Ross Thomas - The Fourth Durango

Mansur smiled approvingly. “You want an alibi.”

“You could call it that.”

“I really can’t blame you. Whom d’you have in mind?”

“I thought I’d drive down to San Diego Saturday, stay with the Moussavvises and come back late Monday when it’s all over.”

“They’ll be glad to see you, especially Reva, but the traffic’s going to be bloody awful.”

“That’s why I thought I might take the Rolls-unless you plan to do your go-betweening in it.”

Mansur chuckled. “I can think of nothing more inappropriate.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Take it, of course,” he said and looked at his watch. “We’d best get to bed, hadn’t we?” He paused to smile at her-a smile full of hope. “Would you like to sleep in my room tonight, or are you too tired?”

“I’m not tired at all,” Dixie Mansur said.

From the June 28, 29, 30 and July 2 editions of the Durango Times:

Services for Norman Trice, 46, owner of the landmark Blue Eagle Bar, were held Monday at Bruner Brothers Mortuary.

Twenty-three out-of-town media representatives and approximately 200 mourners heard Mayor B. D. Huckins deliver a brief but moving eulogy. Mr. Trice, a native of Durango, is survived by his wife, Virginia, ( Cont. on Page 3 )

A memorial service was held Tuesday at the First Methodist Church for Detective Ivy Settles, 51, of the Durango Police Department. A brief but moving eulogy was delivered by Chief of Police Sid Fork.

Among the more than 100 persons attending the services were Mayor B. D. Huckins, Sheriff Charles J. Coates and representatives from 17 California police departments. Five out-of-town reporters were also present.

Settles is survived by his wife, Carlotta, ( Cont. on Page 5 )

The body of Hazel Hornette, 28, a Santa Barbara freelance photographer, was identified here Wednesday by her aunt, Marlene Hornette, 52, also of Santa Barbara.

Following cremation, private services will be held at sea by the Santa Barbara Neptune Society.

Graveside services for Brig. Gen. Soldier P. Sloan (RCAFRet.), 71, were held Friday at the Evergreen Cemetery with prayers offered by Fr. Francis Riggins of Santa Margarita Catholic Church. A brief but moving eulogy was spoken by Jack Adair, formerly of Lompoc.

In attendance were Mayor B. D. Huckins, Chief of Police Sid Fork, Kelly Vines, formerly of La Jolla, and Mrs. Parvis Mansur of Santa Barbara.

General Sloan left no survivors.

Adair and Vines walked away from Soldier Sloan’s grave on Thursday morning after the final prayer and headed for the blue Mercedes. A man, dressed in a tan poplin suit, got out of a black Mercury sedan parked near the Mercedes and walked toward them.

The man’s right hand was reaching for something in either his shirt pocket or the breast pocket inside his coat when Sid Fork materialized in front of Vines and Adair, blocking the man’s approach.

Fork had dressed for the graveside services in his old tweed jacket, ironed jeans, white shirt and black knit tie. His right hand was jammed down into the jacket’s right pocket.

Staring at the man in the tan suit, Fork said, “Sure hope that’s either a cigarette or some ID you’re reaching for, friend.”

The man in the tan suit nodded. “After I bring it out ever so slowly, it’ll say I’m with the Department of Justice.”

“Nice and slow then.”

The man produced a folding ID case and handed it to Fork, who studied it, looked up and said, “Claims you’re Leonard Deep and that you’re an assistant deputy U.S. attorney out of Washington. What it doesn’t say is if you’re here on official business.”

“Personal,” Deep said. “With Mr. Adair and Mr. Vines.”

Fork turned to them and said, “You want to talk to the Justice Department about something personal?”

“I think so,” Adair said, looking at Vines. “Kelly?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Then B. D. and I’ll see you out at Cousin Mary’s for lunch,” Fork said, handed the ID back to Deep, turned and walked toward the mayor, who was standing beside her Volvo, listening to Father Riggins.

“Where’d you like to talk, Mr. Deep?” Vines asked.

Deep looked around the cemetery. “That bench over there in the shade looks comfortable.”

To reach the bench they had to pass by Soldier Sloan’s grave, which was being filled in by two workmen with shovels. Deep paused to read aloud the inscription Vines had composed for the headstone: “‘Soldier Pershing Sloan, 1917-1988, Few Deserve Such a Friend.’” Deep looked up at Adair and Vines and said, “I think Soldier would’ve approved. Like him, it’s nicely equivocal.”

“You knew Soldier?” Adair said as he and Deep sat down on the bench and Vines leaned against one of the pines that provided the shade.

“Let’s say that over the years his long and interesting career came to our attention.”

At forty, or close to it, Deep had the body and moves of a slowly aging athlete who, in his youth, Vines guessed, had passed up contact sports for the loner’s favorites of running, swimming or diving. Vines decided Deep had probably been a snob jock and was possibly just as smart as he looked.

“You here to talk to us about Soldier?” Adair said, his voice as innocent as his kitten blue eyes.

Deep’s reply sounded almost diffident. “The FBI in Santa Barbara would appreciate it if you’d give them a ring.”

“That’s what Chief Fork told me,” Adair said. “I’ll have to do that when I get a moment.”

Deep smiled as if he knew he was being lied to shamelessly and didn’t really care. Vines decided to find out why and said, “Suggesting that Jack call the FBI makes your trip sound more official than personal.”

Deep studied Vines before he said, “I’m here because of Paul Adair.”

“What about Paul?” Adair demanded.

“This may not be much comfort, Mr. Adair, but I can assure you Paul didn’t commit suicide.”

Adair nodded slowly. “That’s no small comfort and I thank you for telling me.”

“I also want you to know we’ve finally located the two Mexican prostitutes who signed sworn statements that they heard two shots as they were going up the stairs to Paul’s room in Tijuana. They’ve now refuted those statements and deny they either were on their way up to his room or ever heard any shots.”

“This comes from where?” Vines said.

“From an FBI investigation ordered by the attorney general who had great respect for Paul.”

“Well, that’s nice of the attorney general,” Adair said, “and I appreciate your telling us Paul didn’t commit suicide because Kelly and I’d wondered how he managed to shoot himself in the mouth twice with a forty-five. Then, too, knowing Paul’s sexual orientation, we never put much stock in his sending down for a pair of female prostitutes. They were female, weren’t they, Mr. Deep?”

Deep gave his head an almost amused tilt to the right and said, “You knew he was gay, of course.”

“Ever since he announced it at the breakfast table to his mother, his sister and me on his fifteenth birthday.”

“You also knew, Mr. Vines?”

“Yes, but I still preferred his sister.”

“Whom you married.”

“So I did.”

Deep sighed and said, “I was shattered by Paul’s death. It was a great personal loss.”

“We all felt rotten,” Adair said. “Especially Kelly, who had to go down there and identify his body.”

“He was absolutely brilliant,” Deep said. “If Paul had lived, he could have-”

“He’s dead, Mr. Deep,” Adair said.

“And we finally know who killed him,” Deep said and waited, as if for some emotional outcry.