Stephen White - Cold Case

Rat lived in a log cabin a block and half from where Highway 131 knifed through what constituted downtown Oak Creek. The cabin was a solitary room, maybe twenty-five feet square, and was impeccably maintained. The linoleum floor was spotless, the curtains appeared to have just been ironed, and the split oak logs next to the enameled stove were piled with great care. I assumed there must have been a Mrs. Rat around somewhere, but couldn't see any other evidence of her presence.

Rat offered us a glass of water. We declined. He offered to light the stove to warm the room. We said we were fine. Finally, he asked what brought us to his door.

Kimber said, "If you would be so kind, we would like to ask you a few questions about the work you did for Gloria Welle out at the Silky Road before she died.

Would that be all right?"

Rat shrugged as though it didn't make any difference to him. He was a small man, maybe five seven, with a narrow waist and wide shoulders. I guessed that he wasn't forced to shave very often, but his eyebrows, which grew together at the bridge of his nose, were as thick as hedgerows.

"I loved that ranch," he said, smiling broadly at memories of the Silky Road, his grin revealing that his teeth were stained brown from tobacco.

"Used to always be bugging Frank and Double Chuck, trying to get them to take me on there permanent. But there weren't ever enough horses for three hands at the Silky. Heck, there weren't even enough horses for Frank and Chuck, but those two stuck together and Miss. Welle knew that if she wanted one of those cowboys she had to take both of those cowboys.

Ain't nobody I ever met took better care of her horses or her cowboys than Miss. Gloria. Would've been a dream to work there.

"Cept for how things turned out for Miss. Gloria, of course."

Kimber asked, "You covered their jobs on the ranch when Frank and Chuck were out of town? Is that right?"

"Yep. Moved right in. Took right over. Did the routine chores and whatever else Miss. Gloria asked."

"Moved in… where?"

"Into the bunkhouse Hilton. That's what I called it. Nice place. Had a spare room I could use when I was working. Nice big porch looking down-valley toward the river. Cupboard full of food. Always some beer in the fridge. Didn't mind those days much at all. Sometimes Frank and Chuck'd be gone for a week or more buying or selling horses or whatever." He shrugged.

"Just fine with me."

"We're particularly interested in a night you may remember back in eighty-eight.

Two girls disappeared from town that night. One was named Mariko Hamamoto. The other was-"

"Tami Franklin. I knew Tami from her daddy's ranch. I hired out there sometimes, too, back in those days. Remember that night real good. The next mornin' I got up and started to feed the horses-heck, must've been about five. Soon enough-couldn't have been much past six-the sheriff came by asking me if I'd join a search for the two girls. Miss. Gloria told me to go ahead and go. I spend most of the next two days trying to find those two kids in the snow. Sure do remember."

"The night before the search? The night the two girls disappeared? Do you remember seeing anyone at the Silky Road beside the Welles?"

Rat looked at Kimber with an honestly perplexed face.

"Saw the sheriff that night. Saw Mrs. Franklin. Didn't see the girls, if that's what you're wondering."

"You saw the sheriff and Mrs. Franklin at the ranch? What time do you think that was?"

"Miss. Gloria sent me to town on an errand late that afternoon. She needed something shipped somewhere is how I remember it, offered me some money to catch a movie or something while I was down the hill. I saw Mrs. Franklin's truck at the house when I stopped there on my way off the ranch to pick up the package.

Passed the sheriff's vehicle down near the gate. I'd say it was dusk, maybe a little later."

"And you got back to the Silky Road when, Rat?"

"Not till late. After the movie I had a few beers with my buddies in town." Kimber asked, "That night, when you got back, did you sleep in the same room at the bunkhouse or did you move to a new room?" Rat asked, "How did you know about that? Miss. Gloria had moved all my things that same evening. Said that a problem had developed with the plumbing in the bunkhouse. I don't recall exactly what. I slept in the guest room at the Welles' house that night. Fanciest bed I've ever been in in my whole life."

Kimber asked a few more questions but Rat had told us all he knew. We thanked him and stood up to leave. I thought Rat might like to know what had happened to the two cowboys from the Silky Road. I said, "In case you've been curious, we learned that Frank and Chuck are still working together. They're on a ranch near Austin, Texas."

Rat stuffed his hands in his pockets and lowered his head. He toed the floor of the cabin with his boot.

"Texas? Huh."

"For a while they were at a different ranch near Dallas." "You know," he said, "those two cowboys are queers." There was a good-sized smile on his face when he looked back up.

"What do we know?" Kimber asked as we climbed back into my car.

"That there was an awful lot of activity at the Silky Road the night the girls disappeared."

"Which means that if the girls were murdered at the ranch, then we have quite a list of suspects and a wonderfully long list of potential witnesses."

I added, "The bunkhouse certainly got a lot of attention during that time.

Extra work for the housekeepers. Rat being asked to sleep elsewhere that night."

"It did."

"Flynn and Russ seem to think they can tie that wound on Tami's head to the stones used to build those walls at the ranch. And if the samples from the floor are really ebony… well…"

Kimber sighed. Before he was done, he erupted into a huge yawn.

"I don't know how much longer we can keep this from the press. But I am certain of one thing:

I'd like to conclude our work at that ranch before they get a chance to begin theirs."

We drove in silence from Oak Creek and didn't pass another vehicle until we were on the outskirts of Steamboat Springs. Kimber never covered his face during the drive; he stared out the passenger-side window at the high prairies and the distant peaks, thinking I don't know what.

When we got back, the front door of the bed-and-breakfast was locked. My room key allowed us inside. An envelope addressed to Mr. Kimber Lister waited for him on the polished mahogany table in the foyer. I thought I heard Kimber mutter, "Shit," but I wasn't sure.

He slid his finger under the flap of the envelope and carefully released the adhesive. The sheet of paper inside had been folded over only once. Kimber read what was on it, folded it closed, reopened it, and read it again.

He turned to face me.

"It's from Russ and Flynn. They think they know where the reporter is. The one from the Washington Post? They'd like us to meet them at the general store in Clark. Do you know where that is?"

I nodded, "Clark makes Oak Creek look like Las Vegas. It's up the valley past the Silky Road Ranch. You can spit across the whole town; the general store won't be hard to find. They want us to meet them now?"

"I'm afraid so. We're supposed to page Russ when we're leaving here. They'll meet us at the store."

"Does it say whether Dorothy is alive or dead?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Are we going?"

"Do we have much choice?"

I thought, Sure, but didn't say anything.

Kimber had depleted most of his reserves coping with his illness during the long day at the Silky Road. He had apparently consumed the rest during the early evening that he'd spent scouring databases and traveling with me to Oak Creek to interview Rat. On the drive up the Elk River Valley to Clark he chose to return to his familiar pose in the backseat. In a voice that dripped anxiety he asked me to play music-anything-and play it loudly. I flipped through a stack of tapes I had in the car and offered him one of Lauren's favorites, Van Morrison's Tupelo Honey.