Ross Thomas - The Fourth Durango

After listening for almost thirty seconds, Adair asked his first question. “When did it happen?” After nodding to his unseen caller, he asked, “And you’re sure she’s all right?”

There was another listening pause before Adair said, “I don’t quite know what to say except that I’m very, very sorry. Does Chief Fork know?”

The answer made Adair frown and say, “I see.” After abruptly hanging up the phone he turned slowly to Theodore Contraire and said, “Dixie Mansur’s dead. She was killed in an auto accident while driving Dannie back to the sanitarium.”

Contraire had to digest the news. But Vines said, “How’s Dannie?”

“She’s all right. A little shaken and bruised but all right. They have her under sedation at the sanitarium.”

Instead of digesting the news of Dixie Mansur’s death, Contraire rejected it with a small knowing smile and a headshake. “What’re you guys trying to pull?”

“That was the mayor on the phone,” Adair said, his voice patient. “The Highway Patrol just called her after they couldn’t locate Parvis. They have Dixie’s driver’s license. Her credit cards. They say she was wearing a wig. She’s dead.”

Contraire swallowed, looked away and managed to get the word out, “Dead?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No,” Adair said. “Probably not.”

Contraire slowly brought his hands down from behind his neck and used them to rip open the top of his camouflage battle fatigues, exposing his bare chest that was matted with thick graying hair. “Do me a big favor, Vines, and pull the fucking trigger.”

Vines shook his head and, still looking at Contraire, said to Adair, “What do we do with him, Jack?”

“We let him go.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the wisest thing to do.”

“I’m not feeling very compassionate.”

“I didn’t say compassionate. I said wise.”

“Which door do we use-front or back?”

“The front.”

“Let’s go, Teddy,” Vines said, “with your hands back up behind your neck.”

The three of them went down the long hall, past Merriman Dorr’s office with its large Chubb safe that still contained the body of Parvis Mansur, and on past the private dining room that had no windows. Contraire was in the lead, hands still behind his neck and limping slightly, favoring his right leg-the only sign of physical pain he had displayed since they left the bathroom.

Behind Contraire came Vines with the M-16. And behind Vines was Jack Adair, following slowly, swinging his black cane in time with his steps, an expression of unresolved doubt on his face.

When they reached Cousin Mary’s front door, Contraire stopped and said, “Can I take my hands down before I bleed to death from the butt?”

“What you can do, Teddy,” Vines said, “is open the door slowly and go out. Once outside, you can do anything you want.”

Contraire lowered his hands. He used the left one to grasp the door-knob. He stuck his right one down into the same pocket that still held Parvis Mansur’s small.25-caliber automatic.

“Well,” Contraire said, “I guess I won’t be seeing much of you guys anymore.”

Before Vines or Adair could reply, Contraire was opening the door, darting through it and snatching the small semiautomatic from his pocket.

Not looking at each other, Vines and Adair remained behind the closed front door of Cousin Mary’s, waiting to hear what happened next.

Sid Fork, the chief of police, crouched behind the hood of his Ford sedan and used both hands to aim his five-shot Smith & Wesson Bodyguard Airweight revolver at the front door of Cousin Mary’s. He shouted neither “Freeze!” nor “Police!” when Theodore Contraire burst through the door, the small semiautomatic in his right hand.

Fork instead shot Contraire in the left shoulder, which rocked the short heavy man back and made him grunt as he returned the fire, hitting the Ford’s rear side window. Fork shot Contraire again, this time in the stomach. Contraire looked down at the wound in his bare stomach almost curiously, looked up and again fired back, this time hitting the Ford’s front door panel.

Fork watched as Contraire sank to his knees, firing the small semiautomatic for the last time into the earth. Taking careful aim, Fork shot him in the chest. Contraire looked up, smiled slightly, as if to say, “That’s the one,” and toppled over onto his right side. Sid Fork walked around the hood of the Ford, reached Contraire and shot him in the head.

After the swarm of media arrived, and after Sheriff Charles Coates congratulated Chief Sid Fork-on camera-for “having solved the Durango serial murders and for having made the killer pay the ultimate price”-almost choking on the words-Mayor B. D. Huckins took Charlie Coates aside and informed him-some said warned him-that she didn’t want to see him inside the city limits until after the November election, if then. After that the four of them-Huckins, Fork, Vines and Adair-met a little after 10 P.M. on the fourth of July in the mayor’s living room.

She sat in her favorite chocolate-brown leather chair. Vines and Adair were on the long cream couch. Sid Fork perched on the only other chair in the room, which was really more stool than chair.

B. D. Huckins sat slumped down in the chocolate-brown chair, holding a glass of wine with both hands and staring at the far wall when Fork said, “I’ve got this kind of dirty feeling-like I’ve been used and jerked around by somebody a whole lot smarter’n me.”

“You have been,” the mayor said. “All of us have. By Dixie.”

Adair gave his throat a judicial clearing and said, “While you were holding your press conference, Kelly and I called in a few favors from an attorney we know.”

“Christ,” Fork said. “That’s all we need-another lawyer.”

“Why?” Huckins said.

“We retained him to represent you,” Adair said.

“I don’t need a lawyer.”

“Nevertheless, we retained him in exchange, as I said, for past favors.”

“Must’ve been some favors,” Fork said.

Huckins looked at Vines. “Why do I need a lawyer, Mr. Vines?” she said, as if seeking a second opinion.

“To find out whether Dixie left a will.”

“And equally important,” Adair said, “to determine the provisions of Parvis’s will.”

“Dixie didn’t have anything,” Huckins said. “Well, she did have some clothes and jewelry and that nutty car, but that’s all.”

“I might as well be blunt,” Vines said. “From what we can determine, Dixie died after Parvis died. The lawyer we retained interrupted the holiday of some people in Santa Barbara and called in some favors of his own. He’s discovered that Parvis left everything to Dixie except for a few relatively minor bequests to some pet charities.”

“Parvis had pet charities?” Fork said.

Vines ignored him and spoke to Huckins. “Dixie had also made a will. She left everything she owned to Parvis. But in the event that Parvis died before she did, Dixie left everything to you.”

“You see, Mayor,” Adair said, “we’ve established that Dixie died after Parvis did. And during those last forty-five minutes or that hour of her life, she was the sole legal heir of Parvis’s estate, which now goes to you.”

“Unless,” Vines said.

“Unless what?” Fork said.

“Unless it can be proved that Dixie conspired to murder Parvis. And the only evidence of that is right here in this room.”

“I get everything Parvis had?” Huckins said. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“In essence,” Adair said.

“How much?” the mayor asked.