Indigo Slam

'Hi, is Clark there?' Bright, and kind of cheery.

The voice said, 'Who is this?' Suspicious.

Tre Michaels. Clark said he was coming up and gave me your number.'

'I think you got the wrong number.' Clark Haines had spoken to someone at this number for over an hour on two separate occasions.

'I'm sure I copied the number right. We're talking Clark Haines, okay? Clark said he'd be at this number or that you'd know how to reach him.'

'I don't know anyone by that name.' He hung up, and he didn't sound anywhere close to credible.

I called my friend at the phone company, gave her the area code and number, and asked for an ID. Forty seconds later she said, 'That service is billed to a Mr. Wilson Brownell. You want his address?'

'Sure.'

I copied the address, then hung up and thought about the two hundred dollars I had taken from Teresa Haines. Wilson Brownell clearly knew Clark and, under normal circumstances, would be the next step in the investigation. A ticket to Seattle and a hotel would normally be a billable expense, but having a fifteen-year-old kid for a client wasn't normal. Teresa and Charles and Winona were minor children living alone because their father, unemployed and now established as a drug user with a spotty employment record, had, for all intents and purposes, abandoned them. There was every real possibility that Clark Haines might never return, or even be found alive, and the smart thing to do would be to call the police and let them handle it. If I went to Seattle, I couldn't reasonably expect to recover the cost.

Only I had promised Teresa Haines that I would try to find her father, and it bothered me to leave the lead to Wilson Brownell untested and unresolved. I thought about the two hundred dollars again, and then I picked up the phone and dialed another number.

First ring, and a man's voice said, 'Pike.' Joe Pike owns the agency with me.

'I'm looking for a guy named Clark Haines, and I believe he's gone to Seattle. He has three kids and I need you to keep an eye on them while I'm up there.'

Pike didn't respond.

'Joe?'

We might as well have been disconnected.

'They're doing okay, but I don't like the idea of them not having an adult around if they need help.'

Pike said, 'Three children.'

'I just want to make sure they don't burn down the house.'

More silence.

I was still waiting for him to say something when the cat came in through his cat door and growled so loud that Joe Pike said, 'Is that your cat?'

The cat trotted into the living room and growled again. Angry. He went from the living room into the kitchen and then back out to the front entry. He would trot hard, then stop and sniff, then growl some more. I said, 'I'll call you back in a few minutes.'

I hung up and watched the cat. 'You okay, buddy?'

His eyes narrowed but he didn't come near.

I sat on the kitchen floor, held out my hand, and after a while he finally came over. His fur was warm and coarse, and he needed a bath. I stroked his back, then felt his ribs and hips and legs. I was thinking that someone had shot him again or that a coyote had gotten him, but nothing seemed broken or tender or cut. I said, 'What's wrong?'

He jumped away from me and disappeared through his door and that's when I saw the blood.

Three drops of red were on the kitchen floor by the door jamb, two overlapping small drops, with a third larger drop nearby. I had stepped over them when I had let myself in. I said, 'Sonofagun.'

I touched the large drop and it was tacky.

I thought that maybe he'd brought in a ground squirrel or a field mouse, but there was no dirt or debris or fur. Sometimes he'll bring a kill up to my loft, so I went upstairs to check. Nothing. I went back down and looked through the living room and the dining room and the pantry, but there were no remains there either, and my scalp began tingling. I checked the doors and the windows, then went upstairs again and once more worked my way through the house. The handguns I keep locked in my nightstand were still there, as was the ammunition. The shotgun and rifle were still secure in the closet. My watches, jewelry, cash, and credit cards were all in their places, and their places looked unchanged, yet maybe not. I was pretty sure that the clothes hanging in my closet had been pushed to the right, but now they were spread evenly across the bar, and someone or something had smudged the dust on the two top shelves of my bookcase. Yet maybe not. Nothing was missing, but I felt an acute sense of difference in the shape and way of things, and a growing suspicion that someone had been in my house, and that they hadn't been here to steal. I went down the slope to check the alarm box on the side of my house. Fresh scratches gleamed in the metal around the screw heads. It looked like someone had beat the alarm, then let himself in through the kitchen. The cat had probably nailed him or her going out because he'd already completed his search. I said, 'Man, this really sucks.'

The cat was stalking around at the top of the slope, still growling, still pissed. He is an obsessive animal and does not let go of anger easily.

I said, 'Come here, you.'

He stalked over, surly and growling and making little noises.

I picked him up and held him close. 'I'm glad you weren't hurt.'

He squirmed until I put him down. Pity any dog that tried to grab him now.

I went back inside, washed my hands twice, then called Joe. 'Someone went through my house.'

'Have anything to do with the father?'

I thought about it. 'I don't know why it would, but I'm not sure.'

'Maybe I should watch you instead of these kids.'

'Maybe.' I told him their address. 'Meet me there and I'll introduce you. I'll take a flight out early in the morning.'

'Whatever.'

Pike hung up, and I stood in the center of the kitchen and listened to the silence. Someone had been in my home, and it made me feel creepy and violated and angry. I pulled out the Dan Wesson, sat it on the kitchen counter, and crossed my arms. 'Let's see'm come back now.'

Acting tough will sometimes help, but not always, and the gun did not lessen the feeling that I was vulnerable and at risk. They seldom do.

I shut off the lights, locked the house, and reset the alarm. It hadn't helped, but you do what you can.

I drove down to see Teri Haines.

CHAPTER 6

It was just after six that evening when I rang their bell and Charles threw open the door. He threw it wide, just as he had before, without regard to who might be on the other side. I said, 'Always ask who it is.'

Charles showed me a twelve-inch serrated carving knife. 'You don't have to ask when you're ready.'

Sometimes you just have to shake your head.

Today Charles was wearing the oversized shoes, the monstrously baggy shorts, and a black Wolverine T-shirt that hung almost to his knees. Teresa appeared over his shoulder, and said, 'Did you find him?' Hopeful.

'Nope. But I've got a couple of ideas. How about I come in and we talk about them?'

Winona was sitting at the dining table, and plates were there for Charles and Teresa. I'd interrupted dinner. Spaghetti, again. Maybe it was all they knew how to make. 'Smells great.' Mr. Cheery.