Barking Dogs
Page 16
“How the hell do you know about that?”
“If anybody asks me, I could always say it was you who told me.”
“You don’t have to play games. I’ll tell you what I know, even though most of it never did appear in the paper. You know how it is. You report one act of vandalism and that brings out the copycats and makes things worse. A couple of people got hurt. I didn’t want any more on my conscience. Of course, it was mostly rock throwing. It didn’t amount to much except for a few broken windows.”
“Who was throwing the rocks?” Manwaring said.
Larsen stepped to the door and looked out. Manwaring joined him. At Wyszynski’s across the street, several faces were pressed against the plate glass.
Larsen’s shoulders slumped. “When word got out that Defiance wouldn’t share their water, a lot of people here in town got damn good and mad. If it hadn’t been for the sheriff, Defiance would have lost a lot more than a few panes of glass.”
“Defiance lost everything,” Manwaring reminded him.
“Yeah, I guess someone should have seen that coming after the mayor got his car shot up. It was right after a town meeting, when the council decided to offer Defiance twenty thousand dollars for water rights. That was every cent Ellsworth had in its reserve fund. A delegation went out to negotiate. Orson Potter, the head man in Defiance, met them at the property line with a shotgun. „If you need drinking water,’ he said, „you can have all you want for yourselves. But not one drop for Bonneville.’ When Mayor Kearns objected, Potter emptied a load of buckshot into the old boy’s Chrysler. Of course, Potter got arrested the next time he came into town. But what the hell does that matter now? You can’t put a dead man on trial.”
“I hear there’s another emergency meeting out at the airport,” Manwaring said.
Larsen shrugged. “The Herald isn’t covering news events at the moment.”
32
AIRPORT ROAD branched off the alternate state highway just north of town but ended almost immediately at a row of heavy wooden posts that had been sunk into the asphalt. Beyond the posts, the narrow strip of blacktop continued another half mile or so, providing runway enough for small planes. There was no airport as such, only a pole with a windsock fluttering on top. The wind, as usual, was blowing from the east, off the Bitterroot mountains, and smelled vaguely of autumn.
A car—a Chrysler sedan with a pockmarked trunk—was parked at the roadblock when Manwaring arrived in the Datsun. There was no sign of a plane, only Mayor Kearns, Sheriff Nichols, and Fire Chief Romney scanning the noon sky. There was no sign of Stacie Wagstaff either, though Manwaring had the distinct impression that she, too, had been summoned to the meeting.
Despite the heat, ninety-five according to the radio, Manwaring leaned casually against the Datsun’s hot fender.
Mayor Kearns pointed a finger at him. “This is strictly off limits to outsiders.”
“Don’t worry about him,” Romney said. “He was dumb enough to buy that Japsun from Abe Strong.”
The mayor looked at the sheriff, who said, “Do you want me to run him off?”
Before Kearns could answer, Stacie Wagstaff’s old pickup came down the road and parked behind Manwaring’s Datsun. She got out and walked to the mayor’s side. “Sorry I’m late, but Abe had trouble fixing one of the tires.”
“He told me he was going to have to order new ones,” Manwaring said.
Romney snorted. “Abe took you in, all right.”
The distant drone of an engine saved Manwaring from saying something he might be sorry for later. He looked up but saw only dazzling blue sky.
He lowered his eyes to the mayor. “I know about your fight over water rights.”
“Water was never the real issue. The people in Defiance wanted to see us grovel.”
To the west, Manwaring caught sight of a twin-engine plane approaching into the wind.
“We would have worked out something eventually,” the mayor went on. “A compromise to make everyone happy.”
Romney spoke up. “I don’t see how. Bonneville gave us a deadline. Everyone in Defiance knew that.”
Manwaring took a quick breath. “What deadline?”
“It ran out long before the fire started, if that’s what you’re getting at,” the mayor answered.
“What I’m after is a motive for murder, Bonneville’s motive in particular.”
The plane’s engine note changed. Everyone looked up in time to see its landing gear come down.
“How’s this for a motive?” the sheriff said. “What if Defiance was behind the whole thing? We know they wanted Bonneville stopped and discredited. What better way to do that than start a fire and blame it on them, or even the people of Ellsworth? Only once they started their fire, it got out of hand.” He glanced at the fire chief. “What do you think, Hal? Is something like that possible?”
“You’ve got to know what you’re doing when you’re handling fire, that’s for damned sure.”
“You’re talking through your hats,” Stacie said, taking a couple of steps toward Manwaring. “Orson Potter loved the forest too much to set fire to it. You ought to know that better than anyone, Mr. Mayor. When he heard about your plans to clear-cut for a canal to Lake Brigham, he ran you off with a load of buckshot.”
The mayor shook his head. “When we came to Elder Potter for help, what did he do? „Pray for guidance,’ he told us. „You can’t drink prayers during a drought,’ I said right back.”
The airplane, shimmering in heat waves rising off the asphalt, flared out at the far end of Airport Road and touched down.
“What’s done is done.” The mayor’s voice rose against the increasing engine noise. “With Defiance gone, the water rights to Lake Brigham and its river have reverted to the state. As the nearest community, Ellsworth has first call on that water. We’ve already applied for those rights, Mr. Manwaring. From now on, it’s only a formality.”
The plane came to a stop twenty yards short of the barricade, then pivoted around, one engine revving, until it was pointing back the way it had come. Only then did the pilot cut his engines. Bonneville Industries was painted on the fuselage in red, white, and blue lettering.
The mayor and fire chief moved forward, reaching the plane just as two men wearing conservative gray suits got out. They were the same two Manwaring had seen at the press conference.
The sheriff, who’d stayed beside the barricade, rested one hand on the butt of his revolver and glared at Manwaring. “You’d best be leaving. Mr. Evans and Mr. Dixon won’t be holding a press conference.”
“Thank you for their names. How long will they be staying?
The sheriff glared. “They’re flying back right after our talk, so don’t waste your time sticking around for an interview.”
When the Datsun wouldn’t start, the mayor had Stacie drive Manwaring back to town.
33
MANWARING’S SUITCASE, flight bag, and cellular phone were stacked on the sidewalk in front of the motel office.
“Throw them in the back of the truck,” Stacie said, “and I’ll drive you into Idaho Falls to catch the plane.”
“I’m not giving up that easily.”
She sighed. “I’ll wait for you in the cafe.”
The desk clerk had Manwaring’s bill waiting on the counter inside the office.
“Your reservation expired.” The man avoided Manwaring’s eyes. “We’re full up and need your room.”
“Your sign says Vacancy.”
“I must have forgot to change it.” The clerk threw a switch, lighting up a red neon No directly in front of the blue Vacancy.
Manwaring pretended to study the room charges. “Would you happen to know where I could find the offices of Bonneville Industries?”
“There’s nothing by that name in Ellsworth.”
Manwaring turned away from the desk to stare out at the motel’s empty parking lot. “If your rooms are full, why don’t I see any cars?”
“If you�
��re in a hurry, I can put that through on your credit card. All I need from you is your room key.”
Manwaring folded the bill carefully, stuffed it into his pocket and exchanged it for his key, which he then dangled in front of the desk man’s face.
“I’m staying,” Manwaring said.
The man looked down at his hands, saw they were trembling, and dropped them out of sight behind the counter. “I do what they tell me, because I need this job.”
Relenting, Manwaring dropped the key on the countertop. “I’m leaving most of my luggage here for the moment. If anything happens to it, I’m holding you personally responsible.”
Nodding eagerly, the clerk scooped up the key and attached it to a hook on the wall behind him.
“There’s a message for you, but I can’t be taking any more. I’m sorry.”
He handed Manwaring a printed slip with his mother’s name on it. “She said it was important.”
“Do you have a pay phone?” Manwaring asked, wanting to save the battery in the cellular for emergencies.
The man shook his head.
“What about yours? I’ll use my credit card.”
“Please. Go to the Big I Cafe. They have a phone booth in the back.”
At the cafe Manwaring asked Stacie to order him a hamburger and a chocolate malt before closing himself in the phone booth. Sorry answered after half a dozen rings. Television noises were loud in the background.
“Ask my mother to come to the phone,” Manwaring said abruptly.
“She can’t right now.” Sorry’s tone of voice pleaded for Manwaring to stick to the rules, to wait for his mother’s call. “I’ll make sure she gets right back to you.”
“I won’t have access to a phone for a while. So it’s now or never if she wants to speak to me.”
“What’s wrong?”
“They’ve thrown me out of my motel.”
The answering silence brought a smile to Manwaring’s face.
No doubt Sorry was trying to work out the implications of such a statement.
“Why?” Sorry managed.
“Not everyone loves me the way you do.”
“But son, I—”
“I have to leave in one minute, so you’d better get my mother if it’s so important.”
“I don’t know. You know how she is.”
“Goodbye, Sorry. Tell her I’ll call back when I get the chance.”
“When?”
“It could be next week for all I know.”
“Wait. Don’t hang up.”
For an instant, Manwaring saw his mother as she once was, before she divorced his father, when they were still a happy family. Or was that an illusion? Had she always been like this, only Manwaring hadn’t realized it as a child?
“Kevie!” she said. “What’s this I hear about my boy not having a phone?”
He sighed.
“You haven’t lost your job, have you, Kevie?”
“It’s too complicated to explain. I’m still in Idaho. I’m still on a story. Now, what’s the problem, Mother? Why did you call again?”
“Can’t a mother call her son to say hello, to say she loves him?”
“I’m in a hurry.”
“My birthday is coming up.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“You’re a good son, but it’s Sorry I’m worried about. He doesn’t have any money to buy me a present.”
“What happened to your last divorce settlement?” Manwaring said.
“That’s my money, and from another man. Sorry wouldn’t want to spend that.”
“You could loan him the money.”
“It would be better coming from you, man to man so to speak.”
Manwaring was clenching the receiver hard enough to make his hand shake. “Have you thought more about Buttons?”
“Was he your little friend next door when we lived on First Avenue?”
“I told you before. Buttons was my dog.”
“You had so many pets, dear.”
“I had one.”
“I hope you won’t forget about the money,” his mother said.
“Don’t worry. I don’t forget anything.”
Manwaring hung up, leaned back against the booth’s cool metal wall, and closed his eyes.
He was nine years old again, sitting on the front lawn of the First Avenue house playing with Buttons. His father, just home from work, blotted out the late sun when he crouched down to join in, his knees popping like they always did.
“Did you think over what we talked about, son?”
Manwaring pulled Buttons onto his lap and held her. Her black muzzle was going gray now.
“Your mother’s at it again,” his father said. “She’ll never let it rest, you know that.”
“I tried to clean up when I got home from school. I vacuumed and everything.”
“You can’t get all the fur, no matter how hard you try.”
“Please, Dad.”
Years later, not long before his father died, he took Manwaring aside. “You know, son, it still bothers me that we gave in to your mother and gave Buttons away. But then there wasn’t any other choice, not if I wanted to live with her in peace.”
******
Manwaring ignored Stacie’s signal that lunch was on the table and called Vicki’s direct line at the bureau in Los Angeles. Joyce Cody answered instead. “I hear you’re adopting a dog.”
“That’s only a rumor.”
“I have a fenced backyard.”
“You make that sound like a proposal.”
“Why do you read something into everything I say?”
“Because women always have a subtext.”
“Jesus, Manwaring. You and Vicki deserve one another.”
“Where is she?”
“Closeted with Eccles at the moment.”
“I need to talk to her, now.”
“Too bad you don’t show that kind of enthusiasm when you’re with me.”
Without another word, Joyce put him on hold. Time passed. Manwaring was about to go looking for his hamburger when Vicki came on the line. “Where are you?”
“Where else, Ellsworth.”
“Eccles says he gave you three days but needs you here.”
“What about you?” Manwaring said.
“All producers look alike to me.”
“Has Holland gotten back with my dog story?”
“Reisner dumped it. He says he wants younger faces on the news, not younger dogs, whatever that means. Frankly, I think he did it because he’s pissed at you.”
“I need your help on this one, Vicki. It means a lot to me.”
“There is an IOU I could call in, though I was hoping to save it for a personal emergency.”
“Do it and you’ll have mine.”
“Don’t think I won’t remember that, Manwaring. Now, tell me why the hell you’re still hanging around in Idaho.”
“I’m about to catch a killer, Icky. When I get ready to reel him in, I’ll bring you in on the kill.”
“Don’t think a good story cancels your debt.”
“Just get the dog on the air for me.”
“I’ll think about it.”
34
VICKI HEADED for Eccles’s office, closing the door behind her though Joyce Cody probably knew all the secrets anyway. Once seated on Eccles’s ancient leather couch, she kicked off her shoes and tucked her stocking feet under her.
Eccles rubbed his hands together.
“Manwaring says he’s getting close to a killer,” Vicki said. “He’s not one to brag either, so I believe him.”
“I wouldn’t want him after me,” the bureau chief said. “You either, for that matter.”
“He asks a favor, though.”
Eccles rolled his chair back until it bumped into the wall behind his desk.
“He wants the dog story on the air.”
“You heard Reisner.”
“We’ll have to use our carte blanche.”
“If Manwaring’s right, that fire was set deliberately. The dog will keep the story alive until we break the murder angle.”
“You know the rules. Never get personally involved.”
“You weren’t there to see the devastation.”
“When you get older,” Eccles said, “you’ll want to play it safe too.”
“When I’m anchoring in New York, I’ll take care of you and Manwaring.”
“Promises, promises. But what the hell.” Eccles called New York and asked for a conference call with Van Sutton and Herb Reisner. While that was being set up, Vicki checked the bank of television monitors on the bureau chief’s wall where CBS, NBC, and ABN News were about to go live to the East Coast. On the West Coast, the news would be taped for later playback.
“Your timing is lousy,” Reisner said when he came on the speaker phone.
“I’d like you to reconsider Manwaring’s dog story,” Vicki told him.
“Why did you ask Mr. Sutton to be present?”
She’d prepared her answer in advance. “When he was here in Los Angeles, he said all I had to do was ask if I ever needed anything.”
“She’s right,” Sutton said quickly. “I did say that.”
Eccles pitched in with a synopsis of the dog piece, adding that it would keep the Idaho story fresh in their viewers’ minds and give them the opportunity to reuse some spectacular fire footage.
“We’ll need a tag from Lee Aarons,” Vicki added, “an eight hundred number people can call if they have any information about what really happened in Ellsworth. Maybe we could even offer a reward.”
“Hold on,” Reisner said.
The speaker went dead.
“Do you think he knows about Sutton’s carte blanche?” Vicki whispered.
Eccles shrugged. “One thing’s in our favor. Reisner will need Sutton’s vote when Ed Gordon retires as head of the News Group.”
The speaker clicked on and Reisner said, “I like the reward idea. We’ll go with the story on one condition. You man the eight hundred number on your end. I don’t want to tie up my people answering the phone.”
“That’s fine with us,” Eccles said. “When will you run it?”