Steven Havill - Double Prey

“I know that.”

The undersheriff kept her tone gentle and respectful. “Did you happen to notice if Freddy was by himself that afternoon, sir? We need to know that.”

“He better have been, I’ll tell you that. I find out that Casey was ridin’ around with him again…”

Except the boy’s dead now . “Was he by himself, sir? Did you see him?”

“No, I didn’t see him. I heard it was him ridin’ by. Waddell said it was. Took his word for it. Said he was alone. Took his word for that, too.”

“Do you recall what time that might have been?”

“Might a been… hell, I don’t know when it might a been.”

“You left the saloon shortly after that?”

“I come and go when I please.”

“Kinda ouchy today, Gus.” Bill Gastner made the observation couched in amusement, but it caught the rancher’s attention.

“Well, I…” but Gastner interrupted him.

“Kinda wonder why.”

“Now, look. I don’t mean to be givin’ you a hard time, Bill.”

“It’s not about me, Gus.”

“Well, it’s just that, well, you know.”

“I don’t know.”

Prescott looked as if he wanted to say something else, but bit it off, taking the opportunity to jam another cigarette between chapped lips. He snapped the lighter so hard he almost dropped it. His gaze roamed the ground in front of him, as if the answers lay there. Estelle watched the performance with fascination. It was hard to imagine someone loathing Freddy Romero, but Gus Prescott clearly did. “He rode by the Spur,” he said. “Waddell says it was him.” He shrugged. “That’s what I know.”

“Did you leave the Spur shortly after that, sir?”

“Yeah, well I got work to do, you know.”

“I understand that, sir. You and Herb both left shortly after?”

He settled for a nod, perhaps realizing now that others could easily confirm what he had or hadn’t done.

“Bender’s Canyon-that’s sort of the back road into your ranch, isn’t it?”

Prescott coughed out a laugh. “Hell of a back road. But yeah, it is.”

“You went home that way?”

“Hell no, I didn’t go that way. Hell, it’s eight miles longer, and a rough ride. What’s the point?”

“So you didn’t know where Freddy was headed.”

“I don’t keep track of no freakin’ kid. As long as he don’t cut fences, who cares?”

“Was he out here a week ago Sunday, sir?”

“Heard that he was. I was in town. The wife told me, and Casey and me, we had some words about that.” He hawked and spat off to one side. “I don’t care where that kid rides, as long as he stays away from Casey.”

Well, he will now , Estelle thought. “How long has it been since you’ve talked with Eddie Johns, sir?” The change of subject caught Prescott by surprise, and his eyes did a veritable dance.

“Hell, Johns? I ain’t see him in years.”

“You haven’t talked with Waddell or Herb Torrance since yesterday?”

“Nope. Well…that ain’t true. Waddell called me last night.”

“Then he probably told you.”

“About Johns? Yeah, he told me. You guys think you’ve found him over there on Waddell’s place. That’s a hell of a note.” The rancher’s eyes became watchful as he waited for Estelle’s response.

“Can you tell me when you saw Mr. Johns for the last time?”

“Nope. All I recall is that it’s been years. Years . He used to hang around with Waddell all the time there for a while. They was up to some kind of development up there on the mesa behind Herb’s place.”

“You had the chance to talk with him?”

“Didn’t look for it.” Four words, and then his mouth clamped shut, a hard line.

“You and Eddie didn’t get on too well?” Gastner asked. Prescott just shrugged. “I mean, you didn’t exactly see eye to eye?”

“Man chooses his own.”

Estelle cocked her head, regarding Prescott with interest. “Mr. Waddell said that you had done some of the grading on that road cut up the mesa.”

Prescott took his time lighting another cigarette. “Yeah, I done that.”

“Is that your machine over beyond the corral?”

He pivoted and looked across the paddock. The yellow road grader, still bearing the round scar on the door where the county emblem had been stripped before the machine was auctioned as surplus, was parked beside a forlorn box trailer. “Got a bad cylinder. I think it ate a valve or something like that. And I can tell you right now, that’s going to cost a fortune to fix.” He turned back to Estelle. “I’ll get to it. Ain’t needed it, so I ain’t fixed it yet. Get some of this junk sold off, and maybe.”

For a moment they watched the front loader pummel another hulk, this one not much more than a chassis with fire-wall still attached.

“He’s going to finish up here in a few minutes,” Prescott said.

“And then Cam Florek will have work to do,” Gastner said with satisfaction.

“You bet. Look,” and Prescott spread his hands in apology. “I’m sorry I ain’t been much help, but that’s the way it is. I ain’t seen Eddie Johns for years, and I don’t know what the Romero kid was up to…except what I read in the papers, and what my neighbors tell me, and what little I can dig out of Casey. And there ain’t no guarantee they got it right. So things will just sort of sift out.”

“They will indeed,” Gastner agreed emphatically.

“Interesting about that damn cat, though. I woulda liked to have seen that. Gonna have to stop by the school sometime. That’s where it ended up?”

“Yes, sir,” Estelle said. “At least that’s where it probably will end up.” She didn’t add that the skull had been transferred to the Posadas County Sheriff’s Department evidence locker. “The last time you saw Mr. Johns, did you have any occasion to argue with him about anything? Did he seem upset or preoccupied? Like something might be on his mind?”

Prescott laughed softly. “If you’d wanted to know that, you shoulda been around years ago, when I mighta remembered.”

“But you had no cause to argue with him?”

“Don’t guess I did. He liked dealin’ with the Mexicans, and I guess that’s his privilege.”

Estelle nodded, thumbing through her notes, and then looked at Bill Gastner. “Sir, did you have any questions?” Gastner shook his head, still obviously intrigued with the junk loading process. “Then we’ll be on our way.”

“Hey, you,” a melodious voice said, and they turned to see Christine Prescott walking toward them from the house. Dressed in a simple white western style shirt and tight blue jeans and trainers, she beamed at Bill Gastner, heading directly to him first. As she passed her father, one hand reached out and touched his elbow, a small intimate gesture of affection before she held out both arms and engulfed the former sheriff in a hug.

“How’s my favorite lawman?” Christine asked. It occurred to Estelle that, until this moment, she had only seen Christine Prescott behind the bar in the Broken Spur. The girl’s strawberry-blonde hair, now free of her bartender’s ponytail, was striking in the sunshine. The resemblance to her younger sister was strong.

“Well,” Gastner said, “for an old fat man, I’m doing okay. How’s college?”

“Bizarre,” Christine laughed. “Ma’am, it’s good to see you again.” She held out a hand and shook Estelle’s, her grip strong and lingering. Her expression became serious. “This is all so sad, this whole thing,” she said. “Casey’s a wreck over Freddy.” Her father grunted something, but Christine ignored him. “Do you need to talk to her again?”