Joseph Kanon - Los Alamos

“Why did you ask about the turquoise?” she said, mildly curious.

“I was thinking about Karl.”

“Oh,” she said, opening her eyes. “Why him?”

“He left turquoise behind in his room. It just seemed an odd coincidence, hearing about it. Well, not really a coincidence. It just reminded me of it, that’s all.”

“What was he doing with turquoise?” she said, genuinely surprised.

“I don’t know.”

“Is that why he was robbed?”

“No. It was in his room.”

“Oh. So it’s a mystery.”

“For now it is.”

“But you don’t like mysteries,” she said.

“I don’t like this one.”

She laid her head back again. “Is it so important to you? He’s dead, isn’t he? Like my Indians. What does it matter what happened to them?”

“You don’t believe that.”

“I suppose not. But sometimes-oh, why not let things be? Let them be mysteries.” She looked out the window, arguing with the landscape.

“This didn’t happen eight hundred years ago. Whoever killed him is still around.”

“I thought he was robbed in the park. Whoever did it must be long gone.”

“Maybe. Maybe he’s on the Hill.”

She was silent. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s possible.”

“That’s horrible. Then it wouldn’t be an accident-some robbery, I mean. You think someone murdered him? Planned to kill him?”

He was quiet for a minute, thinking. “Planned? That’s interesting. No, I don’t think so. Not planned. I think it just-happened.”

“How do you mean?”

“He may have provoked someone. Like the snake,” he said, a sudden thought. “They only attack if they’re provoked. Isn’t that what you said?”

“Well, surprised. They’re defending themselves, that’s all.”

“Yes,” he said, his voice drifting off again.

“Anyway, it wasn’t a snake. Murder,” she said softly. “No. Why would anyone want to murder Karl?”

But he wasn’t listening.

“What is it?” she said, bringing him back.

“What you said. I hadn’t thought of that. What if he surprised someone?”

“Doing what?” she said. He didn’t answer. “I hate all this. It scares me. You just want to believe he was murdered. It’s too absurd. Things like that don’t happen.”

“Yes they do.”

“Not here.” And then, before he could contradict her, “But why not a robber? It’s the obvious answer.”

“I thought you didn’t approve of obvious answers.”

“But you’re just guessing. Is that how this works? You make a guess and see if it fits?”

“No,” he said, “that’s how science works, or so they tell me. I need a little more than that.”

She looked over at him. “Is that why you’re here? It is, isn’t it.”

“The army just wants to know what happened.”

She turned away to look out the window again. “So you’ll turn over every rock in the place. I wonder what else you’ll find.”

“I haven’t found anything yet,” he said lightly. “Not even one skeleton in the closet.”

She looked back at him. “Be careful you don’t surprise someone too.”

“That would be one way of finding out, wouldn’t it?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he said, still light. “Don’t worry, I can take care of myself.”

“God, listen to you. It must be the Irish cop in you.”

“Which don’t you like, the Irish or the cop?”

She smiled. “The cop, I suppose.”

“Good. Not much I can do about the Irish. We can retire the cop, though. Today, anyway.”

She shook her head. “Maybe it’s all of a piece.” She laughed. “I never thought I’d end up going to bed with a cop.”

“Technically speaking, we haven’t actually been to bed yet,” he said, smiling.

She put her hand on his knee, a promise. “No, we haven’t, have we?”

“You’ll make me go off the road,” he said, turning to her.

It was then, his eyes off the road, that they hit the rock. There was a loud pop, as startling as gunfire, then the sudden lurch as they felt the car swerve to the right, sinking to the flapping tire.

“Christ,” Connolly said, stopping the car. “Now what the hell do we do? Do you have a spare?”

“In the boot.”

“Christ. He got out to look.

“Can you fix it?”

“This one’s shot,” he reported. “We’ll have to change it.” He looked around the empty landscape in the dwindling light. “Do you have a jack?”

“Whatever’s back there. There’s some sort of toolbox, I think.” She opened the trunk. “This? I don’t know what any of it is. What’s the matter-don’t you?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“I thought Americans knew everything about cars.”

He didn’t answer but instead started struggling with the jack, trying to assemble the handle, and getting down to look under the chassis.

“Can you manage it, do you think?” she said.

“Let’s hope so. Unless you want to spend the night.”

“Can I help?”

“You can stand out of the light.” He looked up. “What’s so funny?”

“You. Nothing. You should see your face. Like a cross little boy. Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

“I’ve seen it done. You have a better idea?”

“I could walk back to the ranger station and bat my eyelids and get him to fix it. He’d come like a shot.”

“I’ll figure it out,” he said, fixing the jack in place.

She sighed. “Men. What makes you all like that, anyway?”

“Like what?” he said, only half paying attention.

“You never want to ask for help. Directions. A man will never ask directions. Just drive round and round and never ask.”

“Want to hand me that?” he asked, pointing to a wrench. She jumped up, ready to help.

“Scalpel,” she said, handing it to him. “Sponge.”

He looked up at her. “You’re having fun.”

“I know. Isn’t it awful? I am. I’ve always wondered what it would be like, stuck in the middle of nowhere. Rather exciting.”

“It’s going to be a lot more exciting if we don’t fix this before it gets dark.”

“Never mind. We can always sleep in the car.”

“There’s something to look forward to,” he said absently, unscrewing the lugs on the wheel.

“Oh, poor Michael, still longing for bed. Jinxed, that’s what it is. Still, there’s always the car. I’ve never done it in a car, have you?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Really? What’s it like?”

He stared at the wheel, trying to determine the next step. “Right now, I don’t know which is more annoying, you or this tire.”

“All right,” she said, “I’ll be quiet. That’s the thanks one gets for being cheerful. What is it like, though? In a car.”

“Cramped.”

She got a cigarette out of the car, then sat near him, watching him work. The heat had gone with the sun and she drew her legs up, huddling over them and smiling to herself in unexpected contentment. After a while he needed the flashlight, so she held it for him, training its beam on the tire while she studied his face in the shadow.

“I wonder what else you can’t do,” she said, “besides fix cars. I mean, I don’t know anything about you. What do you like? What are your politics? Why aren’t you in the army, for instance?”

“Eyes. I have a lazy muscle in my left.”

“What’s that? You mean you don’t see properly?”

“No, the right compensates. It’s not serious, just serious enough to keep me out of the army. They figured I’d make a lousy shot.”

“Did that bother you?”

“For about ten minutes. Then I felt grateful. There, now you know something I’ve never told anyone.”