Thumps took his time driving back to town. Cruz leaned up against the door, tried to get comfortable.
“So, what are we missing?”
Thumps stared out at the road. “No idea.”
“You ever read any Agatha Christie novels?”
“Sure.”
“Annoying, aren’t they.” Cruz rubbed his leg. “She throws up this vomit of suspects and possibilities, but she always withholds the critical clue until the very end, so you can’t figure out who done it until the last ten pages.”
“I figured out Ten Little Indians.”
Cruz made a face. “Seeing the movie doesn’t count.”
“I’m just saying that this feels like a Christie novel.” Thumps rolled his shoulders, tried to relax his neck. “We know too much, and we know too little.”
“Profound,” said Cruz. “Worthy of a fortune cookie.”
“We know that Gage was part of Black Ice. We know what Black Ice did. We know about Sorin Dalca and the Vault. We know that Dalca faked his death. We know he wants to access the millions that Black Ice accumulated, but he’s worried that the money has been compromised. So, he goes to Plan B, tries to sell Gage to Porter Kincaide and Para Bellum for a pile of cash to make up for the money he doesn’t dare touch.”
“And what we don’t know,” said Cruz, “is who grabbed Gage, and where she is.”
“Smart money is on Dalca,” said Thumps. “Gage is his golden goose. With the Black Ice money radioactive, she’s the only thing of value he has left. Para Bellum isn’t going to pay him for a name. They’ll want the woman herself before Dalca sees a cent.”
Cruz nodded. “Dalca forces Gage to come with him.”
“He’s not going to risk a long car trip with a woman in his trunk,” said Thumps. “He’d need a safe place, until he can make the exchange with Para Bellum.”
“Which means, he hasn’t left the area.”
“Be my bet.”
Cruz leaned back, closed his eyes. “Dalca doesn’t know our little piece of heaven. Where would he find a safe house?”
Thumps didn’t know where the idea came from. One minute it wasn’t there, and the next, it was.
“How about a bunch of vacant McMansions in the middle of a flood plain?”
ORA MAE FOREMAN was standing in front of her wall of listings, humming a song Thumps thought he recognized.
“ ‘Kiss an Angel Good Mornin’ ?”
Ora Mae didn’t turn around. “You know Charley Pride was married to the same woman for over sixty years. Had twenty-nine number one hits. Most of his fans didn’t even know the man was Black, until they saw his picture on his first album.”
“Can’t say I’m partial to country and western,” said Cruz.
“Of course you’re not.” Ora Mae slowly turned away from the board. “Goodness gracious. Deputy Dawg and the ninja assassin.”
“Afternoon, Ora Mae.”
“I’m guessing you two didn’t drag your raggedy selves in here to buy a house.”
“However,” said Cruz, “I do like Willie Nelson’s rendition of ‘Help Me Make It through the Night.’ ”
“Got a couple of questions,” said Thumps.
“You see a Tourist Information sign hanging over my door?”
“And I really like Kate & Anna McGarrigle’s ‘Talk to Me of Mendocino,’ ” said Cruz. “And Dido singing ‘White Flag.’ But they’re not really country.”
“It’s about Nora Gage,” said Thumps. “She’s missing.”
“Missing?”
“She may have been kidnapped.”
Ora Mae crossed her arms, buried her feet in the floor. “Last time I looked, kidnappings didn’t have squat to do with real estate.”
“Just pulling on all the loose threads,” said Thumps. “Wanted to know how many of the houses out at Ironstone River Estates are vacant.”
“That mean your kidnappee is no longer in her rental?”
“Ora Mae . . .”
“And next month’s rent due in six days?” Ora Mae squeezed her eyes down into gun slots. “So, which one of you two buckeroos is going to pick up the slack?”
“The vacant places?”
Ora Mae went to her desk, sat down on the chair with a thud. “We talking vacant ’cause the building part’s not done yet or we talking vacant ’cause folks aren’t supposed to be living there until the flood plain issue is settled?”
“Houses like the one you rented to Nora Gage.”
“Sounds like an accusation.”
“So, you rented more than one.”
“Maybe I did,” said Ora Mae, “and maybe I didn’t.”
“And if maybe you did,” said Thumps, “who might you have maybe rented it to?”
“This official sheriff business?”
Thumps touched the brim of his hat. “It is.”
Cruz took his cellphone, held it out. “These names, you recognize any of them?”
Ora Mae took her time looking at the list.
“Nora Gage.”
“We know about her.”
“And José Martinez.” Ora Mae sucked on her lower lip. “Rented a place.”
“Ironstone Estates?”
“Nice property overlooking the river.”
“This Martinez,” said Cruz, “what did he look like?”
“Never met the man,” said Ora Mae. “Business was conducted through emails and wire transfers. Said he was an artist, needed a rental with peace and solitude.”
“An artist?”
“We ain’t got a lot of things out here,” said Ora Mae, “but we sure as hell got a shitload of peace and solitude.”
“We’re going to need an address,” said Thumps.
“Hope you’re not planning to go out there and kick down doors.”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“Whether or not you’re going to give me a key.”
Ora Mae shook her head, opened her desk drawer, huffed. “I’m not going to get next month’s rent out of either place, am I?”
1812 RIVER VIEW ROAD was at the far end of the development. Thumps stopped the cruiser well back from the two-storey.
Cruz undid his seat belt. “Why do these clowns want their houses to look like something out of a horror movie.”
Thumps opened the glovebox, took out the binoculars.
“Are those things supposed to be turrets?” Cruz shook his head. “And where are the windows?”
Thumps adjusted the binoculars, pulled the house into focus. Cruz was right. There were no windows facing the road or the rest of the development.
“Windows will be on the river side.”
Cruz tapped his fingers on the dash. “And I’m guessing there’s no way to get around to the river side to see if anyone is home.”
“Not without being seen.”
“So, what? We sit here and wait.”
“Could.”
“I don’t do stakeouts,” said Cruz. “They lead to doughnuts.” Thumps handed the binoculars to Cruz. “The name Ora Mae recognized. He’s Black Ice?”
“Was,” said Cruz. “Martinez died of a heart attack a couple of years back.”
“Show me the list.”
“It’s classified.”
“You showed it to Ora Mae.”
“Christ, but you’re a pain in the ass.” Cruz unlocked the phone, handed it to Thumps. “You got something?”
Thumps ran down the names. “George Banks rented the motel room where Greeley was staying. Sarah Croce rented the car he was using.”
“And José Martinez rented a house.”
“Black Ice.”
“Except Banks and Croce and Martinez are dead.” Cruz put the phone back in his pocket. “Croce died of breast cancer. Banks was killed in a traffic accident.”
“Any of the deaths suspicious?”
“Heart attack and the cancer were natural. Traffic accident was bad luck.”
“We’re thinking that Dalca has a bunch of Black Ice IDs in his back pocket?”
“Don’t leave home without them,” said Cruz. “Hey, what are you doing?”
“Sending the names to Deanna.” Thumps worked Cruz’s phone. “Going to have her run a check on everyone.”
“What? You don’t believe me?”
Thumps settled in the seat. “So, what does Dalca want?”
Cruz leaned against the door. “This going to be twenty questions?”
“He wants money. He wants the money Black Ice confiscated from Para Bellum and others. But the money is in the Vault, an account that he can’t touch while he’s alive.”
“So, he fakes his death.”
“Now he can help himself to the money at his leisure.”
“But he doesn’t.”
“Why not?”
Cruz whistled a couple of bars of “Every Breath You Take.”
“Dalca is worried that the authorities have found the Vault,” said Thumps, “and that they’re watching it.”
Cruz pulled the visor down to block out the afternoon sun.
“Tell me about Claire. How did you screw that pooch?”
“Can we focus on the task at hand?”
“How long have you two been together? Weren’t you going to buy a house?”
Thumps closed his eyes. “Sorin Dalca? Nora Gage? Black Ice?”
“Did she really move to Canada?”
Thumps held up a hand. “How would you do it?”
“What?”
“If you were Dalca, and you were selling Gage to Para Bellum, how would you do it?”
Cruz sighed. “I’d grab her, stash her someplace safe, get in contact with Para Bellum, arrange for the trade. Gage for a wire transfer.”
“How much time would you need?”
“Not much,” said Cruz. “I’d set everything up ahead of time.”
“Before you grabbed Gage?”
“Sure. I’d already have the safe house in place. Soon as the money hit my account, I’d be gone.”
“Two days? Three?”
Cruz nodded. “If I was doing the deed, no more than a day.”
“So, Dalca has had more than enough time to make the trade and disappear?”
“If he’s as good as me,” said Cruz. “Few are.”
Thumps pulled the car into gear. “Only one way to find out.”
“We going to go knock-knock?”
“We are.”
Cruz sat up straight, raised the visor. “I love knock-knock.”
THUMPS PARKED THE cruiser across the driveway. Mostly for show. And the movies. Anyone bursting out of the triple garage could easily manoeuvre around the patrol car.
As they walked to the front door, Cruz gave Thumps a refresher on kicking in doors. “Lock and hinge placement. That’s the important detail.”
Thumps pulled a key out of his pocket, held it up. “But we’re not going to kick in the door, are we.”
“You know, you take all the fun out of knock-knock.”
The door was a tall, massive double-entry affair, heavy timbers with bronze fixtures. Thumps pressed the doorbell. Somewhere in the bowels of the house, he could hear the plaintive opening of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture.
“Rich people.” Cruz made a disparaging noise. “What’s wrong with ding-dong?”
Thumps waited, listened for footsteps that never came, put the key in the lock, pushed the door open.
“So, this is where they keep the elephants.”
The foyer was enormous, two storeys high with a double staircase. Cruz limped up the staircase to the right, turned halfway up, struck a pose.
“Imagine me descending from on high in a designer gown all ready for my cotillion.”
“You don’t even know what a cotillion is.”
“Oh, my.” Cruz threw his hand to his forehead. “I do feel a swoon coming on.”
“Take the upstairs,” said Thumps. “I’ll check down here.”
Cruz turned. “I do so love a forceful man.”
Thumps had to admit that the place was over the top. Too much space. Ornate to the point of gaudy. And he had been right about the windows. Floor to ceiling with a view of the canyon and the river and the mountains.
Spectacular all the way down. The living room stretched out across the view, ending in a dining area with a table that could seat twenty with ease. Thumps wasn’t awed so much as he was overwhelmed. How many minutes would it take to walk from the sink to the refrigerator?
If you could find it.
The kitchen was all built-ins. Everything hidden behind white oak panels, so you couldn’t tell the refrigerator from the dishwasher from the wall ovens, of which there appeared to be three. Thumps reckoned that one of them was a warming oven.
Thumps could hear Cruz moving around above him.
“Find anything?”
“You got a kitchen down there,” Cruz shouted.
“I do.”
“I’ve got one up here as well.” There was a long pause. “And something else.”
Thumps cupped his hands. “You found the elephants?” “You better come up.”
THUMPS WAS PANTING by the time he got to the top of the stairs. Cruz was waiting for him.
“You didn’t take the elevator?”
“There’s no elevator.”
“Yes, there is. And there’s a safe room.”
“A safe room?”
“And guess what’s in the safe room.”
Thumps could feel his patience slipping away. “An elephant.”
“Would you stop with the elephant jokes?” Cruz headed down a long corridor with rooms on either side. “Six bedrooms, six baths, not counting the two bedrooms and three baths downstairs.”
“What’s in the safe room?”
“It’s more a hotel than a house. You need to stop to rest?”
THE BEDROOM was enormous with windows that looked out onto the river. Thumps might not appreciate the conspicuous consumption of the house itself, but the views were priceless.
The room had a huge ensuite with a separate shower and tub, a double sink, two toilets and two bidets. Everything in soft green glass and white tile.
The safe room was through the ensuite at the back. Small and compact with a refrigerator, a microwave, a sofa, and a flat-screen attached to the wall. There were empty water bottles scattered on the floor, a plate with the remains of a micro-wave pizza.
“Kind of cramped compared to the rest of the palace,” said Cruz, “but it has its own half-bath.”
Someone had looped a long chain around the base of the toilet, locked it off. On the other end was a pair of handcuffs.
“This is cute.” Cruz touched the chain with the toe of his boot. “You ever see Black Snake Moan?”
Thumps squatted down, ran a hand along the base of the toilet, gave the chain a yank.
“In that movie,” said Cruz, “a guy chains a woman up in a room, gives her enough slack to move around.”
“Charming.”
“Turns out he’s doing her a favour, trying to help her get her life straight.”
Thumps gave the chain another yank. “Don’t think that’s what Dalca had in mind for Gage.”
“You thinking we’re a day late and a dollar short?”
Thumps stood, walked to the door of the safe room. “This open when you found it?”
“It was.”
“Why leave it open?” Thumps looked at the keypad. “Why not shut and lock the door? Rest of the house is pristine. We would never have known that Gage was being kept here if the safe room door was shut.”
“Maybe Dalca didn’t care. Deal was done. He was home free.”
Thumps nodded. “Would you have closed the door?”
“Probably.”
“Me too.” Thumps did a last, slow inspection of the room. “It’s the smart play. The longer it took to find this place, the more time Dalca would have to disappear.”
“Not looking good, Pancho.” Cruz pointed his lips at the leftover pizza. “In the meantime, you happen to be hungry?”