Nailed (12 page)

“Working for rich folks has its advantages, huh?”

“Some,” Ron allowed.

“Well, money’s not the only problem here. I don’t like the commercial outfitters on principle, and even swallowing my pride for a situation like this, there’s only a handful of them I’d trust. This being August, though, all those fine fellows are on vacation. They’re off in Hawaii hunting wild boar or in Africa looking for really big game or just taking it easy on a beach somewhere. Believe me, Chief, I’ve been looking for a houndsman. The man I used last time says it’ll take him six months to train new dogs.”

“So, what’ll you do?”

“I’ll track the cat. My partner will be here on Monday. We’ll get this animal.”

“If there’s any help my department can offer just let me know.”

“Thanks,” Cordelia Knox said. “The one problem I do have at the moment is I can’t find a place to stay. I tried three hotels and each one told me every room in town has been taken.”

Goddamn media invasion, Ron thought.

He took out his house keys, pulled one of the ring and extended it to her. “Use my place. I’m working a murder investigation —”

“The black guy nailed to the tree?”

“Yeah. So, I’ll pretty much be living out of this office anyway.”

“Your place has a spare bedroom?” Cordelia Knox asked, taking the key.

“Yeah.”

“Then don’t worry about me. I’m clean and quiet. You won’t even know I’m around.”

Ron doubted that seriously. He started to give her directions, wondering just how selfless this act of generosity was, and then he decided he’d better show her the way.

Ron had intended to stay only for a minute, just to show his guest where everything was, when the phone rang. Much to his surprise, it was his wife —
ex
-wife, he reminded himself — Leilani.

Divorced or not, he still smiled every time she called unexpectedly. Having her voice catch him by surprise always took him right back to the days when he was a young MP and she was the local girl on Sandy Beach, Oahu, watching all the pale
haoles
trying to body surf without breaking their necks on the sandbar none of the tourist guides mentioned. Ron had been the one she’d called out to, warning him about the hazard. She said he had too cute an
okole
to park it in a wheel chair where no w
ahine
would ever get to see it again.

A week or two of remarks like that had led to Ron and Leilani’s romance and eventual marriage — as well as Ron’s fistfight with Leilani’s former local boyfriend.

“Hey, Lei. It’s good to hear from you.”

“Aloha,
kane.
Those news bastards starting in on you again?”

The former Mrs. Ketchum shared a dismal view of the media with her ex, and apparently had seen coverage of events in Goldstrike.

“It’s a dirty job, but there are always dirty people willing to do it,” Ron said.

“I’d send my publicist to help you out, but I know you wouldn’t want that. Clay Steadman has people way better than mine anyway.”

Just then, Cordelia Knox stepped out of the guest bedroom. She had her socks and shoes off. Ron had never had a thing for women’s feet, but looking at hers he thought this might be yet another area where he wasn’t being sufficiently open minded. He asked Leilani to hold on a minute, and gestured to Cordelia to say what was on her mind.

“Is it all right if I take a shower?” she wanted to know. The cabin had only one bathroom.

“Go right ahead. Towels are in the cabinet.”

“Thanks.”

His guest went into the bathroom, and Ron took the phone into his bedroom and closed the door.

“Okay, I’m back,” he told Leilani.

“Ronald Ketchum,” his former mate teased, “do you have a woman with you?”

“Yeah. Her name is Warden Knox.”

“Is she good looking?”

“She’s with the state department of fish and game.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“She’s here to shoot a mountain lion that’s misbehaving.”

Leilani chuckled.

“So she is good looking. Is she young?”

“Impossibly young.”

Leilani whispered a soft string of Hawaiian through the phone and into his ear. The first time she did that — the first time they’d made love — he asked her what it meant. She refused to tell him, and after that he decided it was sexier not knowing. He didn’t want to know now, either.

“And how’s your love life?” he asked.

Now, her laughter had a rueful tone.

“You know better than anyone how badly I wanted to break into show biz. Well, bro, mo’ bettah you be careful what you wish for. Now, I’ve got all the work I didn’t get those first twenty years. I don’t have
time
for a love life. I’ve got a five o’clock call tomorrow, and I should be sleeping right now.”

The mere mention of sleep sent a wave of fatigue crashing over Ron. He’d been up for the past forty hours dealing with all sorts of unpleasant reality. Sitting on his bed, listening to Leilani’s soft, musical voice, he felt his grip on consciousness failing rapidly.

“Yeah, me too,” he replied.

“You stay well,
kane.
Anybody mess with you, I get my
kahuna
make their peckers fall off
wiki-wiki.”

“I bet you would.”

“Oh, and in case you forgot, we’re not married anymore. You want to give your Warden Knox
wahine
a romp, it’s okay with me.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You want to give her a romp and think of me while you’re doing it, that’s okay, too.”

“Aloha,
Leilani.”

Chapter 13

Sunday

Ron was pleased that he awoke at sunrise, refreshed. Okay, he conceded maybe he didn’t look or smell too good, having slept in his clothes, shoes and all. But he felt good after not a lot of sleep, and that brightened his spirits considerably.

He’d been worried that maybe he was turning into some kind of nasty old creep, thinking the way he had about that young girl. But now in the day’s first light he realized that he’d simply neglected a very basic need for a very long time. Christ, talking to Leilani last night made him realize that she was the last woman he’d made love to. And that farewell hula, just before their divorce, had been well over three years ago.

Hell, he was still vital. His body was telling him to find someone.

Someone his own age.

Or at least in the neighborhood.

He shucked his clothes and dropped them in the laundry hamper. He was on his way to the bathroom when he stopped short. It occurred to him that for the time being he could no longer walk around his house naked. He didn’t think his guest would be awake yet, but he couldn’t take any chances. What if she’d gotten up to pee or something and he blithely walked in wearing his birthday suit. Wouldn’t look good at all.

Not that his body was anything to be ashamed of.

Ron slipped on a pair of gym shorts and knocked softly on the bathroom door. No response. He slipped inside and locked the door. The room was immaculate. No hair in the tub or sink or on the floor. No damp towels left around. No soap puddles or shampoo trickles anywhere. Warden Knox hadn’t been kidding. She was very clean. And quiet. He couldn’t hear a sound anywhere in the house.

He took his shower, shaved and for the first time in months weighed himself. Hadn’t gained a pound. Looking in the mirror, he was pleased that his hairline was still firmly anchored in place, his teeth were still white, and his gums didn’t seem to be receding. He wasn’t so old, after all.

He got dressed and went quietly to the kitchen.

He needn’t have worried about disturbing his guest. She was already up and out. She’d left a note for him on the kitchen table.

Chief —

Mountain lions are crepuscular, they hunt at sunrise and twilight. So I had to get an early start. I knocked on your door a couple times to see if you wanted to come with, but you didn’t wake up. Wish me luck. Maybe I can bag the sucker this morning and get out of your hair.

Corrie Knox.

There was nothing in her note that was impolite or incorrect. In fact, it was considerate of her — professional, really — to advise him of her actions. And she’d offered him her implicit friendship by signing her name in a familiar manner.

But seeing that she’d gotten the jump on him ticked him off.

She’d knocked on his door and he’d been so dead to the world he hadn’t heard it. Damnit, it wasn’t that long ago he could have worked seventy-two hours straight and then gone out to play pickup basketball for several more. And he certainly wouldn’t have let any schoolboy infatuation distract him from a murder case. Especially not one this big.

Surly and feeling a great deal older than he had only moments ago, he skipped his usual morning coffee for orange juice. The English muffin was replaced with oat bran, a banana, and skim milk. He brushed his teeth with extra vigor. Then he strode briskly out his front door telling himself that he hadn’t been one-upped.

He was the one hunting the biggest game of all.

Oliver Gosden was almost as cranky as Ron when he walked into the chief’s office that morning. He said a terse good morning. Then his eyes kept darting around, and he scowled more or less continuously.

“What the hell are you looking for?” Ron asked.

“An ashtray.”

“You don’t smoke anymore, and you couldn’t smoke in here if you did.”

Oliver scowled again.

“Had a pleasant night at home, did you?” Ron asked

“First night I’m home after Lauren’s parents leave and I was looking for a little company with my wife, if you know what I mean. And you know what happened?”

“What?”

“I fell asleep.”

Ron’s mood brightened immediately. Oliver was eleven years younger than him.

The deputy chief continued, “Then I think maybe I can make up for my lapse this morning. I’m snuggling in close to Lauren … and Danny comes in the room. He’s carrying a broom. Lauren and I told him we’d give him a quarter every day he keeps his room clean. He’s so excited about earning a living, he decides this morning to bump his income by cleaning our room, too.”

The chief laughed.

“It isn’t funny, Ron. I yelled at him. Poor little six year old kid is only trying to do the right thing and I send him away in tears. Felt like a prize shit, and Lauren let me know I was entirely correct in my judgment. Anyway, we got it all straightened out before I left, but even so I’d really like to wrack someone’s ass this morning.”

Ron nodded, his focus returning to business.

“The state sent in a game warden to kill that mountain lion.”

“Yeah?”

Oliver took out his Zippo lighter.

“Yeah. She thinks it might be the same cat that she suspects already killed someone.”

“Just what we need,” the deputy chief said, flicking his lighter open and shut.

Ron had a hard time not telling him to knock it off.

“I want you to go talk to Mahalia Cardwell this morning. I have a real strong feeling that she knows something about her grandson’s killing.”

Oliver snapped his lighter shut and put it in his pocket.

“How come you want me to talk to her?”

“You said you wanted in on this case. And she’s expecting me, so I thought we’d cross her up and see what you can get out of her. Don’t let the Cardwells leave town before you’re sure you have whatever she knows.”

“Lock ‘em up, if they make a break for it?”

“Use your considerable charm to get what you’re after, Deputy Chief.”

Oliver snorted. “And what are you going to be doing?”

Ron got up and started for the door.

“I’m going to have a few words this fine Sabbath day with my good friend the Reverend Jimmy Thunder.”

Before leaving police headquarters, Ron checked in with Sergeant Stanley to see if there had been any Saturday night arrests. The town averaged a dozen drunk-and-disorderlies a month, most of them coming on the weekends. Not bad for a resort town. The chief liked to talk to his prisoners personally before they were released and carefully explain to them their obligations as either residents of or visitors to the town.

He never threatened anyone with physical harm, but his cops always let anyone they busted know — if they didn’t know already — that the chief was from L.A., and everybody knew what kind of cops they had down there.

Ron had always resented the negative press the bad cops in the LAPD had given the whole department, but now he made it work for him. You use the tools you had, he thought.

“Three guys got in a fight in that new bar on Coldstream, and they took it outside to the sidewalk.”

“What, two against one?” Ron asked.

The sergeant shook his head. “Every man for himself.”

“Locals?”

“Yeah. Twenty somethings.”

“Over a woman?”

“Unh-uh.”

“Sports?”

“Politics. A Democrat, a Republican and a Libertarian.”

“Politics,”
Ron repeated in disgust. “What’s this country coming to?” Then he had another thought. “How many tips have we had trying to cash in on the mayor’s reward offer?”

“Close to eight hundred, last count. About forty percent from out of town.”

“Anything worth looking at?”

Sergeant Stanley shook his head.

“In that case, send the tips from the out of town scammers along to the FBI. Let the feds know we’re cooperating fully.”

The sergeant grinned and saluted smartly.