The Killing of Bobbi Lomax (3 page)

The Last Call Tavern high on the cross-county line, scores of miles away from Abraham City, had always been his favorite, a spit-and-sawdust dive where you could drink without fear of being seen by any of the Faithful. And if they were here, like Vegas, you’d be in an immediate secret society where no man spilled another man’s secrets. The Faithful were great at keeping secrets. For Clark it was the best thing about them. He was drinking, like he did most every week, with his old school friend Kenny, the kind of guy who looks like he got lost on the way to the surf. They stood up at the bar drinking beer from long chilled glasses and feasted on unshelled nuts they cracked open themselves, dropping the shells on the floor to be ground underneath by another year’s customers. Clark was trying to make sense of the Mesmer episode. Kenny looked doubtful. ‘Sounds like a bad trip. I’ve got a buddy could get you pills that would do better.’ Kenny always had a buddy that could get you something. Mostly illegal. ‘Sounds like Mesmer’s in the Order of the Twelve Disciples – they can tell you did something bad, just by looking at you.’

Clark smiled. ‘God’s Faithful Disciples?’

‘Yeah, and they reckon they can do it without hypnosis.’

‘So they’d have us believe.’

‘Do you think it was real though, man? The hypnosis? Think people can really do that shit?’

Clark remembered Edie being under. He shook his head, lying. ‘No, course not.’

Hours later they emerged bleary-eyed and blinking from the darkened bar into the blinding light of day. Across the street, Clark spotted a bookstore. ‘That’s new.’

‘Yeah, opened a couple weeks back – when you were in Vegas.’

‘I’m gonna take a look.’

As he moved away from Kenny, an attractive blonde got slowly out of her shiny black Trans Am, walked toward Betty May’s beauty parlor. Kenny’s eyes followed her. ‘Take your time, man.’

Clark struggled with an armful of books towards the cashier, but as he moved through the narrow walkways piled to the rafters something on a shelf up high caught his eye. Edging nearer to take a closer look he kicked over a large bargain bin, accidentally tipping several books out onto the floor:
Valley of the Dolls
,
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
and some huge leather-bound volume. Clark stared down at it. Interesting. He bent down to pick it up. Slowly, incredulously, he began turning the pages. This is old,
real
old. It shouldn’t be in this bin thing in a million years, obviously someone didn’t know its value. An original 1638 King James Bible. Cambridge version. English Cambridge. Not Boston Cambridge. A smile crossed Clark’s face. Printed in the city after a decades-long face-off between the university printers and the church who wanted full control of the good word. Finally, the university won and they set to printing. A major victory against the church’s invidious rule. Clark stared at it. How did it wash up here? It’d certainly seen better days, but you’d look a little tatty after almost 350 years in existence. Clark was almost frightened to move in case he woke himself from this amazing dream. He turned it over in his hand considering its possibilities. He looked around to make sure no one was looking, then tucked it in at the bottom of the pile of books he’d already chosen. On top, he put
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
.

Clark stood at what passed for the cashier’s desk. The teenage assistant looked up, and smiled. Probably pleased to see someone under sixty in the place. ‘Did you find everything you were looking for today, sir?’ Without waiting for a reply she began ringing up his purchases on the clunky old cash register.

‘Yes, I think I got everything, thanks. Great store.’

‘Glad you like it, it’s my parents.
’ 
She picked up
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
. ‘This is great. Did you see the movie?’

‘Can’t say I have.’

‘The lunatics taking over the asylum?’

‘That’ll be the day,’ said Clark.

She had reached the Bible. But Clark knew she had no idea what it really was – all she saw was a dusty old Bible. ‘I’ve never been religious myself.’

‘I’m finding, Karen . . .’ She looked up, surprised. He indicated her silver necklace, which clearly spelled her name in swirly silver lettering. ‘There’s just not that many people loving Our Lord Jesus Christ these days. It was in the bargain bin.’ He smiled at her. She touched her necklace, smiled back.

‘Oh, the bargain bin? Those are two for a dollar.’

‘Cool. Don’t worry about a receipt.’

While Karen put everything else into a shiny plastic branded bag, Clark picked up a brown paper bag from the counter and carefully wrapped the Bible in it before tucking it safely under his arm.

Outside Kenny stood, almost draped, over the back of the car, still staring at any woman who passed or drove by. Clark half walked, half ran across the street from the bookstore. The plastic bag in one hand, the brown paper bag now clutched in the other. ‘C’mon, let’s go. Quick.’

‘What’s the rush, man?’

Clark looked back over the street toward the bookstore. Karen was looking out of the window. He smiled at her, she smiled back. Maybe even waved. Clark threw the plastic bag in the back seat. ‘I just remembered I gotta pick Edie and the kids up from her sister’s.’

He jumped into the driver’s seat, put the wrapped Bible carefully on his lap. Kenny knew better than to ask. Clark reversed the car fast out of the spot, trying not to let the tires screech. As they left the town behind, Clark reached over, took a small breath-freshener spray out of the glove box. Sprayed once, twice and a third time for luck.

Kenny turned, smiled at him. ‘Oh yeah, I forgot. You’re teetotal.’

They passed a
WELCOME TO CANYON COUNTY
sign. Clark turned to him. ‘Only in the Canyon . . .’

The uniform stood aside. He was Ed Grady’s kid. Ed had been on Homicide thirty years. Retired last year. Dropped dead the next day. Grady Jnr put his finger up to his lips. Ssssh. Marty looked at him. He nodded toward the corner of the room. Marty could see Al sitting and kind of slumped, his head drooping toward the sleeping patient. ‘Hey buddy! Wake up!’

Al woke up fast then, disorientated, stared bewildered at Marty. ‘You’re in the hospital. But don’t worry, you’re OK. At least you were ’til you made contact with that metal bar.’ Marty smiled at him.

‘Funny, man. Real funny.’ Al shook his head, rubbed at his forehead. ‘Must have nodded off.’

Marty turned to Grady Jnr. ‘Thanks. For protecting both of them.’

‘Protect and Serve, sir.’ He had Ed’s sense of humor. He was a good kid. Marty watched as he pulled the door shut behind him. His slight frame visible in its frosted glass.

Marty moved toward the bed. The patient was out cold, hooked up to a bunch of machines. Marty put his hand on Al’s shoulder. ‘I thought I’d drop by on my way back to the precinct. This day’s not getting any better. And I can’t say I’m looking forward to tomorrow.’

Al took several large swigs of the Pepsi he’d left on the patient’s bedside cabinet. Marty saw him smiling to himself. ‘Share the joke.’

Al turned to him, almost whispering. ‘I was dreaming about it, that story.’

‘What story?’

‘
Alice in Wonderland
.’

‘Did you raid the morphine cabinet again?’ Marty raised his eyebrows questioningly at Al.

‘I was chasing that girl.’

‘Which girl?’

‘Alice.’

‘Did you catch her?’

‘No, no I didn’t.’

‘Let’s hope that’s not an omen for the case.’

‘And I thought you weren’t the mumbo-jumbo, superstitious type, hey?’

‘I have my moments.’

Al smiled. ‘I remember seeing it now, a blaze of color, on a screen the size of the world. A treat with my Abuela Perez. Mann’s Chinese. Sure was worlds away from ours. She couldn’t speak a damn word of English but she laughed and gasped the whole way through, her giant bosom heaving up and down in the dark. I must have been three or four and, man, she lavished me with love and ice cream.’

‘You were her favorite, huh? Grandma’s favorite?’

‘I guess. Some of those lines, I’d totally forgotten, until the dream just now. “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”’

‘Why indeed,’ said Marty as he watched Al’s puzzled face try again to solve the first mystery he’d ever tried to.

A gentle voice interrupted their thoughts. ‘Detectives. We have a message for you.’ They looked around. A nurse in crisp whites and a tanned face peered in at them. ‘A Mr Rogers?’ They looked at one another. Who? ‘He got a first name?’ Marty asked.

‘There’s none on this.’ She was right in front of them now, pushing the note towards them. Marty looked down at it, written in truly illegible medic’s script. ‘He asked if we’d ensure you didn’t leave. He’s coming to see you. It’s urgent.’ Marty looked at Al. Al looked back at him. Blank.

‘Not a damn journalist?’ said Marty.

‘No, they’re not allowed in the hospital,’ said the nurse.

‘That doesn’t usually stop them, hey Al?’

A wave of recognition crossed Al’s face. ‘Rogers. Tommy. Bomb Squad.’

‘Tommy, yeah, he could have said that, sure,’ said the nurse. ‘It’s noisy out on the desk this evening.’ She looked over at the patient. ‘For obvious reasons.’

Marty nodded. He imagined how many calls they were getting. His own pager had beeped almost non-stop all day. ‘Big Tex, that’s what we call him. Well, you can let
him
in. Big guy. Hence the name.’ He smiled at her. She smiled back. A good smile, thought Marty. Soothing. And she was pretty with it. And young. Too young. Maybe that’s why she was still smiling.

He watched her as she made her way over to the patient’s side.

Marty noticed Al’s face was contorted. ‘You OK, buddy?’

‘I told her. No rice. Nothing spicy. Nothing fried. So she makes me a chimichanga with rice and refried beans. Maria’s mother. Man, I been suffering two days. I should stretch my legs, walk around the room a little. Might help. Been sitting half the day.’

‘Maybe she’s trying to kill you?’

‘You think?’

‘Got life insurance?’

‘No.’

‘Don’t. It’ll just make her more determined.’

Al laughed.

‘So, this is the book collector? It was his car?’

‘No doubt about it. Clark Houseman. His wife was here earlier. She saw it on TV. Recognized the car. Mangled and everything. She said he always parks in the same place. Walks into town from there.’

‘A creature of habit.’

‘Guess so. Either that or a cheap SOB who doesn’t like paying the city for parking.’

Marty smiled. ‘I sent her home to get him some things. Thought it was better if it was only me here if he woke up.’

‘Couldn’t cope with a hysterical woman, huh?’

Al nodded. ‘Not today, not with no sleep and my guts up in my mouth. Besides, maybe he has some information we could use.’

‘Something he doesn’t want his wife to hear. Is that what you’re thinking, Al?’

‘Yeah, maybe there’s something going on here. With the bombings. Something else, besides financial. You know what I mean?’

‘An affair?’

‘Maybe.’

‘She say anything worthwhile? The wife?’

‘Husband is well in with the Church hierarchy. Been running his own business since he bailed out of college. Successful guy. Family man. Devoted to her and the kids. Provider. Y’know. The usual Faith husband.’

‘How about the other victims, Al? She know any of them?’

‘Nope. First time she saw or heard of Bobbi Lomax was on the news last night. They don’t know Gudsen or Bobbi Lomax. And, Clark, the husband,’ Al nodded over to the bed, ‘he doesn’t talk business at home, so she doesn’t know the names of any of his business associates either.’

‘Maybe he talks business someplace else? Maybe your hunch is right, he’s got someone else he confides in?’

Al nodded his head in Houseman’s direction. ‘She was pretty adamant that he was a devoted husband.’

‘That makes her hopeful. Not right. Did you ask her if she heard of anyone called Hartman?’

‘She hadn’t. What you thinking? He’s some spurned husband. Getting revenge.’

‘That would make sense. Except . . .’

‘There’s two bodies in the morgue that aren’t Houseman.’

‘I put a call out to dispatch. There’s nothing on the record and nobody called Hartman in all of Canyon County.’

‘Maybe you didn’t hear the name right,’ said Al.

‘There goes our only lead.’ Marty exhaled, exasperated. ‘What was she like, the wife?’

Al laughed out loud. The pretty nurse turned to him. He shrugged apologetically at her and whispered to Marty, ‘Not the type to kill three people.’

‘Well,
try
and kill three people. This one’s still alive.’

‘Just.’

‘And you know as well as I do there
is
no type. Haven’t you noticed? Everyone but us is completely insane and most of ’em look completely normal?’

‘You got that right.’ A Texan drawl. Big Tex. They turned to see him filling out the doorway. ‘Everyone but us
is
insane.’

‘Hey big guy.’ Marty stretched out his hand for the no-nonsense handshake he knew was coming.

‘Good to see you, Marty. Sorry I missed you earlier.’

‘I had to go up to the Mission. Interview some bigwigs. Correction. Make an appointment to interview them. It’s a while since I’ve been up there.’

‘This is turning into a habit, hey Tex?’ said Al.

‘Yeah and not a good one. No offence, guys.’

‘None taken,’ said Al.

‘Three bombings in two days?’ said Marty.

‘Place is getting like Beirut,’ Big Tex said. ‘What you boys got so far?’

‘A whole bunch of nothing, by the looks of it,’ said Al.

‘Financials, possible affairs.’ Marty shook his head. ‘One too many possibilities.’

‘As per. That Houseman?’

‘Yeah.’

They all looked back to the bed where Houseman lay bandaged and motionless. Tex looked like he wanted to say something. Instead, he just nodded.

‘Everyone’s telling me all these three victims: Bobbi Lomax, Peter Gudsen, Clark Houseman. Well, they’re all stand-up citizens. Who’d want to hurt any of them?’

‘Maybe they’re just collateral,’ Al pitched in. ‘Perhaps the bomber’s after something else. Someone else.’

Marty looked at him. ‘Well, he sure is taking his time getting there. And today, over at the Houseman site there’s a whole load of witnesses all saying different things – He was walking up the hill, down the hill. He just got to the car and the bomb went off. He was in the car and the bomb went off. Someone saw him find a package on the seat of the car. Someone else thought they saw it on the seat. Another one thought they saw him drop it and then it exploded. Someone else saw him crouch down and pick it up . . . Hopeless.’

‘Well, all of those
could
be true.’ Big Tex smiled.

‘Sure,’ said Marty. ‘But not all at the same time.’

Tex laughed. ‘You got that right.’ He peered around Marty’s shoulder to the bed. The nurse had finished, she was moving towards them now, towards the door. Tex smiled at her, nodded politely: ‘Ma’am.’ If he’d been wearing his Stetson he would have lifted it for her. As she left the room Tex shook his head in quiet appreciation.

‘Makes you wanna get ill, don’t it, big guy?’ Marty slapped him on the back.

‘Critically.’ Big Tex’s eyes followed her outside. ‘What about him? Houseman. He gonna live?’

Al nodded. ‘They’ve put him in an induced coma. He was fitting, frothing at the mouth and everything. The docs said he’s messed up a bit, internally, also his leg’s half blown off, but the chest injury looked worse than it was. He’s going to survive if they can keep the brain swelling down and can operate on the leg in time.’

‘Good,’ said Tex. ‘’Cos that guy’s going to the chair. I damn well hate it when they die before they fry.’

‘Tex, you been holding out on us this whole time?’

Marty registered Al’s shock, but didn’t reflect it. ‘OK Tex, spill it.’