A Dismal Thing To Do (16 page)

By the time Madoc had put his call to the bomb squad and got his clothes on, Janet had ham and eggs and warmed-up biscuits waiting for him. He saw no reason not to stay and eat them. There wasn’t really much point in his going at all until after sunup. Janet was all for calling Fred Olson back and reminding him of that fact.

“What’s the sense of poking around out there in the dark?”

“It won’t be dark much longer, and poor old Fred’s in a swivet, as well he might be.”

“All right, Madoc, if you feel you have to. I’ll wrap Fred up a few doughnuts. They’ll calm him down fast enough, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Janet was already filling the thermos Annabelle had lent him yesterday, and looking a good deal perkier than when she’d arrived, thank God. Madoc kissed her at some length, took the bag she’d packed, and went out into what was left of the night.

He found the place easily enough. Fred Olson’s car was in its well-plowed driveway and a light was on over the front door, illuminating a painted sign that read BADGER’S HOLE. No Badger came to his knock, but the door was unlocked, so Madoc went on in and found Fred asleep in a maple platform rocker that had been cheap to begin with and hadn’t aged gracefully. He opened the doughnut bag and held it under Olson’s nose.

“Eh? Mpf? Oh hi, Madoc. What time is it?”

“Getting on toward five. No Badgers in the hole?”

“Eh? No, only Jim, and he left a while back. Told me he batches it when he can’t get a woman to move in with him. He claims he’s been tryin’ for the past year, but they all want to get married first. Don’t sound likely to me, the way they are these days.”

“This wouldn’t be a terribly exciting place to live, I shouldn’t think.”

Madoc looked around the small shabby room. It could have stood a woman’s touch, all right, though Badger had made one or two clumsy attempts to smarten up the place. He’d lined up a collection of beer cans, each a different brand, across the mantelpiece. Over them he’d tacked a cardboard advertising poster showing a racing skater, and nailed a pair of crossed hockey sticks above it. A deep-sea fisherman’s rod stood in the corner with a dapper little Red Coachman dangling from its line. More dry flies were stuck into the band of a felt hat that lay on a badly ringed table, beside a lamp made from a duck decoy. There was a sofa that matched the chair and a dinky maple coffee table that must have been thrown in with the set, and that was it for the decor.

“Doesn’t look as though Badger spends much time here,” Madoc remarked to Fred, who was calming his nerves with a few doughnuts, as Janet had predicted. “What do you know about him?”

“Seems a decent enough feller,” Fred grunted, spraying a few crumbs. “I never see much of him, to tell the truth. He tells me he’s a traveler for a sportin’ goods company an’ he has to be on the road a lot. This here’s what he calls his camp. He says he’s always had the notion of getting’ a little place somewheres in the woods so’s he could do some huntin’ an’ fishin’ an’ the like. Says his wife left him some years back ’cause she couldn’t stand him bein’ away so much. Prob’ly a few other things about him she couldn’t stand, but Jim didn’t go into that. Anyways, he says he batted around in cheap hotels an’ roomin’ houses for a few years, then he found out about this place an’ bought it. Seen an ad in the papers somewheres. You know how they write ’em up: picturesque woodsy retreat amongst the beauties o’ nature with a pair o’ moose in the yard an’ a wolf at the door. Must o’ been goin’ cheap. You want one o’ these doughnuts, Madoc?”

“No, Janet stuffed a big breakfast into me before she’d let me out of the house. She meant the doughnuts for you.”

“Might as well finish ’em up, then. Thank her for me, will you? Don’t look as if I’m goin’ to get much chance to do it myself. Guess we ought to be getting’ back out to the scene o’ the crime, eh?”

“In a minute. Does this picturesque retreat have a bathroom?”

“Through there.”

Fred jerked his head and went on eating his doughnut. Madoc found the facility with no difficulty—the whole house wasn’t much bigger than a breadbox—and noted with some surprise how clean Badger had left it, and how bare. He’d even taken his toothbrush and razor away with him. Odd that a man who traveled so much wouldn’t keep extra ones in his luggage. Unless, of course, he was bearded and toothless.

The bedroom was neat, too. Badger had made up his bed, or rather his cot, with knife-sharp boxed edges and the blankets tucked in tight as a teenager’s jeans. Here again there were attempts at homey touches: a couple more sporting posters tacked up on the walls, a brand-new tennis racquet without a press hanging by its frame from a nail driven into the wall, and various implements of Badger’s trade arranged like a store display in one corner. Madoc inventoried a golf bag with an assortment of woods and irons but no putter, a pristine fielder’s glove he’d have bartered his soul for when he was ten lying beside a catcher’s mask, cross-country skis about the right length for Janet paired with men’s downhill ski boots size eleven or twelve.

The sky was lighter now, he observed through the uncurtained window. Fred had polished off the doughnuts and was showing every sign of wanting another nap. They’d better get out in the air fast or they’d both be asleep.

The marshal had come in his tow truck, so they took that in to Bain’s place, leaving the pool car as a landmark for the bomb squad. The junkyard was a mess, all right. Madoc stood watching the sun come up over total devastation, wondering which of the fragments might be Jason Bain.

As he studied the terrain, though, Madoc realized it was in fact not so messy, considering. He himself was no demolition expert, but it wouldn’t surprise him to find out whoever set off this explosion had been one. There was relatively little scatter, yet nothing appeared to have escaped the debacle.

“Did Badger mention how many bangs he heard?” he asked Olson.

“Can’t say as he did, not to my recollection. He just told me the rumpus woke him up an’ he wondered what the heck was goin’ on. Took him a while to get his head workin’, I should think, what with the windows rattling’ an’ him not knowin’ if he was goin’ to wind up wearin’ the roof for a muffler.”

“Did he say when he’d be back from his trip, or where we might be able to get hold of him?”

“Hell no, an’ I plumb forgot to ask. I ought to turn in my badge an’ stick to fixin’ cars.”

“Never mind, Fred. I expect we can pick him up if we need him. What does he drive, do you know?”

“Big Chevy station wagon. Dark green, 1982 model.” Fred reeled off the license number and the approximate mileage, which was high. “I’ve had it in the shop a few times. That’s how I come to get acquainted with Jim.”

“He certainly must do a lot of driving.”

“On the road more than he’s off, from what he tells me. That don’t do a car much good, not in the kind of winters we have up here. He was kiddin’ me he’d like to get transferred to Florida, only they don’t play much hockey down there. That’s the backbone of his business, Jim says.”

Madoc was not passionately interested in the bulk of Jim Badger’s business. He was regretting the fact that he’d taken time to eat before coming here, and wondering if he’d be justified in putting out a call for a 1982 green Chevy wagon. “He didn’t happen to mention the name of the company he travels for?”

Fred thought it over. “If he did, I don’t remember.”

“Well, it probably doesn’t matter.” Madoc looked over the vast jumble in front of him, and sighed. “I see what you meant about not knowing where to look for Bain. I suppose we ought to have another go at the house, though the chances of his being trapped alive in the rubble are roughly those of a snowball in hell, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’d put ’em a little slimmer’n that, but you never know. Jim an’ me tried shiftin’ some o’ the boards an’ yellin’ to see if we could raise any answer, but we didn’t. Be a hell of a note if Jase was down there someplace unconscious, I s’pose. At least it ain’t been long enough to freeze a person. That’s somethin’.”

It wasn’t much. Madoc and Fred both knew they were wasting their trouble, but they edged the tow truck as far in as they dared and did the best they could with its meager help, tugging and sweating among the debris as mightily as though they believed it would do any good.

“At least the exercise keeps you warm,” Madoc grunted after a while.

“Cripes a’mighty, I’ll say. Must be about seven below* an’ I’m sweatin’ like a pig. Hey, listen, you hear somethin’ comin’? Would that be your bomb squad?”

“Not this soon, I shouldn’t think. More likely somebody local coming to see what—wait a minute!”

Madoc dropped the fragment of wall he’d been trying to drag free and started running. Fred took after him.

“You think it’s him?”

“Or somebody driving his truck. There can’t be another that makes such a racket.”

“Ain’t nobody else could keep it goin’, either. It’s got to be him.”

It was. With a hideous screeching of brakes on mangled drums, Jason Bain brought the wreck to a standstill and jumped down, yelling. “What’s that tow truck doin’ here? This is private—”

He never did get to say ‘property.’ He just let his jaw drop and stood there staring.

“Honest to God,” Fred said later, “I thought Jase was goin’ to drop dead on the spot.”

But he didn’t. He only stood and stared. After a long, long time he whispered, “What happened?”

“We don’t know yet,” said Madoc, “but we believe you’ve had a deliberate bombing. An explosion was reported to Marshal Olson here at approximately half-past three this morning by Mr. Jim Badger who, I believe, is your closest neighbor.”

“I don’t hold no truck with neighbors,” Bain managed to croak.

“Then you got a damn sight better one than you deserve,” Fred snapped back. “Jim was out here in the dark strainin’ his guts out tryin’ to see if you was trapped in the rubble.”

“I been away,” Bain’s voice was absolutely without inflection. “On business.”

“The hell you have. Where you been?”

“Away. On business.”

“You’ll have to do better than that, Mr. Bain,” said Madoc.

That broke the freeze. Bain went straight up in smoke. “Goddamn you! Druv my own son away from me, now you’re comin’ in here an’ throwin’ your weight around like you owned the place. You got no right!”

“Yes, I have. Marshal Olson requested my assistance.”

“Then why didn’t he request it soon enough to do me some good? I told you, goddamn it! I filed a complaint of robbery. I asked for police protection, an’ what did I get? Look at this! Everything I own gone. Gone like a—damn your souls to hell, somebody’s goin’ to pay for this.”

Ah, that old black magic had him in its spell. As a baby turns to its mother, as a lover to his mistress, Jason Bain turned to his only stay and solace. “I’ll sue!”

“Whom will you sue, Mr. Bain, and why?”

“You know cussed well why. I demanded my rights and didn’t get ’em. I showed you the pile where my lumber was robbed from. I reported the crime right an’ proper, an’ where did it get me? Sabotage, that’s what it is. If this ain’t grounds for a lawsuit, there ain’t no justice anywheres. As to who’s goin’ to pay, you’ll find out fast enough, Mountie.”

“Threatening a police officer, Mr. Bain?”

“Now Jase, take it easy,” said Fred Olson. “You don’t want to get into any more trouble than you’re already in.”

That stopped him again. Bain went a sickly yellow, swaying on his feet. He was scared, that was what, scared clear through to the bone.

“Who’s after you, Mr. Bain?” Madoc asked gently. “And why?”

For a while—it seemed a long time—Bain only kept that blank, unwinking stare. Then, slowly and deliberately, he drew off with one filthy boot and landed Madoc a kick in the shins.

*Canadian temperatures are given in Celsius. This would be equivalent to 20° above zero Fahrenheit.

T
HERE WASN’T MUCH FORCE
behind the kick. It was mostly surprise that threw Madoc off guard, though only for a split second. Then he was whipping out his notebook.

“I’ll have to take you in, Mr. Bain. The charge is assault and battery on an officer of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Marshal Olson will take you in custody and deliver you to the lockup, where you will be held pending due process of law. You will please accompany the marshal and myself to his vehicle. It is my duty to warn you that any further attempt at violence will be severely dealt with.”

He was not concerned about a further attempt. Bain had already got what he wanted: free board and room at the public expense and protection against whomever he was so deathly afraid of. You really had to hand it to the old bugger.

As for making him talk, Madoc wasn’t going to waste any more breath this morning. Let the bird sit in the cage for a while and see how he liked having his wings clipped.

Appearing somewhat bemused by this strange turn of affairs, as well he might, Fred Olson got the tow truck turned around and moved Bain’s junk heap clear of the path. Then they boosted the prisoner aboard and drove out to where they’d left the pool car, one on either side of him. Madoc got out and fished a pair of handcuffs out of the car’s trunk, not that they’d he necessary, but just to let Bain know it wasn’t going to be all roses. As he secured the old man’s wrists to the hook that held the seat belt, Bain snarled something about cruel and unusual punishment. Madoc assured him sweetly that this was by no means unusual, but that Marshal Olson would be happy to discuss genuinely cruel punishments with him should Mr. Bain care to consider the various options available.

“Surest thing you know,” said Fred. “Always glad to oblige. You comfortable in those bracelets, Jase, or would you like ’em screwed a little tighter?”

“Go ahead an’ have your fun, you goddamn tub o’ lard,” snarled the prisoner. “You’ll be squirmin’ soon enough.”

“Be scratchin’ more likely, sittin’ next to you. I better warn you, Jase, first thing they’re goin’ to do down at the jail is make you take a bath. Ayup, the way of the transgressor is hard, an’ we don’t aim to make it any easier. You won’t be comin’ with us, Inspector?”