Carving Knife

by Christian, Claudia Hall

  Seth gave her a soft smile.

  “I’ve got to get to work,” Ava said.

  She turned and started up the stairs. He looked at the folder in his hand and back at her.

  “Last night was fun,” she said and gave him a saucy look. He looked back at the folder.

  He went to the hall closet, unlocked the small gun safe, and set his handgun there. He was about to put the file in the safe but decided against it. Maresol had the combination to this safe. He heard the water for the shower start and jogged up the stairs. He slipped the folder into a hidden pocket behind the headboard and pushed the bed back into place.

  “O’Malley!” Ava’s singsong voice called from the shower. “I have to get to work.”

  He joined her in the shower.

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  EIGHTEEN

  In nature’s game of cat and mouse, cats infect mice with a parasite that induces them to take more risks and, thus, become easier prey for hungry cats. Davies had killed Everest in an attempt to “infect” Seth with the burning desire to catch him. This burning desire had taken down O’Shaughnessy and Cavetti. Seth would be damned if Brent Davies was going to lure him into risking himself and his family.

  Instead, Seth used promises of good food and a great story to entice his young reporter friend, Barton Gaston, into joining him on road trips around Colorado. Then he put out the word:

  “Detective Seth O’Malley is investigating livestock mutilations while he works on a symphony. If you have something to say, you can find him at a piano near you.”

  He even talked his agent into making press calls so that local television stations would cover his escapades.

  Seth’s goal was to create such a public fuss that Davies wouldn’t have time to wonder what Ava and her lab were up to. Seth packed a bag, grabbed an untraceable cell phone, picked up Barton, and they took off for their first stop—Colorado’s oldest town, San Luis.

  They pulled into San Luis around noon. Barton used the GPS on his cellphone to guide them to the San Luis Catholic Church rectory and the piano inside. They turned off Main Street and came to a stop

  “Holy crap,” Barton said. Seth grinned.

  The road was jammed with cars and trucks. The sidewalks were full of people who had ditched their cars a few blocks back.

  “Guess you’re popular,” Barton said.

  “It’s the mutes,” Seth said. “No one wants to miss out on a chance to talk about mutilations. They certainly don’t want to miss what their neighbors are saying about them.”

  He pointed to his agent, Schmidty, and Lizzie, his first daughter from his first marriage, who were standing next to the door. Lizzie waved as they drove by.

  “Hey, that’s Lizzie,” Barton said. Barton and Lizzie had worked on their high school yearbook together. “She looks great.”

  “They’ve been in Malibu for the last year,” Seth said.

  “It suits her,” Barton said.

  “You know, they’re engaged,” Seth said.

  “You know, I’m still gay,” Barton said. “Whoa.”

  Barton pointed to the line of horse and buggies parked at one end of the parking lot. Seth smiled. He circled the parking lot before heading out to the street. They parked the truck a few blocks away and walked back to the rectory.

  “I told Lizzie it was going to be like this,” Schmidty said, as they approached.

  “I didn’t believe him, so I had to come,” Lizzie smiled. She held out an arm and hugged her dad. She let go of him to say, “Barton!”

  They hugged. Seth raised his eyebrows to Schmidty. The young man gave him a nod. Schmidty’s father had sold Seth’s first symphony when he was eight years old. Forty years later, his only son had taken over as Seth’s agent. This Schmidty was smarter than his father and a more aggressive salesman. He had booked Seth all over the world and always traveled with him.

  “It’s hot, crowded,” Schmidty said. “Are you . . .?”

  “Great place to play sing-a-long,” Seth said.

  Schmidty groaned. Seth loved to play the piano while people sang along. He slapped the young man’s back and they went into the rectory. The priest led them through winding hallways to a large auditorium and a standup piano. Seth sat down to started to play “Waltzing Matilda.” He’d played only a few bars before someone started singing. One singer led to others, and, with Seth’s encouragement, the crowd was singing and laughing in no time.

  He was just starting “Piano Man” when Maresol’s nephew, Luis’s middle son, Carlos, arrived with a video camera. Seth played, and Barton interviewed people on camera. Lizzie brought him cold water, and he kept playing. A few hours later, in the middle of a rousing version of “Bohemian Rhapsody,” Barton leaned over to tell Seth that he was done. Seth looked up to see a still-packed auditorium. He stood from the piano.

  “Thank you for your time,” Seth said. “I appreciate the generosity and trust it took for you to share your stories with us. We’re off to talk to the folks in Alamosa.”

  With that, he and Barton left the rectory, with Lizzie and Schmidty following close behind.

  “What did we learn?” Seth asked Barton.

  “People are freaks?” Barton asked. Seth laughed. “Actually, it’s not hard to believe that something is going on here. So many people . . .”

  “O’Malley!” A man yelled and honked his truck. Seth waved.

  “ . . . have these experiences,” Barton said. “Life-changing experiences. ‘My life was never the same’ experiences.”

  Seth nodded.

  “Something’s going on,” Barton said.

  “Government, military . . .”

  “Alien,” Lizzie said. “I heard a bunch of alien stories. Did you know there’s an alien base on Mount Blanca?”

  “Hmm,” Seth furrowed his brow. “Did you hear about the dock doors that magically disappeared?”

  “How did you know?” Lizzie looked shocked.

  “That story has been around for . . . twenty, thirty years,” Seth said. “Everybody knows ‘a guy’ who went up Mount Blanca without a camera. He saw a set of two to six foot metal rolling doors, similar to a loading dock, set into the side of the mountain. He raced home, grabbed his film or video or digital camera, but when he went back to the exact location, as determined by a GPS or map or compass, they saw only rock cliffs and the face of the mountain. The loading docks had disappeared completely.”

  “Yeah, that’s it,” Lizzie said. “It’s not true?”

  “Who knows?” Seth shrugged. “At some point, someone saw something.”

  Lizzie nodded. They walked to Seth’s truck.

  “That’s the thing with aliens,” Seth said. “People are experiencing something. It’s just hard to tell what they have experienced. Did either of you get Carlos’s tapes?”

  “I have them,” Schmidty held up the video camera. “He gave me the camera.”

  “That was nice,” Seth said.

  “You paid him for it,” Schmidty said.

  “Nice of me,” Seth said.

  “I thought it was nice of me,” Schmidty grinned.

  “I did, too,” Lizzie said. She threaded her hand through his elbow. Seth smiled at them.

  “Are you coming to the next gig?” Seth asked.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Lizzie said.

  “We’ll meet you there,” Schmidty said.

  “Adams State Music Department,” Seth said.

  Seth gave Lizzie a hug and said his goodbyes to Schmidty. He opened the door for Barton and got into the driver’s seat. They headed north on Main Street.

  “You’re unusually quiet,” Seth said.

  “I’m wondering if you’re going to tell me what’s really going on,” Barton said.

  “Besides this sideshow?” Seth gestured to couples wearing T-shirts that said “I believe” on them. “Isn’t this enough?”

  “For most men, probably even for most police detectives,”
Barton said. “But not for Magic O’Malley.”

  Seth squinted at Barton.

  “It’s not like you to not tell me,” Barton said.

  “I’ll make you this promise,” Seth said. “Someday, I’ll tell you what’s going on.”

  “Before the nationals get a hold of the story?”

  “Before the nationals,” Seth said.

  “Deal,” Barton said. “I do have to say . . .”

  Seth stopped at a light and turned to look at the young man.

  “You do know how to show an honest reporter a good time,” Barton said.

  Seth laughed.

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  NINETEEN

  How do you translate something so perfect, beautiful, and whole in your head into tiny black notes on a sheet of paper? Most composers loathed the work of putting notes to music. Seth was no exception. After three hours of working on the piece, answering music students’ questions, and listening with one ear to Barton’s interviews, Seth was exhausted. Schmidty had ended the session and taken Seth back to the hotel. He, Lizzie, and Barton had escorted Seth around a few waiting fans and into his suite.

  Seth took a fast shower and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. He woke to the sound of a police baton tapping on his door.

  “Las Animas County Sheriff,” a familiar man’s voice said. “Open up.”

  Seth rolled out of bed and grabbed his handgun. He went to the door.

  “What’s this about?” he asked through the door. He slipped off the gun’s safety.

  “It’s Jimmy,” the man said.

  Seth smiled. Last spring, he and Ava had investigated a string of murders dating back to the death of a tax agent in 1915. The assassin-for-hire had killed Ava’s father and younger sister before they had tracked him to Piñon Canyon where they met Deputy Sheriff James Thatcher, who everyone called Jimmy.

  Seth opened the door and stepped back. A tall, thick-chested man, Jimmy went around Seth to get into the room. He looked at Seth and the handgun and then noticed the dark room and Seth’s lack of pants.

  “Sorry, were you asleep?” Jimmy asked. “I thought you didn’t sleep when you were working.”

  “Music students. They’ve got so many exhausting questions for the prodigy,” Seth said.

  Jimmy laughed.

  “I worked on the symphony tonight at Adams State.” Seth followed Jimmy into the suite and set his handgun down. “Wears me out.”

  “I heard you were amazing and . . .” Jimmy raised his voice in an impression of a young girl, “ . . .so hot!”

  Jimmy gave a belly laugh. Seth found his jeans hanging over a chair and put them on.

  “Yeah, that’s me,” Seth said. “Don’t tell Ava.”

  “I believe she knows.” Jimmy impulsively hugged Seth. “Good to see you, man.”

  “You, too,” Seth patted Jimmy’s back. The deputy let go of Seth and turned on a room light.

  “Jeez, you didn’t eat?” Jimmy asked.

  “I get kind of sick when I work on music,” Seth said. “My agent’s going to bring me something when they get back.”

  “Your agent?”

  “He’s like my music Maresol,” Seth said. “He takes care of me when we’re on the road, so that I can focus on my work.”

  “You mean, you’re his golden goose,” Jimmy nodded.

  “I was his father’s goose,” Seth said. “I’m going to be his father-in-law soon.”

  “Lizzie?” Jimmy and his wife had driven up for Seth and Ava’s surprise wedding and met the family.

  Seth nodded.

  “That’s good,” Jimmy smiled and nodded.

  “You’re in uniform. You must be on duty,” Seth said. “You didn’t drive three hours to say hello.”

  “Nah,” Jimmy said. “We got a fax for you. It was weird. Came to the Sheriff with your name and my name on it. Sheriff said, ‘What’s O’Malley getting us into now?’ You know what I said?”

  Seth shook his head.

  “‘I don’t know, but I’ll let you handle the national press this time,’ I said,” Jimmy laughed. “He didn’t think that was so funny.”

  Seth smiled. Jimmy took a piece of paper folded into a tight square from his back pocket and gave it to Seth. Jimmy sat down in a chair at the small table.

  “You serious about the cattle thing?” Jimmy asked.

  “Sure,” Seth said. “If the State Attorney wants me to spend my time looking into livestock mutilations, who am I not to take it seriously?”

  “Nasty business,” Jimmy said. “We get called out on those mutes a few times a year. We all try to avoid going. Some guys won’t work shifts when mutes are likely.”

  “When’s that?”

  “You mean, when do we expect to see a mute?” Jimmy looked at the ceiling for a moment. His big hands stroked the large light-grey Stetson hat he was holding. “Drought year, always; Thunder, that’s the big one, but not any old thunder. You see mutes when it’s thundering in the clouds, but not on the ground.”

  “Ball thunder,” Seth said.

  “Yeah,” Jimmy nodded. “That’s it. Then folks always say the same thing: ‘Heard a big noise like a jet engine, saw the thunder, went out, and their healthy cow was dead and cut up. No blood. No foot tracks of any kind. Just nasty stuff.’ There’s a guy in the office who calls in when there’s thunder. Just can’t deal with the mutes.”

  “What do you think causes it?” Seth asked.

  “My friend Magic O’Malley says that you have unsolved mysteries when you’re trying to answer too many riddles with one just answer,” Jimmy nodded.

  “When did I say that?” Seth asked.

  “Press conference on that kid who was killed, maybe ten years back,” Jimmy smiled.

  “Glad you were listening.” Seth smiled.

  “Am I right?” Jimmy asked.

  “I think so,” Seth said.

  “We had to do a training a few years back so we don’t put ‘surgically cut’ on the mutes,” Jimmy nodded.

  “FBI decided that police reports lend credence to the mass hysteria,” Seth said.

  “Hmm,” Jimmy said. “They sure look surgically cut.”

  “They do,” Seth nodded. “What do you think causes them?”

  “Me?” Jimmy looked surprised to be asked the question. Seth nodded. “I think it’s military. Testing for radiation. Nine times out of ten, the cattle are radioactive; found near some old dumpsite or another. ‘Course, this whole area’s one big military dump site. Plus, they only hit certain ranches.”

  “Why do you think people have been seeing them since before the 1600s?” Seth asked.

  “That’s a good question,” Jimmy shrugged. “I’ll tell you though, don’t run afoul of the cult of believers.”

  “Cult of believers?” Seth’s eyebrows shot up.

  “The folks who believe in cattle mutilations, UFOs, and the like,” Jimmy said. “They’re not going to like it if you come out and say it’s not aliens or the military or whatever. They believe, god damn it, and, no matter what you say, whatever they believe at this moment is the truth.”

  “Evangelical cattle-mutilating alien believers?”

  Jimmy laughed. There was a sound at the door, and Seth grabbed his handgun. Jimmy put his hand on his service revolver.

  “Damn, O’Malley, you’re jumpy,” Jimmy said.

  Schmidty stuck his head in the door.

  “You remember my agent, Jammy Schmidt,” Seth said.

  “Hey Jammy,” Jimmy said.

  “You’re supposed to be sleeping,” Schmidty said, as he came into the room. “You don’t want to get sick, like you did last year.”

  “I had Saint Jude’s First Responder’s toxin,” Seth said.

  Schmidty scowled.

  “You gonna pin him in a cage to make some golden fois gras?” Jimmy asked.

  “Who are you?” Schmidty asked.

  “Damn, you are his music Maresol,” Jimmy smiled. “I’m Ji
mmy. We met last year.”

  “Deputy Sheriff Thatcher is with the Las Animas Sheriff,” Seth said.

  “Last year.” Schmidty seemed to relax a little bit. “You were at Seth’s wedding.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jimmy said.

  “Nice to see you again, Deputy.” Schmidty gave Jimmy a quick smile before dismissing him completely. He turned to Seth, “Are you ready to eat?”

  Seth shook his head.

  “I got some yogurt, fresh bread, and berries at the market,” Schmidty said. “Water too. Shall I brew you some decaf?”

  “I can get it,” Seth said.

  Schmidty gave Jimmy an aggressive look.

  “I’m leaving,” Jimmy said. He raised his hands as if Schmidty were holding a gun.

  “Good,” Schmidty said. “As you can imagine, Mr. O’Malley needs his rest.”

  Jimmy smiled at Schmidty.

  “I’ll call you,” Seth said.

  Jimmy nodded and left the room. While Seth watched, Schmidty straightened Seth’s bed, started a cup of decaf brewing in the bathroom, and set out a bottle of water on the nightstand.

  “You know what you’re doing?” Schmidty asked.

  TWENTY

  “How so?” Seth asked.

  “This whole crazy tour,” Schmidty said. “Talking to mentally disturbed people, working on the symphony in public, playing sing-a-long to rural bumpkins, and whatever else tomorrow holds.”

  “I’m trying to keep one step ahead of a man who wants to kill me,” Seth said. “You, too, by the way.”

  “I know,” Schmidty said. “I’d just . . . and Everest, he . . .”

  Schmidty clamped his mouth closed. His eyes blinked a fast tempo before the young man swallowed hard.

  “I know,” Seth smiled.

  The young man gave Seth an embarrassed smile. With one last order to rest, Schmidty left the room. Seth stared at the wall for a moment before unpacking the interview video tapes and setting up the video camera for playback. He started playing the interviews and unfolded the paper in his hand.

  The message was only two words. He’d received a login to a secure server in Washington, DC. Of course, you’d have to know what it meant to know what it means. Seth grinned. He opened his laptop, went to the server, and entered the information. He saw his webcam turn on and then off. After a few moments, the screen changed to a file folder on a server.