Michael Marshall - The Straw Men

'Right,' I said, wearily. 'And she had only been driving for, like, forty years. Probably never come across a sharp turn before, never crossed that junction in all the time they'd been living here. I guess the cranberry juice and the mist was just all too much for her. I see it all now. It's a miracle the car didn't flip clean over the first row of buildings and bounce all the way to the sea.'

Bobby ignored me. 'There was a small gas station kitty-corner to the crash site, and a video rental a little further along the way. It goes without saying that neither of the guys I talked to were there the night of the accident. The video store is an independent run by two brothers. The one I talked to was certain that his brother hadn't known anything about it until he saw a police car arriving.'

'He didn't hear the sound of one heavy metal object running into another, think maybe something might be afoot?'

'You know what these places are like. Big old TV hung from the ceiling, John Woo movie playing ear-bleeding loud, guy behind the counter getting through the evening with beer and a joint the size of a burrito. Chances are you could have cracked him over the head with a hammer and he'd've barely blinked. So I went over to the gas station, and the guy gave me his manager's number. I called him and got the address of the guy on duty at the time.'

'Telling him what?'

'That I was assisting the police with their inquiries.'

'Great,' I said. 'That's going to get the local PD right up my ass.'

'Ward, who fucking cares?'

'I'm not Agency any more, Bobby. Out here in the real world, the cops can do things to you.'

Bobby flipped a hand, indicating this was a negligible concern. 'So I visited him. I confirmed that he saw nothing either. He heard a noise, but thought it was maybe someone dicking around at the back of the station. Dithered about calling the cops, and by the time he realized there'd been an accident outside and the station was safe, the police were already on the scene.'

'Okay,' I said. I hadn't expected anything to come of Bobby looking into the crash, but he'd been insistent. 'So what else?'

'So then, as agreed, I came here and looked around.' 'Find anything?' He shook his head. 'Nope. Absolutely nothing.' 'I told you.' 'You did,' he snapped. 'You're not only handsome, Ward, you're always right. Man, I wish I was gay.

I'd look no further. You're the best. So now you tell me something.'

'The place in the first scene of the video is called The Halls, and it's up a gully off the Gallatin Valley. You have to be really very rich to join, and they won't even let you see the houses until you've proved

you're good enough.'

'The Halls? What kind of a name is that?'

I breathed out heavily. 'I don't know. Maybe they're thinking of Valhalla. Maybe they believe they're

gods. That much money, maybe they are.'

'You're sure it's the one?'

'There's no question. The lobby was exactly the same as the one from the video, right down to the

artwork. It's the place. And they are very, very tight about letting people join.'

'So how come you didn't put a call through?'

'I did. Must be there's no signal out there. I did it with the phone in my pocket, so I couldn't tell.'

'What was it like?'

'Just swell. I didn't see any of the residents, except one guy briefly at the end and I didn't get a good look at him either. Basically if you've got the money and don't want to be bothered by standard-issue earthlings, then this is the place for you. I got a peek at the house plans, though, and these are not your average trophy homes. They got someone pretty good on the case, someone who had something specific in mind.'

'Like what?'

I took a pen from my pocket and sketched. 'Exploded layout. Main living spaces elevated over the terrain. Central fireplaces withdrawn to internal room edges. Stained glass on the windows opposite the fires, and in skylights over corridors. Hanging eaves, horizontal banding of windows, conspicuous

terraces.'

Bobby peered at the drawing. 'So? I tell you, my friend, that just sounds like a regular house to me.'

'Lot of this has been incorporated into standard design now,' I agreed. 'But the way it was put

together in these drawings was textbook Frank Lloyd Wright.'

'So maybe they hired him.'

'Unlikely. Unless they hired a medium, too.'

'So they got someone who designs like him. There must be hundreds. Big deal.'

'Probably. But this kind of stuff isn't fashionable these days, never has been for this kind of

development. Usually it's oil baron staircases, master bedroom suites, and look-at-me aren't-I-rich.'

'Sounds great.'

'But artificial. In the beginning, the places where we lived were sculpted from natural environments, not constructed from scratch. That's why so much modern architecture feels barren: it makes no organic use of the site. Wright's houses were different. The entrance route is made complicated to symbolize a retreat to a known safe haven, and the fireplace is withdrawn into the centre of the structure to take the place of a fire in a deep cave. Spaces within the house flow to allow internal prospect as an ultimate defence, additionally suggesting the adaptation of a naturally created space. External windows are banded so the sight lines reveal the outside without compromising the inside. Stained glass evokes a wall of vegetation that the inhabitants can see through, but which presents a wall from without. Humans feel most comfortable when they've got both prospect and refuge — when they've got a good view of the terrain they inhabit, but also feel protected and hidden. That's what his patterns provide.'

Bobby stared at me. 'You're an unusual man.'

I shrugged, embarrassed. 'I listened in class. My point is, you find me another development in the

world looks like this, I'll kiss your ass.'

'Tempting, but I'm just going to take your word for it.'

'It's probably one of the reasons they don't let people see the houses beforehand. It's not what they'd

usually lay out their millions for. Which means they have to have some other reason for making them that way.'

'So the developer's a Wright nut. Or they hired an architect who listened in class, too. I don't see how this leads anywhere, and I'd really like you to tell me what happened at the end.'

'I lost it with the realtor.'

'On site?'

I shook my head. 'Give me some credit. Back in town. There was no one around.'

'Is he dead?' The question was businesslike.

'Christ, no.'

'Why did you do this?'

'I didn't like him. Plus there used to be two firms looking after The Halls. Now there's only one.'

Bobby nodded, slowly. 'Your dad's firm being the one no longer on the case.'

'You're a bright guy.'

'I also take it, from the fact we're not discussing a homicide, that you don't think this realtor killed your folks. Despite the financial incentive.'

I shook my head. 'Not personally. But he's in bed with people who did. Why else is there footage of this place on the tape?'

Suddenly I was on my feet, walking quickly out of the kitchen. As I passed through the hall something tugged at me, but I couldn't work out what, so kept on going. Bobby followed me into the sitting room, where I went over to the coffee table.

I picked up the book lying there, and waved it at him.

'A book about the aforementioned great architect,' he said. 'So what? Your dad was a realtor. They're into houses. And an old guy. Old dudes really dig biographies. It's that and the Discovery

Channel that keeps them going.'

'Bobby…'

'Okay,' he conceded. 'It's an interesting coincidence. Sort of.'

I wandered back out into the hallway and then came to a halt again. I felt like I had an engine of