Oppenheimer was as alert as he’d promised, and the coffee just as good. His office was not much bigger than Groves’s, but it was filled with the nesting memorabilia of someone who had come to stay. Connolly glanced around the room, taking in the ashtrays, the piece of Indian pottery, the files piled everywhere. He wanted to linger over the photographs on the walls-colleagues from Berkeley? student days in Gottingen? — but it was impossible to look at anything else while Oppenheimer was in the room. He sat there smoking, so animated and intense that the rest receded to the flatness of a still life.
“I suppose you’ll want to talk to the police first,” he said. “I’d appreciate your reporting back to me on that. All I know is what Lieutenant Mills tells me, so now I’ll have to rely on you.” He looked at Connolly mischievously. “He is not, I trust, under suspicion himself?”
“You haven’t talked to the police?” Connolly asked. Oppenheimer smiled. “You forget. Officially, I don’t exist. None of us do. You’re among ghosts now.” And with the smoke floating around his gaunt face, he did, for a minute, look like one.
“Right. My mistake.”
“Never mind. We forget it ourselves from time to time-it’s difficult, not existing. No doubt the good general has already given you his security speech, so I won’t bore you by repeating it. Nothing must compromise the security of the project. As far as that’s concerned, you’ll have our full cooperation. Having said that, I should also say that I don’t want this incident to compromise the work of the project.”
“That’s just what General Groves said.”
“You surprise me. I felt sure he’d use this as an excuse to turn the place inside out. The general’s a great one for looking under mattresses and peeking through keyholes and all the rest of it. He seems to feel safest when no one knows anything at all.”
“He said you’d say that too.”
Oppenheimer smiled again, thinly, and put out his cigarette.
“Well, the general and I have been down this road many times before. We walk a very fine line here. On the one hand, the project is secret-everyone understands that-but on the other hand, its success depends on the free exchange of ideas. G.G.’s original plan was to compartmentalize everything. The production centers would be scattered around the country, and even here the units would work on parallel but separate tracks. Impossible, of course. Scientists can’t work with blinders on-you’d never get anywhere. So we worked out one of our Solomonic compromises. The department heads meet once a week to discuss where we are and keep everyone in the picture.”
“And what did the general get in the bargain?”
He smiled again and took out another cigarette. “Oh, I suppose that we still don’t communicate outside. You remember, of course, that in the Solomon story they never did divide the baby.”
“But everyone saved face.”
Oppenheimer nodded. “Anyway, we do what we can to keep security the way the general likes it. Something like this, however-” He trailed off to light the cigarette. “I don’t want it used as an excuse. After all, the poor man wasn’t killed here. General Groves may not like the idea of homosexuals in his army-actually, I doubt very much that he believes they exist anywhere; the general’s an innocent in his own way. But that’s no reason to ignore the obvious and launch a full security investigation because you’d prefer it to be something else.”
“Is it obvious?”
“I was told it was,” Oppenheimer said, somewhat surprised. “Isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, and Connolly saw that behind the intensity he was already tired.
“Well, certainly it would be convenient. Embarrassing for your office-and to think, of all the departments-” He picked up the thought again. “But convenient. Not the end of the world.”
“It was the end for him,” Connolly said, thinking of the photograph back in his room.
“Yes. It was that. You think me unsympathetic. I hope I’m not.” He continued rubbing the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment to ease the strain. “We keep losing the individual-it’s become so easy.” His talk drifted, almost to reverie, and Connolly was fascinated; it was like watching someone think. “You grow callous just to get through it.” He sat up, pointing to one of the piles on his desk. “How do you separate out what’s important? There’s algae in the water again-some of the women are complaining. Important? It is to them. Conant’s sending a delegation from Washington tomorrow and they’ll want a summary, which isn’t ready, and then a tour, which is disruptive, but it’s important to give them both somehow. Dr. Teller wants to see me and of course that’s always important, even when it isn’t, because if I don’t see him he’ll sulk and not work and that will be important. It’s all important, and sometimes you forget, just to get it all done. But a life-yes, you’re right, that’s something else again. I’d like to help you any way I can. I don’t want you to think otherwise. It’s just there’s so little time to go around.”
“I appreciate that, Dr. Oppenheimer. I don’t want to take any more than I have to.”
“Do you know how far along the Germans are with their gadget?”
“No,” Connolly said, unsure where he was heading.
“Neither do I. No idea. We do know they have Heisenberg and some of the finest scientific minds in the world. We have to assume they’re working on it. After all, the same information is available to everyone. Was, anyway, before the war-” He paused for effect. “Compartmentalized us all. Now we don’t know. But what if we’re running out of time?”
“Right now it looks like the Germans are running out of everything.”
“A year ago they said London wouldn’t be bombed again, and then the V-2s came. Nobody knows anything. You were briefed about the gadget in Washington, I know, but I wonder if you appreciate how very powerful it will be. If the Germans develop one first, they could take England out of the war.”
Connolly raised his eyebrows skeptically.
“You think not?” Oppenheimer said. “I think so. It’s a gamble we can’t afford to make. We have to get there first. So sometimes individual things-get lost. On the one hand, every little detail is important; on the other hand, nothing is important except the project. You have to bargain one against the other all the time. But a murder can’t get lost, can it? So. What sort of bargain do you want me to make with you?”
Connolly looked at him for a minute, surprised to be so abruptly brought back to business. Or was this where Oppenheimer had been going all along?
“I want unrestricted access to all security files. I want to be able to talk to anyone I think might be useful without having to clear it first. My being Bruner’s replacement makes this easy; it’s the most natural thing in the world to talk about. I want more background on the scientific details of the project-if there is a connection, I need to know where to look. And I want to be able to appropriate any personnel-all of G-2 if necessary-if I need them.”
“Done,” Oppenheimer said, looking at him thoughtfully. “But surely you already have all this from General Groves.”
“I’d like it from you.”
Oppenheimer nodded. “I see. All right. Anything else?”
“What’s the gossip? What have people been told-what story’s been given out and what do they think of it? You can’t have a murder in a small community without some sort of explanation.”
Oppenheimer brooded for a minute. “No, I don’t suppose so. But there’s been remarkably little talk, now that you ask. I’m not sure why. Possibly because he really wasn’t part of the community, not the work community anyway. They know that he was attacked and robbed. Shocking, especially in a town like Santa Fe, but then you have to move on. It’s not as if it were one of the scientists.” He paused. “Don’t disapprove, I’m just trying to be truthful. If it had been Kisty or Enrico-”
“Do they know why?”
“You mean, were they told he was homosexual? No, there was no reason for that. I’m sure it never occurred to them-it certainly never occurred to me. At the time, I think there was a feeling that it would be, well, disrespectful. The poor man was already dead-no need to rake his life over the coals. Hold him up to ridicule.”
“Or the army.”
Oppenheimer frowned. “I don’t think that entered into it. We may have our moral failings, but I hope we’re not hypocrites. It was my decision-I never even considered the army’s feelings in the matter. I don’t care what his sex life was, but some people do. Is it a sin? What’s a sin? But since Bruner never said anything, I felt we should respect that.”
“Maybe he never said anything because it would have meant dishonorable discharge.”
“That’s irrelevant,” Oppenheimer snapped. “He was dead.”
“But he may have had associates, just as vulnerable, just as-” A sharp rap was followed by the secretary’s head, disembodied, poking around the doorjamb.
“You’ve got an eight o’clock in five minutes,” she said.
“Right.” Oppenheimer glanced at his watch and stood.
“Where this time?”
“B Building. You’ll need the Critical Assemblies notes.”
“Walk with me, would you?” Oppenheimer said to Connolly, an apologetic command, putting the cigarette in his mouth to pick up a thick folder from the desk. And then he was out the door, leaving Connolly to trail after him.
“I don’t like where this is going,” Oppenheimer said as they walked through the Tech Area, nodding to people in a kind of civilian salute. “And I suggest you leave the poor man in peace. And his friends-if he had any, which I doubt. You keep forgetting he was forty miles away when this happened. That’s not exactly slipping out behind the bushes here for a little refreshment. Maybe he felt he needed the distance. Maybe there were no opportunities here. I don’t know.”
“But you admit that it would be useful to find someone who does, who could tell us about his life.”
“Yes,” he said reluctantly, “Of course I see that. But how do you propose to do that? Go through the library cards to see who checks out Andre Gide?”
Connolly smiled involuntarly at the Berkeley view of the world. In B Building they stopped in front of an open door. Over Oppenheimer’s shoulder, Connolly could see the scientists already assembled, canvas director’s chairs forming an impromptu circle around a portable blackboard. Half the board was filled with a chalk diagram, a ring of pointed arches surrounding a core, like a flower folded inward. A short man in a rumpled double-breasted jacket was filling the other half with the hieroglyphics of higher mathematics, numbers and squiggles as meaningless to Connolly as a lost language. No one turned around. Most of the men were wearing jackets and ties, but a few in open-necked shirts sat back in the chairs, legs draped casually over the arm, chins resting on pointed fingers in concentration. The rowdy hospitality of the dance was gone, replaced by an intense quiet, as if they were straining to hear, not read, the chalk scratching across the board. Connolly didn’t know what he had expected-lab coats and Bunsen burners and tubes-but instead he felt himself back at Fordham, eager and attentive, waiting for Father Healy to begin the day’s assignment. They were making war in a classroom. But what were they actually saying inside? The room seemed as closed to him as Karl’s life.
“I found some prophylactics in his room. He must have been having sex with someone.”
Oppenheimer sighed. “Oh, how I wish this had never happened. Well, do what you have to. Could I simply ask that you start at the scene of the crime, as they say, before you leap to conclusions and start interviewing everyone on the Hill? The work has to come first,” he said, indicating the sounds of the room behind him.
“I intend to. The likelihood is he was so afraid of his secret that he went as far away as he could go before he could trust anyone with it.”
“Yes, that’s possible. Except for his being afraid. Bruner was never afraid of anything.” He drew on his cigarette, thinking. “It was probably the deviousness of it that appealed to him. Not a very trusting sort, Bruner. Well, what did he have to be trusting about? Of course, I suppose that came in handy in his job.”
“You found him devious?”
“I hardly knew him,” he said. “Devious may be unfair. He was a survivor. Quite literally. I think we’re always a bit surprised to find survivors often aren’t very nice. Goes against the grain, doesn’t it? We’d like to think it’s the noble spirit that pulls us through, when so often-Well. I sometimes think there isn’t any moral quality to it at all. A purely neutral act. Like the insects. But then, who are we to say? Don’t you often wonder what you would do to survive? I don’t know how Bruner got through it, all those terrible things, but it didn’t make him any nicer. I know it’s unkind of me, after all that suffering, but he always struck me as something of a shit.”
The drive down from the mesa was spectacular. The morning was beautiful, and under the cloudless blue sky the land stretched out for miles, waves of pink and brown earth dotted with clumps of pinons rolling all the way to the Sangre de Cristo Mountains in the far distance. After the busy claustrophobia of the base, the country felt even larger, and Connolly’s spirits rose to meet it the minute he passed through the gate. The fences and sentry boxes were behind, ahead only the bright freedom of the high desert. Mills had told him that Oppenheimer had selected the site-he’d had a vacation ranch in the area, about sixty miles away-and Connolly wondered if this was another of those paradoxes he relished, working with the smallest particles of matter in one of the most open landscapes in the world.
The Rio Grande was swollen and brown, muddy with spring runoff, and Connolly could see in its long valley the cottonwood groves and new green fields that had drawn the first settlers in from the desert. He had never been to the West before, and the sheer size of it overwhelmed him. But it was exhilarating, not lonely-you expanded to its scale. His mind had been cluttered with a hundred questions, but the sight of the country emptied it. There was no brooding in this clearheaded sky.
The road was no better than the day before, however, and he lurched and bounced, afraid for his new tires, all the way to the outskirts of Santa Fe. He drove around the cathedral, lost in the unfamiliar streets, until he found the police station in a large adobe building that resembled a Western movie jail. Inside, however, everything was up-to-date and all business.
“You can call me Doc,” Holliday said. “Everyone does, sooner or later, and I’ve got no time for the suspense. Now if you’re going to start by dumping all over us and telling us how top secret and important you all are, you can save your breath, ‘cause I’ve heard it all before. I don’t suppose you’ve come to tell me just who our John Doe is.”
“His name is-was-Karl Bruner.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. First time a liaison man ever told me anything. Usually the way we liaise around here is kind of one-way-you don’t tell me anything and I get to like it. A German?”
“By birth. American citizen. Army. Also a cop.”
Holliday stared at him. “You don’t say. What kind of cop?”
“Security officer.”
Holliday continued staring at him, as if he needed time to take this in. Finally he said, “Do I keep going, or is this where you cut me off with all the classified horse-shit?”
“I’m new. They usually give you a hard time?”
“They don’t tell me much.”
“They don’t tell me much either. Maybe there’s not much to tell. But that’s who he was. And now that you know, you’ll have to forget it again. Officially, he’s still a John Doe. Now you know most of what I know. What’s important to me is what you know.”
“You’re not trying to flatter me by any chance, are you?”
“Would it work?”
Holliday grinned. “Never fails. I don’t suppose while you’re in the mood you’d like to tell me what you boys are doing up there?”
“Doc.”
“Well, a try. Actually, I don’t give a good goddamn. The only reason anybody wants to know is you won’t tell him. You got explosions going off up there at five o’clock in the morning you can hear clear across the valley, but nobody’s supposed to hear them. The smart money says it’s rockets, some kind of new V-2. I just hope you don’t aim them over here. One goes off and there’d be a hell of a time explaining that away.”
“At the moment all we’ve got is a body.”
“Yeah. If he was security, are you telling me the army’s taking this over? Just put my feet up and have a cup of coffee and politely butt out. You want some, by the way?” he said, nodding toward the hot plate behind him. “It’s cowboy coffee, just boiled in the pot and tastes like shit, but since we’re such great friends-”
“I’m okay, thanks. You still have a case. To tell you the truth, nobody thinks it’s connected to the Hill anyway, so you might have the only case.”
“But without a name, rank, and serial number.”
“Let’s go over what you do have. Who found the body?”
“Mexican woman. Just about had a heart attack and been gibbering ever since. None of it means a thing, or maybe my Spanish isn’t what it used to be. Priest says she’s practically living in the church now to get over the shock. Nothing there. She found him in the morning, but he’d obviously been out all night.”
“How obviously?”
“Rigor. Plus he got rained on a lot. Coroner estimates time of death anywhere the evening before and won’t budge on getting more detailed. I tried. I’ve been assuming he was killed sometime after eleven-earlier than that and you figure someone would have seen something. After that, it gets pretty quiet here, even on the Alameda.”
“State of the body consistent with that time?”
“Coroner says so. You’ve seen his report, haven’t you?”
“Not very specific, is it?”
“Well, let’s just say Ritter’s a careful kind of guy. You can’t hold him to much.”
“Let’s just say he’s incompetent. What’s your guess?”
“Figure midnight, one o’clock at the outside.”
“No witnesses, no signs of struggle, nothing that tells us anything?”
“Right. Rain did a good job on the site. Some broken branches on the bushes, but that could be from falling down. From the looks of it, though, I’d say he was dragged in.”
“Why?”
“There wouldn’t have been room for two of them there where we found him. You know, if they’d been together. So I have to assume he was put there. We did find footprints, partial ones anyway.”
“That’s interesting.”
“No it isn’t. No special marks, just a standard workboot. All the Mexicans around here wear them.”
“Just the Mexicans?”
“No, I didn’t mean that. Anybody. Any working man.”
Connolly frowned. “Hmm. Does that seem right to you?”
“They’ve got dicks too.”
Connolly looked up, surprised at the sharpness of it. “Okay, let’s get down to it. I read about the pants. Any evidence of anal penetration?”
“No.”
“Semen?”
“No.”
“What about the park? Is it one of the meeting places?”
“I don’t know.”
“You must. You’re chief of police.”
“Well, you know, this is a quiet town. I’m not saying we’re Dogpatch-we know what it is. You go up to Taos, where all the artists are, or down to Albuquerque, and I guess you’d find plenty of what you’re looking for. We’ve got a few antique dealers and sandalmakers-well, one look, you can see they’re covered in fairy dust, but they don’t bother anybody. We’ve never had this kind of trouble. Honest to God, I don’t even know where to look.”
“You mean you haven’t checked the bars or anywhere someone’s likely to have heard something?”
“Well, I’ll make you a deal. You find out where they are and I’ll check them out for you.”
“I’ll make you a deal. You get your men to talk to their snitches and get them to tell you where people go at night. Then check it out and talk to people nice so they talk back to you and see what you can see. You do that and I’ll forget you haven’t even got around to basic police work. You’re putting it out this guy was homosexual and then you turn around and say you haven’t got any here. Who do you think killed him, then?”
Holliday stared at him, offended. “You tell me. What I’m telling you is we’ve got no problem in that park. Take it or leave it.”
“All right,” Connolly said, “let’s leave it for now. But check about the bars, will you?”
“I’ll do that. Now suppose we both get down off our high horses and look at what we do have.”
“Such as?”
“Such as another case down in Albuquerque just three weeks ago.”
“Same MO?”
“Close enough. Parking lot behind one of those bars I guess you’re talking about. Another guy caught with his pants down. Stabbed this time. They found him behind his car.”
“Who was he?”
“Local businessman. Ran some laundries down there, which is a good business since the war got going. Seems he met somebody in the bar and they went outside to have themselves a conversation. Must have been about money, since he didn’t have any left in his wallet when they found him.”
“All this according to-?”
“The bartender. He’s the one found him.”
“Any idea who?”
“No. Boys there think it was a Mexican, on account of the knife, but they always think it’s a Mexican, so you probably can’t count on that.”
“They get a description from the bartender?”
“Yeah, I’ll get you the file on it. I’d say it was a little on the vague side, though. Medium height, medium build, medium nothing. ‘Course, his memory isn’t the best. He doesn’t remember anyone else being there. I guess they don’t have any regulars. They sure haven’t had any since-nobody’s been near the place.”
“He might have to close it.”
“The police had that idea too.”
“What about the victim-any signs of sexual activity?”
“Plenty. At least this one got his money’s worth.”
Connolly frowned and got up to pour some coffee, pacing and looking up at the ceiling as he talked, as if he were thinking aloud.
“Okay, so what do we have here? Let’s reconstruct.”
“Shit.”
“Well, let’s try it. A guy goes into a bar, meets another guy, and they go out to the parking lot to get friendly. Either because they took a shine to each other or because one of them’s paying. Now what do they do?”
“For Christ’s sake, Connolly.”
“No, follow me for a minute. What do we think happened? What’s the lab report?”
“You mean the semen? Everywhere. In his mouth, some on his face.”
“But nothing behind?”
“No.”
“So they got to know each other real well. Then one stabs the other and takes his money. So we have to assume it’s not a lover’s quarrel, not with the money gone. How old was the victim, by the way?”
“Forty-one.”
“Right. How old did the bartender say the other one was?”
Holliday turned over a folder cover and glanced at a sheet. “Twenty something. Not under drinking age, of course. He wouldn’t allow that. Not him. I don’t think you can go by any of this,” he said, closing the folder with disgust.
“No. But not middle-aged, either. Clothes?”
“Jeans. Blue shirt. Like I said, anybody.”
“Even a working man. Bar cater to that?”
“I don’t know. From the sound of it, I’d say it was a fairly democratic place. I don’t think they care about your job.”
“Okay, so let’s take this same guy-you assume it’s the same guy, don’t you? — let’s take him and put him in our case. What do you think happened?”
“You’re going to make me do this, aren’t you? I think they met somewhere, maybe one of those bars I don’t know about that you think the town’s full of. Maybe just sitting in the plaza. Anyway, they meet and go down to the park and do whatever they do in the bushes. Then one smashes the other on the head, pulls him further into the bushes, takes his wallet, and gets away.”
“So what’s wrong with this?”
“I don’t know, what?”
“I don’t know either, but there’s something. Let’s take our boy from Albuquerque-let’s say he’s young, let’s say he’s still in jeans and workboots, and let’s say he lets guys give him blow jobs. Probably for money. In Albuquerque something goes wrong. Maybe the guy won’t pay, or maybe our boy’s ashamed or-So he meets Bruner, or Bruner meets him, and they strike a deal. But why should Bruner pay? He’s young too. Good-looking.”
“There’s nothing in that. Why do guys go to hookers?”
“Okay. So let’s say he likes the convenience. Or even just likes the idea. They go to the park. They have sex, but before they even finish our guy kills Bruner, takes his money, keys, everything, steals his car. Is this the same guy? Why not finish? Who stops in the middle of a blow job?”
Holliday followed Connolly around the room as if he were watching a court performance, caught up in the story. “Well, I sure as hell never did. From a woman, I mean. Unless I was going to-”
“Move on to something else. Right. But they never did.”
“They didn’t in Albuquerque either, remember?”
“Yes, but our guy’d already finished. Maybe the other one was still hoping. So why stop this time? There’s something we’re not getting here. Why take everything? You just have to get rid of the wallet somewhere else. Why even bother?”
“Maybe he’s not real bright.”
“And the car. That’s just looking for trouble. It’s not so easy to lose a car.”
“Well, that’s where I disagree with you. Everybody wants a car these days-when’s the last time you saw one for sale? So we put a trace on the license, which it won’t have anymore, and check out the used lots and the black market-yeah, we do have that-but I’ll bet it’s already gone. You just drive down the road to Mexico and first thing you know you’ve got money in your pocket and keep the change. Hell, they don’t care down there. If it’s got wheels, you can grab yourself a stack of pesos.”
“But he didn’t do it before and he was in a goddamn parking lot.”
Holliday was quiet. “Well, maybe it’s like you say,” he said finally. “But you know what that means?”
Connolly nodded. “Somebody else did it.”
“And where does that leave us? We got a victim we don’t know anything about and a killer we know even less. No victim, no suspect. Fact is, the Albuquerque case is all we’ve got. Without that, we might as well hang it up.”
Connolly leaned on the back of the chair. “But it doesn’t fit.”
“And here I was having all this fun, just like a big-city detective.” Holliday grinned at Connolly. “You spend your life handing out parking tickets and then you get a real live murder and the next thing you know you’re up a creek without a paddle. Guy says nothing fits. Might as well go take a vacation. But it’s got to fit somehow. Look, we’re making this too hard. It could have happened just the way we said it did in the first place, couldn’t it?” He looked up calmly. “Couldn’t it?”
Connolly shrugged. “I guess so.”
“In fact, you might even say there’s no reason-no real reason, anyway-to think it didn’t happen that way. So he took the car. So what? Maybe he needed a way home. We don’t know where they met. Maybe your man drove him all the way from Albuquerque and he didn’t want to hitch back. You might even say it’s likely that it happened the way we said.”
Connolly nodded. “But I can’t picture it.”
“Oh. Is that some of that professional police work you were telling me about earlier? The kind we don’t do?”
Connolly smiled. “All right. But I can’t. Why the pants?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why would he have his pants down? Why would he need to?”
“Maybe they were taking turns.”
“Maybe. But that doesn’t sound like your parking-lot guy.”
“Maybe he was playing with himself. It’s possible.”
Connolly nodded. “Okay. Then why don’t I believe it? Why can’t I picture Bruner doing that?”
“Maybe you need to be-you know, to imagine it.”
“I’m not, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I wasn’t,” Holliday said firmly, then grinned. “Might have come in handy, though, all things considered. We’re flying blind here.”
“Okay, let’s go with your story. What else?”
“You want to tell me about his car?”
“ ’Forty-two Buick. Probably in great condition-he loved the car, apparently. Liked to go for drives. I’ll get you all the numbers. Any point in sending the info across the border, in case you’re right about that?”
“To the policia? We’d just be spinning our wheels. Well, hell.”
But Connolly was smiling. “Okay, so we stay home. Then we need to get the Albuquerque police to lean on that bartender. They listen to you, or do you want me to pull in big guns? I’d rather they didn’t know we’re involved in any way.”
“I’ve been saving up a favor or two.”
“Let’s use them, then. I’ll bet the bartender can be persuaded, upstanding citizen that he is.”
“Any idea what else your man may have had on him?”
“Other than the wallet? No. Probably kept all his keys on one ring. He was that kind of guy.”
“What kind is that?”
“Neat.” Connolly paused. “Obsessively neat, in fact.”
“You mean the kind who wouldn’t want to get his knees dirty on the grass?” Holliday said.
“My mind is that easy, huh?”
“No. Just one track. But I’ll tell you something, I wondered about that too. Why take all his stuff? It doesn’t fit that kind of crime. I thought maybe somebody didn’t want us to know who he was.”
“And you didn’t.”
“Not for a while, anyway. Now we know everything,” Holliday said wryly. “By the way, who wants the body? Any family?”
“The army, I guess.” Connolly got up. “You’ll let me know about Albuquerque. And the bars?”
“Everything. No secrets here.”
“Doc, so far we’ve got nothing to be secret about. How did the papers cover this?”
Holliday took a clipping from his desk. “One-day sensation. Your people tried to pull the plug, but it was too late. Tourist killing, unknown assailant. Police following up leads. This kind of thing we could spin out for weeks around here, but they got closed down after the first day. If you want to do me a favor, you could square it with the paper so they’ll talk to me again.”
“I can’t. Not yet. Any connection made to the Albuquerque case?”
“Not directly. Just the rise in crime. Things going to hell all over. You know. They got a good week’s run out of Albuquerque, so you can’t really blame them. They even had pictures of the bar. No wonder business fell off. But people here didn’t have time to get nervous. We put a patrol car on the Alameda for a few nights and that was it. The smart money’s on it being a drifter who passed through town.”
“And right out again.”
“Headed north when the smart money last spotted him.”
“Doc, it’s nice doing business with you,” Connolly said, shaking hands and turning to go.
“Any time. Store’s always open.”
“That reminds me,” Connolly said, turning back. “Do you know anyone who sells Indian jewelry around here?”
“Are you crazy? Everyone sells Indian jewelry around here. What kind do you have in mind?”
Connolly took a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully unfolded it to display the turquoise pieces. “I don’t want to buy any. I want to get these appraised. You know anything about turquoise?”
“Only that most of it looks like crap. You’re not supposed to say that here, so don’t quote me, but it always seems a little clunky and cheap to me. What do you want to know?”
“What it’s worth.”
“Better take it over to Sonny Chalmers on San Francisco Street. Most of the new places have gone out to Canyon Road, but Sonny can’t be bothered to move. Anyway, he’s your man. Chalmers of Santa Fe. Around the corner and two blocks down. How’d you happen to come by the pieces? Belong to anyone we know?”
“Doc.”
Holliday dismissed him with a wave.
Sonny Chalmers had been a boy in the last century and even now he had the slight, boyish look of the perennially young, something Connolly guessed he had managed by conserving energy. San Francisco Street was quiet, only a few people passing in the morning light, but the inside of his shop was utterly still, and he scarcely looked up when the soft ping of the entrance bell broke the silence. He stood behind one of the glass jewelry cases, leafing through the morning paper. Half the store was given over to conventional jewelry, the usual display of engagement rings and charm necklaces, the other half to local turquoise, several cases of elaborate belt buckles and bolla ties for tourists.
“Can I help you?” he said, still not looking up.
“I hope so. I wondered if you could tell me about these pieces,” Connolly said, unwrapping the handkerchief and laying them out.
Chalmers moved the paper aside. “You wish to sell them?”
“No. Just have them appraised.”
Chalmers’s glasses hung from a chain around his neck. He raised them now and peered at the turquoise. “Oh, yes. Very nice, aren’t they? Navajo. You see how fine the settings are-only the Navajos work silver like this. The stones are good, but of course it’s the silver that gives them value. The dine use sandstone molds. You can always tell.”
“Can you tell me how much they’re worth?”
“Oh, exactly. I sold them, you see.”
Connolly looked at him, surprised at his luck. “These pieces? You sold these pieces?”
“Oh, yes. I’m not likely to forget them. Might I ask you how you came by them? I’d be curious to know what you paid.”
“They’re not mine. Chief Holliday said you might be able to help me appraise them.”
“Are you a policeman?”
“Not exactly. I’m helping them.”
“Well, that sounds mysterious. May I ask how?” Chalmers said, looking directly at him over his glasses.
“It’s about the man who bought them. Do you remember him?”
“I don’t know his name, if that’s what you mean.”
Connolly took out Bruner’s photograph. “Is this him?”
Chalmers nodded at the photograph. “Yes. What has he done?”
“He’s dead.”
“Ah.”
Connolly paused, waiting for Chalmers to offer more. “Do you remember how much he paid?”
“Two hundred dollars. Each time.”
“They’re worth two hundred dollars?” Connolly said, surprised.
“Well, that’s what he paid for them,” Chalmers said. “The original price was higher, but he was a man who liked to bargain. Yes, he liked that. He took great pleasure in that.”
“But they’re worth more?”
“I didn’t say that. I said that’s what he paid for them. It was the same each time. He’d pick a piece-always one of the better ones-and in the end he’d say, ‘I’ll give you two hundred for it.’ ”
“And you took it?”
“Well, you don’t turn down two hundred dollars lightly. Not since the war. The tourist trade-well, you see,” he said, indicating the quiet shop. “One has to make a living.”
“But you didn’t sell at a loss?”
“Oh, I’d never do that. No indeed. But they’re fine pieces. He got a good price.”
“Did he know anything about jewelry?”
“Not a thing. He bought strictly by the price tag. I don’t think he cared about the pieces at all. Of course, the most expensive pieces are the best, so he did very well. He wasn’t cheated. He did come back, you know.”
“But if he didn’t care about them, why was he buying them?”
Chalmers looked at him quizzically. “I assumed they were gifts for a lady.”
“They’re women’s pieces?”
“Oh, yes. You see the fineness of the settings? Not at all appropriate for a man. The concha — I suppose you could stretch a point there, but the other two are definitely ladies’. But I gather he kept them?”
“Yes. Do people ever buy these as an investment?”
“These, yes. Ordinarily, no. Turquoise isn’t a fine gem-stone. There’s a lot of it around, and I have to say, the tourist trade has devalued it. The Indians just stamp these out now, and who can blame them? No one seems to know the difference. But a piece like this-” He held one up. “Look at the workmanship. You’re not likely to see this sort of thing again. There’ll always be a market for this.”
“But why not diamonds or rubies or something?” Connolly said, half to himself.
“Perhaps it was his price range,” Chalmers said, trying to help. “You can’t get really first-class stones, not really first-class, for two hundred dollars. Turquoise is something else. These are top of the line.”
“How long ago did he buy them?”
“The first? Last fall sometime. Before Christmas, anyway, because he came in again at Christmas.”
“And the last?”
“A little after that. I can tell you exactly if you give me a few minutes.”
“Please.”
Chalmers brought out a black account book and leafed through the pages. “Yes, here’s one. I’ll jot down the dates for you, if it’s important,” he said, taking out a piece of paper. “November. Well, I wasn’t far off.” He made a note. “Was he the poor boy who was killed in the park?” he said, not looking up.
Connolly said nothing.
“A terrible thing. So young. And you think it might have something to do with the jewelry?” he asked gently.
“Frankly, no. But we need to check everything. It’s a lot of money.”
“Yes, I wondered about that too. He had all that money, and yet he didn’t seem the type. Of course, since the war-”
“He paid in cash?”
“Yes, always in cash.”
“Is that usual?”
“Usual? At that price? In Santa Fe? No, indeed. Still, I must say it was a convenience, not having to wait for a check to clear.”
“But you didn’t think there was anything wrong?”
Chalmers looked up at him.
“Wrong? There is never anything wrong with cash, my friend. Where he got it was his business, not mine. He wasn’t a gangster, not that I could see. Maybe he gambled. Maybe he sold tires on the black market. Maybe he just preferred cash-some people do. I don’t ask customers for bank references when they’re handing me cash. I didn’t know he would be killed.”
“I didn’t say he was.”
“No, you didn’t. But who else could it be? Maybe that explains it, carrying all that cash. And to think of such things in Santa Fe-robberies in broad daylight-”
“We assume it happened at night,” Connolly said. “We don’t know it was robbery. He may have been meeting a friend.” He held the jeweler’s gaze. The store was now very quiet.
Chalmers stared back at him, then spoke slowly and distinctly, as if he were using a code he did not want Connolly to misunderstand. “Perhaps. But I’ve never heard of such meetings. Not there. In Santa Fe, friends see each other in their houses. In private. It would be a shame to have anything disturb that. People get along because they keep to themselves. You wouldn’t want to disturb that peace. Not here.”