The Road To Deliverance

by James, Harper

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘I think you need to drop this wild goose chase, forget about your long-lost wife who you probably wouldn’t recognize if she sat down next to you and bought you a beer, and get your sorry ass back to Kate before she gives up waiting for you and finds herself a nice steady young man.’

  ‘She’d get bored.’

  ‘She said she’s willing to give it a go.’

  Now he knew Dalton was only having some fun at his expense. It didn’t mean there wasn’t a heck of a lot of truth in what he said. He couldn’t be sure there wasn’t a mild threat hidden in there as well, one that might easily turn a lot less mild. At least he wasn’t going to be spending the night in jail. Dalton backed out, pulled onto the highway again. They drove for five minutes in silence, then Evan saw the Holiday Inn up ahead. Dalton made a right onto Lakeview Boulevard. Instead of turning left into the hotel parking lot, he continued all the way down to the end. He parked in front of some metal gates, the lake visible beyond them.

  ‘Let’s get some fresh air.’

  He got out and Evan followed, the words more of a command than an invitation. Besides, it was a better prospect than the last stop they’d made. They walked past the gates, down towards the lakeside.

  ‘I wasn’t ever going to throw you in jail,’ Dalton said. ‘I just didn’t think it was healthy for you to be sitting there against that tree, having Lord only knows what kind of morbid thoughts running through your thick head. You haven’t got a gun, have you?’

  Evan shook his thick head, not sure where this was going.

  ‘Good. And don’t worry about what I was saying earlier about Detective Guillory. It’s none of my business, you waste your life if you want to. She did confirm those two names you gave me. Hendricks and Adamson. Except she didn’t get them mixed up. So we’ll be wanting to speak to Mr Adamson.’

  It wasn’t a problem now as far as Evan was concerned. Adamson had outlived his usefulness. He was just thankful he hadn’t given in to his demands to find out a fraction of what he now knew. Dalton was still talking, a cigarette in his mouth by now.

  ‘I can understand why you did it. Guillory gave me all the background. Told me there was no need for me to come down hard on you, you can do that better than anyone for yourself. Did I say she sounds nice? Better than you deserve?’

  ‘I think you mentioned it.’

  ‘Good. I wasn’t sure you were listening. I’m told that’s a rare occurrence, you listening. Seems I got you on a good day. So, while your ears are working properly, I just want to say one thing. I can forgive the little mix up with the names so long as you don’t go causing any more trouble.’

  All of the good-natured, gently teasing tone that had been in his voice as he speculated on Evan and Guillory’s relationship was gone. Now, his voice was a hammer, his words nails driving into Evan’s body one by one.

  With his piece said, Dalton took a long drag on his cigarette, ground the butt out under his heel. Then he was gone, back to his car and driving away.

  Evan didn’t even have time to ask him whether giving Jay the name Beau Layfield, the eldest son of his lifelong friend Alden, counted as causing more trouble. It didn’t matter. He’d find out soon enough anyway.

  ‘HOW WAS I TO KNOW you were going to lie to him?’ Guillory said. ‘You should try telling the truth for once. Except then I wouldn’t recognize you . . .’

  He let her prattle on in the background, happy to hear her voice. It made a welcome change from the ones in his head.

  ‘You in your PJs?’ he said, interrupting her mid-flow.

  There was a brief pause.

  ‘Might be. Why?’

  ‘No reason.’

  ‘Have you been drinking?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  She laughed, the deep throaty sound that made him want to be there beside her, not stuck out here on the side of a windy lake.

  ‘Great. It’s what every girl dreams of. A late-night call from a drunk.’ Then her voice softened. ‘Bad day?’

  ‘Could’ve been better,’ he admitted.

  ‘You want to talk about it?’

  ‘Not really. Not over the phone.’

  He was glad in a way that she was on the other end of the phone and he didn’t have to look at the hurt his words might have caused. He had a mental picture of her slowly deflating like he’d stuck a pin in her.

  ‘Let me know if there’s anything I can do.’

  ‘Well . . .’

  He felt it like a living thing, her relief that the real Buckley, the one she knew and loved, was back on the line, the maudlin creature of a minute ago banished, sent back where it came from with its tail between its legs.

  ‘That’s why I asked about the PJs,’ he said. ‘I was curious whether they’ve got a pocket for your notebook.’

  ‘There’s a breast pocket, yes.’

  He didn’t miss the emphasis on the breast or the stifled giggle that went with it. He ignored the urge to respond accordingly, told her instead what he wanted her to do. Gave her Sarah’s maiden name, told her everything he could remember about her family.

  ‘Any clues what I’m looking for?’ she said when he’d exhausted his memory.

  ‘Something bad. Most likely to do with guns.’

  They said goodnight then and he immediately called Elwood Crow.

  ‘The prodigal son calls even if he doesn’t return,’ Crow said, then, like Kate Guillory before him, let loose a deluge of questions which Evan had neither the time nor the inclination to answer. He fielded them as best he could, very aware of Crow’s growing frustration on the other end of the line.

  So he gave him something to get his teeth into, gave him the same task he’d set Guillory. Because two heads are better than one. And they operated in very different spheres, with very different skill sets. Between the two of them, they ought to be able to find whatever secret it was buried in Sarah’s past.

  Chapter 50

  JAY WAS UP EARLY the next morning. He had things to do. Things that were already six years overdue. If it hadn’t been for the amount of beer he’d drunk with Evan, he wouldn’t have waited at all, would have gone straight round to the Layfield ranch the minute Evan was gone. Instead, he’d stayed sitting on the porch, not drinking now, nursing his thoughts, the humanity draining out of him like blood from a cadaver, replaced by the clear cold fluid of hatred.

  Because Jay’s world had been turned on its head every bit as much as Evan’s. The difference was, while Evan’s focus was on moving forwards, Jay’s was on looking back. At Beau Layfield, the man who shot and killed his brother, the name delivered to him on a plate by a stranger who drove up to his house one day. Karma like that won’t be denied.

  He drove east on US-59, turned in at the stone portals of Layfield Farms. Continued up the curving dirt road to the top of a hill, past a lane that led to the house. When he came to the outbuildings, he parked and got out. On the other side of the yard, two hard, weathered-looking men in jeans and faded denim jackets watched him. Cody and Junior Layfield. They were standing at the rear of a pickup truck, a large-scale map held open against it. Seeing him approach, they tossed the map into the bed of the pickup on top of a stack of fence posts and baling wire.

  ‘Where’s Beau,’ Jay said, getting things off to a nice, aggressive start.

  ‘And who are you?’ Junior responded in kind.

  Cody dug his younger brother in the ribs with his elbow before Jay answered.

  ‘I know you. You’re the brother of the guy who got shot at the side of the road.’

  Jay nodded, bit down on his tongue so hard he tasted blood. He was hoping to taste more of it before the day was over. He had to play it carefully. To begin with, at least.

  ‘What do you want with him?’ Cody said.

  This was where Jay’s lack of a plan, lack of any kind of forethought, became obvious to him, made him realize blind rage only got you so far.

  ‘There’s something I want to talk to him about
.’

  It couldn’t have been more of a non-answer if he’d tried.

  ‘Talk, huh?’

  Jay nodded, that’s right.

  ‘He wants to talk to Beau,’ Cody repeated, this to Junior.

  The two brothers shared a look, like a private joke had passed between them. Then Cody shrugged, gave a no-problem flick of his hand.

  ‘Why not? He’s up at the bull barn. Where he normally is.’

  Junior let out a snort at that, stifled it when he caught sight of Cody’s face.

  ‘This way.’

  Cody started down the main track between two rows of outbuildings filled with bales of hay and various farm equipment. Jay fell in behind him. Maybe he was a little hung over from the previous day’s drinking, or perhaps he was preoccupied with trying to formulate some kind of last-minute plan. Whatever it was, he should have paid more attention to Junior bringing up the rear. He didn’t see him reach into the bed of the pickup.

  At the end of the track Jay followed Cody into a barn. Rows of stalls ran either side of a central alley cluttered with stacks of baled straw. The building was dimly lit, most of the light coming through the door behind Jay—a door that went closed now as Junior followed in behind them. Jay looked around at the sound. They were the only ones in the barn.

  ‘Where’s Beau?’

  There was a sharp snort from behind him. It wasn’t from any of the animals, it was Junior again. The only difference was, this time Cody didn’t do anything to silence him. In fact, he looked as if he was having trouble keeping his own face straight. He leaned back against a stall gate, arms crossed over his chest.

  ‘Don’t worry. He’s not very far away.’

  Then he fished a cigarette out of his jacket pocket. Put it between his lips, dipped his head. As if he were about to light it. Except he didn’t have a lighter in his hand. Or matches. It was a prearranged signal. Jay heard the gritty slip of a boot on the concrete floor behind him a split second too late. Junior drove the thin edge of the axe handle he’d taken from the pickup truck into Jay’s back before he had time to react.

  Jay dropped to his knees in the straw, silently screaming at himself not to scream, not to black out. And then the axe handle struck again, in the same place, and Jay’s face smacked against the straw and concrete of the floor. He was aware of the door behind him opening and closing again and then long seconds passing, time droning in a stillness broken only by the sounds of the bulls in their stalls.

  Slowly he pushed himself up, became aware of Cody standing above him, still leaning back against the stall. Casually lighting his cigarette now with a kitchen match that he carefully blew out and returned to the pocket of his battered denim jacket.

  ‘Don’t want to start a fire in here.’

  Jay worked his way across the alley from him, scooted up against the stall there, to protect his kidneys and spine which had melded into a single clot of pain.

  ‘Where’s Beau?’ he said for a third time because he couldn’t think of anything else through the pain.

  ‘Why don’t you tell us what you want to talk to him about first?’ Cody said.

  For some reason, that started Junior off laughing again. Except he was laughing openly now. Cody didn’t look as if he was about to join in this time. He didn’t look as if he’d ever laugh again. Jay knew the feeling.

  ‘I hope it’s nothing to do with your brother getting killed. People say you’re obsessed about that, always making wild accusations.’

  ‘Drug-dealing piece of shit,’ Junior chipped in. ‘Deserved everything he got.’

  Slumped on the floor, Jay was shaking with rage. He smiled at Junior, a cold smile, a smile forged in the foundries of hatred. And he vowed to himself Junior would come to regret those words. Because, at the moment that was all he was good for, making promises to himself. As if to reinforce his impotency, Junior swung the axe handle into the side of the stall, inches above his head.

  Cody ignored his brother’s interjection, kicked Jay’s outstretched leg with the pointy toe of his boot.

  ‘Is it?’

  Jay shot him a look of contempt so caustic it might have seared every organ in his body.

  ‘Why would you ask that? Guilty conscience?’

  At that, Junior swung the axe handle again. And if Jay hadn’t been expecting it, hadn’t thrown himself sideways, it would have taken his head clean off.

  Cody was shaking his head.

  ‘No. But everybody—’

  ‘Forget it, Cody,’ Junior snapped. ‘There’s no use you talking to this guy. He wants a meeting with Beau. Isn’t that right, shit for brains?’

  Jay nodded slowly, eyes never leaving the axe handle which Junior was now slapping against his palm.

  ‘You’re right,’ Cody said. ‘I’m wasting my time.’

  Then they shared that same smile, the same as they had out by their pickup. The one that said they knew more than Jay did. And he was going to be sorry about that.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Cody said.

  The question threw Jay for a moment.

  ‘Shit for brains don’t even know his own name,’ Junior yelled.

  ‘Jay.’ His voice was wary, his eyes darting from one brother to the other. Something was going on here.

  Cody pushed himself off the stall he was leaning against, stepped to the side. Then he gave a low sweep of his arm towards the stall behind him. And now he was smiling, grinning all over his face like he was fit to burst.

  ‘Jay, meet Bodacious. Or Bo as we call him for short. He’s an Angus-Chianina cross, over a ton of mean black rage.’

  Jay crawled up onto a bale of straw to get a better look. Through the stall’s two-by-ten slats he glimpsed the animal inside, a great horned black beast as long and tall as a thoroughbred racehorse, but twice as wide, twice as deep, with a head the size of a barrel, nostrils he could have stuck his fist in.

  Junior was laughing fit to wet himself, slapping his thigh with his free hand.

  ‘Whatcha gonna say to him, Jay?’ Junior said as he caught his breath, wiped away a tear at the corner of his eye. ‘Gonna ask him if he shot your brother?’

  ‘You like rodeo?’ Cody said, then continued without waiting for an answer. ‘We named him after another Bodacious, one of the most famous rodeo bulls ever. One of the meanest too. Used to throw back his head using his skull and horns as weapons. Sent Tuff Hedeman to the hospital with every bone in his face below the eyes broken.’

  Jay didn’t know who Tuff Hedeman was. He reckoned anybody who’d climb on the back of an animal like the one on the other side of the wooden slats had to be soft in the head to begin with. Cody was quoting statistics at him about outs and bucked riders, his voice full of respect. It didn’t mean a thing to Jay. Then Cody slapped his open palm on the wooden slats and changed tack, said something that meant a lot to him.

  ‘Can you imagine what he’d do to some poor sonofabitch who happened to get caught in there with him? Maybe somebody tied up?’

  Jay didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say. Then Junior gave them the benefit of his opinion. Like most things Junior said, it wasn’t worth having.

  ‘You get one of those horns in the gut, it’d make you wish you’d been shot in the gut and left to die at the side of the road. Like your drug-dealing brother.’

  The three of them stared at each other in silence a long time. Then Cody asked Jay a question.

  ‘You still want to talk with Beau?’

  Jay glanced at the stall, shook his head slowly.

  ‘Either of ‘em?’

  ‘Uh-uh.’

  Cody pulled at his lip as he considered Jay’s response.

  ‘What do you reckon Junior?’

  Junior shrugged.

  ‘Looks to me like the kind of guy doesn’t know what’s good for him.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. A slow learner.’

  Jay’s gaze moved back and forth between the two brothers as they talked about him like he wasn’
t there. He was watching Cody, saw him give a small nod towards his brother. Another signal. The hard hickory axe handle whacked flat-side into the back of his head before he recognized the gesture for what it was, sent him chin first into the filthy concrete floor and oblivion.

  Chapter 51

  WALKING UP THE dirt road leading to Jay’s property, Evan knew the house was empty. Most likely because he’d been expecting it. He hadn’t been able to get Dalton’s words out of his mind that morning as he lay in the no man’s land between sleeping and waking, the dawn bathing the room in a hazy, slow-growing light.

  Don’t go causing any more trouble.

  Because whatever he tried to tell himself, giving Jay Beau Layfield’s name fit any definition of trouble you wanted to use.

  He hammered on the door with his fist anyway, in case Jay was sleeping off the effects of the beer they’d consumed. Surveying the pile of empty bottles as he waited for the door not to be answered, it didn’t look as if Jay had carried on drinking. Which was a bad thing because it lessened the chances that he’d crashed out drunk, was still comatose on the other side of the door.

  Off to the side of the house there was a broken-down old outbuilding, like something from a slasher movie where campers are slowly killed off one by one. He opened the door, peered inside. A shiver rippled across the back of his neck, remembering the jibe he’d made at Dalton about a bunch of crackers imprisoning Sarah in just such a building. She wasn’t in there. Nor was Jay.

  He walked around the house to where he figured the bedroom was, based on his short time inside the house the previous day. The drapes were drawn. He put his nose to the glass. The bed was empty. The sheets looked like there’d been a fight in it. He tried to shut his mind, not think about the other times the sheets would have looked like that. And not from a fight.

  Continuing on around the house, he came to the back door. He tried it, found it unlocked. Stepped inside into the small kitchen. He sat down at the kitchen table, a thousand thoughts crowding into his mind, bearing down on him. Closing his eyes, he wished he hadn’t, imagined Sarah putting Jay’s dinner down on the table in front of him, wondered whether she’d given Jay bigger portions than she used to give him. Jay being an inch taller and twenty pounds heavier than he was. Bastard.