by Thomas King
And while professional jealousy had something to recommend it as a motive, the timing made little sense. If Chan wanted to kill Takashi, why not do it in New Jersey, where murder was rumoured to be a demonstration sport and where the list of possible suspects would be endless? Why fly into a strange town, drive to a strange resort, kill someone, and then try to blame it on a small group of Indian activists? Of course, the killing could have been a spur-of-the-moment act. Takashi and Chan in the same room. Takashi says something that sets Chan off. Chan kills Takashi, panics, and sees the Red Hawks as his way out. But impulse killings are generally messy. Takashi had been killed neatly. So had Floyd.
For that matter, so had Chan.
When Thumps got back to the hospital, Moses Blood was sitting in the chair by the side of Stick’s bed.
“You in charge?”
“You bet,” said Moses.
“How is he?”
“He’s keeping us guessing.”
“Has he regained consciousness yet?”
“Nope,” said Moses, “but I’ve been telling him jokes to keep his spirits up.”
Stick had a tube in his arm and one that went up his nose. Thumps could barely look at the boy without wincing.
“I sent Claire to the cafeteria. She hasn’t eaten all day.”
“You okay here?”
“Sure,” said Moses. “But you could bring back a doughnut.”
“What kind do you want?”
“Something with chocolate on it. Those ones are Stanley’s favourites.”
Claire was sitting in a corner by herself, her hands wrapped around a cup of coffee.
“Moses thinks you’re eating.”
Claire didn’t even try to smile.
“It looks as though they’ve caught Takashi’s killer.”
She nodded. “The sheriff called.”
“He’s dropping the charges against Stick.”
“Bastards.”
Thumps couldn’t argue with that. While the sheriff had done his job reasonably well, letting someone like Andy Hopper carry a badge and a gun was a fundamental error in judgement, the kind of error that didn’t make up for all the times you were right.
“He came to you for help.” Claire’s voice was low and controlled, but Thumps could hear the accusation.
“I didn’t shoot him.”
“He came to you for help.”
“And I didn’t tell him to sabotage the computer.”
“He’s a boy!”
Thumps had two options. He could play the bad guy and take the blame, or he could stand his ground. The smart move would have been to let Claire take out her anger and frustration on him. But it had been a long night and a long day, and while Stick did not deserve to be lying in a hospital bed, Thumps had little interest in protecting Claire from her son’s mistakes.
“He may die.”
“He’s not going to die,” said Thumps. “And there’s no point in blaming yourself.”
“I don’t.”
“Then don’t blame me.”
Claire pulled her shoulders up around her neck and stared at her coffee cup. There was no give in the woman.
“We have to talk,” he said.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“This isn’t about us. It’s about the resort.”
“I have to get back to Stick.”
“Damn it, Claire, if you have to blame someone, blame Stick. No one told him to go to the complex. No one told him to move the body. And no one told him to run. Not you. Not me.”
Claire’s eyes flashed and she stood up. “Go to hell!” She brushed by him without looking back.
That went well, Thumps thought, as he sat at the table. All the bedside manners of a doctor. He couldn’t blame Claire for being upset, but getting her more upset had not been the smart thing to do. He still had to talk to her, only now he was going to have to make amends before he could get any answers.
The special on the blackboard was meat loaf. Thumps got a serving of that, with potatoes and gravy, and a piece of pumpkin pie. He had seen a show on television where a doctor had done years of research to find out what kinds of smells men and women found attractive. One sex liked the smells of licorice allsorts and cucumbers, while the other preferred lavender and pumpkin pie. But Thumps couldn’t remember which was which. He hoped that it was women who found pumpkin pie attractive. He was going to need all the help he could get.
When he got back to the room, Moses was gone. Claire was sitting by Stick’s bed, pretending to read a magazine.
“Moses wanted some doughnuts.” Thumps held the bag out as a peace offering. “I got you a sandwich.”
Claire didn’t even look at him.
“Moses wanted the chocolate kind.” He waited to see whether she was going to let him in. “He said they were for Stick.”
“Go away.” Claire sounded tired now, defeated.
“We have to talk.”
She leaned back in the chair and shut the magazine on her lap. “About what?”
“Genesis Data Systems.”
Claire sagged back in the chair, as if the weight of the last week was crushing her. “What do you want to know?”
“How did Genesis get the contract?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you contact them? Or did they contact you?”
“They contacted us.”
“Did they put in a bid?”
“Everybody did.”
“How many firms bid on the contract?”
“Four.”
“And Genesis tendered the lowest bid.”
“Yes,” said Claire, who was showing signs of annoyance. “Where is this going?”
“How much lower?”
“That’s confidential.”
“Damn it, Claire.”
“Quite a bit.”
“And the rest of the bids were closer to each other?”
“More or less.”
Thumps set the bag on the bedside table. “Give these to Stick when he wakes up.”
“Where are you going?”
“To tie off some loose ends,” he said. “I’m sorry about Stick. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“I know.” There were tears in Claire’s eyes now. All the fight was gone. There was nothing left but sorrow.
Sheriff Hockney was in his office talking on the phone. He looked up and motioned Thumps to a seat.
“Yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes, “I want everything.” And he shook his head as he slid the phone back on its cradle.
“Problems?”
“Nothing that a little common sense wouldn’t cure.” Duke leaned on the desk. “I thought we were done talking.”
“Just thought I’d stop by and say hello.”
“Bullshit. What do you want to know?”
“You’ll tell me?”
“I didn’t say that,” said the sheriff. “Maybe I will, and maybe I won’t.”
Thumps was beginning to think that Duke actually enjoyed this give-and-take. “I was just wondering how many people heard the shot.”
“You mean when Chan killed himself?”
“Thirty-eight makes a fair amount of noise.”
“That it does.” Duke shuffled a couple of files and rearranged them on the desk.
“You mean no one heard the shot?”
“We haven’t talked to everyone.”
“The people on either side of Chan?”
“Young couple on their honeymoon.” Duke pinched his nose as if he was going to sneeze. “They were in bed.”
“And they didn’t hear anything?”
“They were busy. The people on the other side were on a tour.”
Thumps had heard that sex dulled a person’s sense of smell, but he hadn’t heard that it dulled hearing. “Seems odd,” he said.
“Who knows. Maybe they were heavy moaners.” Duke was smiling now. �
��Maybe they had already passed out from exertion.”
“Works for me.” Thumps shifted his weight. “And I suppose you checked the . . .”
“Yes, we checked the pillows on the bed and the cushions on the sofa.”
“Nothing?”
“No bullet holes, if that’s what you mean.” Hockney wrinkled his nose. “But you should have seen the shit we found in the sofa.”
Thumps thought about his own sofa.
“Tourists are real pigs.”
“Thanks, sheriff.”
“That’s it?”
“Like I said. I was just curious.”
“You think I missed something?”
Thumps shrugged. “Don’t see how.”
“Andy’s on suspension,” said Duke. “In case you were curious about that, too.”
“First piece of good news I’ve had all day.”
“DreadfulWater,” said Duke, “do everybody a favour and go back to the photography.”
Thumps left his car parked in front of the sheriff’s office and walked the six blocks to the old land titles building. He was betting that Beth would be in the basement, and his luck held.
“Thought you didn’t like hanging out in my kitchen.”
“I don’t.”
“I should start giving you a finder’s fee.”
“Not guilty.”
“So what is it this time?”
There was a body bag on one of the tables. Thumps didn’t have to ask who was inside.
“Have you looked at Chan yet?”
“He just checked in.”
“I need a favour.”
“You always need a favour.” Beth looked at Thumps as if she hoped to find a clue on his face. “This is supposed to be a suicide.”
“I know.”
Beth walked to the table and unzipped the bag. “Looks like a suicide. Angle’s right.” She turned Chan’s head to one side. “Sheriff is as paranoid as you. Did you know that?”
“What do you mean?”
“He ordered the deluxe autopsy with the trimmings.” She shone a small light at the entry hole. “Hello.”
“What’d you find?”
Beth picked up a pair of tweezers and began probing behind Chan’s ear. Thumps could feel the waves of nausea begin to roll up out of the depths. “This is curious.”
She rinsed the tweezers in a small glass dish.
“I don’t see anything.”
“That’s because you’re not a coroner.”
Thumps leaned over and squinted at the dish. Now that he was looking closely, he could see a little piece of something floating in the water. Beth carefully transferred the piece to a glass slide and slid everything under her microscope.
“Take a look.”
Looking at the piece under the microscope didn’t help. It was larger now and looked vaguely like pink Swiss cheese, but Thumps still had no idea what it was.
“It’s the blood that makes it pink.”
“How about giving me some choices, so I can guess.”
“Sure,” said Beth. “An elephant or a nuclear reactor.”
“Is there a third choice?”
“Foam rubber.”
“Sonofabitch.”
“My thought exactly. I guess I better call the sheriff.”
“The grand opening for Buffalo Mountain is tomorrow. Tell Duke I’ll meet him there.”
“You know what, DreadfulWater?” Beth tucked Chan back in the bag and zipped it up. “For a photographer, you’re not a half-bad cop.”
TWENTY-THREE
Freeway was curled up in a tight ball on her blanket on top of the radiator, and she didn’t even look up when Thumps opened the door. By all rights, he should have been tired, but, strangely enough, he was hungry. The meat loaf at the hospital had been a disappointment, thin and soggy, with a taste that vaguely reminded him of wet cereal and ketchup.
“You hungry?”
If Freeway was hungry, she wasn’t going to admit it. And she certainly wasn’t going to ask.
“Suit yourself.”
The refrigerator was bare. There were skinless chicken thighs and a nice strip loin in the freezer, but it was late and Thumps was in no mood for anything that involved preparation. That left popcorn. He threw a bag into the microwave, set the timer for three minutes, fourteen seconds, turned on the television, and stretched out on the couch.
When he awoke, the popcorn was still in the microwave, the television was still chatting away, Freeway hadn’t moved from her blanket, and the morning sun was streaming in the living room windows. Somehow, he had misplaced the night.
Thumps checked the clock. Nine-fifteen. The grand opening ceremonies at Buffalo Mountain Resort were due to begin at four o’clock. Six hours and a bit to try to sort everything out. But if he was right and if he was lucky, everything would come to him.
The knock at the front door startled him. Apart from Floyd showing up in his living room and Stick showing up in his darkroom, Thumps couldn’t remember the last time he had a visitor who knocked.
Claire was on the front porch, and she didn’t look any better than she had at the hospital.
“He’s okay,” she said, trying to smile.
“Stick?”
“He woke up this morning.”
“Great.”
“And he was hungry.” Claire didn’t even try to wipe away the tears.
“So, he’s going to be fine.”
“Could you hold me?”
It was a little awkward, standing on his porch, holding a crying woman, and Thumps would have preferred if Claire could have held off until she got inside the house. But he had learned years ago that crying women don’t want to move and that trying to move them was always a mistake. Not until they stopped crying.
“I’m all right.” Claire gently pushed away. “I always feel better after a cry.”
Thumps was not sure exactly how that worked. How could crying make you feel better? Crying always made him feel miserable.
“You know what I wanted to do when the doctor told me Stanley was going to be okay?”
“Celebrate?”
“I wanted to spank him.”
It was a good idea, but Thumps couldn’t imagine Stick draped over his mother’s lap. “Let me know if you need any help.”
“I’m sorry about last night.” Claire put her hand on Thumps’ chest. “About what I said.”
“You were upset.”
“I thought he was going to die.”
Thumps could still remember clearly how he had felt when they found Anna and Callie on the beach. Claire had nothing to apologize for.
She tried to straighten her hair with her hands. “The grand opening for Buffalo Mountain is today. I have to get ready.”
Thumps watched Claire walk back to her car. Stick had been lucky. He would probably never know how lucky he was. Anna and Callie hadn’t been that fortunate. They hadn’t been lucky at all.
As Thumps closed the door, he noticed a faint but unpleasant odour. At first, he thought it was the cat litter or something going bad in the garbage. So he was mildly irritated to discover the source of the smell. Not that it was his fault. The last few days had been lived on the run without a chance to change his clothes, and his body had simply caught up with him. Belatedly, he hoped that Claire had been too upset to notice.
The shower was wet and mostly hot, and Thumps stood under the spray until the water ran cold. Freeway was waiting for him as he stepped onto the bath mat.
“It’s all yours.”
Freeway didn’t have to be told twice. She hopped into the tub and began licking around the drain.
“I’m going to brush my teeth,” he told the cat so she could plan her day. “Then I’m going to dress.”
Thumps pulled a pair of dark slacks out of the closet. He hadn’t worn them in a while, and there was a line of dust where they had hung over the clothes hanger. He fou
nd a grey dress shirt that might have been white at some point and a red tie that didn’t match anything in particular. Claire hadn’t mentioned any dress code. Then again, she hadn’t invited him, either.
He got his gun and shoulder holster from the lock box. He hadn’t carried in a long time, and the gun felt awkward hanging below his armpit. He slipped two quick loads into his jacket pocket, just in case things got out of hand.
By the time he pulled into the Shell station and filled the Volvo, it was eleven-thirty. By the time he got to Moses Blood’s place, it was just after noon.
Moses was waiting for him. “Stanley is going to be okay.”
“I heard.”
“It was those chocolate doughnuts that did it.”
“You find anything yet?”
“Not much,” said Moses. “Worrying about Stanley took up most of my free time.”
“I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”
“Come on,” said Moses. “I’ll show you.”
Having been to the computer trailer the other night, Thumps half expected that he would be able to find his way back. But walking through the maze was even more confusing in the daylight. When they finally got to the door with the warning sign, Thumps had no clue where he was or how he had got there.
Moses eased himself into the chair in front of the large monitor. “Okay. Here we go.”
For the next hour, Thumps watched the screen as Moses brought up everything he had found on Genesis Data Systems. Most of it was the sort of business garbage that Ora Mae had found. Year-end reports, business prospectuses, production goals, and earning potentials.
“Can we find out who owns Genesis?”
Moses began working his way through a series of newspaper articles and web sites. “Here it is,” he said at last.
“And?”
“Another corporation.”
“What?”
“Stanley told me that that’s how everybody does business these days. They make up swell corporations so no one can find them.”
“It’s shell corporations.”
