Thumps took Duke back to his house. Hockney sat in the car, looked straight ahead through the windshield. Thumps waited. And then he waited some more.
“Don’t ask me how I’m doing.”
“Okay.”
“Everyone asks me how I’m doing. It’s annoying, and it’s rhetorical.”
“It’s not rhetorical,” said Thumps. “No one knows how you’re feeling.”
“Hell,” said Duke, “I don’t know how I’m feeling.”
More silence.
“That’s why I’m sitting in a car with you, staring at an empty house. I don’t even have a dog.”
“I’ve got a cat I can give you,” said Thumps. “He’s as big as a dog.”
Thumps wondered if Cookie could manage on his own in another household, suspected that the cat would have a hard time without his mother close at hand. Still, Thumps was willing to give it a try.
“Macy wanted to travel. I kept putting it off. Couple of nights a week, we’d watch a walking tour of a city she wanted to visit. There’s a bunch of them on YouTube. Some guy wanders a city with a camera on his head. It’s not the real thing, but it’s pretty good. You ever been to Venice?”
“Sure,” said Thumps, “Venice, California.”
“I liked the one on Barcelona,” said Duke. “That crazy church is something else.”
“You be okay?”
“Absolutely,” said the sheriff. “Have a couple of beers, get a pizza delivered. There’s an NCIS marathon on tonight. The ones with the old cast.”
“Okay.”
Duke opened the door. “What’s the cat’s name?”
“Cookie,” said Thumps. “He’s a big suck.”
COOLEY WAS STANDING beside the filing cabinet. The old percolator was rattling about on the table, and there were little puffs of steam coming out of the spout.
“Don’t think it’s going to explode,” said Cooley, “but I’d keep my distance.”
Thumps walked over to the pot, picked it up, slammed it back down on the table.
“Wow,” said Cooley. “That’s impressive. Sort of like rebooting a computer.”
Thumps looked around the office. Everything seemed exactly the same. Filing cabinet, coffee pot, desk, chairs. Someone had rebuilt the Jenga tower.
“You said you had something for me?”
JIM BROWN OR Stan Greeley was in the holding cell, looking somewhat the worse for wear. As soon as the man saw Thumps, he was on his feet.
“About fucking time. Now let me out of here.”
“He’s been like this since I found him,” said Cooley. “Grumpy.”
“Found him?”
“Yeah, I came back to the office, and here he was.”
Thumps rubbed the back of his neck. “Let’s start with the easy stuff. Name?”
“You got no reason to hold me.”
“Name? Please.”
“Greeley,” said the man. “Stan Greeley. Shit. I got a splitting headache.”
“Kinda cool having a couple of different names,” said Cooley. “Just like in the spy movies.”
“And Stan Greeley is your real name? As opposed to Jim Brown?”
“You find my car?” Greeley pushed his hand through his hair.
“Damn thing was stolen. I get out of the hospital, go back to pick it up, and it’s gone. What kind of a town you running?”
Thumps went with the patient face. “Private detective?”
“What?” said Greeley. “No.”
Thumps waited.
“I’m a private investigator,” said Greeley. “Big difference.”
“Private detectives normally work cases where there are legal issues.” Cooley kept his voice steady, as though he was reading the answer from a book. “They’re normally attached to an attorney. Private investigators work the non-legal side of the street. Lost relatives, cheating husbands, background checks.”
“Exactly,” said Greeley.
“It was in a lecture at the academy,” said Cooley.
“Okay.” Thumps leaned into the bars. “You want to tell me what you were doing out at Ironstone River Estates?”
“Client confidentiality.”
“Fine,” said Thumps. He turned away, headed to the office.
“Wait. Where you going?”
“Back to work,” said Thumps.
“Come on. You need to let me out.”
“No, I don’t.”
“My head hurts like hell.” Greeley grabbed the bars as though he thought he could bend them. “I’m the victim here.”
Thumps came back to the cell. “Here’s how it’s going to work. You tell me what’s going on, and maybe I let you out. Right now, I have you for lying to an officer of the law, trespass, fleeing police custody, unlicensed camera—”
“I wasn’t in custody, so I couldn’t flee anything.” Greeley opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again. “I know my rights. You can’t make any of this stick.”
“Maybe not,” said Thumps. “But I bet I can hold you for the better part of a week.”
Greeley’s shoulders slumped. “You guys are real assholes.”
“Yes,” said Thumps, “we know. Let’s try this again. What were you doing out at Ironstone River Estates?”
“Okay, okay. I was hired to watch the place.”
“Why?”
“They didn’t say.”
“All right,” said Thumps. “Who hired you?”
“No idea.”
Thumps looked at Cooley. Cooley looked at Thumps. They both looked at Greeley.
“It’s the truth. Week ago, I get a text message. Was I available.”
“And you were?”
“You kidding? A thousand dollars a day plus expenses. Five days guaranteed? Plus a bonus?”
“But you don’t know who you were working for.”
“Everything was done via text message.”
“And the money?”
“Wire transfers,” said Greeley. “Right to my bank account.”
“You normally work for people you don’t know?”
“You know how tough it is to make a living in this state as a private investigator? You check our population lately? A bus stop has more people.”
“So, what were your instructions?”
“We got a deal? I tell you everything I know, and you let me go?”
Thumps turned his back to Greeley. “What do you think?”
“We could keep him here.” Cooley lowered his voice. “But then Scoop couldn’t sleep over when I’m working graveyard.”
Thumps turned back to Greeley. “Everything from the beginning.”
EVERYTHING WASN’T ALL that much. Stan Greeley was indeed a private investigator. Out of Great Falls.
Cooley looked him up on the internet. “He’s got a website. My ten-year-old niece could do a better job, but it’s him.”
“Hey, you know how much web design costs?”
“The job?”
“Surveillance. Pretty straightforward. Come to Chinook. Watch the house.”
“At 1492 River View.”
“Yeah, easy to remember. Same year that Columbus discovered America.”
“Columbus didn’t discover shit,” said Cooley.
“Jesus,” said Greeley. “You people are sensitive.”
“Watch the house 24/7?”
“No, just the evenings until about two in the morning or until all the lights went out. See who came and went. Take photos.”
“Of Nora Gage?”
“Who?”
“The woman who’s living in the house.”
“Didn’t get any names. My only instructions were to watch the place.”
“That’s it?”
“Swear to god.”
“So, you drive in from Great Falls . . .”
“Flew,” said Greeley. “Prepaid ticket waiting for me at the airport. Prepaid car, prepaid motel. Prepaid, prepaid, prepaid.”
“The monocular and the camera?”
“In a day pack in the car. Shit. Whoever hired me will probably want them back, seeing as I blew the job.” Greeley held up his hands. “Don’t you want to know how I got here?”
“I can barely contain myself.”
“I was kidnapped.”
Thumps felt his patient face slipping.
“It’s the truth. I get back to the motel, step in the door, and someone sticks a gun to my head. Before I know it, I’m handcuffed, my mouth duct-taped, bag over my head. I’m the victim here, and I want to press charges.”
“Do you know who jumped you?”
“No.”
“Did you see his face?”
“No.”
“How about his voice? Did he speak with an accent?”
“Didn’t say a word.”
“He didn’t ask you any questions?”
“Weird, right? Just tossed me into the trunk of a car. Brought me here and dumped me.”
“Pretty efficient,” said Cooley. “Sort of like Mission: Impossible.”
“That’s everything,” said Greeley. “So let me out.”
Thumps turned to Cooley. “You working graveyard tonight?”
“Not tonight,” said Cooley. “Deanna’s up.”
“Then Scoop won’t be needing the space.”
“Guess not,” said Cooley.
Thumps turned back to Greeley. “Okay, Mr. Greeley, we’ll check your story. See if the cuffs and collars match.”
“When?”
“In the morning.”
“Come on.” Greeley rubbed the side of his head. “You’re just being shitty.”
Cooley patted the bars. “Look on the bright side. It’s a nice holding cell. Easy chair. Even has a TV.”
Greeley retreated to the chair, sat down with a thud. “Does it get cable?”