Dan Simmons - Darwin's Blade

“Where’s the suspected homicide?” she asked

“Well, when the coroner removed Billy Jim’s body,” said Dar, “he pronounced the cause of death as drowning. But it seems as if Billy Jim had also been shot with a 22-caliber bullet…”

“Where?” said Syd.

“While driving his truck,” said Dar.

“No, I mean where on his body?”

Dar hesitated. “Once. In the…ah…groin area.”

“Testicles?” said Syd.

“One of them.”

“Left or right testicle?” said Syd.

“Do you think it matters?” said Dar.

“Doesn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Left or right?” said Syd.

“Right,” said Dar. “Can I get on with the story?”

They walked down the hill together.

“OK,” said Syd, “we have a Mr. Billy James Langley coming back from a fishing trip in the dark. Suddenly he gets shot in the right ball and—not surprisingly—is startled enough to drive his pickup into the creek and then drowns. Let me guess: no. 22 rifle or pistol in the pickup?”

“Right,” said Dar.

“Entrance or exit holes in the truck?” said Syd. “It’d have to be a pretty flimsy pickup to let a .22 pass through, and Ford 250s aren’t flimsy.”

“No entrance or exit holes,” said Dar. “Except in Billy Jim.”

“Windows rolled up?”

“Yeah. It was raining hard the night Billy Jim was driving out from his favorite fishing hole.”

“After dark, right?” said Syd.

“Right. About eleven P.M.”

“I’ve got it,” said Syd.

Dar stopped walking. “Really?” It had taken him two hours at the scene to figure it out.

“Really,” said Syd. “Billy Jim didn’t have a .22 rifle or pistol along, but I bet he had a box of cartridges in the cab, right?”

“In the glove box,” said Dar.

“And I bet Billy Jim’s headlights went off on the way out.”

Dar sighed. “Yeah—my guess was about a mile and a half short of the bridge.”

Syd nodded. “About how long it would take for the. 22 cartridge to heat up and discharge,” said Syd. “I know those Ford pickups. The fuse box for the lights is right under the panel in front of the steering wheel. Your Billy Jim is driving along, the headlights go out, he can’t keep driving in the rain but he wants to get home, so he pokes around, figures the fuse has blown…hunts around for something in the cab the right size to replace the fuse…A .22 cartridge fits perfectly…He drives on, not thinking about the cartridge heating up. And then it fires…”

“Well, I guess it wasn’t much of a mystery after all,” said Dar.

Syd shrugged. “Hey, I’m starved. Can we have lunch before we tackle your real mystery?”

They made roast beef sandwiches for lunch, grabbed beers, and took them out onto the porch. The day was getting hot and they had long since doffed their denim jackets. Syd wore an oversized T-shirt with the tail out, to cover the holster on her hip. Dar wore a faded old black T-shirt with equally faded blue jeans and running shoes. The cabin itself was shaded by tall ponderosa pine and small birch, but the valley opening before them was bright with summer grass and willows, all seeming to ripple in the wind and heat haze. They sat on the edge of the high porch and dangled their legs.

Syd asked, “Doesn’t all the death, pain, suffering you witness…investigate…weigh you down after a while?”

If she had asked Dar that question twenty-four hours earlier, he probably would have answered I imagine it’s a little like being a doctor. After a bit you become…not calloused, that’s not the word…but you have a perspective for it all. It’s your job, right? And he would have believed it. But now he was not so sure. Perhaps something had changed him over the past decade or more. All that he knew at this instant was that—contrary to all intentions and expectations—he would like to kiss Chief Investigator Sydney Olson on her full lips, press her back against the redwood deck, feel the softness of her breasts against him…

“I don’t know,” he managed to say, chewing on his sandwich. He had forgotten her question.

The file was in a regular manila folder, was stamped Closed, and was at least three inches thick with documents. Dar set two wheeled chairs at his desk near the large CAD computers. Syd sat to his right as he laid out the documents in front of her.

“You see the date of the accident,” he said.

“Seven weeks ago.” Syd glanced down at the LAPD Traffic Collision Report. “East L.A…. a little far afield, weren’t you?”

“Not really,” said Dar. “Some of these cases take me as far north as your neck of the woods…Sacramento and San Francisco…and even out of state.”

“Did the LAPD Traffic Investigation Unit call you in freelance on this one? I know both Sergeant Rote of the TIU and Detective Bob Ventura, whose name is on the investigation report here.”

Dar shook his head. “Lawrence was in Arizona working a case, so Trudy asked me to follow up on this. The client was the van rental company.”

Syd looked at the initial collision report. “A GMC Vandura…red. Small moving van?”

“Yeah. Read the reporting officer’s statement.”

Syd read it aloud:

“COLLISION LOCATION, 1200 MARLBORO AVE. (N. FRONTAGE ROAD).

“ORIGIN: AT ABOUT 0245 HRS., MAY 19, I WAS TRANS PORTING A PRISONER TO THE EAST LOS ANGELES WOMEN’S DETENTION FACILITY WHEN I HEARD A REPORT OF A FATAL ACCIDENT IN THE AREA OF MARLBOROAVE. AND FOUNTAIN BLVD. I ASKED THE DISPATCHER IF SHE COULD FIND A UNIT THAT COULD MEET ME AT E. 109TH ST. AND I–5 SO AS TO TRANSPORT MY PRISONER THE REST OF THE WAY TO THE DETENTION FACILITY, SO I COULD IN TURN RESPOND TO THE ACCIDENT. OFFICER JONES #2485 RESPONDED IMMEDIATELY AND TOOK OVER THE TRANSPORT. I ARRIVED AT THE SCENE AT ABOUT 0300 HOURS. WHEN I ARRIVED THE SCENE HAD BEEN SECURED BY PATROL UNITS. SGT. MCKAY, #2662 (TRAFFIC SUPERVISOR), OFFICER BERRY #3501 AND OFFICER CLANCEY #4423 WERE ALREADY ON SCENE. THE 1200 BLOCK OF MARLBORO WAS BLOCKED OFF TO ALL THROUGH TRAFFIC FROM FOUNTAIN BLVD. TO GRAMERCY ST.

“STREET DESCRIPTION: 1200 MARLBORO AVE. (N. FRONTAGE ROAD) IS A WEST BOUND ONE-WAY STREET. FOUNTAIN BLVD. TO THE EAST IS A NORTH AND SOUTH BOUND STREET. GRAMERCY ST., TO THE WEST, IS ALSO A NORTH AND SOUTH BOUND STREET. 1200 MARLBORO AVE. (N. FRONTAGE ROAD) HAS A.098 W/E GRADE, UPHILL. THE CLOSEST LIGHTING ON THE STREET WAS PROVIDED BY OFF STREET LIGHTS AND INTERSECTION LIGHTS. THE UN-POSTED SPEED LIMIT IS 25 MPH FOR THAT STRETCH OF ROADWAY.

“WEATHER CONDITIONS: AT THE TIME OF THE ACCIDENT IT WAS CLOUDY AND OVERCAST. IT WAS RAINING AND THE TEMPERATURE WAS COOL AND SLIGHTLY WINDY. IT WAS NIGHT TIME AND THE MOON WAS NOT SHINING THROUGH THE CLOUD COVER.

“VEHICLE IDENTIFICATION: THE GMC VANDURA (V-2) DISPLAYED LARGE U-RENTAL TRUCK DECALS ON ALL 4 SIDES. A CHECK OF THE VEHICLE’S LICENSE PLATE REVEALED THERE WAS NO RECORD TO BE FOUND.

“DRIVER IDENTIFICATION: MISS GENNIE SMILEY WAS IDENTIFIED AS THE DRIVER OF THE VEHICLE PER HER CALIFORNIA DRIVER’S LICENSE, HER OWN STATEMENT, AND DONALD M. BORDEN’S STATEMENT.

“VEHICLE DAMAGE: THERE WAS SLIGHT DAMAGE TO THE FRONT GRILL OF THE GMC VANDURA. THE GRILL WAS BENT INWARD APPROXIMATELY THREE INCHES AT ITS FURTHEST INCURSION AND THERE WERE FIBERS FROM THE VICTIM’S SWEATER EMBEDDED IN THE GRILL.

“INJURIES: RICHARD KODIAK SUFFERED FATAL MASSIVE HEAD TRAUMA. PETERSON #333 AND ROYLES #979 (SAMSON’S PARAMEDIC UNIT #272) RESPONDED TO THE SCENE. KODIAK WAS PRONOUNCED DEAD AT THE SCENE BY DR. CAVENAUGH OF EASTERN MERCY HOSPITAL VIA THE RADIO…”

Syd quit reading and flipped through the next few pages. “All right,” she said at last. “We have this thirty-one-year-old male, Richard Kodiak, dead of head injuries. He and his roommate, Donald Borden, were in the process of moving from East L.A. to San Francisco when a female friend, Gennie Smiley, seems to have hit Mr. Kodiak straight on with the van and then, somehow, managed also to run over him with the van’s right front wheel.” She flipped a dozen more pages. “Mr. Borden and Ms. Smiley sued the truck rental agency, stating that the brakes were inadequate and the headlights deficient—”