We took the Seville to Santa Monica Canyon1.
No Porsche or any other car in Brad Dowd’s driveway. Lights out in theredwood house, no reply to Milo’s knock.
I joined the traffic crawl on Channel Road, finally made it down to the coast highway,hit moderate flow from Chautauqua to the Colony. Once we got past Pepperdine University, the land yawned andstretched and the road got easy. The ocean was slate2. Hungry pelicans3 dove. Imade it to Kanan Dume Roadwith some sunlight to spare, turned up onto Latigo Canyon.
An assessors’ map of Billy Dowd’s property rested in Milo’slap. Ten acres, no building permits ever issued.
The Seville’sno mountain car and I slowed as the pitch steepened and the turns pinched.Nothing on the road until I neared the spot where Michaela had run acrossscreaming.
An old tan Ford5 pickup6 was parked there on the turnoff. An old tan man stoodlooking into the brush.
Plaid shirt, dusty jeans, beer gut7 hanging over his buckle8. Filmy white hairfluffed in the breeze. A long, hooked nose sliced sky.
Smoke seeped9 from under the truck’s hood10.
Milo said, “Pull over.”
The old man turned and watched us. His belt buckle was stippled11 brass12, anoversized oval featuring a bas-relief horse head.
“You okay, Mr. Bondurant?”
“Why shouldn’t I be, Mr. Detective?”
“Looks like an over-heat.”
“It always does that. Pinhole leak in the radiator13, long as I feed it fasterthan it gets hungry, I’m okay.”
Bondurant shuffled14 over to the truck, reached in the passenger window, andtook out a yellow plastic jug15 of antifreeze.
“Liquid diet,” said Milo. “You’re sure theblock won’t crack?”
“You worried about me, Mr. Detective?”
“Protect and serve.”
“Find out anything about the girl?”
“Still working on it, sir.”
Bondurant’s eyes vanished in a mesh16 of fold and crinkle. “Meaning nothing,huh?”
“Looks like you’ve been thinking about her.”
The old man’s chest swelled17. “Who says?”
“This is the spot where you saw her.”
“It’s also a turnoff,” said Bondurant. He hefted the antifreeze. Stared atthe brush. “Naked girl, it’s like one of those stories you tell in the serviceand everyone thinks you’re lyin’.” He licked his lips. “Few years back thatwoulda been something.”
Sucking in his belly18, he hitched19 his jeans. The roll of fat shimmered20 down,covered the horse’s eyes.
Milo said, “Know your neighbors?”
“Don’t got any real ones.”
“No neighborhood spirit around here?”
“Let me tell you how it’s like,” said Charley Bondurant. “This used to behorse land. My grandfather raised Arabians and some Tennessee walkers—anything you could sell torich folk. Some of the Arabians made it to Santa Anita and Hollywood Park,a couple of ’em placed. Everyone who lived here was into horses, you couldsmell the shit miles away. Now it’s just rich folk who don’t give a damn aboutanything. They buy up the land for investment, drive up on Sunday, stare for acoupla minutes, don’t know what the hell to do with themselves, and go backhome.”
“Rich folk like Brad Dowd?”
“Who?”
“White-haired fellow, mid-forties, drives all kinds of fancy cars.”
“Oh, yeah, him,” said Bondurant. “Guns those things too damn fast comingdown the mountain. Exactly what I mean. Wearing those Hawaiian shirts.”
“He here often?”
“Once in a while. All I see is the damn cars speeding by. Lots of ragtops,that’s how I know about the shirts.”
“He ever stop to talk?”
“You didn’t hear me?” said Bondurant. “He speeds by.” A gnarled hand slashedthe air.
“How often is once in a while?” said Milo.
Bondurant half turned. His hawk-nose aimed at us. “You want a count?”
“If you’ve got charts and graphs, I’ll take them, Mr. Bondurant.”
The old man completed the turn. “He’s the one who killed her?”
“Don’t know.”
“But you’re thinking he could be.”
Milo said nothing.
Bondurant said, “You’re a quiet guy, except when you want something from me.Let me tell you, government never did much for the Bondurant family. We hadproblems, no help from the government.”
“What kind of problems?”
“Coyote problems, gopher problems, draught21 problems, prowling hippieproblems. Damned mourning cloak butterfly problems—I say ‘butterfly,’ you thinkcute ’cause you’re a city boy. I think problem. One summer they swarmed22 us,laid their eggs in the trees, destroyed half a dozen elms, nearly polished offa sixty-foot weeping willow23. Know what we did? We DDT’ed ’em.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “That ain’t legal. You ask thegovernment can I DDT, nope, against the law. You say what should I do toprotect my elm trees, they say figure something out.”
“Butterfly homicide’s not my thing,” said Milo.
“Caterpillars all over the place, pretty fast-moving for what they were,”said Bondurant. “I had fun stepping on ’em. The car guy kill the girl?”
“He’s what we call a person of interest. That’s government double-talk forI’m not gonna tell you more.”
Bondurant allowed himself half a smile.
Milo said, “When’s the last time you sawhim?”
“Maybe a couple of weeks ago. That don’t mean nothing. I’m asleep by eightthirty, someone’s driving past I ain’t gonna see it or hear it.”
“Ever notice anyone with him?”
“Nope.”
“Ever see anyone else go to that property?”
“Why would I?” said Bondurant. “It’s above me a good mile and a half. Idon’t go prowling around. Even when Walter Maclntyre owned the land I neverwent up there because everyone knew Walt was nuts and excitable.”
“How so?”
“I’m talking years ago, Mr. Detective.”
“Always interested in learning.”
“Walter Maclntyre didn’t kill no girl, he’s been dead thirty years. The carguy must’ve bought the land from Walter’s son, who’s a dentist. Walter was alsoa dentist, big practice in Santa Monica, he bought the land back in the fifties. Firstcity folk to buy. My father said, ‘Watch and see what happens,’ and he wasright. Walter started off like he was gonna fit in. Built this huge horse barnbut never put no horses in it. Every weekend he’d be up here, driving a truck,but no one could figure out why. Probably staring at the ocean and talking tohimself about the Russians.”
“What Russians?”
“The ones from Russia,”said Bondurant. “Communists. That’s what Walter was nuts about. Convincedhimself any minute they were gonna come swarming24 over and make us allpotato-eatin’ communists. My father had no use for communists but he saidWalter took it too far. A little you-know-what.” A finger rotated near his leftear.
“Obsessive.”
“You want to use that word, fine.” Bondurant hitched his jeans again andreturned to his truck on bandy legs. He put the antifreeze back on thepassenger seat, slapped the palm of his hand on the hood. The smoke had reducedto occasional wisps.
He said, “Ready to go. Hope you find whoever killed that girl. Beautifulthing, damn shame.”
The entrance to the property was unmarked. I overshot and had to travel halfa mile to find a spot wide enough for a U-turn. As is, my tires were inchesfrom blue space and I could feel Milo’stension.
I coasted back slowly as he squinted25 at the plot map. Finally, he spottedthe opening—ungated and shaded by twisting sycamores. Hard-pack dirt rampinghigh above the canyon.
Two S-turns and the surface converted to asphalt, continued to climb.
“Keep it slow,” said Milo. Doing thecop-laser thing with his eyes. Nothing to see but dense26 walls of oak and moresycamores, a skimpy triangle of light on the horizon suggesting an end point.
Then, two acres in, the land flattened27 to a mesa curtained by mountains andcanopied by a cumulus-flecked sky. Uncultivated acres had given way tobunchgrass, coastal28 sage29, yellow mustard, a few struggling loner oaks in thedistance. The asphalt drive cut through the meadow, straight and black as a draftsman’sline. Three-quarters of the way to the back of the property stood a massivebarn. Flanks of redwood board silvered by time. Dour30 slab-face unbroken bywindows, shingle31 roof wind-blunted at the corners. A ludicrously small frontdoor.
Cool air carried some of the mustard tang our way.
Milo said, “No building permits issued.”
“Folks round these parts don’t truck with no guv-ment.”
Nowhere to conceal32 the Sevillecompletely. I left it parked off the asphalt, partially33 hidden by tree boughs,and we walked. Milo’s hand dangled34 over hisjacket.
When we were fifty feet away, the building’s dimensions asserted themselves.Three stories high, a couple hundred feet wide.
He said, “Thing that size but the door’s too small to get a car through.Wait here while I check the back.”
He took out his gun, sidled around the barn’s north side, was gone a fewminutes, returned with the weapon reholstered. “Show-and-tell time.”
Double rear doors, ten feet high, were wide enough for a flatbed to drivethrough. Clean, oiled hinges looked freshly installed. A generator35 large enoughto power a trailer park chugged. Behind us some kind of bird trilled but didn’tshow itself. Tire tracks scored the dirt, a frenzy36 of tread marks, too many tomake sense of.
Near the right-hand door a padlock lay on the dirt.
I said, “You found it that way?”
“That’s the official story.”
The barn had no hayloft. Just a three-story cavity, cathedral-sized, vaultedby stout37, weathered rafters, walls tacked38 with white drywall. Dust filters likethe one we’d seen in the PlayHouse garage whirred every twenty feet or so. Anantique gravity gas pump stood to the right of an immaculate worktable. Shinytools in a punchboard rack, chamois cloths folded into neat squares, tins ofpaste wax, chrome polish, saddle soap.
A flagstone spine39 wide enough for a four-horse march ran up the center ofthe room. Both sides were lined with what Dr. Walter Maclntyre had conceived ashorse stalls.
The doors were gone and the concrete floors were swept clean. Eachcompartment held a gas-eating steed.
Milo and I walked up the flagstone. Helooked into each car, placed his hand on the hoods40.
A quartet of Corvettes. Two bathtub Porsches, one with a racing41 number onits door. Brad Dowd’s newer silver roadster, a black Jaguar42 D-Type, lurked43 likea weapon, unmindful of the cream Packard Clipper towering snobbishly44 in thenext stall.
Slot after slot, filled with lacquered, chromed sculpture. Red FerrariDaytona, the monstrous45 baby-blue ’59 Caddy Brad had driven to Nora’s house,silver AC Cobra, bronze GTO.
Every hood cold.
Milo straightened from the deep bend ittook to inspect a yellow Pantera. Walked to the far wall and surveyed thecollection. “A boy and his hobbies.”
“The Daytona costs as much as a house,” I said. “Either he pays himself ahuge salary, or he’s been siphoning.”
“Unfortunately, chrome don’t bleed, and it’s blood I’m after.”
Outside the barn, he replaced the open lock and wiped it clean. “Gazilliondollars’ worth of go-carts and he doesn’t bother bolting.”
I said, “He doesn’t expect visitors.”
“Confident fellow. No reason not to be.” We began the return trip to thecar, walked around the south side.
Ten steps later, we stopped, synchronized46 as a drill team.
A gray circle. Easy to spot; the grass had died two feet from the perimeter,leaving a halo of cold, brown dirt.
Steel disk, nubbed with little metal pimples47. A lever folded flat pulled upeasily when Milo tried it. An inch of liftevoked a pneumatic hiss48. He let it drop back into place.
I said, “Bert the Turtle.”
“Who?”
“Cartoon character in these booklets they gave out to schoolkids in thefifties, teaching the basics of civil defense49. A bit before my time but I had acousin who held on to hers. Bert was big on ducking into his shell. Knew properbomb-shelter etiquette50.”
“In my school it was drop-drills,” he said. “Put your head between yourknees and kiss your ass4 good-bye.”
He toed the edge of the shelter lid. “Ol’ Walter really was worried aboutthe communists.”
“And now Brad reaps the benefits.”
收听单词发音 |
1
canyon
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| n.峡谷，溪谷 | |
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slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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pelicans
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| n.鹈鹕( pelican的名词复数 ) | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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pickup
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| n.拾起，获得 | |
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gut
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| n.[pl.]胆量；内脏；adj.本能的；vt.取出内脏 | |
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buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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seeped
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| v.（液体）渗( seep的过去式和过去分词 )；渗透；渗出；漏出 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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stippled
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| v.加点、绘斑，加粒( stipple的过去式和过去分词 )；（把油漆、水泥等的表面）弄粗糙 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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radiator
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| n.暖气片，散热器 | |
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shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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mesh
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| n.网孔，网丝，陷阱；vt.以网捕捉，啮合，匹配；vi.适合； [计算机]网络 | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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shimmered
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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25
squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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coastal
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| adj.海岸的，沿海的，沿岸的 | |
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sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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dour
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| adj.冷酷的，严厉的；（岩石）嶙峋的；顽强不屈 | |
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shingle
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| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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generator
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| n.发电机，发生器 | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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tacked
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| 用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 )； 附加，增补； 帆船抢风行驶，用粗线脚缝 | |
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spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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40
hoods
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| n.兜帽( hood的名词复数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩v.兜帽( hood的第三人称单数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩 | |
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41
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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jaguar
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| n.美洲虎 | |
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lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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snobbishly
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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46
synchronized
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| 同步的 | |
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47
pimples
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| n.丘疹，粉刺，小脓疱( pimple的名词复数 ) | |
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48
hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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49
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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50
etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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