A Nose for Justice (33 page)

She tapped his forearm. “Jake Tanner, you’ve heard me say much worse.”

He laughed. “Oliver always irritated me. When Pump Nineteen was blown there he was useless, wouldn’t get his hands dirty, but in charge. You know the type.”

“Do.”

“The funny thing was—about the pump, I mean—the bomb was set so we couldn’t repair the pump. I mean, Twinkie and Bunny couldn’t. An entirely new pump had to be put in. That’s not cheap. SSRM uses two types of pumps, a vertical turbine, now that baby costs big, big bucks and it’s set above the ground. Blasts out a high volume of water. Pump Nineteen is the old kind of pump and it’s right for the volume used in Red Rock. It’s in a casing below the ground. Well, you know, you’ve seen it.”

“Actually, Jake, I haven’t. I’ve passed the site, looked up, but I don’t know anything about it. My water comes out of a well. Don’t have that kind of equipment.”

“The submersibles are the most common kind used by SSRM. They aren’t cheap, but nothing like the turbos. Whoever set the bomb knew the equipment.”

“That could be anyone who works with water, even a water surveyor might know.”

Jake stroked his beard. “Twinkie and Bunny showed me where they thought the bomb was wedged. Actually, they slipped the piece of pipe to Pete. They didn’t want Oliver to see it.”

This surprised Jeep. “Why?”

“Figured he’d take credit for it. He was like that. They also took pictures with their cellphones and sent them back to George W. They wanted to protect themselves. I mean, it wasn’t below Hitchens to blame them if more had gone wrong.”

“I had no idea.”

“George W. knew, but I reckon Oliver had some worth to the company or he wouldn’t have been tolerated.”

“I guess. Did Twinkie and Bunny talk to you about the other pump that was destroyed?”

“The one down south of here, they did. Same deal.”

“Do you think Oliver set the bombs? Sometimes people do things like that to look like a hero.”

Jake shook his head. “No. He wouldn’t have done that.”

“You wouldn’t have wanted to see him dead.”

“Coyotes eat him?”

“Something nibbled off his lips and chewed his extremities.” She looked him in the eyes, then pointed toward Porcupine Mountain. “There’s so much talk about getting water to Reno, but what if we’re all looking in the wrong direction?”

“What do you mean?”

“Send the water into Bedell Flat or north up to Dry Valley, which—as the crow flies—isn’t that far from Reno. Think about it, especially Dry Valley. If that were developed, all people who lived there would need to do is drive out to three ninety-five, close, and come to work in Reno.”

“Never thought about it.”

“I didn’t, either, until I started studying the maps, the aquifers, and the population growth. I don’t know if all this is related to that, but SSRM sure seems to be in the middle of it.”

“Seems so.” Jake jammed his hands back into his pockets.

They walked back to the truck. Prancing around on the door controls, King had locked her out of the truck.

“Got your keys?”

“I do. I learned that the hard way about twenty years ago when King’s mother locked me out of my old Ford. Remember that truck? I took the muffler off. You could hear me for miles. This is one thing that drives me crazy. America builds the best trucks in the world. So why can’t the geniuses figure out how to build a truck your dogs can’t lock you out of?”

“Maybe they don’t have dogs.”

“That’s an awful thought.” She smiled and hit the unlock icon on the key fob to open the door. “You need to learn to unlock it if you lock it.” She pointed her gloved finger at King.

“Too much trouble.”
King sighed. He had heard the lock when he locked the truck, but wasn’t sure how to hit the unlock button.

She climbed in and started the motor to get the heat going. “Jake, anyone come around and try to buy your water rights?”

“You rent them.”

“Yeah, but everyone might not know that.”

“Only Craig Locke, once a year. Sometimes twice. Guess he has to say he’s tried.”

She nodded. “Anyone ever tell you you look like an Old Testament prophet with that beard? If it gets any longer, you won’t even need clothes, Jake, just wrap it around you.”

“You’re just jealous because you can’t grow one.” He waved as she pulled out.

A mile south she pulled under a gate, smaller than hers, a wagon wheel on either side of the support posts. The one-story house, once painted peach, now peeling, bore testament to the occupant being home. A furl of smoke escaped from the chimney, tried to rise then flattened, keeping close to the ground. Jeep cut the motor, pocketed her keys, got out, and looked west. A weather system was coming in. A thin layer of clouds was now overhead, with darker clouds piling up behind the Petersons.

She knocked on the door.

“Who in the hell is it?”

“Venus, the goddess of love.”

A shuffle was heard and the door opened wide. Howie Norris beamed. “Why didn’t you say so? Come on in, beautiful.”

Howie, perhaps four years younger than Jeep, couldn’t keep his place up, but he did his best by himself. If he could have afforded help, the ranch wouldn’t take much to come back up. Doing all the work himself kept him in shape.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“No, thank you.”

“Sit down. Isn’t often I’m visited by a goddess. May I take your coat?”

“Sure.” She slipped out of the old sheepskin jacket, like the one she’d given Mags years ago.

“How you been?”

“Mad as hell.”

“Me too.”

“And why are you mad?” she asked.

“Dunno. Old age. Every time I turn around it’s some new law, some new bullshit. My truck’s on its last legs and even if I had the money I
wouldn’t buy a new one. All I want to do is put the key in, turn it, and have the motor turn over. I want a dial to turn up the volume of the radio and a dial to tune it. I’d like heat and maybe air-conditioning but I can live without that. You can’t buy a truck like that nowadays.”

“Everything’s run by computer. Have a new truck out there. Rides like a dream, but I turn the key, pop it in Drive, and the doors automatically lock. Drives me crazy, I know just what you mean.”

“Is that what’s got you riled?”

“No. The chef was poisoned at my Festival of the Ass party. Where were you?”

“Ah, Jeepie, I don’t want to go out. I feel out of place. Hell, I’m usually the oldest person in the room.”

“Not if I’m there.” She smiled at him.

That picked up his spirits. “Women are stronger than men about a lot of things. When Dot and Dan died, you went down, but you came back. I don’t know, Jeepie, I can’t seem to pull myself up since Ronnie’s gone.” He named his late wife.

“It’s a hard, hard blow. You two were made for each other. It’s been four years. You’ve let the place slide a little and I know money’s tight, but you need to get out. How long have we known each other, Howie?”

“Fifties.”

“Then I’ll tell it to you straight. Ronnie would never want you to give up. She loved you and she wants you to enjoy what’s left of your days. She’s up there looking down, cussing a blue streak.”

He smiled, voice soft. “That woman could cuss.”

“I’ll send the boys over. We can fix your shed in a hurry, do whatever you need to do. ’Course, you got to come out and work, too.”

“Ah, Jeep, don’t do that. I can never make it up to you.”

“Over fifty years of being a good neighbor more than makes it up. But you’ve got to snap out of this. And you know, if you found someone to keep company with”—she used the old term—“Ronnie would be happy. You’re too good a man to sit here like a ground squirrel in its hole.”

That perked him up. “Well, maybe.” He wiggled to the edge of his chair. “Sure I can’t get you anything?”

“No, but you can help me.”

“Anything.”

“Has anyone come ’round and tried to buy your water rights? I know, I know, I rent them, but someone might not know that or they could offer more.”

“They can get their fat ass off my ranch, too. The only person is Craig Locke, once a year. This year I didn’t want to hear his bullshit. I threw him out.”

“Have you noticed anyone else poking around?”

“No. Every now and then I see Jake down the road. That’s about it. You worried because of finding that body? I mean, worried the killer’s hanging around? I am. I don’t even go out to the mailbox without my gun.”

“I am a little worried. Look, if you see anything or anyone, or something occurs to you, call me. I’ll send the boys over on Wednesday.” She stood up. “Do me another favor, if you’re out on your ATV or just being nosy with your binoculars, let me know if you see anyone around Renner Well.”

“Be glad to.” He handed her her coat. “You think what happened in Las Vegas can happen here?”

“You mean driving a pipeline three hundred miles away to siphon our water south? In time, yes, it could happen if we aren’t vigilant.”

“Maybe, maybe not. They had that big setback.” Howie referred to the Nevada Supreme Court issuing a ruling invalidating the awards to Pat Mulroy and those involved with her for the pipeline.

“It will drag on. What interested me was the charge that the state engineer exaggerated water yields in his earlier decisions to award water to Mulroy. If ranchers hadn’t brought suit, that pipeline would be being dug right now.”

He nodded, “Seventy-nine million dollars they spent buying out some of the ranchers. Seventy-nine million.”

“There’s a lot at stake—not just here, Howie, throughout the West. Failure now could mean catastrophe later. I understand how cities like Las Vegas, Phoenix, Tucson, and Albuquerque bring in lots of tax dollars to their states, which allows for new schools, all manner of improvements. But the ultimate price really could mean death for many animals and plants and ultimately, us, too. You can’t live without water.”

“You’re right there. But when people throw millions of dollars around—” He whistled.

“Seems like a lot until you consider the developments, the shopping centers, the
billions
and billions of dollars. Hey, what’s the life of a cow or ground squirrel compared to that? Look how many creatures we’ve destroyed over the centuries, to say nothing of one another. Well, it’s Sunday, didn’t mean to preach a sermon.”

“You’re preaching to the choir.” He kissed her on the cheek as she left.

The dogs adored riding around, noticing other dogs, other animals. If Jeep would have opened the windows, had there been a hint of scent, they would have commented on that, too. A few flakes lazed down. She dropped in on other neighbors and finally pulled into Wings at about four that afternoon. Pete’s vehicle was parked out front.

She pulled the truck into the back shed next to the old Chevy 454. Not wishing to disturb Pete and Mags, Jeep tiptoed into the kitchen, but the dogs roared through the house to greet her.

“We’re in the den!” Mags called out.

Pete, sitting next to Mags as she worked on the computer, stood up as Jeep walked in.

“Sunday afternoon and you two are sitting in front of that machine. I could think of a few better things to do,” she teased.

“I’m getting closer to finding our Russian or at least finding who he isn’t. Pete’s helping.”

Jeep started to leave when Pete said, “You might be able to help me if you’re willing.”

He told Jeep everything he knew about the case. He mentioned Sam Peruzzi, Walter De Quille, the people who had bought land in the soon-to-be Horseshoe Estates.

“And Egon was one?” She dropped her chin in her hand.

“He was. And I know he lied to me.” Pete shrugged. “People usually do, but I think whatever he knew or was worried about was what led to his death.”

“And one of the other purchasers is missing?”

She lifted her head. “All of those people have to be connected in some way, even though they cover the gamut in terms of class and accomplishment.
Why don’t you see if any of them went to school with anyone at SSRM or Wade Properties? The center of it all seems to be SSRM. Or maybe these folks are related to someone? There must be a connection.”

And indeed, there was.

T
eton Benson’s 1985 Ford truck was parked in Beatty, Nevada, on the edge of the Mojave Desert, found after an alert had been sent out across the state. A 2003 Trailblazer had also been stolen from the town. Pete and Lonnie figured there was a connection. Perhaps Tets was on the move.

“I hope he’s still alive,” Lonnie muttered.

“If we could get our hands on him, we’d find out why he’s making himself scarce. Might take a bit of persuading.” Pete pulled down a dirt road, parking to the side.

Jonas Larkin and a young woman were surveying land fifteen miles from downtown Reno in sparsely populated Washoe Valley. The temperature that day had surprised everyone by climbing into the low fifties. After the weekend’s snow flurries, the change felt wonderful, but Nevada being Nevada it could plunge to twenty tomorrow. Enjoy it while you can.

Jonas looked up. His assistant held the rod thirty yards distant. Seeing the two young officers, his lips puckered and a low curse followed.