Thumps walked to the car. Cruz followed.
“Was any of that true?”
“What?”
“Your stories.” Thumps tried a stern frown. “Machu Picchu? The Amazon?”
“All my stories are true.”
Thumps tried incredulous. “Whatever. You seem to have made a friend.”
“He can skip the hugging.”
Thumps jerked to one side, as though he was hit by a taser.
Cruz yawned. “Cellphone?”
“Cellphone.” Thumps fished the annoyance out of his jacket, stared at the screen. “Office.”
“They solve the case?”
“Not sure we have a case.”
“Gage is missing.”
“Seems to me, that’s your case.” Thumps worked the keypad, held the phone out. “Hey, Cooley, what’s up? . . . Really . . . He did . . . Yeah . . . Okay . . . We’re on our way.”
Cruz leaned on the cruiser. “So, we’re on our way, are we?”
“We are.” Thumps pulled the door open. “Watch your head.”
Deanna and Cooley were sitting at the desk, deep into a game of Jenga. Thumps stood and waited.
“You know, this is a sheriff’s office.”
Cooley didn’t look up. “It’s the game for the championship.”
Deanna waved a hand at the percolator and the file cabinet. “Bag’s over there.”
Cooley pulled a Jenga piece out. The tower trembled. Then it shuddered. And then it collapsed.
Deanna raised her hands in victory. “The once and future king.”
Thumps strolled over to the bag, gave it a gentle kick. “Brian Little Horse brought this in?”
Deanna swept the Jenga pieces back into the box. “When they cleaned out Greeley’s rental, they put all the trash in the bag. Would have tossed it out, but they missed the dump run.”
“Then Brian figured you might want to see the trash,” said Cooley. “You know, maybe there’s a clue in Greeley’s junk that will crack the case.”
“You mean like a note,” said Cruz. “Something with an address that tells us where Gage is being held?”
Deanna was unfazed by the sarcasm. “Won’t know until you look.”
“Not much of a bag.” Thumps took a pair of gloves out of his pocket.
“The big question,” said Deanna, “is whether to sift or dump.”
“I vote for dump,” said Cooley. “Nobody sifts anymore.”
“Not sure Duke will appreciate trash all over his floor,” said Cruz.
“No worries about Duke,” said Deanna. “He’s busy at the hospital.”
Thumps stopped working the knot. “Hospital?”
“Not the real hospital,” said Cooley.
“Wild Rose Pet Clinic,” said Deanna. “Seems Howdy decided to snack on a bag of Cheetos.”
“Cheetos?”
“The spicy version.”
“Dios mío,” said Cruz. “That stuff will kill you.”
“Duke was pretty upset,” said Cooley. “You want to wait to check the sack until he’s here?”
“Going through trash could provide a pleasant distraction,” said Deanna. “Take his mind off the dog.”
“Dog going to live?”
“Bad diarrhea.” Cooley tried to keep the smile off his face.
Deanna didn’t bother. “It’s not funny. And then, it is.”
“You know the joke about the farmer,” said Cooley, “who drives a monkey and a constipated pig to town in his pickup?”
“Let’s look,” said Cruz. “If we find something interesting, we can always put it all back in the sack and do it again, so Duke doesn’t feel left out.”
THERE WAS A CERTAIN satisfaction in dumping the contents of the bag all over the floor of the sheriff’s office. Thumps remembered knocking over garbage cans in the trailer park with Howard Doyle.
That was fun.
Picking all the stuff up, putting it back in the cans, apologizing to the neighbours one by one, was not. He never discovered who ratted them out. Mrs. Upton, whose son Rollie was in the army or in jail, depending on whom you talked to, was a good choice. But it could just as easily have been Mr. Ford, who liked to sit in his La-Z-Boy and watch everyone through his front window with his binoculars.
“Course,” said Deanna, “we don’t know that all of this is Greeley’s. Sort of depends on how good a cleaning job the rental folks did in between customers.”
“Not that it matters.” Cooley held up a Skippy’s burger wrapper and an empty bag of ketchup potato chips. “Don’t see a clue in the lot.”
“Well, there should be one,” said Deanna. “In every cop show, where there’s a bag of trash, there’s always a clue somewhere in the rubbish.”
Cruz gestured to the pile. “Is that a 3 Musketeers bar?”
“Just the wrapper.” Deanna touched the pile with her toe. “With a diet like this, it’s a wonder Greeley lived as long as he did.”
“Couple of empty cigarette packs,” said Cooley. “Dead man walking.”
“Passing judgment on a man’s bad habits is fun,” said Cruz, “but it doesn’t help us find Gage.”
“Here’s what I don’t understand,” said Deanna. “Why would someone bother to hire Greeley?”
“He didn’t seem all that smart,” said Cooley.
“Not what I mean,” said Deanna. “I looked Greeley up on the internet. Most of his business was finding people. Missing relatives, deadbeat dads, runaway kids.”
“Probably did cheating husbands as well,” said Cruz. “So what?”
“So, he wasn’t hired to find Gage,” said Deanna. “That envelope Cooley found at the car rental? Greeley already had her photo. He already had her address.”
“And the sniper rifle?”
“Did Stan Greeley strike you as sniper material?” Deanna tapped the side of her head. “And if he was looking to shoot Gage, why didn’t he have the rifle with him when you guys found him that night?”
“Okay,” said Cruz, “what are you suggesting?”
“Not suggesting anything,” said Deanna. “Just pointing out that not much of this melodrama makes a lot of sense.”
Thumps was beginning to feel like an elementary supply teacher at recess. “How about we concentrate on finding Nora Gage and Sorin Dalca?”
“Sorin who?” Deanna put her hands on her hips. “How about we back up and share all the information with all the children.”
“It’s a federal matter,” said Cruz.
“Try again,” said Deanna.
“Too bad we’re out of doughnuts,” said Cooley. “Doughnuts tend to encourage co-operation.”
THUMPS WASN’T SURE whether Cruz decided that having four people working on the matter was better than having two people running around in circles, or if he was just tired and hurting from being shot. Whatever the reason, the man from Pie Town spent the next half-hour patiently going over the salient points of the case.
“Operation Black Ice?” Deanna snorted. “What the hell? You got a bunch of twelve-year-olds making up names?”
“Operation Enduring Freedom,” said Cooley. “Operation Noble Eagle. Operation Tapeworm. My favourite is Operation Urgent Fury.”
“The invasion of Grenada,” said Cruz. “Look, I don’t make up the names.”
Thumps shuffled over to the filing cabinet and checked the doughnut box. Just in case.
Deanna shook her head. “So, Black Ice was basically a bunch of government white guys messing with a bunch of corporate white guys?”
Thumps licked his fingers. “That’s about it.”
Deanna grunted. “And we wonder why the country is so fucked up.”
“You’re forgetting the part about good versus evil.” Cruz cleared his throat. “Do you want to hear my ‘we’re all in this together’ speech?”
“Not really,” said Deanna.
“I wouldn’t mind,” said Cooley.
Thumps yawned. “How about we give it a rest, get a good night’s sleep. Hit it hard tomorrow.”
“No can do,” said Cooley. “Tomorrow’s the tournament.”
“Breakfast at Shadow Ranch,” said Deanna. “Then we follow Wutty around the course, encourage him on to victory.”
“Team Wutty,” said Cooley. “Don’t forget your T-shirt.” Cruz looked at Thumps. “You hearing this?”
Thumps shrugged. “We don’t have any good leads on Gage or Dalca.”
“That’s not the point,” said Cruz. “You don’t take time off a case for a golf tournament.”
“We can work on the case as we walk the course,” said Deanna. “You got current photographs of Gage and Dalca, right?”
“We do,” said Thumps.
“So, send them to our cellphones,” said Deanna.
Cruz was smiling, but it was not a happy smile. “What? You’re going to show them around at the tournament? Hey, have you seen this woman? How about this guy?”
“It’s called canvassing,” said Cooley. “The cornerstone of police work.”
“Beats sitting around the office, eating doughnuts, playing Jenga,” said Deanna.
“I’m going home,” said Cruz.
“So far as I can tell,” said Deanna, “you don’t have a home.”
“Holding cell is booked,” said Cooley. “I’m on graveyard, so Scoop is coming in with dinner.”
“Room at the Tucker?” said Deanna. “Seeing as you’re on the government teat.”
“Too expensive.”
“The Wagon Wheel?”
Cruz grimaced. “Rather sleep on the street.”
“Shadow Ranch is booked up ’cause of the tournament,” said Cooley.
“Not a lot of choices left.” Deanna turned and smiled at Thumps. “Strangers and good friends.”
“No way,” said Cruz. “Pancho has two man-eating cats, and he hasn’t got cable.”
“He finally broke down,” said Cooley. “Got Netflix as well.”
“Or you could bunk with Duke and Howdy,” said Deanna. “You want me to call?”
Cruz waved her off. “The cats and cable.”
“Just so we’re clear,” said Thumps. “I didn’t invite you.”
“Tell me you have the sports package.”
CRUZ COMPLAINED ALL the way home. Thumps pulled up in front of his bungalow, left the engine running.
“You’ll need to feed the cats.”
“Where are you going?”
“Sheriff’s business,” said Thumps.
“I don’t feed cats.”
“Half a cup of dry food in each of their dishes. Feed Cookie first. Otherwise, he’ll try to eat Freeway’s food.”
“I’m not cleaning kitty litter.”
“Give them a couple tablespoons each of the wet food. It’s in the refrigerator.”
“Do I look like a cat concierge?”
“And,” said Thumps, as Cruz got out, closed the door, “they like to watch Pick a Puppy. It’s on channel forty-two.”
WILD ROSE PET Clinic was on the southern edge of Chinook, just before the town disappeared and the prairies took over. It was a prefab. A sky-blue aluminum rectangle with a large, fenced-in dog run at the back.
The parking lot was deserted. Except for Duke’s sedan. The sign in the window said they were closed, but if the sheriff was still here, then Thumps imagined that getting in wouldn’t be a problem.
He tried the door. Locked. He pressed the doorbell and waited.
It was a young woman who came to the door. Thumps held up his badge, smiled, rocked on his heels, did what he could to make himself smaller and less menacing. An older uncle. A younger grandfather.
“You with the sheriff ?”
“I am.”
“I’m Dr. Zabner. Appreciate it if you could talk to Mr. Hockney.”
“Dog okay?”
The smile was equal parts hope and consolation. “Maybe explain that we closed an hour ago. I’d like to go home.”
“Okay.”
“Husband? Two little girls?”
THE SHERIFF AND the dog were in a small, dark room. Howdy was stretched out on a large cushion. Duke was on the floor next to him.
“Hear he ate a bag of Cheetos.”
“Macy was crazy about them,” said Duke. “I forgot they were there.”
“Guess they’re not good for dogs.”
“I’ll tell you what’s not good for dogs.” Duke’s eyes were dark and wet and baggy. “You know those laundry detergent pods? The ones you just drop into the washer? After he ate the Cheetos, he had a bunch of those for dessert.”
Thumps wrinkled his nose, breathed through his mouth.
“Yeah, the farts are pretty bad,” said Duke. “You should have seen the puke and the diarrhea.”
“Doctor said you could take him home.”
“Sure,” said Duke. “But what happens if we get there and he takes a turn for the worse?”
Howdy was lying on his side, looking mournful. The orange mist around his mouth and muzzle added to the effect. But then most dogs looked mournful. Or happy. There wasn’t much in between.
“Don’t imagine he likes it here.”
“Hospital,” said Duke. “No one likes to be in a hospital.”
“How about I follow you home, help you get Howdy settled?”
“Big dummy.” Duke leaned over, ran a hand along Howdy’s flank. “You know you could have been killed. And you’re not even my dog.”
Thumps stood, nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “he knows.”