not getting rid of it,” said Parrish. “A lot of people with houses of this vintage remodel their kitchen and put in all new appliances. Ruins the ambience. If you had this bungalow in Sacramento in the right area, you could get half a million just as it stands. But remodel the kitchen, and the price drops by seventy grand.”
“You’re kidding.”
“You could get an easy twelve hundred for the stove on eBay,” said Parrish. “It’s a beauty. And you have the matching refrigerator.”
Thumps poured the water into the Bodum and let the coffee steep. Maybe his kitchen wasn’t so bad. Maybe it was authentic. Nothing wrong with that. Cuffs and collars that matched.
“I wanted to talk to you before I talked to the sheriff.”
Thumps carried the Bodum and two cups to the table. “You want milk or sugar?”
Parrish pulled out a chair and sat down. “Black.”
“This about Redding?”
Parrish waited while Thumps poured the coffee. “I lied.”
Thumps wondered if Frigidaire had made a gas stove in 1959. Maybe a collectible was the way to go. Maybe Parrish was right about the importance of tradition and ambience. Thumps glanced around the kitchen. It didn’t look that bad after all.
“When Redding called me, she told me about the files,” said Parrish. “Lester and Knight. Their cellphones and laptops.”
“She wanted to sell the files.”
“She did,” said Parrish. “Ten thousand dollars.”
“And you said no.”
Parrish shrugged. “I said five thousand dollars.”
“Negotiation.”
“Everything’s a negotiation.”
“When was this?”
“Late yesterday afternoon,” said Parrish. “If she made the call on her cellphone, you can check the time.”
Thumps tried to remember the timeline, but he couldn’t. “So, why lie?”
“Looks bad,” said Parrish. “Redding asking for money, and then she’s dead.”
“But you never saw the files.”
“No,” said Parrish. “I’m guessing that by the time I got to the Tucker, Redding was already dead.”
Thumps sipped the coffee. He could always replace the floor, clean up the cabinets, put on a fresh coat of paint. A six-burner stove was probably too large for the space anyway. It would dominate the kitchen.
“Evidently there was RAM data in the emails. Redding claimed that the data showed that Orion’s RAM technology didn’t work as well as Knight had claimed.”
“Austin already knew that.”
“Sure,” said Parrish, “but the publicity could have been bad for the company. Corporations are already seen as shifty at best. Something like that could hurt the share price.”
“So, you were going to pay?”
“Probably. We were supposed to meet around nine that night and she was going to show me a sample of the altered data.”
“Maybe a motive for murder?”
“Now you sound like the sheriff.”
Thumps took a moment to look at the sequence. Redding calls Parrish in the late afternoon and offers to sell him the files for ten thousand dollars. Parrish agrees to meet Redding at nine that night. By the time he gets to the Tucker, Redding is already dead. Cruz is in the room with Redding’s body when Parrish calls in to say he’ll be late, and Cruz is in the room when Parrish knocks on the door.
“You could have come much earlier and killed her then.”
“Why?”
“For the files.”
Parrish shook his head. “The files were still in the room. On the coffee table. If I had killed Redding, I would have taken the files.”
“So, what do you want me to do?”
“Talk to the sheriff,” said Parrish. “I don’t have time to spend in jail. I’m sorry I lied. Redding’s death just threw me.”
Freeway had parked herself under the table and was chewing on one of Thumps’s shoelaces. Thumps moved his foot. Amnesty wasn’t won that easily.
“Which do you prefer,” said Thumps, “electric or gas?”
“What?”
“To cook on.”
Parrish smiled and drank the last of his coffee. “Who the hell cooks anymore?”
Forty-Nine
The last place Thumps wanted to be was the old Land Titles building, but here he was, yet again, standing outside the front door with his finger on the intercom button.
“Yes?”
“Thumps.”
“Basement.”
The buzzer sounded, the door snapped open, and Thumps took a deep breath and stepped inside. There was an elevator somewhere on the main floor that took you to Beth’s basement, but in all these years, Thumps had always used the stairs.
Beth’s Basement. It sounded like the name of an upscale nightclub. Someplace you could dance the night away. With dead bodies.
Beth was sitting at her desk, making notes in a book. “Not going to start the autopsy on Redding until morning,” she said. “I need a night off.”
“Three murders in a week has to be a record.”
“That’s not the half of it.”
Thumps took a moment to replay the last few days. “Ora Mae?”
Beth nodded. “We talked.”
Thumps waited.
“You’re supposed to ask about what,” said Beth.
“I know about what,” said Thumps.
“Then you’re supposed to ask what happened.”
“I don’t want to know what happened.”
Beth took her glasses off and laid them on the table. “Then why are you here?”
“You said that, because of the temperature of the bathwater, you couldn’t give an accurate time of death.”
“That’s right,” said Beth. “Don’t you want to know what Ora Mae and I decided?”
Thumps sighed. “Is there any chance I can get out of here without knowing what you two decided?”
“Probably not.”
Thumps sat down on one of the stainless steel chairs. “So tell me.”
Beth put her glasses back on and tucked her hair behind her ear. “This building is paid for. Current value is somewhere north of half a million.”
“For this?”
“The land,” said Beth. “If we sell the building, some developer will tear it down and use the land for a hotel or a condo or a new commercial building.”
“It’s a heritage building.”
“That’s what everyone thinks,” said Beth, “but it was never designated heritage.”
“Don’t tell Archie.”
“We’re not going to sell,” said Beth. “We’re going to take out a mortgage for $350,000. That way Ora Mae can buy Wild Rose Realty.”
“Half of that money is yours,” said Thumps.
“An investment,” said Beth. “My share will be an investment in Ora Mae’s business.”
“So, you two are back together?” Thumps was sorry as soon as the question was out of his mouth.
“So, why did you want to know about time of death?”
Thumps held up a finger. “One, Redding is killed and placed in a tub of hot water. Two, Cruz finds her around nine o’clock and calls it in at nine-thirty. By the time you and the sheriff get there, the water is tepid, close to room temperature. Oliver Parrish says Redding called him in the late afternoon and arranged for him to come to the Tucker around nine that night. Cruz hears the phone call Parrish makes to say he’s late, and later hears the knock on the door and assumes it’s Parrish. That about right?”
“We still don’t know when she was killed,” said Beth. “There’s a formula for the time it takes water to cool, which works off the ambient air temperature, but it’s not much help because we don’t know how hot the water was in the first place.”
“Then she could have been killed any time during the day or even the night before and left in the tub until C
ruz found her.” Thumps pushed off the chair. “That’s a nice thing you’re doing for Ora Mae.”
Beth leaned back. “Not doing it for her.”
“It’s still a nice thing.”
Beth pushed an autopsy form across her desk to Thumps. “There’s one other thing you need to know, and you’re not going to like it.”
Thumps stared at the lines that had been filled in and the blank boxes that had been checked. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Does Duke know?”
“Not yet,” said Beth. “I’ll tell him in the morning. Sometimes it helps to spread bad news out.”
EVENING HAD SNUCK IN when Thumps wasn’t looking. As he came out of the old Land Titles building, the last sliver of day had slipped below the horizon. There were lights on in the sheriff’s office, and, through the window, Thumps could see Duke sitting behind his space-age desk.
The sheriff didn’t seem all that happy to see him. “It better damn well be important.”
“You took Parrish’s statement?”
“I did.” Duke rolled his shoulders. “And yes, I checked his alibi. Buffalo Mountain has video of him eating dinner at five-thirty. Afterwards he went to the casino, and we have video of him there until just before nine.”
“Then he drove to the Tucker for his meeting with Redding.”
“And, yes, I checked Redding’s cellphone,” said Duke. “She called Parrish at five.”
“So, that’s our timeline?” said Thumps. “Five to nine?”
“Just like the movie.”
“The movie was called Nine to Five,” said Thumps. “Dolly Parton, Jane Fonda, Lily Tomlin.”
“Same idea.” Hockney looked at Thumps over his glasses. “What the hell do you want?”
“Figured I’d solve the case.”
“Good,” said Duke, “because the whole thing is going to hell in a handbasket.”
There was a new folder on Duke’s desk.
“Is that the crime-scene report?”
“Such as it is.”
“When you talked to Parrish, did you share the specifics with him?”
“You mean like where we found Redding, the dry bath mat, the brand of wine?”
“Like that.”
“Of course not.” Hockney shifted forward. The chair came with him. “Are you screwing with me?”
