Deep House, page 3
“Right,” said Duke. “That’s because it doesn’t have an SD card in it right now.”
The sheriff held up a tiny black piece of plastic. Thumps knew what it was, but he hadn’t seen one up close and personal.
“The new negative,” said Duke.
The card was no bigger than a postage stamp.
“What say we take a drive, give it a field test?”
“Has someone been murdered?”
“Don’t be like that. It’s a nice day. Thought I’d take a ride out to Deep House. Figured you might like to come along and try out the camera.”
“You want to go hiking in Deep House?”
“You nuts?” Hockney pushed out of the chair, hitched his pants. “Got to check on something near there.”
Thumps brought up a mental map of the area. “There’s nothing near Deep House.”
“Au contraire.”
Thumps closed his eyes.
“That’s French for ‘on the contrary.’”
Thumps opened his eyes. “And no one has been murdered?”
“You make it sound as though I drag you off to every crime scene that comes along.”
“You do.”
“You enjoy the excitement.”
“No, I don’t.”
The sheriff grabbed his hat. “Come on. It’ll be fun. We can do a little bonding, and you can show me the tricks of the trade.”
Thumps stayed in the chair. The old percolator had picked up speed, gurgling away as though it might erupt at any moment.
“And there’s no dead body?”
“Nothing but sunshine and blue skies.” Duke slipped into his jacket. “Sunshine and blue skies.”
5
Sheriff Duke Hockney was not particularly talkative, and he generally kept his personal life to himself. Thumps liked that about the man.
“So here’s what you need to know about prostate operations.”
“Don’t need to know.”
“Not sure which was worse.” Duke glanced at Thumps to make sure he was paying attention. “The anticipation, the operation, or the aftermath.”
Thumps put his head on the dash.
“According to Macy, if I had eaten a bunch of turmeric, I might have been able to avoid the surgery.”
“Turmeric?”
“Supposed to protect you from prostate problems.” Duke drummed his fingers on the wheel. “Turns out the stuff is better for you than burgers and fries. Who knew?”
“You might want to watch the road.”
“There are a couple kinds of prostate operations. There’s the one where they open you up, take out the prostate and your balls, along with a bunch of the surrounding tissue. Sort of like excavating for a septic system.”
Thumps concentrated on the mountains in the distance, imagined that he was in one of the high valleys, walking through a meadow. Alone.
“If it’s just an enlarged prostate, then they stick a wire in through your penis and carve off layers until they get whittled down to size. Like peeling an onion.”
In his meadow, Thumps could see wildflowers. Butterflies. A doe and her fawn.
“So now Macy has me on the turmeric. Dumps it in my oatmeal every morning.”
Thumps opened his eyes. “You eat oatmeal?”
Duke grimaced. “And ginger. Macy boils up this god-awful concoction of ginger and green onions. I mean, the horse is already out of the barn, right? But she makes me drink it anyway.”
“What say we talk about photography?”
“You ever had to wear an adult diaper?”
“Duke . . .”
“Damn things are hot as hell.”
“Duke . . .”
“Don’t you want to know about erectile dysfunction?”
THUMPS LEANED AGAINST the door and watched the land fly by. There was a lonesome majesty to the high prairies, a sensation he had never been able to capture in a photograph. Even from inside the car, Thumps could feel his body open up to the space that stretched out forever.
“Almost there.”
As far as he could figure, they were on the eastern edge of the reservation, an area that had little to recommend it. Mostly flat, empty, windswept land, baked and frozen by the seasons.
“And we’re here.”
Thumps had no idea what “here” was. First impression was a compound of some sort, a large enclosure with hundreds of uniformly spaced panels, set at angles to the ground. Each of the panels was painted a different colour. From a distance, the overall effect was that of driving into a cubist painting. Or a riot of wildflowers.
Much like his imaginary mountain meadow.
All surrounded by a high, chain-link fence with a rolling gate.
Duke pulled the cruiser up to the gate. “You got a favourite colour?”
Through the chain link, Thumps could see a pickup parked next to the remains of a burned-out vehicle. Farther on, at the back of the enclosure, was a dirty, white single-wide. The trailer was leaning from back to front, as though it were poised for a sprint.
The gate was closed. There was a keypad on a post. Duke rolled down his window, punched in numbers, and the gate rolled open. The sheriff eased his cruiser forward. As he cleared the entrance, the gate rolled shut behind him.
“Could use one of these at my place.”
Duke slowed to a stop, set his hat on his head, and stepped out.
The woman leaning against the truck reminded Thumps a bit of Judi Dench when she played M in the Bond series.
“You the sheriff?”
“Duke Hockney,” said Duke.
“Bargain Hall,” said the woman, extending her hand. “See you didn’t forget the code.”
“Bargain’s different,” said Hockney.
“That it is,” said Hall. “I was the first baby born in Nevada that year. Hospital covered all the costs. Mom said I was the best bargain she ever got.”
Hockney stuck his thumbs in his belt. “And this is Special Deputy Thumps DreadfulWater.”
Bargain’s face broke into a smile. “Thumps? DreadfulWater? Shit, I guess you got me beat.”
“Special Deputy DreadfulWater helps me from time to time.”
Thumps made a mental note to hurt Hockney when a good opportunity presented itself.
Bargain walked over to what was left of the van. “Mercedes,” she said. “Late model from the look of it.”
The star on the hood was black and sooty. The van was pitched to one side, windows blown out, tires melted.
“Real waste,” said Bargain. “Why the hell would anyone do something like this?”
Duke rubbed the back of his neck. “This place got a name?”
“Used to be Main Street Paints,” said Bargain. “Family-owned business. Plant is in Sacramento.”
“California.” Duke rolled each syllable around as though he were trying to get something nasty out of his mouth.
“Paint,” said Bargain. “Home, high-end commercial. This is one of the company’s test facilities. Weather in this part of the world can suck the black out of tar.”
“And now?”
“Old man Eshelman died, and the company got kicked around the family for a while.” Bargain took out a handkerchief and blew her nose. “Then it all got sold to an outfit called Shield Industries. One of those conglomerate boogers.”
Hockney gestured to the rows of panels. “And they send you sample panels to leave out in the elements.”
“Not anymore,” said Bargain.
Duke waited.
“Got the paint store over in Glory. MSP used to pay us to come out here regular like to look after the facility, check the panels, keep the grass down, do the rotations, organize the deliveries and the pickups.”
“But not now.”
“Main Street did good business.” Bargain shielded her eyes. “Then Shield took over and everything went to hell in a hurry. Don’t make a lot of sense.”
“So they closed this facility.”
“About eight months back.”
“Yet here you are.”
Bargain shrugged. “Anyone opens the gate, alarm system sends a notification to my cellphone.”
“But seeing as the place has been closed . . .”
“Guess the keypad didn’t get the memo.”
Hockney smiled. “So you got a notification.”
“Nope,” said Bargain. “I got five.”
Duke set his feet and folded his arms on his chest. “Why don’t you tell us how this all works.”
“Pretty simple,” said Bargain. “One way in, one way out. Gate’s got a keypad and an electric eye. You punch in a code, the gate opens, you drive in, the electric eye shuts the gate behind you.”
“Self-serve.”
“There’s a keypad on the inside as well. If you want to leave, you just reverse the process.”
“And each time the gate is opened, you get a notification ringy-dingy?”
Bargain nodded. “When I got the first notification, I thought it might be a false alarm. But then I got four more.”
“In a row?”
“Nope,” said Bargain. “Got the first one late Friday. The other four early Sunday morning.”
“So someone came in on the Friday and didn’t leave until Sunday?”
Bargain shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“But you were curious,” said Duke.
“My husband says I’m nosy,” said Bargain.
“So even though you no longer worked for the company, you came out to see what was what.”
“Not right away,” said Bargain. “Couldn’t get out on the Sunday or the Monday. Had some time today. Figured I’d check the facility and get in a little birdwatching while I was at it.”
“Birdwatching?”
“Be surprised what you can see around Deep House.”
Thumps glanced at the sky, just in case something interesting might be on the wing.
“Woodpeckers, grackles, red-tailed hawks.” Bargain shaded her eyes. “Last year, I saw a bunch of pelicans.”
“Pelicans?”
“The American white,” said Bargain, “as well as the occasional Caspian tern. The thermals over the canyon are great for hawks and vultures.”
“So you came out and found this.” Duke paused and did a quick visual sweep of the compound. “Don’t suppose there are any surveillance cameras.”
“Not exactly a top-secret, black ops site, now is it?” said Bargain. “Not much point in keeping track of prairie grass and the wind.”
Duke turned to Thumps. “Any thoughts, Special Deputy?”
Thumps decided to start with the obvious. “Anything missing?”
Bargain chuckled. “You mean like a paint panel?”
“Sure,” said Thumps. “Like a paint panel.”
“Not that I can tell,” said Bargain. “Got most of the records in the trailer.”
“They valuable?”
“The records?”
“The panels.”
Bargain rolled her shoulders. “What’s the price of plywood?”
Hockney stepped back into the conversation. “So there’s nothing here worth stealing?”
“Trailer’s a piece of shit.” Bargain kicked at a pile of ash. “Van had value, I guess.”
Duke nodded. “You call the folks at Shield Industries yet?”
“Not yet,” said Bargain. “Reception out here is crap. I’ll call them when I get back to the store.”
Duke hitched his pants. “When you reach head office, have them call me.”
“Maybe you can tell them how to run a successful business,” said Bargain.
Thumps had never seen a test site for paint, but he could see where such testing would be handy. You wouldn’t want to paint your house a stylish red and, in a few years, have it fade to a tired pink. Buy a metallic blue pickup and watch it turn into a dead-lead lump.
Duke kicked at the ground. “Be nice if we knew what happened to the driver.”
“Didn’t go up with the van,” said Bargain. “Had a house fire down the street from me couple years back. Family of four. You don’t forget that smell.”
“No,” said Duke. “You don’t.”
Thumps looked at the panel field and then back at the remains of the van. “Why was it here? If the facility is closed, what’s the van doing here?”
Bargain took a moment. “Only two reasons I can think of. First would be to deliver new panels.”
“Which wouldn’t make much sense,” said Duke. “Why bring new panels to a facility that’s closed?”
“Second reason,” said Bargain, “would be to pick up the old panels.”
“That makes more sense.”
“Not much,” said Bargain. “This van wasn’t large enough. If you wanted to pick up all the old panels, it would make more sense to bring in a moving truck big enough to do the job in one shot.”
“Seems as though you’re suggesting that the van shouldn’t be here,” said the sheriff.
“Yeah,” said Bargain. “That’s what I’m suggesting.”
Thumps turned around and faced the gate. “So if the driver wasn’t burned up with the van, where is he?”
Duke squeezed his lips together. “Chinook’s one hell of a hike.”
Thumps turned back to Duke and Bargain. “Someone picked the driver up.”
“See,” said Hockney. “Mind like a steel trap.”
“Sure,” said Bargain. “But why the delay? Driver comes in on the Friday and doesn’t get picked up until the Sunday? That don’t make any sense.”
Duke tried to contain a yawn and failed. “It’s all interesting as hell, but I’m not sure any of this qualifies as a crime scene.”
“Arson,” said Bargain. “Destruction of private property. Leaving the scene of a crime.”
“True,” said the sheriff. “I guess we’ll lock it down until we hear from the folks in Sacramento. That work for you?”
“Not my circus,” said Bargain. “Not my monkeys.”
THUMPS WALKED AROUND the remains of the van and sorted through the most likely scenarios.
The driver arrives, opens the gate, parks the van. Maybe he calls a friend who drives out and picks him up. That was the most likely answer. But if that is what happened, there should have been at least two gate notifications.
But, according to Bargain, Friday only had one, which would seem to suggest that the driver drove in and stayed until Sunday morning. Which made little sense. The test facility was not exactly an all-inclusive resort in the Caribbean.
Thumps squatted down on the ground so he could get the angle right and let the shadows do their job. There were tire tracks in the dirt, but no way to tell how many vehicles had come and gone.
And no footprints.
Thumps ran through the other possibilities, and when he got to alien abduction, he gave up.
“You figure it out yet?”
“Alien abduction,” said Thumps.
Duke nodded. “Leaning in that direction myself.”
“You want me to take pictures with your new camera?”
Duke reached into his pocket. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“If you don’t need me,” said Bargain, “I’m going to head home.”
“Head away,” said Duke.
“Let me know what happens,” said Bargain. “I love a good mystery.”
THUMPS AND THE SHERIFF spent the next hour playing Forensic Files. The sheriff collected samples of the burn debris in plastic sacks, while Thumps took photographs of the van from different angles. Then he took shots of the prairie landscape through the fence, the clouds in the sky, along with a couple of his shadow stretched out across the ground.
The camera worked well enough. It was quick and silent. And the reach of the lens was amazing.
Of course, the quality wasn’t going to be anywhere near the resolution of a 4x5 or even a 2 1/4 negative. But you could slip this camera in your pocket and take it anywhere.
Just for fun, Thumps stood off at a distance and used the telephoto to take several shots of the sheriff as he roamed the facility, searching for clues.
And he took photographs of the paint panel field, just to check the camera’s colour rendition.
Hockney caught up to him by the fenceline. “How you like it?”
“It’s small.”
“You can take about a thousand pictures with that puppy.”
“Not if you shoot in RAW,” said Thumps, in an attempt to demonstrate some knowledge of the digital world.
“JPEGs. Low-res JPEGs.” Duke slid in behind the wheel of the cruiser. “That way, Macy can shoot till hell freezes over.”
“Won’t get as good quality with JPEGs.”
“You ever seen her photographs?”
Thumps climbed in the other side. “We done here?”
“What say we put a nifty crime-scene sticker on the gate?”
“Then we’re going home? Right?”
“You worried that I’m going to make you work up a sweat walking the rim of the canyon, looking for vultures and pelicans?”
“Yes.”
“Or that I’ll drag you into Deep House itself? Make you hike the canyon, in case our missing driver fell in?”
“That too.”
Hockney rolled the cruiser out through the gate. “You know what they say about the solution to any problem?”
“The simplest solution is normally the correct solution.”
Duke tapped the side of his head. “Which means?”
“The guy called someone in town, and they came and picked him up.”
“As in someone special?”
“Maybe,” said Thumps.
“That someone special being a woman?”
“Probably.”
“See?” said Duke. “Mystery solved.”
“And the fact that the gate was only opened once?”
“Driver could have vaulted the fence.”
“It’s eight feet tall.”
“The things we do for love,” said Duke. “The things we do for love.”
6
Deep House was not one of the hiking attractions hereabouts. In fact, there was a large sign at the entrance that warned against going into the canyon.
“Restricted Access,” the sign said. “Unstable area.”
Thumps knew the answer to the question, but he asked it anyway.
“Why are we here?”
