“Over what?”
“I didn’t actually overhear the arguments, just raised voices, but Donnie said it was about the television.”
“Television?”
“Me, I like to read. If Donnie ever used a book for anything other than a doorstop, I’d be surprised. Donnie keeps the TV on all the time, night and day. Keeps him company, I guess. He’s hard of hearing, so the TV can get a little loud during the day, but not bad, and he keeps it down low late at night. Tomcat and all his lady friends always made more noise than Donnie did, driving in and out of here at all hours. Good riddance. Spoiled little brat, that’s what he was.”
Frank decided they were getting off track, and tried to pull the conversation back to O’Keefe. “How long has Mr. O’Keefe lived here?”
“Oh, about a year, I’d say.”
“How often do you usually see him?”
“That varies. Sometimes I see him every day, and we’ll talk or go out to lunch or down to the clubhouse we have here to play cards or whatever. Then weeks will go by when he just keeps to himself. He gets depressed, holes up, then ventures out again.”
“Does he have any family in the area? Someone we might call?”
“Oh, no. Donnie grew up an only child and never married. His people were back East, but I don’t believe any of them are living. Come with me, I’ll show you his Vagabond.”
“He has a vagabond staying with him?”
“No-that’s the brand of mobile home he owns. It’s about thirty years old now-built in the 1940s or early 1950s, I’d say-but he takes good care of it. Vagabonds are gorgeous trailers.”
Frank walked with her as she headed toward the back of the park.
“Do you know where Mr. O’Keefe works?”
“Nowhere. He’s retired.” She sighed. “You’d not believe this, but until a year ago, he used to live very high on the hog managing a luxury apartment building. The Starlight Arms. You’ve heard of it?”
“Yes.”
“I guess you have. Donnie told me the chief of police is one of the owners. Anyway, Donnie was well paid and got to live in one of the fancy apartments. I guess everybody who was anybody in Bakersfield must have said hello to him in the lobby or something, because he’s something of a name-dropper. Hard to believe some of it. And you know, Donnie talked as if they came by to see him, and not the rich tenants. Or as if Bakersfield is anything but a small pond. Oh well, we do have our stars, and besides, I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”
“Did he have any pets?”
“No, not so much as a goldfish.”
Frank felt relief at that.
“I would have broken down that door myself if I thought there was a pet in there,” she said.
Bear was following them at a creeping pace, enjoying his air-conditioned ride. Frank didn’t want to let Bear see his misery, but eventually he wiped sweat off his forehead and pulled at his dampening uniform shirt, which adhered to his back and chest. He was starting to smell the sharp odor that had led to the call.
Mrs. Erkstrom pointed to a fire-engine red mobile home with curving lines and small windows. “That’s the one,” she said.
“Did he paint it that color?”
“No, that’s original. Donnie said he got a good deal on it because even though it was in good condition, the previous owner found not everyone wanted to live in a red place. Donnie claimed he wasn’t so hot on it at first, but he figured he’d be living inside, not looking at it from the outside. I think he always liked it-made him look daring or something. I don’t know.”
The area outside of the trailer was neat and well maintained, as she had said it would be, but the overpowering stench was unmistakable. Frank wished he hadn’t had lunch. He swallowed hard.
“Have you knocked on the door of Mr. O’Keefe’s trailer?”
She nodded.
“Is it locked?”
“It is. I normally wouldn’t have tried the door, but the smell worried me. And it’s so strange-I know he doesn’t usually lock his door when he’s home. I tried calling him on the phone, too. No answer. TV’s running, but not so loud he couldn’t hear me pounding on the door or hear the phone ring.”
“Did you look in through the windows of the trailer?”
“Oh no, that would be rude.” She seemed to realize the weakness of this defense and quickly added, “Well, to be honest, I’m half-afraid of what I might see in there. Besides, I’m not that tall.”
“Then it’s possible that even if someone or something is dead in there, it may not be Donnie O’Keefe.”
Her eyes widened. “You think he killed someone and left a body in here?”
Frank silently cursed himself for fueling her imagination. “No,” he said firmly. “Not at all. I’m just saying that we really don’t have enough information to know who or what is in there.”
“Oh. I see. Yes, of course you’re right. I just can’t picture who he would have murdered.”
With an effort, he didn’t sigh. That would have meant drawing a deep replacement breath, and he wanted as little of this stench in his nose as possible.
“Stay here.” He took two steps and felt her touch his ass.
He whirled to face her. “What the-”
She drew back quickly and blushed all the way up to her curlers. “Oh, Officer Harriman! I’m so sorry! It’s just that… it’s just that… well, sir, look at the seat of your uniform!”
“Lady, please never do something like that to someone who’s armed!” he said in some exasperation. He craned his neck and caught a glimpse of what she was talking about. He brushed at the seat of his pants, then looked at his hand. A white, powdery substance covered his fingers and palm. “That white streak goes all the way across?”
She nodded.
He looked toward the patrol car. Bear was weeping with laughter.
Frank’s dad had warned him of the tricks likely to be played on a rookie, which only made him feel twice as embarrassed. He knew that when he got back to the car, he’d find an open, small plastic bag full of flour stuffed down in the crevice between the back and bottom of the car seat. It was set up so that when Frank sat down in the passenger seat, a little puff of flour would escape and stripe his dark pants white. No wonder Bear had insisted on driving today.
Mrs. Erkstrom was a quick study. “That was a mean and childish trick. He’s old enough to know better.”
“A rookie is not allowed to think such thoughts, ma’am,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed and she marched off toward the patrol car. Bear stopped laughing.
Frank used the opportunity to go up the metal stairs at the trailer’s front door. As Mrs. Erkstrom had said, a television could be heard in the background, the volume down too low for Frank to hear more than voices and a little music. Standing on the small platform in front of the door, he tried knocking. He tried rapping on the door with his nightstick. He double-checked that the door was locked-it was. He called loudly for Mr. O’Keefe.
That meant taking in the reeking air. His stomach began to rebel.
He made himself think of something that smelled good, like the honeysuckle growing on the back fence at home, and went down the stairs again. He walked around the trailer to the farther end, the one that housed the bedroom. The sound of the television was slightly louder there, but was still hardly more than background noise. He glanced toward the “Tomcat” trailer, which was filthy by comparison. It had once been white, but its windows and siding were dust-covered, and some seams showed signs of rust. There were cobwebs and dead leaves underneath it.
Although there was a little dust on O’Keefe’s trailer and windows, it was easy to see that it had been more recently washed than Tomcat’s. The windows were smaller at this end of O’Keefe’s trailer and were placed too high for Frank to manage a look inside standing at ground level. He was just hunting around for something he might stand on when Mrs. Erkstrom approached. She was using the fingers of one hand to pinch her nose shut. In the other hand, she was carrying a small stepladder.