‘Sorry. I’ve never seen her in my life.’
Evan put the photo back in his wallet. Relaxed. It was only a small test. Even so, he was more inclined to trust Jay now. If he’d said he recognized her then Evan would have asked him to explain. Because as far as he was aware Kate Guillory didn’t know anyone called Jay Killinger.
‘Good looking woman,’ Jay said. ‘She a friend of yours?’
‘Uh-huh.’
Evan had the impression Jay knew exactly what he’d just done. It wasn’t hard to work out. If somebody showed you a photo of someone they were supposedly looking for and you said you didn’t know them, you’d expect to see at least some disappointment. Then he proved it, although Evan made that easy too by keeping his wallet in his hand.
‘You want to show me the real one now?’
Suddenly Evan didn’t feel so relaxed. His heart was back in his mouth, the back of his neck cold. He pulled out a picture of Sarah, annoyed but not surprised to see the shake as he held it out.
Jay glanced at it, didn’t even take it.
Then he nodded. Just the once.
‘Her, I know. Or used to know. For about a month, a long time ago. Sarah.’ His eyes dropped to Evan’s hand, to his ring finger. It was pure reflex. There was no ring. ‘You’re her husband?’
‘Yep.’
Then Jay said something that made the blood run cold in Evan’s veins. He stuck out his hand once again as if to make the introductions properly now.
‘Evan, did you say? Pleased to meet you Evan. I’ve been expecting you for six years.’
Evan’s own hand went out on auto pilot. He was aware of the firm grip, rough skin from chopping wood and whatever else Jay did out here in the middle of nowhere. But he didn’t hear a word after the first four. Evan, did you say? Jay knew Sarah but had never heard his name before.
It was the first of many things that Jay would say, piercing him with verbal lances, wearing him down, as if he were a picador and Evan the bull, destined to die while people watched and cheered, eagerly awaiting the matador’s estocada, the killing thrust.
‘You’re sure it’s her,’ he said to give his mouth, his mind, something, anything to do.
‘One hundred and ten percent.’
Six years looking for something sure as hell doesn’t prepare you for finding it. You learn what to do, how to react when people say no. It becomes second nature. When somebody says yes, you’re on your own. They say the past is a foreign country, they do things differently there; so what does that make the future? Only in the future is life never the same again.
He needed to take it slowly. Give himself a chance to get used to the idea of yes, before he was ready for what yes involved. So he turned it around, away from himself.
‘Bill Dalton told me you’re trying to find out who killed your brother, Cole.’
The abrupt change of tack took Jay by surprise, left him floundering for a moment. The hardening of his eyes, his jaw, left Evan in no doubt as to when his mind processed the words.
‘I know who killed him. I want to find out who shot him.’
It wasn’t the time to ask him what he meant. It would come out if it was important.
‘There’s a chance I can help you.’
Jay nodded slowly. As if he’d heard it all before.
‘Without bringing a shitstorm down on our heads,’ Evan added.
Jay was suddenly a lot more interested. He sat forward in his chair, elbows on his knees.
‘Sounds like you know what happens to people who ask too many questions about Cole.’
Once more, Evan ran through the events following the search he did on Cole Nix.
‘And both Daltons told me what happened to them. The thing is, there’s a guy I know who claims he was there that night.’
Jay came out of his chair as if someone lit a fire under it, so suddenly that Evan recoiled, held up his hands.
‘I don’t mean he’s a friend of mine. He’s a low-life degenerate I’ve had to deal with. I don’t even know if he’s telling the truth.’
Jay lowered himself slowly back into his chair, weary suspicion on his face. As if the whole thing was sounding all too familiar. Somebody else claiming to have information. Evan knew exactly how he felt.
‘Let me make a call.’
He got up, wandered back towards his car, left Jay on the porch. He didn’t want him to overhear the conversation he planned to have with Adamson. For once he was looking forward to it. Because now that he’d met Jay the balance of power between him and Adamson was very different. As Adamson was about to find out.
‘What do you want?’ was Adamson’s greeting when he answered the call. ‘I’m getting sick of waiting for you to make up your mind. My patience isn’t going to last forever.’
‘Guess where I am?’
‘Do I sound like someone who gives a—’
‘I’m in Laredo.’
Adamson was suddenly very quiet. If you can hear someone holding their breath from the other end of the telephone line, Evan heard it now.
‘Ever heard of a guy called Bill Dalton?’
A sullen silence came down the line.
‘Didn’t think so. He’s retired now. Before that, he was the chief deputy sheriff down here until a couple years ago. I was with him this morning. Out where that guy got shot at the side of the road. He’s still very interested in finding out what happened that night. He hasn’t heard of you, either. Yet.’
‘What do you want.’
‘Let me finish. Did you ever know the name of the guy who got shot? No? Cole Nix. I’m at his brother’s place right now. Jay. He’s spent the last six years trying to find out who shot his brother like a dog, left him to bleed out at the side of the road. You’d think that after six years his anger would’ve mellowed some. You’d be wrong. It’s still festering inside him, looking for a way out. I don’t know what he’d do if he learned the name of a man who was there when his brother was killed. He recently got out of prison himself for beating some guy half to death who he thought was involved. The guy’s never going to walk again.’
Sometimes he amazed himself, no idea where it all came from.
‘What do you want?’
The whine in Adamson’s voice was as satisfying as it was irritating. Evan carried on as if he hadn’t uttered a word.
‘The thing is, I’ve only got one name to give him. Yours.’
‘You wouldn’t.’
‘Wouldn’t what? Give it to him? Or to Bill Dalton? Maybe I’ll give it to both of them. One of them’s bound to get you. Not sure which one I’d prefer it to be.’
He let the silence stretch out, not feeling one jot of guilt about the position he was putting Adamson in. And by some strange, perverse twist of fate he was proving the validity of Adamson’s story. Because if Adamson hadn’t been there that night, he wouldn’t give a damn about Evan’s threats.
‘The other guy’s name was Beau,’ Adamson said eventually. ‘I never knew his last name.’
‘Okay. Gotta go now. I’ll tell them you couldn’t remember. They’ll be more persuasive when they come to see you.’
He killed the call, cut off the strangled No! coming down the line. The phone rang immediately. He let it ring. Waited until just before it went to voicemail.
‘You’ve got five seconds. Five . . .’
He looked back at the house, saw Jay’s back disappearing inside.
‘You’ve got to believe me.’
‘Four . . .’
He hoped Jay was getting them some more beers. Putting a person through the wringer was thirsty work.
‘It was Laysomething.’
‘Three . . .’
A smile crossed his face. Jay had re-emerged with a couple of beers in his hand. That was quick. He could see the water beading on the glass from all the way over here.
‘I can’t remember. Layton?’
‘Two . . .’
He tasted the cold beer sliding down his throat already, licked
his lips.
‘Layfield!’
‘One. Time’s up.’
‘Beau Layfield.’ Adamson spat the name out as if it were contaminated.
Evan swore he heard the phone flex and creak on the other end of the line.
‘Don’t shout. I heard you the first time. And I don’t need to tell you what’ll happen if you’re jerking me around.’
He ended the call without saying goodbye, headed up to the house. Jay was back in the same chair, a big dent already out of the fresh bottle of beer in his hand. Evan’s was lined up next to his chair. Jay looked up expectantly.
‘Beau Layfield.’
Something registered in Jay’s eyes.
‘You recognize the name?’
‘Yeah. They’ve got a cattle ranch going east on US-59 towards Freer. There’s Beau, Cody and Junior. Plus the old man, Alden.’
The words came slowly as if he wasn’t concentrating on what he was saying, his mouth on autopilot, thinking back behind his eyes. He was biting down on his bottom lip, a frown creasing his forehead. His next words made clear what was troubling him.
‘Alden’s pretty tight with Bill Dalton. They grew up together. Beau’s the eldest son. And the meanest. One of God’s really gifted haters. Never done a day’s work in his life as far as I can tell. Unless dealing drugs counts as work, of course. I can’t believe I didn’t think of him before. You planning on passing his name on to Dalton?’
Evan held his gaze, understanding passing between them. A man’s life was in his hands. He’d known the position he’d find himself in as soon as he made the call to Adamson. That didn’t mean he liked it any better now.
It wasn’t up to him to judge what kind of a man Beau Layfield was. Then again, Layfield hadn’t killed his brother. He hadn’t shot his wife either—although he might have if the last-minute reprieve hadn’t come through. He closed his eyes, not wanting this weight on his conscience. He sensed the tension in Jay, felt his breathing on hold as if it were in his own chest, for fear that this unexpected, unlooked-for chance might fade away as quickly as it had come.
He was back at the side of the road, in the exact same spot where he’d stood with Dalton just a few hours earlier. Standing in the pouring rain. A gun in his hand, a man and a woman on their knees in front of him. And he heard again the words that had come to him, riding on the back of a sudden gust of wind, the words Sarah had believed to be her last.
Do the bitch first.
Maybe if they hadn’t called her a bitch? Maybe if they hadn’t treated her like a piece of meat?
Maybe my ass.
He opened his eyes, saw equal measures of hope and fear in Jay’s face.
‘You’re more likely to see him again before I do. You tell him for me. If you remember.’
Jay nodded, leave it with me. And Evan was very glad he wasn’t Beau Layfield. Looking at Jay, he didn’t see a man with a beer in his hand. Instead he saw him as he’d been when he first drove up, the easy way he handled the axe, toned muscles working tirelessly. He reckoned he’d be pretty good with a shovel too. Jay stuck out his hand.
‘Let me see that photo again.’
Evan got the photo of Sarah out, handed it over. Jay studied it a long time, not just the quick glance like before. He wasn’t simply identifying her now. All manner of emotions collided in his features. Evan recognized at least one of them. Sorrow at the memory of something he’d had and held and lost. It was a feeling he’d lived with for more years than he wanted to think about.
What he couldn’t explain, wasn’t even going to attempt to get his head around, was that if he could’ve clicked his fingers, if he could have had just one wish, he’d have Kate Guillory sitting here with him to hear Jay’s story.
‘You’re not going to like all of this,’ Jay said.
Now there was a waste of breath if ever I heard one, Evan thought to himself.
PART TWO
On the Road to Deliverance.
Six years earlier.
Chapter 12
SARAH CAUGHT THE good-looking guy at the bar staring at her. He was the same height and build as Evan, better looking if she was honest. Years of reflex kicked. She looked away. Quickly. Before he got any ideas. She looked at Elaine instead, her heart sinking. It was Friday night. The place was heaving, everybody happily stepping on toes and spilling drinks on each other. They were here to celebrate Elaine’s promotion to junior partner in the law firm they all worked at. Elaine was the sort of person who always used the correct spoon and never spat on the sidewalk. Sarah suspected that was what lay behind the promotion. Not for the first time she wondered if that was what she wanted for herself too. Especially with everything else going on in her life at the moment. Elaine’s face was flushed with laughter and booze. But how long would that last? You make it to junior partner, you’re telling them you’re in it for the long haul. They’ve got you by the short hairs. You may as well hand them the knife yourself, tell them to go ahead, take your pound of flesh. It was bad enough as a junior associate, working like a dog all the hours God gives. And for what?
She needed some fresh air.
Moving away from the noisy gaggle of sober-suited, prim and proper lawyers she was suddenly aware of a man at her side. An irrational surge of excitement went through her. She turned. It wasn’t the guy at the bar.
It was a different sort of guy altogether, the sort who always hit on her. He was short. Shorter than her in fact, with a beer belly straining the buttons on his shirt. Lank, greasy hair. Fat, feminine hands. The sort of hands that look more like a rubber glove that’s been spun around until it fills with air. And there was a wedding ring biting into the pale flesh of his finger, of course. Not that she was looking to see if he was available—God forbid. Just to confirm this was the sort of married creep who thought because she wasn’t a skinny blonde, she’d be so desperate and grateful she’d let him screw her and then not complain when he slunk back to his wife and kids.
‘Let me buy you a drink, darling,’ he said to her cleavage.
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ she said to the top of his greasy head, wanting to poke him in the eye for the darling. She waved her Margarita under his nose. In case the words were too long for him. Made sure he got a good long look at her own wedding band.
‘No, really, let me buy you a drink,’ he repeated, to her face this time. He belched softly, treated her to a waft of his beer and potato chip breath with a hint of his lunch bringing up the rear. He put his warm, moist hand on her arm. It made her skin crawl.
‘I’m fine, really.’
She didn’t get a chance to find out what his next winning gambit would have been. They were suddenly joined by another man. Joined, as in joined physically and forcibly together. The second, equally drunk, guy stumbled and fell into his friend, who in turn crashed into her, spilling most of his drink down her blouse.
Everybody stood back a pace. Sarah ran her hand over her face, a nervous swiping gesture, trying to wipe away something that wasn’t there. Because the spilled drink was only on her clothes.
The newcomer didn’t appear to be aware of what he’d done. Like they were people-shaped dodgems and bumping into each other was what they did.
‘Hey, Marcus, who’s this foxy lady?’
She almost laughed out loud. Foxy lady? The only thing stopping her was the dampness soaking through her blouse and onto her skin.
Then Marcus’s friend noticed the wet stain on her blouse. He tried to stifle a laugh. Marcus giggled.
‘You spilled your drink all over her tits,’ the friend snickered.
‘Maybe I can suck it out again.’ Marcus eyed up her cleavage, swallowing.
‘Not your fault anyway. Wouldn’t have happened if they didn’t stick out so far.’
They stared at each other, then burst out laughing, holding onto each other for support. She was so shocked by the whole episode she stood there, frozen to the spot, the cold wetness seeping further into her clothes. Four eyes burned into her
chest, some crack about wet T-shirt competitions on its way.
Recovering, she jabbed a finger into Marcus’s shoulder.
‘Hey, douchebags!’
Then, before she thought of a suitable put-down, the guy from the bar was standing behind them.
He didn’t say a word. Put one hand on the side of each of their heads. Banged them sharply together. Not hard enough to knock them out but hard enough to make them ring for a week. He pulled their heads apart again.
‘You think that knocked any manners into them?’ he said from between their stupid dazed faces.
‘Not a chance.’
‘No, me neither.’
He cracked their heads together again, harder still. Dropping his hands from their heads, he gave them both a hard shove. One of them started to say something, his voice loud with the booze.
‘What the fu—’
Then he saw the look on her rescuer’s face and the words dried up, slithered back down his slimy throat. He grabbed hold of the other guy’s arm, scuttled away across the bar towards the exit, didn’t even look back.
‘You okay?’
‘I’m fine.’ She was sure she didn’t sound it. Her mouth was too dry. She went to take a sip from her drink. It was empty. She was wearing it. She’d spilled it when the idiots bumped into her. It was her Margarita sticking her blouse to her skin.
‘Can I buy you a drink?’
She let out a sharp laugh, couldn’t help it.
‘I guess that was his first line too.’ He inclined his head towards the door.
She nodded, the laugh subsiding to a smile.
‘You don’t have to worry. I haven’t got a friend with me. What are you drinking?’
She looked down at her blouse, pulled the wet fabric away from her skin.
‘Well . . . it looks like . . .’
‘Margarita?’ he said, taking the empty glass from her hand.
She watched him as he walked back towards the bar. He was tall, slim at the waist and wide in the shoulder. She got a mental flashback of his hands as they cradled the two drunks’ heads and smacked them together. He moved with a lean, powerful grace, groups of people parting in front of him, a hard-wired natural instinct.
The Road To Deliverance Page 7
