The man was stocky, strongly built. He wore a badge. “Mind? I’ve a few questions for the lady. For you, too, for that matter.”
He turned and called to the waitress. “Marie? Another cup of coffee.”
He glanced from one to the other. “I’m Gallagher. I’ll ask the questions.”
VIII
He glanced at Mike Raglan, then at the girl. “What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Kawasi.”
“You from around here?”
“I am … tour-ist.” She spoke calmly, without hesitation or fear.
“You’re an Indian?”
“Long ago my people live near here. I have come to see where it was.”
He turned to Raglan. “You two old friends?”
“We’ve just met. I recognized her from the description of a mutual friend—Erik Hokart.”
“Hokart? Is he the one who plans to build somewhere down the river? Some kind of scientist, isn’t he?”
“That’s his reputation, but he’s a successful businessman as well. The two do not always go together. Yes, he loves this part of the country and planned to build a home there. He made a fortune in electronics and can afford to live wherever he wishes.”
Gallagher took his coffee from the waitress and sipped it, then turned his attention to Kawasi. “Were you in the restaurant when it burned?”
“No, but I was in it just a moment before. When I saw those men I was frightened. I ran.”
“What men?”
“I do not know them. There were two, perhaps another. I am not sure. Mr. Hokart was afraid and went to the counter to ask the man for a gun. The man would not give it.”
“He was right. What did Hokart do then?”
“I do not know. I am gone.”
“Where’d you go?”
“I hide. Then for room for sleep.”
Gallagher turned to Mike. “What do you know about Hokart? Was he on anything? Narcotics?”
“Not him. He was far too sensible a man. He didn’t need any crutches. He was a sober, almost too serious a man, something of a loner because he did his best thinking when alone. What he really wanted was a place away from the telephone. You know, when a man attains great success, people are forever coming to him with ideas and he did not need ideas from anyone else.
“He wanted a place where he could sit and think. I would not actually call him a scientist. He was an inventor of sorts but he had the ability to make things work. Many of his friends were doing pure research, but Erik had a way of sensing the practical value of things. He knew how to turn their work into money.”
“Anybody want to kill him?”
“Nobody I know. He had no relatives. No heirs. Most of his friends had every reason to keep him alive.”
If Gallagher knew anything, he appeared to have no intention of revealing it. From his questions he seemed to Mike to be feeling his way, searching for some explanation of what had happened.
“Ma’am, you said you were afraid of those men. Why?”
“I am in the desert with Mr. Hokart. He very … very anxious. We get into car and those men jump from behind rocks, but we drove away. Then they come to the restaurant.”
“Where’s Hokart now?”
“We were just wondering about that,” Raglan said. “They must have taken him.”
“Kidnapped?”
“Something of the kind. From what I have heard, no bodies were found in the fire, so he must have escaped that. You have his car, I believe.”
Gallagher sipped his coffee, mulling it over. He was a shrewd, intelligent man and Mike hoped he was accepting the story, which was about as much of the truth as he knew, not referring to speculations. Gallagher glanced at Raglan suddenly. “What’s your business?”
“I’m a writer, mostly about the far-out and far-away. I’ve known Erik for several years and he wanted my advice.”
“On what?”
“This country, particularly. I used to live around here, wandering the back country.”
“What country?”
“Dark Canyon, Fable Canyon, Beef Basin, the Sweet Alice Hills, Woodenshoe—you name it.”
Grudgingly, Gallagher nodded. “Sounds like you know something about it.” He took a swallow of coffee. “Know anybody who’d want to kidnap Hokart?”
“No.” Raglan hesitated. Then he said, “Officer, Hokart and I have exchanged books from time to time, mostly paperbacks. One was left for me at Tamarron where I am staying. A short time later a man broke into my condo and tried to steal it.”
“Steal a book? What the hell for?”
“You’ve got me. He took it thinking it was something else, I suspect.”
In as few words as possible, Raglan explained about the warning from the girl at the desk, then awakening in his bed with the man standing at the bar.
“Lucky he didn’t kill you,” Gallagher said.
Raglan smiled. “I think I could have persuaded him not to,” he said mildly.
Gallagher looked at him again. “You got a description?”
“About five nine or ten, judging by his height against the bar, dark hair and eyes, swarthy skin. Very broad-shouldered. My feeling was that he was a very tough, dangerous man.”
“What makes you think so?”
“He was under control. Not the least nervous. He took in the situation at a glance. He saw I wasn’t going to try to stop him and knew an attempt to kill me would stir up more trouble than it was worth. My feeling was that he was a professional, knew what he was doing at every step, and was not to be stampeded. He just turned and went out.”
“And then?”
“I went to the window and watched him cross the snow to the highway. He got into a white van. It pulled away toward Durango.”
“You called him a professional. What did you mean?”
“Just what I said. I’ve known such men in a dozen countries. He was a CIA, FBI, KGB type. He knew exactly what he was doing and didn’t plan to do any more or any less.”
“What did he weigh?”
“About my weight. One-ninety, I’d, say, but to most people he would look fifteen pounds lighter. Moved like a cat. He was nobody to play games with.”
“This Hokart—he ever work for the government? Secret stuff?”
“Not lately—at least not that I know of. He’s done something of the sort in the past.”
Nobody spoke for several minutes. The officer impressed him, so Raglan decided to take a chance. If he told the man what he believed he might be considered off his rocker, but he wanted to prepare Gallagher for what he might encounter. This was no time to let such a man go it blind.
“I take it you’ve been around here for some time.”
“Most of my adult years. Why?”
Again Mike hesitated. “This used to be considered kind of spooky country. I don’t mean right here, but off there toward the river. When Hokart asked me to come out, I had the impression that whatever was worrying him was from around here.
“You may believe I’m nuts but I think we’re walking on the thin edge of something. I wouldn’t want a lot of people down there, disturbing things. If you decide to go down there, take somebody who can keep his mouth shut and somebody who knows this country.”
Gallagher sat back and stared at Mike. Then he half-turned. “Marie? Bring me a cheeseburger. On rye. And bring us some more coffee.”
He glanced out of the window, following Raglan’s eyes. “You expecting somebody?”
“Yes, and no. Nor was I last night when that man came into my condo. I am watching for a white van.”
“There’s been one around. I’ve seen one twice in the past couple of days.” Gallagher glanced back. “What made Hokart decide to build down there? Of all places?”
“He’d flown over this country going and coming, and fell in love with the beauty of it. He decided he wanted a home atop a mesa, some place where he could sit and think. He planned to build it himself, out of native rock. He was handy with tools, and he was in no hurry.”
“That’s the last place in the world I’d choose.”
Their eyes were on Gallagher, waiting. “Used to be some Paiutes lived down there. All gone now. Nobody seems to know where. There were a couple of mining ventures, too, but they didn’t last long.” He looked directly at Raglan. “Kind of creepy, they said.”
Gallagher nursed his cup in both hands. He was studying Raglan. “I’m beginning to place you now. You’re a writer, you say. Are you the Raglan who debunks mysteries? Haunted houses and the like?”
“Yes, but let’s just say that I investigate mysteries. I’m not debunking anything, really. Just looking for the truth.”
“That why Hokart got you out here?”
“Yes.”
“I guess you’ve seen a lot of odd things. I heard about you being in Haiti, Tibet, and down there in the jungle country of Peru.”