by Thomas King
“You’ve been watching too many movies.”
“Dances With Wolves. Now there was a movie.”
The blond man stepped forward with the assurance that only race and class can provide. “I’m Elliot Beaumont.”
Thumps had been right. He could feel both strength and speed in the man’s handshake. Duke hitched his belt and ran through the introductions.
“Mr. Beaumont here is the vice-president of Genesis Data Systems.” Duke let the name and the title hang in the air, as if he were holding a glass of fine wine up to the light. “And this is his associate, George Chan.”
Chan didn’t look at Thumps. Instead, he glanced at Beaumont and went back to his keyboard.
“Mr. Beaumont came out to check on his computer.”
“Well, it’s not really my computer . . .”
“I’m Virginia Traynor,” said the woman, her voice slicing through Beaumont and cutting him off.
As she stepped out of the shadows, Thumps could see that he had been right. This woman wasn’t along for the ride. She was the ride.
“And you would be . . . the president of Genesis Data Systems,” said Thumps, holding out his hand.
The smile was a quick one, but Thumps could see that he had caught Traynor off guard and that she didn’t like it. “Very good, Mr. . . .”
“DreadfulWater.”
Traynor’s hand was cool and smooth. Thumps tried to imagine her standing in front of a stove.
“And you are . . .” Beaumont had cocked his head to one side, so he could look at Thumps from an angle. “ . . . a deputy?”
“Evidently,” said the sheriff, sliding in, “Mr. Takashi called the company about the possibility of the computer being sabotaged.”
“Compromised,” said Beaumont.
“Couple of days before he was killed.” Hockney lowered his eyes.
Thumps knew that Duke didn’t believe in coincidences any more than he did. And right now, the only people who appeared to have anything to gain from “compromising” the computer were the Red Hawks. And the only person with the prerequisite knowledge to keep the computer from going on-line was Stanley Merchant.
“Takashi said someone was trying to sabotage the computer?” Thumps asked.
Beaumont looked at Chan. “He was worried.”
“About what?”
Chan turned away from the keyboard. “A virus. Maybe a worm.”
“Don’t worry.” Duke smiled and patted Thumps on the shoulder. “I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about either.”
“Sorry,” said Chan. “A virus is a program that . . . messes things up. It deletes text. It adds messages to your word files. It’s a general pain in the ass. You remember the Michelangelo virus?”
Duke nodded. “Sure, everyone remembers that one.”
“It was a time-dated virus. It would get into your system and then go off on a particular date. Michelangelo’s birthday, for instance.”
Thumps could detect just the trace of a smile around Chan’s mouth. All this talk about viruses and worms was making him happy.
“Worms, on the other hand, are more of a problem. They’re written to use up the capacity of a computer. They suck up memory exponentially and can bring the whole system down. Nasty pieces of work.”
Duke shifted his weight. “So, if a virus or a worm was on the system, someone who knew computers had to put it there.”
“Sure.” Chan shrugged. “Good viruses aren’t that easy to write. Worms are even harder.”
Beaumont leaned in and looked at the screen. “You find anything yet?”
“Not yet,” said Chan. “It’s going to take some time.”
Duke turned to Thumps. “How many people we know around here are computer experts?”
“It may be that the system is fine.” Beaumont had an earnest tone to his voice that Thumps recognized. “It may be that George was killed because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Thumps did not like being patronized, and he had never liked that particular expression. The danger lay in being in the right place at the wrong time or in the wrong place at the right time. Reason, if not grammar, would argue that being in the wrong place at the wrong time should keep you safe and out of harm’s way.
“What Mr. Beaumont is suggesting,” said Duke, trying to duplicate Beaumont’s condescension with only moderate success, “is that Takashi came out here Saturday and caught someone trying to screw up the computer. Takashi tried to stop him. They fought. Takashi got shot.”
Duke was on one of his fishing expeditions. Thumps had seen him play this game before, and the sheriff wasn’t bad at it.
Beaumont sighed and spread his hands. “I’m just a computer executive. I’ll leave the tricky stuff to you guys.”
“Did you know him well?” said Thumps.
“Takashi?”
“Hell,” said Duke, “old Takashi was their top computer man.”
“Actually, I’m the best.” Chan turned away from the monitors. “I’m the company’s top computer man.”
Thumps could hear the snap in Chan’s voice, and he knew that Duke could hear it, too.
“Sure,” said Duke, with one of his big, insincere smiles. “But this Takashi guy was good, right?”
“He was very good,” said Traynor.
“You knew him personally?”
Beaumont looked at Traynor. “I suppose,” he said, “you’re wondering why we’re not more upset about the murder of an employee.”
Traynor moved in between Thumps and Beaumont. Now she was close enough for Thumps to know two things about her. She wore very little makeup, and she didn’t wear perfume.
“Takashi came to work for Genesis about a year ago,” said Traynor. “He was a brilliant programmer and a pain in the ass. In computer land, that’s a common combination. I didn’t know him well. I feel bad about his death, but I have a business to run. Does that answer your question?”
Duke nodded. “I take it you’re planning on staying around for a while?”
Traynor turned to the sheriff. “Until we’re sure the computer and the security system are working.”
“Well, let me know if I can help,” said Hockney, sounding official and disingenuous at the same time. “Say, Thumps, why don’t you walk me to the car.”
Thumps looked around the computer room. Something didn’t smell right. Not the fresh paint. Not the affluence. Beaumont stood at Chan’s shoulder, following the lines of text as they flashed on the screen. And then again, maybe it was nothing. Just an ex-cop’s imagination working overtime, trying to put round pieces into square holes.
Duke walked all the way to his truck before he said anything. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“Claire put you up to this?”
Thumps started to shake his head, but Hockney stopped him.
“Let’s get a couple of things straight. First, you’re a photographer, right?”
“That’s right.”
“So, why are you playing cop?”
“I’m not playing cop.”
“And you just happened to be in the neighbourhood.” Duke stopped and looked at his fingernails. “You thought you’d just get in a couple of landscape shots before dinner?”
“Claire’s worried about Stick, that’s all.”
“She should be. He’s at the top of my list.”
“Stick didn’t kill anybody.”
“Claire tell you where he is?”
“Fishing.”
“Yeah, that’s what she told me, too.” Duke smiled and nodded. “Stay out of my way, Thumps, and stay away from my case. You mess this up because you want to impress Claire, and I’ll eat you for lunch.”
“You find the van?”
Hockney tried to keep the annoyance from showing. “No.”
“So, Cooley was telling the truth.”
“May
be.” Duke patted the top of Thumps’ car and opened the door. “Why don’t you show me some of those big city moves?”
“You asking me as a photographer?”
“Don’t fuck with me, Thumps.”
Thumps looked back toward the gate. “Maybe everyone’s right. Maybe Takashi drove up here and worked on the computer. And maybe he left, just like Cooley says.”
“You been talking to Cooley, too?” Duke took off his hat and ran a beefy hand through his hair. “You know, you’re beginning to piss me off.”
“Okay, I was curious.”
The sheriff fixed his hat. “Then how’d Takashi wind up dead in the condo?”
“Maybe that happened later.”
“’Course it happened later. He was killed in the computer complex.”
“Forensics ?”
“Blood on the floor by the monitor.” Duke held up a plastic bag. Inside were two cigarette butts, skinny ones done up in dark brown paper with gold foil wrapper around the filters. “Not your ordinary cigarettes.”
“Where’d you find them?”
“On the floor behind the monitor, along with an ashtray. As if they had been knocked over by a struggle.”
“They belong to Takashi?”
“Good guess,” said the sheriff. “Chan identified them. They’re some fancy brand that Takashi got out of New York City. Odd thing was, we didn’t find any cigarettes on his body.”
“Maybe the killer was low on smokes.”
“You call that help?” Hockney pulled out a pack of gum and unwrapped two pieces. “If Cooley’s telling the truth, Takashi pulled in here around ten-thirty and left a little after noon.”
“You think Cooley’s lying?”
“Beth figures that Takashi was killed between nine and one.”
“Beth sure about the time?”
“I’ll tell her you said that.”
Thumps smiled. If Beth said the murder took place between nine and one, then it did. And by the time she finished a complete autopsy, she’d have the time down to the hour.
“You think Cooley and Stick are in this together?” he asked.
“I’m not thinking anything. I’d just as soon hang the killing on that blond jerk.” Duke gestured for Thumps to get in the car. “Smug asshole could slice meat with that attitude.”
“They learn it in corporate school,” said Thumps. “It’s not his fault.”
“Get in your car and get out of here. Before I arrest your ass. And I don’t want to see you stopping and talking to anyone on the way out.”
Thumps wanted to talk with Cooley about Takashi and Saturday morning, but the conversation would have to wait for now. No sense getting the sheriff any more annoyed with him than need be.
The good news was that Hockney looked as though he was going to be tied up at the complex for a while. With any luck, Thumps could beat him to Shadow Mountain and be in and out of Takashi’s room before Duke arrived and turned the place into a crime scene.
But first, he needed to make a quick stop.
SIX
Ora Mae Foreman was trying to think of another euphemism besides “handyman’s special” for a bungalow on the south side that had been partially gutted by fire when Thumps walked into the offices of Sterling Realty. He was cute, Ora Mae thought to herself, as he swayed up to her desk. In a western sort of way.
“We’re closed.” Ora Mae wrote “good location” on a slip of paper and looked at it for a moment.
“Thought real estate offices never closed.” Thumps fished a pen out of a holder on the edge of Ora Mae’s desk. Sterling Real Estate was written in gold cursive lettering on the side. “These free?”
Ora Mae took the pen away. “You see anyone else in the office besides me?”
“No.”
“That’s because it’s Sunday. The Lord’s day. The day of rest.”
“I was just out at the band office.” Thumps tried to make it sound casual. “Claire said to say hello.”
Ora Mae put the pen back in the holder. “Oh, really.”
“That’s what she said.”
“Don’t imagine a dead body made her day.”
No, Thumps had to admit, it hadn’t.
Ora Mae went back to her listing. “Fixer-upper” wasn’t going to do the trick and neither was “a diamond in the rough.”
“Claire hire you or something?”
“Not exactly.”
Ora Mae leaned back in her chair and watched Thumps fidget. “’Cause I can only think of one reason why Claire Merchant would hire you.”
Thumps shrugged.
“This about Stanley?”
“Not exactly.”
“You know, it feels like you’re messing with me.” Ora Mae had a voice that carried like an explosion under water. “Why does it feel like you’re messing with me?”
“Claire’s just concerned.”
Ora Mae pushed the listing to one side. “So, what exactly do you want?”
Thumps shifted around in the chair. “Does the name Genesis Data Systems mean anything to you?”
“Is this a lunch favour or a dinner favour?”
“How about a free photograph?”
“You owe me six already.”
“Okay, lunch.”
Ora Mae nodded and turned to her computer. “Genesis Data is the name of the company that got the contract for designing and installing the computer system at Buffalo Mountain.”
“You didn’t even have to look that up.”
“So what?”
“For lunch you should at least have to look it up.”
“Okay.” Ora Mae fiddled with her keyboard, waited a moment, and then turned the screen so Thumps could see it.
“What is it?”
She shook her head. “It’s a Web site. You ever hear of a Web site?”
“Sure.”
“Watch closely, I’m only going to do this once. What do you want to know?”
“Do they have pictures?”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know.”
Ora Mae went back to the keyboard. “We’ve got pictures of the main office in New Jersey. We’ve got pictures of the board of directors. We’ve got pictures of the research labs.”
Thumps leaned closer to the screen. The main building was a bright, glass square, sleek and modern. The picture of the board of directors told him little more, except for the fact that most of the individuals were young, younger than Thumps would have imagined.
“They’re all kids.”
“That’s computers.”
“What about the labs?”
There were six pictures of the research labs, each photograph exactly what you would expect—happy workers holding up pieces of what Thumps supposed was a computer. Except for the last picture, which showed a young Asian man flanked by two young women. The man was holding up what looked to be a tiny square of plastic, while the women looked on in happy amazement.
Ora Mae swung the screen back so she could see the man clearly. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“Daniel Takashi.”
Ora Mae fooled around with her mouse, and the picture scrolled up. “Thanks for sharing.”
“I just found out.”
Ora Mae hit a button on the computer, and real estate listings took over the screen. “Anything else, or can I get back to selling houses?”
“One more question,” said Thumps, leaning on the chair. “How often are the units at Buffalo Mountain checked?”
“Once a day.”
“Every day?”
Ora Mae looked at Thumps as if he had surprised her. “That’s what’s supposed to happen.”
“But?”
“Some days I check them. Some days Clarence checks them.”
“Clarence Fellows?” Thumps snorted. “Sterling’s nephew?”
“Didn’t your mother teach you manners?” Ora Mae shook her head. “Yes, Sterling�
�s nephew. He was supposed to check them out Saturday night.”
“Saturday night.”
“Cheaper than a motel room, if you know what I mean.”
Thumps was enjoying this more than he would have imagined. “Clarence still fooling around with Celia Brothers?”
Ora Mae batted her eyes at Thumps. “Goodness, but that’s supposed to be a secret.”
“Clarence and Celia were at the condos Saturday night?”
“No such luck. They were at a motel in Kalispell.”
“Maybe I should talk to Clarence anyway.”
“Sure,” said Ora Mae. “If you want to drive over to Kalispell.”
“He’s still there?”
“Not coming home any time soon.”
Thumps looked at Ora Mae. The woman wasn’t just a little evil. She was pure evil.
“Seems Clarence’s little secret wasn’t as secret as he would have liked,” she said.
“Barbara?”
Ora Mae nodded and began to chuckle. “Barbara and Celia had a little chat.”
“Barbara knows?”
“Evidently Celia called her.” Ora Mae was having difficulties keeping a straight face. “From the motel.”
Thumps found he wasn’t quite as amused as he had been. “Did they . . . hurt him?”
Ora Mae shook her head. “Now you should know that violence is no way to settle your problems.”
“He’s alive?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “’Course, he looks a little strange.”
Thumps leaned back in the chair and waited. Ora Mae looked at the ceiling, and then she looked out the window.
“You going to make me ask?”
“They painted him.”
“Clarence?”
“Bright red,” said Ora Mae, her eyes dancing. “Right after they shaved his head.”
Ora Mae was having too much fun. Thumps could see it was time to turn the conversation back to the matter at hand.
“So, who has keys to the condos?”
“Aren’t any keys,” said Ora Mae. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”
“Computer keypad, right?”
“That’s right. You need a key card or a code.”
“All the buildings the same?”
“Hardly,” she said. “Every building is different. We have cards just for the condominiums.”
“How many?”
