Indian Pipes (15 page)

“Who’d want Burkhardt’s old computer?” Elizabeth asked.

Howland paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. “The line of takers would stretch from here to Alley’s.”

“I suppose there’s a copy of his will on it.” Elizabeth plopped
down on the couch, jouncing Victoria, who was still perched on the arm. “A list of his blackmail victims.”

Howland nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Victoria smoothed the frayed fabric on the arm of the couch. “Both of his nieces will want to see his will.”

Howland stopped pacing. “I have no idea where to begin looking for that computer.”

Dojan continued to sit like stone.

Victoria cleared her throat. “If I were worried about what was on that computer and then found it after the fire, I would get rid of it.”

“Without finding out what’s on it?” asked Elizabeth. “Suppose you thought it might have a copy of his will?”

“Anyone could enter a will on a computer,” Victoria said. “It wouldn’t be valid.”

“It would give someone an advantage to know what was in the will,” said Elizabeth.

“We want the computer because we hope it may have information that will lead us to the killer.” Victoria shifted on her perch.

“That’s exactly why the killer would want to discard it,” said Howland.

Elizabeth moved to the side of the couch and patted the cushion next to her. “You can’t be comfortable, Gram. Have a seat.”

“Thank you,” Victoria said.

Howland began to pace again.

“How would you dispose of a computer?” Victoria asked.

“I would take it out on my boat,” said Dojan. “Drop it overboard into deep water.”

“Not everyone has access to a boat,” said Victoria.

“I’d take it to the dump,” said Elizabeth. “There’s a mountain of discarded computers and television sets. They get trucked off-Island periodically.”

“That would be too obvious,” Howland said. “Easy to spot a burned computer.”

“Then I’d toss it into a container at the dump.”

“You’re not supposed to discard electronic gadgets and appliances in the Dumpsters,” said Victoria.

Elizabeth turned to Howland. “Stop pacing, will you? You’re driving me crazy.”

Howland stopped and leaned against the mantelpiece, hands in his pockets.

“We need to think,” said Victoria. “Someone knew we recovered the computer from the fire, and someone knew that Howland took the computer away. That person would have to have been at the site.”

“The only people there were the arson team, Casey, Junior Norton, and you,” said Howland. “I showed up later.”

“None of the people you named would have any interest in the computer,” Victoria said. “Therefore, someone else must have been at Jube’s place and overheard us.”

“Where, though?” asked Elizabeth.

Victoria thought for a moment. “The barn loft. Of course. I heard what I thought were mice or birds in the barn,” she said. “A person could easily have been in the loft. We used to hide up there as children.”

“He could hardly have followed me to your house without being seen,” said Howland.

“We talked openly about taking the computer to my house,” said Victoria. “Everyone knows where I live.”

Howland nodded.

“He could park off the road the fishermen use. We’d never have noticed,” said Victoria. “Then walk to the barn, go in the side door, brush away footprints behind him with a pine branch, climb up into the loft, and watch from there.”

“Creepy,” said Elizabeth.

“Were you aware of anyone following you when you left Jube’s?” Victoria asked Howland.

“A horse trailer came out of one of the side roads after I passed. I wouldn’t have seen anything behind the trailer, even if I were looking. And I wasn’t looking.”

“Would you have been aware of a motorcycle following behind the trailer?” Victoria asked.

Howland shook his head. “I doubt it.”

“He didn’t need to follow you,” said Victoria. “He kept calling until Elizabeth left, then went into the house, saw your note explaining
where you’d put the computer, and took it.” Victoria glanced around the room, from Howland to Dojan to Elizabeth. “Then what?”

Howland walked over to the windows that faced the road. A car drove past. The dry leaves of the horse chestnut shivered. “I hope the hell he didn’t drop it in Vineyard Sound,” said Howland.

“Or take it off-Island,” said Elizabeth.

“You don’t have a dump sticker, sir,” the dumpmaster said when Howland pulled up to the shack a half hour later.

The shack, on a knoll in the middle of the dump, was decorated with found objects. Unmatched chairs were set up around a broken- legged table, which was spread with chipped plates and unmatched glasses set on a frayed tablecloth with an off-center wine stain. The table was shaded with a torn beach umbrella.

The dumpmaster himself was enormously fat and had walked over to Howland’s car with great effort. His clothes looked as if they, too, had come from the dump, but they were so huge and tentlike it seemed unlikely that there was another person on the Island discarding clothing that would fit the dump master. His chartreuse- and-brown plaid trousers were belted with rope, his orange and magenta Hawaiian shirt was tucked into the great waist of his pants.

He leaned down to look at the passenger side of the car, peered at Elizabeth, and chuckled. “Not you again. You cleaning out your grandmother’s house?”

“We’re looking for something to take away from the dump, Mr. Lardner,” Elizabeth said.

The dumpmaster spread his arms. “Be my guest.” He leaned down to Howland. “You ought to patronize this dump, Mr. Ather- ton. Better-quality stuff than that dump of yours.”

“Anybody throw out a computer today?” Howland asked.

“How’m I supposed to know?” The dumpmaster lifted his flowered shoulders. “Everybody in town’s come by today. Some twice,” he added, looking significantly at Elizabeth. “If they threw out a computer, it would either be over there with the TVs,” he pointed toward the mound of television sets and computer monitors, “or with the appliances,” he waved his arm to a mountain of washers, dryers,
dishwashers, and microwaves, “or in that Dumpster with metal stuff or the one next to it with construction stuff.” He ducked his head in thought. “Or they might have dumped it in with household trash. Never can tell where people are going to dump stuff.”

“You go through this every week?” Howland asked as they drove away from the shack.

“It’s a social occasion,” Elizabeth said. “If you’re running for town office, this is where you campaign.”

“Let’s start with TV Mountain.”

A short man with a graying goatee, his hair falling over his forehead, hustled toward them with a sheaf of papers. “Elizabeth! Didn’t recognize you in that car. Can I get you to sign this petition?”

“I already did, Les. Get Howland to sign.”

Howland pulled on the emergency brake. Les hurried over to his side and thrust the petition and a pen at him. Howland signed with a flourish.

Elizabeth leaned across Howland. “Les, did you see anyone dump a computer this morning?”

“Several people, three or four at least. Do you need one? There’s at least one good 386.”

“Did anyone bring in a burned CPU?” Howland asked.

“I don’t think I’d recognize it as part of a computer without the monitor.”

“Where did they leave them?” Howland asked.

“I didn’t notice.” He held up one of his fingers. “Excuse me. Here comes Mrs. Summerville.” He hurried off with his petition.

The mound of television sets was much larger than they had expected. They looked up at it.

“If the computer’s here, it would have to be in plain sight,” How- land said. “He would hardly have moved stuff to bury it underneath.”

They walked around the mound, trying to see under easily shifted objects, and finally moved on.

They tried the appliance heap next, and then the large Dumpster. The dumpmaster waddled down the knoll to where they stood figuring the best approach to searching it.

“Someone threw out an aluminum ladder a couple weeks ago.
Thought it might come in handy.” He reached behind the Dumpster and started to haul out a bent ladder.

“Absolutely,” said Howland, helping.

The dumpmaster brushed off his hands. Between short gasps he said again, “I knew it would come in handy.”

Howland climbed to the rim of the Dumpster, then jumped in. There was the sound of breaking glass. Howland swore.

A flock of seagulls rose from the inside. Elizabeth couldn’t see Howland from where she stood, and she waited while she heard him shove things around. The gulls circled. One started to land inside, and squawked and soared away when a chunk of metal that looked like the arm of an aluminum lawn chair flew up at it. The gull opened its beak and let out a long cry and a series of short barks. Elizabeth heard Howland walk around on metallic things that sounded as if they were shifting under his weight. He thumped his hand against the metal side of the Dumpster at one point.

“It’s hopeless,” she heard him say finally. “Nothing but garbage. I’ve got to get out of here before I pass out.”

When Howland reached the ground again, Elizabeth sniffed. “You stink.”

“Thanks.”

“I thought it was supposed to be metal, not garbage.”

“Someone dumped a plastic bag of fish guts. It’s been in the sun all morning.”

“Come back to my grandmother’s. You can take a shower outdoors and I’ll put your clothes in the washer.”

Howland sat in his car, the door open. “This dump is
not
better than mine.”

C
HAPTER
18

As they drove back toward Victoria’s, Howland muttered, “I don’t know why your grandmother is so convinced we need that computer. It’s a lost cause.”

“She insists you can recover whatever is on it,” said Elizabeth.

Howland grunted. “I can’t work magic.”

“Maybe they dumped it in the woods somewhere,” said Elizabeth.

Howland shook his head. “Someone would find it and make a public furor about improper rubbish disposal.”

“Maybe they tossed the unit in a Dumpster someplace. The trash gets shipped off-Island. Nobody would notice an old computer.”

Howland slowed at Brandy Brow and waited for a car to pass. “Let’s say someone picked up the computer from Victoria’s. He’d want to move fast, before your grandmother showed up. He’d put it in the trunk of his car…”

“Or on the back of a motorcycle, and it could have been a woman,” said Elizabeth.

“Right. Car or motorcycle. She—or he—would take the computer someplace nearby where they could examine it without being disturbed. If she or he knows something about computers, she or he might take it apart, remove the hard drive, and discard the rest.” Howland paused. “This ‘he or she’ stuff is nonsense. If he doesn’t know computers, he might think the data were destroyed. Where would he go?”

“Probably not into the village. Everybody would notice a strange car or a motorcycle with a computer strapped on back. They’d have to pass the police station and Alley’s.”

“So he’d probably head toward Edgartown.”

Elizabeth sat up. “The baseball field this side of the firehouse has
a trash bin.” She wrinkled her nose. “Would you like to take a shower first?”

“Can’t waste the time. I don’t know how often they empty the Dumpsters.”

“I’m not sure I can stand you much longer.”

“Likely to get worse, unless
you
intend to crawl around in the next few trash bins.” Howland tapped the horn as they passed Victoria’s house. Tall tiger lilies in front of the house were an orange blaze in the shade of the horse chestnut tree. “Dump day being a social event, every scanner in West Tisbury will be reporting about Victoria’s granddaughter and the fed crawling around in the trash.”

“Twenty-first-century party line.”

The baseball field was about a quarter mile beyond Victoria’s house, behind a thick screen of scrub oak and pine. Howland missed the turnoff and had to back up. He turned left onto a grass road.

“New car tracks,” he said.

“Baseball games go on all the time, almost every day.”

They parked in the shade of an oak, got out, and looked around.

“Two trash bins,” said Howland. “One for the kids playing ball and one by the firehouse.”

A steady buzz came from the first Dumpster.

“Goddamn!” said Howland. “Yellow jackets.”

“Going after soda cans, I bet.”

A cloud of wasps hummed around the candy wrappers, soggy ice cream cones, juice boxes, apple cores, half-eaten oranges, and fermenting grapes.

“Damnation,” said Howland.

“Can you see in?” asked Elizabeth.

“You look.”

A mass of yellow-and-black bodies squirmed around the sweet trash. The Dumpster reverberated with the buzz of beating wings. Elizabeth moved back.

“It’s not exactly a sure thing that the computer is here,” she said.

“We have to at least look, if I’m to stay in Victoria’s good graces. Better check the one by the firehouse first.”

They walked past the feed-grain bag that marked first base and
across the field of mown grass, and found the bin almost empty, with only a few oil cans, rags, and papers.

“Back to the baseball field,” Elizabeth said. “Insect spray?”

“We’d need gallons.”

“Protective clothing? Smoke bomb? That would do it, smoke.”

Howland sighed.

Together, they gathered up damp leaves from under the trees, and lit a small fire in a cardboard box from the trunk of Howland’s car. When the fire was smoldering, Howland tossed the box into the Dumpster, and then they sat under the trees and waited. Dozens of yellow jackets straggled out. The buzzing lessened and eventually stopped.

Howland got up with another sigh and hoisted himself over the side of the trash bin, which was considerably smaller than the one at the dump. Elizabeth watched as he prodded and poked with a broken baseball bat he’d found.

“Ouch! Goddamn!”

Smoke billowed up.

“I can’t see a damned thing.” There was a metallic clang, a clatter as something tumbled and shifted, and the sound of breaking glass. Then quiet.

“Are you okay?”