Билл Пронзини - Blue Lonesome

Not the media this time; the car that pulled up in front was a state police cruiser with two occupants. The driver was a beefy individual dressed in a Western-style suit, Stetson hat, and string tie. His passenger was Ben Espinosa.

Dacy leaned the Weatherby against the porch railing as the two men climbed out. “More bullshit,” she said to Messenger in an undertone. But her expression, now, was one of weary resignation.

The beefy man was a state police investigator named Loes. Despite his outfit, he was strictly professional: direct, businesslike manner and the diction of a college graduate. Espinosa was deferential to him. As he would be to anyone in a position of authority, Messenger thought. The sheriff looked haggard, and relieved to have the investigation out of his hands. But his gaze, whenever it cut to Messenger, showed an antipathy that bordered on hatred.

He blames me. The whole town does by now. Hypocrites. If I’m responsible for John T., they’re responsible for Anna. Blood on their hands long before there was any on mine.

Loes questioned Dacy and him in greater detail than Espinosa had. His attitude was noncommittal: just a good, thorough cop doing his job without any bias. From the questions, Messenger determined that the authorities still had no idea why John T. had gone to his brother’s ranch at such a late hour, or whom he had met there. He put this into words, and Loes confirmed it.

“Mr. Roebuck was last seen at the casino around ten o’clock,” he said. “He didn’t go home from there. No one seems to know where he went.”

“Did his wife expect him?”

“She says she didn’t. He kept irregular hours.”

Dacy said, “It could’ve been a woman he met.”

“What makes you say that, Mrs. Burgess?”

“Nothing. It was just a suggestion.”

“Was he involved with a woman, to your knowledge?”

“Not to my knowledge, no. But it’s two miles from the valley road up there — two miles of bad road, especially at night. Why go all that way unless you wanted to make sure you were alone with whoever you were meeting?”

“A good point,” Loes said. “But I can make another just as good: There are hundreds of places around Beulah where a man and a woman could meet in complete privacy. Why would Mr. Roebuck pick his brother’s ranch, where his brother was murdered?”

“I can’t answer that. Maybe on account of it’s close to his own property.”

“An even better reason to pick a spot farther away.”

“Yeah. See what you mean.”

Messenger said, “You must’ve searched the area up there pretty thoroughly. Find anything at all?”

“Nothing conclusive.”

“Well, we did find the gun,” Espinosa said.

Loes slanted a look at him. Then he shrugged and said, “Yes, we found the murder weapon. Thirty-eight-caliber Ruger Magnum loaded with hollow-points. Evidently it was thrown away into the scrub after the shooting.”

“Hollow-point bullets? Any significance in that?”

“Hell,” Espinosa said, “everybody out here uses ’em.”

“Including you, Sheriff?”

“Watch what you say to me, man. I got no patience left with you.”

Loes said, “Hang on to your temper, Ben.” Then, to Messenger, “No significance. Not under the circumstances.”

“How many times was he shot?”

“Just once. A thirty-eight hollow-point fired at point-blank range does considerable damage.”

“What about fingerprints on the gun?”

“Smudged.”

“I don’t suppose it was registered?”

“Yes. To Mr. Roebuck. According to his wife he kept it in the glove compartment of his car.”

“Then whoever shot him knew him well enough to know that.”

“Or someone he didn’t know found the gun by accident,” Loes said. “Or took it away from him during an argument.”

A few more questions, a tight-lipped warning from Espinosa — “I’ll be seeing you again, Messenger, so you stay where you can be found” — and the two men folded themselves back into the cruiser. Dacy watched it all the way to the gate, shading her eyes against splinters of sunlight that came off the rear window. When Loes made the turn onto the valley road, she turned to Messenger.

“We may’ve just made a mistake, you know.”

“Mistake?”

“Not telling Loes about Billy Draper and Pete Teal.”

“I thought about it,” he said. “But I didn’t want to say anything in front of Espinosa. He thinks I exaggerated what happened at Mackey’s and he’d claim I was trying to shift suspicion. Besides, we don’t have anything definite against them yet.”

“Could be one of them shot John T.”

“Possible, if he was the one who hired them. A falling-out over money or something like that. But I still think the same person killed both Roebucks, and maybe that person is the one who paid Draper and Teal. If I can get a name out of them, then I’ll have something definite to take to Loes.”

“Still fixing to brace those two tonight?”

“I have to, Dacy.”

“Even if it turns out to be a bigger mistake.”

“It won’t.”

“Man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, right?”

“Sometimes. If it means enough to him.”

“Well, it’s your ass,” she said, thin-lipped. “If you wind up in the hospital or in jail, don’t call me. I had all I can stand of that crap with my ex.”

“I can take care of myself. Don’t worry.”

“I won’t,” she said, and brushed past him and walked away to the stable.

Dacy said flatly, “I’m going with you. No arguments.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea...”

“I do. I’m tired of macho bullshit.”

“Macho? That has nothing to do with—”

“Doesn’t it? Male ego, pure and simple. You figure you’re man enough to handle any kind of trouble. Well, you’re dead wrong.”

He said, “I thought you weren’t going to worry about me.”

“Yeah, well, I changed my mind. I’d feel the same about a poor dumb animal that was about to blunder into a nest of scorpions.”

She’d been waiting when he emerged from the trailer at a few minutes past five. Like him, she had spent the afternoon doing chores, though not as compulsively: He’d gone on a nonstop four-hour binge of sawing boards and hammering nails and putting the new pane in the kitchen window, killing time with physical labor. And like him, she’d washed up and changed clothes. She wore an old chambray shirt, one that had probably belonged to her ex-husband, its tails hanging loose over faded jeans. Her hair had been wet-combed and the stubborn curl plastered down. There was little of the strain and fatigue in her eyes that dulled his own, but he sensed the tension in her just the same. He wore his like a badge; hers was all hidden inside.

He said, “There won’t be any trouble. Draper and Teal won’t make a scene in a public place like the casino.”

She laughed, a sound like a coyote bark. “You really are a babe in the desert, you know that? As much shit happens in public places as in private ones in this county. You come on tough to those two boys, you’re liable to wind up a big stain on the floor. And they’d make it look like you’re the one at fault.”

“I wasn’t planning to get tough with them.”

“Sweet-talk ’em into telling you the truth? Appeal to their reasonable sides, man to man?”

“Don’t talk down to me, Dacy.”

“I’m not. Just trying to make you understand that this is my turf and I know it a hell of a lot better than you ever could. I know how to handle men like Draper and Teal. You don’t.”

“Handle them how?”

“That’s my lookout.”

“You want to do all the talking, is that it?”