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“That’s it? Not two cars?”
“No, Harry was too sick to drive. When he died, a doc came out and signed the death certificate and Louie and some of the guys from Hyder loaded him in the truck to bury him out in the desert. Harry was really firm about that. He didn’t want to be embalmed. He was convinced it was some kind of government conspiracy, where your organs were sold off to aliens. Sounded kinda weird to me. But that was Harry…”
“What about Louie? Was he paranoid?”
“Nope, not a bit of it. We’d sit out and drink at night, watch the stars, talk about life and women. Louie’d never been married, but he’d had his share when he was a younger dude.”
I asked, “Anybody who would want to hurt Louie?”
The man shook his small head. “Nobody I can think of. It’s pretty isolated out here, as you can tell. But, I’ll tell you, I’ve probably seen more comings and goings at this trailer since Louie was killed, than in three years’ time.”
“Comings and goings?”
“There’s you.” He counted off on slender fingers. “There was a couple of cop cars with deputies. They told me what happened to Louie, and they spent some time looking around. Then, maybe a couple of days later, I woke up around midnight to take my pain pills and there was a truck, kinda parked right over by Louie’s trailer. Stayed there for at least an hour, and he kept the headlights on, trained at the trailer. I saw a man come out, and he got into the truck and it drove off.”
“Pickup truck?”
He nodded. “And then, maybe a week later, I saw the same truck. He came after midnight, and shut off his lights and went inside again. This time he stayed longer. I don’t know how long, ’cause I fell asleep.”
“What kind of truck? Could you see?”
“It was dark,” he said. Then he brightened. “But it was a Dodge Ram pickup, extended cab, diesel. It was black, with chrome accessories. And…”
“And?”
“Had a set of balls dangling from the rear bumper, that kinda amused me.”
I took in a sharp breath, and said, “You could see all that?”
He made a face. “It’d been there before, a couple times before Louie was killed. In the daytime. Dude would knock on the door and go in, and they’d talk a while, then he’d leave. Louie was always upset afterwards. Really nervous. But he wouldn’t talk to me about it.”
“What did this guy in the truck look like?”
Davey closed his eyes tightly. He said, “White guy, probably thirty years old, shaved head.” He opened his eyes. “He had this really big tat, you know? On his right shoulder and arm. He wore a tank top every time, to show it off. Kinda scary looking, you ask me. He didn’t know I was watching. But I told you, I notice things.”
All that was missing from the description was a bandanna and a sap—this was my adversary from the other night. I asked, “Any chance you noticed a license tag?”
“Nope. Never thought I’d need to. Want me to get it if he comes back again?”
“No, Davey,” I said. “Don’t let him see you. But if he does show up again, give me a call.” I handed him a business card, asked if there was anything I could do for him, and when the answer was no, headed back to the city.
23
It was a little after five p.m. on Friday when there was a tap on the pebbled glass of my office door. I invited the knocker in, and it was Robin. She was wearing a calf-length skirt with a blue paisley pattern and a white knit top. It was the most feminine I had seen her dress, but the change didn’t end there. She was wearing makeup. The transformation was remarkable. I won’t say it made her beautiful, but she looked very attractive, and I told her so.
“Thank you,” she said, and sat down facing me. “I’m under orders from Lindsey to take both us out—me because I’m mending from a broken heart, although I never had my heart that involved with Edward. And you, because Lindsey told me the bad news.”
It was true. Lindsey would be in Washington for another two weeks. The computer security breach had become big news, affected dozens of companies, and another penetration had happened the night before. She had been assigned to a task force, and she couldn’t tell me much more. They would also be monitoring her phone calls, and I wouldn’t even be able to come up and visit her—she would be working every day and night. If the feds had been listening, they would know our call hadn’t gone well. Her delay would mean we couldn’t leave on our long-anticipated vacation. I knew she was as disappointed as me, maybe more so. But I had been looking forward to time away from Phoenix, away from the heat and the endless lookalike subdivisions and crackpot politicians and their wives. I had been short with Lindsey, and after we hung up I was instantly remorseful.
“You’re really dependent on her, aren’t you?” Robin asked, looking at me with an intense expression, as if trying to read my thoughts.
“I think it’s mutual,” I said. “I hope so. What are you in the mood for?”
I took her for drinks to Tom’s Tavern, where Peralta joined us after making the rounds with some politicians at other tables. They seemed pleased to see each other. The conversation was light, and, as usual, Robin could talk a lot. But she talked about interesting things, in this case eight months she had spent in Paris, and I was content to listen. Then Peralta left to give a speech. Robin vetoed my suggestion that we go to the galleries over on Roosevelt Row—“I go there all the time”—although I think the real reason was she thought it was too young a crowd for me. So, after being told the wait for a table at Pizzeria Bianco was four hours, we went to dinner at Lombardi’s at Arizona Center and then saw a movie. A few days later, I couldn’t have told you the title. Afterward, Robin wanted a nightcap, so we swung by Portland’s.
I noticed she had drunk bourbon when Peralta was around, but maybe the two were not connected. At Portland’s, she drank red wine, and I ordered a snifter of cognac. She held her liquor and was full of stories and opinions. But she also seemed genuinely interested when I talked about history and culture. I found myself liking her and setting aside my earlier misgivings.
She asked, “So how’s your case going, David?”
