The Mormon Candidate - a Novel (6 page)

A wet area, about the size of an open book, smelled of gasoline.
Next to it was a flattened bush with tiny red berries, which cau
sed Ben to almost miss the sand-colored
item
, mostly covered in dirt. At first he thought it was a
dry
leaf
or a piece of wood
, but
when
h
e touched it with h
is finger
, it felt too hard and smooth to be
a product of
nature.

He cleared off
the dirt, uncovering a rectangular
piece of plastic. Digging it up with his finger, Ben found himself holding an i
Pod
Touch
, colloquially called iTouch. It was
identical to an iPhone but without the phone function
. This one was
encased in a
protective
shell
of the same color as
Zachariah
Hinckley
’s military
-style
undershirt.

Blowing on it, Ben delicately cleaned the
screen and the
sides, where tiny buttons were encased in small grains of dirt
.

The
iTouch
was off,
but otherwise seemed undamaged.

He glanced up toward the road. No one was watching.

With a finger pressing down on
the power button
, Ben held his breath
.

For a moment, nothing happened.
Then,
a
n iTunes logo appeared,
followed by
Stephen Cochran
’s song, which had been playing just before the crash
.

Back
uphill
at the
scenic overlook
,
the sun was already halfway down to the horizon.
Ben put on his helmet and jacket
,
mounted his motorcycle
, and took off
just
as the familiar gray Ford arrived, its tires screeching.

As they passed opposite each other, Ben
caught a glimpse of
Porter
’s face in the driver’s window
.
Had
he
realize
d
the
victim’s
iTouch
was missing
and rush
ed
back to look for it
?

Whatever it was, Ben had no intention of waiting to find out. He
accelerat
ed
downhill, grinn
ing
at the thought
of the fastidious
Porter
hiking
down
the hillside
once more
and digging around for an
iTouch
that was already secure in Ben’s camera bag
.
The inspector
did
n’t seem like someone who enjoyed
being one with nature.

Chapter
4

On the second floor o
f
the townhouse, Keera felt the
rattle of the
garage door
ri
s
ing
in its tracks. She wrapped herself in a towel, went downstairs
to the kitchen
, and opened the connecting door.

Ben rode in
to the garage
and turned off the
engine. He was clad in a
black
-
and
-
yellow riding suit, with a matching helmet and gloves, and black boots that could
have come right out of a World War II film, except that they were made of Kevlar—or so Be
n claimed
.

She waited at the door, leaning against the frame, watching his methodical disrobing
. First the helmet came off, setting free his
dark
hair,
which
fram
ed
his
face
. His eyes were dark too,
and serious, but with a
naughty glint
that
often
kept her
on the verge
of laughter
. The riding suit came off
, revealing a t-shirt with the iconic image of James Dean and the words:
Cars Suck!
Under his boxer shorts,
h
is legs, which rarely saw the sun, looked like long sticks of cha
l
k
.

He bowed.

She clapped.
“You
should
be
on
stage. They’ll tip you like crazy.”

He
took
her in his arms. “It’s not good
for couples to
compet
e
.”

“Different clientele
.
”
She
kissed him on the
lips
. “
Mine are going to laugh at your
puny
white ass.”

His hands descended, feeling her
through
the towel. “I see your point.”

“Not now.” She
pulled away
. “No time.”

Inside, h
e dropped his camera bag on the kitchen table, unzipped it, and pulled out the Canon. “You
have
to see these photos.
I couldn’t ask for a luckier break
—the
guy literally died on camera for me.
”

Keera gave him an angry look.

“What?”

“
You feel lucky the guy died in front of you, and I would have killed myself to keep him alive had he made it to the hospital. We’re some match…
”

“It’s my job.
I don’t want people to die, but catching disasters on camera is how I
make money.”

“Blood money.”

“
Do
ctors also
live off people’s suffering
. Would anyone go to the doctor if they weren’t afraid of dying
?
”

“Afraid of dying in front of you
r camera
!”

“I provide an essential social service.”

“For voyeurs
and necrophiles
.”

“
You have a dirty mind. Don’t you think that regular folks
who see my gruesome photos become more careful on the roads
? Or you’d rather have them
end up in your hospital
?
”

“Aren’t we clever
?
”
She
s
tarted on the few dishes in the sink. “
Think of his wife,
or girlfriend,
getting
a call from the police. So
rry to
tell
you
, but
your
guy
fell of
f
his bike and died.
Check out the Internet for his last photo.
Have a nice day.”

Ben chuckled.

“It’s not funny. I don’t want to get a call like that, you know? I don’t want to!”

“Accidents can happen
to
car
drivers
too. Or
to
elevator
passenger
s. Remember that woman in Tyson’s Corner? Got her head stuck—”

“
I’m serious
!” She shut off the water and used a towel to dry the dishes in rapid motions. “Why do you
have
to ride a motorcycle, with all th
e
se cars and trucks
speeding by
, all these idiots texting or
yak
king on the phone or doing their makeup? And anyway, that BMW beast costs as much as a new Toyota Camry!”

“I’m not a Camry kind of guy.”
Hugging her from behind,
Ben
snuggled his nose in her wet hair.
“
And you’re not a Camry kind of a girlfriend.”

“Then
buy
a P
orsche.”

“I like my bike. It gets me where I need to be no matter what traffic
is
like.”

“
It’ll look funny with a baby seat strapped on
.”

Ben stepped back, almost falling over. “Are you…?
”

“
W
hat if?”

He faced her, peering at her face for a
clue
.

“Why does i
t scare you so much?
Is it the responsibility? The…what do you call it?
Comm
it
—
”

“I’m not afraid of commitment,” he said. “I’m committed to you.”

She held up her hands, turning them around.
“Do you see a ring?”

“You’re not pregnant,” he
concluded
, sinking into a chair. “
Wow, you really got me.
”

“Chicken.”

“I
don’t see myself as a dad
, that’s all.”

“I wonder why. How’re you going to change if you’re avoiding—”

“Please, I’m not in the
mood for a therapy session.”
H
e turned on the camera and showed her the LCD screen in the back. “Look at these.
He’s saying something.
”

“It’s
too small. I can’t see
.”
Keera
walked
to the stairs
. “I need to get dressed
and ready
.”

“You look totally ready to me.” He followed her. “Wait up.”

“
Why?” She
stopped halfway up the stairs
, looking
down
at him. “You want to make a baby?
”

When
Keera
came back downstairs, Ben was standing in front of the TV in the living room. He
had connected the Ca
non so that the photos appeared on the large screen and was scanning through them like a fast slide show. “This is
good stuff
,” he said.
“But something stinks—”

“
I’m late
,” she said.
“Let’s go.”

He turned
to
her.
“Mama Mia!
”

She
posed
with a hand on her hip
, her
coal-black, curly mane
cascading over half her face, down to her chest.
The red dress wrapped her from
chest
to knees without shoulder straps or buttons or anything else to disturb the smoothness of the cloth clinging to her feminine co
ntours.

Ben raised the Ca
non and snapped a few photos.

“
Don’t yo
u
have enough of those
?
”

It was true.
He
never tired of photographing
Keera
, something
she
found either flattering or annoying, depending on her mood and the state of their relationship. She had teased him that his compulsive photo taking was due to his subconscious expectation of her
walking out on him
one day, leaving him with on
ly
digital
images and
deep
regrets.

Keera put on hot water to boil. “What
’s bothering you
?”

He
pulled up
the first series of photo
s
he had taken from the
overlook
. “You see the guy lying there.
He’s trying to say something.”

“
How do you know? Ma
ybe he’s just moaning in pain.”

Ben focused on the man’s face, which filled the TV screen. “Look at his lips!
He’s speaking, pronouncing something with a great effort.
”