A Nose for Justice (18 page)

“Aunt Jeep, you loved Nanna, didn’t you?”

“My sister really was one of the most lovable, witty, charming people to ever walk the earth.”

“What if she had turned out like Catherine?”

This provoked a long silence. “I might have cut her out of my life, but I could never have cut her out of my heart.” She paused. “There were drugs back then. There’s always been booze, and women straying off the path were ruined. I don’t think Nanna would have fallen but then again, maybe there but for the grace of God. I think I would have fallen before Nanna.”

“Mom used to chide Catherine, ‘Enough is never enough for you.’ Then she’d turn to me and say, ‘And you’re becoming a little grind.’ Funny.”

“There’s a lot of life left. Who knows how it will all turn out?” Jeep reached over to run her hands through King’s silky hair as he’d just put his head on her thigh. “Better we don’t know. Not because we’d see the pain coming, but because all the suspense would be gone, the thrill, those moments of charged excitement. I don’t want to know what’s around the bend. I want to live through it all.”

“You’ve had an amazing life.” Mags held up her glass.

“Now it’s your turn. Keep your eyes on the doughnut, not the hole. You’ll do just fine.”

W
alter De Quille—late sixties, wavy gray hair, running to fat—opened the door of the small storefront office to greet Deputy Meadows and Officer Parrish.

“Come on in.” The president of the advocacy group, Washoe Water Rights, beckoned the policemen to sit on a tattered and worn sofa. Nearby, the file cabinets brimmed with documents, shelves were crammed with reference books and three-ring binders.

“Thank you for meeting with us.” Pete sat down, feeling sucked in by the old cushions, hearing an odd squeak.

Lonnie also became enveloped by the broken-down sofa.

Walter smiled as he sat in an upright wooden ladder chair. “Don’t worry. When you want to get back out, I’ll give you two a hand. When you’re a nonprofit, you take whatever donations you can get.”

Pete smiled. “Better than sitting on the floor.”

“You two gentlemen finished with your Christmas shopping? Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. By then, even the teetotalers will need a drink. Which reminds me, can I offer you two anything?”

“No, thank you, Mr. De Quille.”

“What can I do to help you?”

Lonnie flipped open his notebook as Pete, in his genial manner, began questioning. “Can you tell me the purpose of Washoe Water Rights? I read your brochure, but I’d like to hear you explain it.”

“To intelligently plan and use our water supply with regard to animal as well as human consumption. That’s as succinctly as I can put it.”

“You’re a 501(c)3?” Pete referred to nonprofit, charitable status.

“We are. We’re fifteen years old, but WWR has really grown in the last five years. Before that, very few people took our mission seriously.”

“Why do you think this has changed?”

“Two things, well, three: new leadership, which is more vigorous. Then there’s the increasing population, some of which is caused by California runaways. And lastly, young people today are much more environmentally savvy than their parents. In fact, the university here contributes a lot to awareness of the issues involved, both with their curriculum and other green initiatives.”

Pete smiled. “My alma mater.” Pete rarely referred to written notes. He studied someone’s bio, if he had time, before questioning them, so the process felt more like a conversation, less like a grilling. “Mr. De Quille—”

“Walter, please.”

“You formerly taught biology at Washoe High?”

“Yes. That’s how my interest, which transformed into growing concern, started. When I retired, I knew I’d perish of boredom or my wife would kill me since I was underfoot so I threw myself into Washoe Water Rights.”

“Have you or anyone involved in the organization ever received threats?”

Walter’s large, light blue eyes widened. “No. Are we in danger?”

“I don’t think so, but you may have read in the papers about the two Silver State Resource Management pumps being blown up. Because of these incidents we’re contacting people knowledgeable about water issues. Your organization is at the head of the list.”

Walter was not immune to flattery. “Thank you. Let me be perfectly honest, Silver State Resource Management is not well thought of by us. However, wasting water is anathema to our organization. I hope you find out who is behind this.”

“Have you or Washoe Water Rights ever had a confrontation with SSRM?”

“A number of them. Last year we picketed their corporate offices concerning their purchase of water rights as far south as Smith Valley. And we certainly objected to the county’s approval for new zoning for Horseshoe Estates. But our actions are always peaceful.”

“Did anyone from SSRM come out to talk to you?”

Walter smiled. “No. They avoided any confrontation with us, but the TV stations did air a statement by Craig Locke dismissing us as crackpots—he’s the one responsible for buying up water rights.”

“Have you ever had direct dealings with anyone in the company?”

“I see them at zoning meetings, but that’s it. Let me be clear, they have never threatened us or ever taken out ads against us in the papers. So far it’s all been fairly gentlemanly, but then”—he swept his hand outward—“they have so much power and money, they don’t see us as a real threat. They can afford to tolerate us.”

“But you think this may change in the future?” Pete tried to lean forward only to hear the muffled squeal from the sofa again.

Walter laughed. “Dowser buried his squeaky toy under the cushion.”

Hearing his name, Dowser, a boxer, walked out from the tiny kitchen area, blinked, and lay down by the desk.

“Glad it wasn’t me.” Pete laughed. “A lot of these questions are what you’d expect so let me just get through them, as I’m sure you have a lot to do. Has anyone in your organization ever advocated violence against SSRM?”

“No. Oh, the young people may say something hostile but everyone in Washoe Water Rights recognizes if we become violent we will lose support. We can’t afford that. As I said, we are growing as the public is becoming increasingly aware of the problem.”

“Yes, I think they are,” Pete continued. “Do you work with other environmental groups?”

“Yes, but not enough. Now that I am president, forming viable political liaisons with other environmental groups is number two on my agenda.”

“What’s number one?” Pete raised his dark brown eyebrows.

“Saving our water from corporate control.”

“Do you consider any of your donors to be competitors of SSRM?”

This surprised Walter. “No. SSRM has no real competition. If the city of Reno wanted, they could extend the city limits to acquire more water and try to make a case for not paying for that water.”

“That would be a fight.”

“If some brave enough government official tried, I can promise you we’d be at the forefront of that battle. But even if such an initiative succeeded,
which is highly doubtful, Reno would still use SSRM to get water to the city.”

“Do you think SSRM is a well-managed company?”

“If they were sloppy, our work would be much easier.”

“Among other area groups, have you ever had contact with Friends of Sierra County?”

“Just informally. Obviously, we share similar concerns. They are trying to protect their water from Reno, just as we are, but their advantage is they’re across the border in California.” He held up a forefinger, looking very much like the teacher in the classroom he’d once been. “But who can say what will happen? The economic crisis in California could be a total game-changer. They could nationalize their water. I say nationalize, but you know what I mean. It sounds crazy, but when you think of some of the things that have happened to privacy and the Constitution thanks to the Homeland Security Act, I don’t think any mischief is impossible, whether on the federal or state level.” He held up his hand as if staving off argument. “I know you all work for the county. I’m not criticizing you.”

“Walter, we don’t make the laws. We try to enforce them, and I promise you some of them make no sense to Officer Parrish or myself, either.” Pete meant this but Walter liked hearing it. “What is the other possibility?”

“The state taking control of water rights would create a tremendous uproar. If California’s legislature were smart, they would rescind the law concerning water being sold and diverted to Nevada. The sale of those individual water rights is astronomical. I’m sure you remember the millions paid to ranchers outside of Las Vegas?” Pete nodded he did, so Walter continued. “Many people in Sierra County, pushed to the limit by their state’s financial crisis, burdened by increased taxation as well as more hidden taxes, would sell their rights to Silver State Resource Management. California would collect taxes on that private income. A far better way to skin the cat, don’t you think?”

“I do.” Pete hadn’t thought of that tactic. “Do you feel people could become violent over this issue?”

“No doubt about it.”

“Let me just throw this out there. Do you have any idea who might be behind these explosions?”

“No. To me, it makes little sense—I mean, if you really care about the environment. I think it’s sabotage aimed at SSRM to hurt the company. Then again, it makes people fear for their water supply.”

“We’ve thought of that, too. You said you had some contact with other environmental groups. Have any of them ever used violence as a tactic to inflame the public? Not just about water, but about any of their special interests?”

“No. I try to keep abreast of state groups and national groups for the obvious reason that irresponsible behavior by any group could hurt all of us or really any group concerned with wildlife and the environment. Granted, there are problem groups out there. I don’t know if you recall in 2008, I believe an American leader of PETA was in England encouraging people at a conference to kill those physicians engaged in vivisection. He hurt their cause more than helped it. I hasten to add I am bitterly opposed to vivisection. Luckily, most of the public recognized that he was an extremist with little regard for human life. My fear is one of these fanatics will start harming others. There are so many crazy people out there.” He took a deep breath. “We’ve worked so hard to get this far.”

“We appear to be breeding crazies.” Pete leaned forward, the slight squeaking sound again attending his motion. “Did you know Sam Peruzzi?”

“I did. Terrible thing.”

“It was. Did you ever work with him?”

“Yes, at different gatherings with Friends of Sierra County; he was always there—usually in his overalls from the muffler garage. He supported us at the Horseshoe Estates zoning meeting, too. That was the last time I saw him.”

“Do you think he might have advocated violence as a tactic?”

“Sam, no, though he was passionate about environment issues. He’d become really angry when he described loss of habitat for an animal, but he never hinted at violence. I’ll tell you one thing, Sam was absolutely meticulous in his research. If he was talking about a ground squirrel, he had his facts down cold. Once laptops got lighter, he’d usually have one with him, with graphics and pictures to make his point. He was a very, very nice man.”

“How did you find out about his death?”

“President of Friends of Sierra called, Brenda Bocock. Poor woman. Well, we were all shocked. And to be found at the Jolly Roger—we all know what that place is. I suppose you never really know about someone else, but I never would have thought Sam fooled around. He was too earnest. My wife saw a mention of his death on the eleven o’clock news. Just a terrible shock.”

“Did you have the impression he could have been in financial trouble?”

“No. People’s mufflers are going to rust out, develop holes, belch smoke. Better to pay Sam than to pay the fine for pollution. California’s vehicle inspections are designed to generate income, not keep people safe. One man’s opinion.”

Pete smiled as he thought the same about most states, but said nothing. He then asked, “Any ideas why someone might have killed Sam?”

“No. Everyone’s in shock over this. He truly was one of the nicest guys you could ever meet. He could become a little tedious when he’d harp on his pet projects but he really was a lovely person.”

“Well, thank you. I hope you and Dowser have a Merry Christmas.” Pete grabbed the sofa arm to hoist himself up.

After standing, he turned to pull up Lonnie.

“Thanks,” Lonnie said.

As they reached the door with Walter and Dowser, Pete turned. “I know you were a biology teacher, but do you have much interest in history?”

“Some,” said Walter.

“Ever come across Russian names in your research on water rights?”

“No. Don’t come across that many now. Why?”

“Curious.”

Back in the car, Lonnie remarked, “Can’t get that skeleton out of your mind, can you?”

Pete turned the key. “Nope.”