by JM Gulvin
‘Why?’ Isaac said. ‘What’s up?’
The deputy worked a palm around the brim of his hat. ‘Well, sir,’ he began, ‘the fact is I have some bad news. Mr Palmer from the farm down the road there, he called the department just now and told us he’d given you a ride. He figured who you were but he didn’t let on, on account of how he didn’t think it was down to him to be the one to tell you. That had to be one of us.’
Isaac’s gaze was taut. ‘One of you – tell me what?’
The deputy looked him in the eye. ‘Mr Bowen; there’s no easy way to say this. I’m afraid your father is dead. I’m real sorry, sir; but it seems he took a gun to his head.’
Isaac stumbled backwards into the living room as if he’d been hit. One hand to the mantelpiece he leaned his weight before bending double as if he was about to throw up.
‘Are you kidding me? My father – dead?’
The deputy avoided his eye.
‘A gun to his head? But why? Why would he do that? Why would he shoot himself?’
The deputy lifted his shoulders. ‘I’m not qualified to say, I’m afraid. I don’t know is the fact of it. I said as much to the Ranger.’
‘Ranger? What Ranger?’ Isaac stared at him now.
‘Well sir, it was a Texas Ranger that found his body and I have to say his first reaction was that your dad had been murdered, but the county doesn’t see it like that. I’m real sorry, but he took his own life.’ A little helplessly he gestured. ‘This house is pretty isolated and it seems he was very much on his own. We’ve asked around but there wasn’t anybody that knew him real well and none of them had ever met you.’
‘I haven’t been here,’ Isaac said. ‘I’ve done three tours, been fighting in Vietnam.’
‘Yes sir, I can see that, and I’m sorry you had to come home to this.’
Isaac stared hard at the floor. He was biting down on his lip. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘A Ranger said someone killed him and you’re telling me he killed himself?’
‘That’s what he told me,’ the deputy confirmed. ‘The Ranger I mean. But it was a first reaction and he wasn’t here very long, and it’s a county matter anyhow. Detective Crowley was here much longer than he was and he sees it as suicide. There was no sign of anybody else ever being here and no indication of a struggle. And your dad – well, I’m sorry, but he had a gun in his hand when I saw him and that gun was registered here at the house.’
Isaac had tears in his eyes, they were weighted and shining. He was shaking as he stood there looking from the deputy to the photograph and back.
‘Is there anything I can do for you, sir?’ the deputy asked. ‘Anyone you want me to call? What about your mother?’ He regarded the photo himself. ‘Where’s she at, sir? Would you like for us to try and get a-hold of her?’
‘I don’t know where she is,’ Isaac said. ‘She left when my brother and me were kids.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry about that. I guess it’s best if we leave it to you. I can see how this is a terrible shock.’ The deputy shook his head. ‘I never had to tell nobody nothing like this before and I’m sick to my stomach, I swear.’
Isaac did not seem to hear him. He was staring into space.
The deputy flapped his hat. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘your daddy’s body is in the mortuary over in Bonham. If you want to see him you’ll need to call the coroner but I’m sure it would be OK. There’ll be an autopsy of course, but I figure you’ll want to make the funeral arrangements and there’s a parlor on Chestnut and 5th.’ Turning to go he glanced again at the photo. ‘I guess that’s you and your brother there, am I right?’
Isaac nodded.
‘You look alike. Not identical, but about the same age.’
‘We’re twins,’ Isaac told him. ‘He was born fifteen minutes ahead.’
‘Listen, sir, why I’m asking – we tried to get hold of him as well. Your brother. When we couldn’t trace you we tried to find him, but there’s no address for him anywhere about. We got his name from letters you wrote your dad, which are back in his desk, by the way. We couldn’t find an address for him though. I guess he’s over there in Vietnam too?’
Isaac shook his head. ‘No. Ishmael isn’t in the service.’
‘Oh, OK. It doesn’t matter. I guess you know where he’s at and you-all can get in touch. It’d be better him finding out about this from family rather than us.’ Again he flapped his hat. ‘You have our condolences, sir. Everybody at the department, we’re all real sorry for your loss.’
When he was gone Isaac went back to the living room as the clouds let go and rain started to rattle the windows. For a long time he stared at the photo on the mantelpiece and then he got to his feet. He was about to go back down to the study when he heard another car in the drive. The Fairlane he had seen parked on the dirt road, he watched as it pulled up and Dr Beale from the hospital climbed out.
Brows deeply furrowed, Isaac had the front door open before Beale could ring the bell. ‘Doctor,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know that was your car out there. What’re you doing all the way out here?’
Beale stared past him into the hall. ‘I came to see your father,’ he said. ‘I meant to offer you a ride yesterday and I don’t know why I didn’t. Your dad’s been calling the hospital to see if we’d heard anything from the fire marshal. When you showed up, I guess it prompted me to drive on out.’
Slowly, Isaac nodded. He was gazing beyond Beale to the garage where the trapdoor was lying flat.
‘Is he in?’ Beale said. ‘Your father, I’d like to talk to him. Is he here?’
Pacing around him Isaac strode across the drive to the garage and stared at the hole in the floor. For a moment Beale hesitated on the step. Then, with a short glance inside the house, he followed Isaac across the drive.
‘What’s down there?’ he said, indicating the trapdoor.
‘A storm shelter my dad put in.’ Eyes glassy, Isaac’s voice was distant. ‘He was clever like that, learned how to do stuff, what with all those years in the army. There’s a room down there with cans of food and that, first aid and water. Dad, he … Dad …’ He was sweating suddenly, lines of perspiration running from his hair all the way to his jaw.
‘Are you all right?’ Beale asked. ‘Where is Ike? I need to talk to him. Is he here?’
‘No.’ Isaac’s voice cracked as he spoke. ‘He’s not here. He won’t be here. He’s dead, Doctor. A sheriff’s deputy told me he killed himself.’
For a moment Beale just stared. Mouth open he lifted a hand as if to gesture then he let it fall.
Isaac was trembling, he was shaking his head. ‘He came by just now – you must’ve passed his vehicle. He told me my dad shot himself.’ He had tears in his eyes. ‘I don’t believe it. He wouldn’t do that, not my dad. He was a soldier. All his life in the army and what reason could he have?’ The pitch of his voice was rising and Beale took a short pace back. ‘That deputy told me a Texas Ranger found his body and he said somebody shot him, only the detectives from the sheriff’s department think he killed himself.’ Again he shook his head. ‘My dad would never do that. He’s no coward. He’s the toughest man I ever knew.’ Spreading his fingers he gestured. ‘Suicide, Doctor. No Bowen would do it. We’re soldiers. We trace a line all the way back to when we carried colors in the war for the South.’
Beale looked down at the open trapdoor. ‘But if that’s what the sheriff’s department said?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Isaac stated. ‘They don’t know my dad and I don’t care what they think, he would never take his own life. My mother left years ago and he survived that. He brought me and Ish up on his own and he’s dealt with Ish being in and out of the hospital. There’s no way he’d abandon us. It doesn’t matter that we’re grown. If he was shot in the head then somebody shot him. He would not shoot himself.’
He paused for a moment then he murmured, ‘They must have been watching the house.’ He glanced towards the tree line then stabbed a finger at the hole in th
e floor. ‘They must’ve found out about the passage. They must’ve seen Dad down here when the trapdoor was up and this is how they snuck in.’ He was nodding to himself. ‘There’s a passage down there that leads all the way to a wood panel that opens into Dad’s study. He put it in as an escape route so we wouldn’t have to cross the yard if a tornado hit. That’s where they found him, sitting at his desk in his study.’ Again he paused and then again he gestured. ‘There’s a switch down there in the passage and you have to know where it’s at, but I reckon if somebody was down there long enough they’d be able figure it out. There’s a door that opens onto this wall of wood and that’d tell you there’s got to be something behind it. Come on, Dr Beale. I’ll show you.’
Sliding down the ladder he dropped to the floor then beckoned the doctor to follow. For a moment Beale seemed to hesitate, then he too climbed down to the passage.
Underground, he followed Isaac through the storm shelter to the second passage. He followed him to where the door was closed and Isaac indicated the wooden panel.
‘See what I mean?’ he said. ‘That’s the back side of the oak Dad used to line his study.’ Placing his palm on the wall he worked his fingers down the right-hand side and stopped when he found the switch.
‘Isaac,’ Beale said as the panel clicked open, ‘that’s really intricate. I don’t think anyone who didn’t know how to do that would be able to open it, really – do you?’ Through the half-dark he offered a smile. ‘Look, I know it’s tough and you don’t want to believe it but perhaps the sheriff is right.’
Eleven
When he left the bank in Fairview Quarrie drove back to the station house in Winfield, where he found the chief in his office wading through a pile of papers with the air conditioner barely working and perspiration lacing his brow.
‘You’re back then,’ Billings said.
Quarrie perched on the arm of the ratty chair. ‘I got as far as Fairview and that shotgun barrel before the trail ran cold. It’s almost certain our boy crossed the state line so we ought to get onto the Feds.’
‘Already taken care of.’
Sitting back in the chair Billings laid down his pen. ‘You know, since you found that cruiser so quick I’ve been asking a couple of questions about you.’ He indicated Quarrie’s holstered guns. ‘From what I hear you’re pretty special with that pair of irons. More than special: they say there ain’t a cop in Texas can beat you when it comes to combat examination. They told me how you can draw and kill a man before he can pull the trigger even if he’s holding?’
Quarrie nodded. ‘I can do that.’
The chief arched both eyebrows. ‘Throwback to the old days, huh? Old-school Ranger like your Uncle Frank.’
‘They say prevention’s better than cure, Chief – ask any hospital Doc.’
With a smile then Billings gestured. ‘So, if I had a piece pointed at you right now – my old Model 10, say – all cocked and ready to go, you could draw and fire, kill me before I had time to get a round off?’
Evenly Quarrie looked back. ‘Chief, I could put a pair in you and holster again before you could get the message from your brain to your trigger finger.’ His eyes were a little dull. ‘Frank Hamer took a bullet seventeen times and on four occasions he was left for dead. It was him taught me to take care of myself, and if you’ve been checking you’ll know I got a son to bring up on my own. Right before she died, I promised his momma I’d take care of him so making sure nothing happens to me is something I study on.’
Billings puffed the air from his cheeks. ‘Seventeen times, eh? Is that a fact?’
‘And four times left for dead.’
‘You know, I think I read somewhere how old Hamer wrote the king of England during the war, something about a bodyguard of retired Rangers going over there in case the Germans made it as far as London.’
Quarrie nodded. ‘Yes sir, that’s what he did.’
‘Big letter writers then, your family.’ Billings seemed to be musing now. ‘I hear how your best friend is a black guy and you wrote President Truman about him. Something about a court-martial in Korea?’
Quarrie held his eye. ‘His name is Pious Noon, Chief. They said he was a coward, but he risked his life to drag me off a hill after I was gut shot and bleeding out.’
Eyes bright Billings nodded. ‘That’s what I heard. It’s what you told the president in the letter they published in the New York Times. From what I read, on account of it that boy’s sentence was commuted to life in prison but he ended up with just five in the federal pen.’
‘What’s your point, Chief?’ Quarrie said.
Adjusting his jacket, the chief got to his feet. ‘I don’t have a point. Just like to know who it is I’m working with whenever I’m partnering up.’
They drove back to Mary-Beth Gavin’s place only this time in Quarrie’s car. Parking outside the darkened windows of the rundown house, he looked up and down the street.
‘Must’ve been a hell of a racket going on in there and nobody heard a thing?’
The chief shook his head.
‘That’s the neighborhood for you I guess.’
Getting out of the car they walked the path to where Billings unlocked the front door.
Inside the house everything was just as it had been before. Nothing had been touched only Mary-Beth’s outline was fading a little where it had been chalked on the floor. Quarrie stood in the hallway with his thumbs hooked in his belt. Head to one side he considered that mark and the way the furniture had been knocked about. He was talking as if to himself. ‘He comes here because he knows who she is and she has something he wants.’
‘Quarrie, that’s your supposition, not mine.’
Quarrie looked sideways at him. ‘You got another idea?’
Billings shrugged. ‘B&E gone wrong; intended rape victim – maybe he couldn’t get a hard on.’ He threw out a hand. ‘I don’t know, Sergeant. I’m just playing devil’s advocate here like one of us is supposed to.’
With a smile Quarrie stepped into the room. He stared at the floor, the rug and walls where the spots of spattered blood had dried. Picking his way between the drawers, the broken mirror and smashed leaves of the table, he paused where the room opened into the kitchen.
‘Probably you’re right,’ Billings said from behind him. ‘He wanted something from her. We just have to figure out what it was.’
Quarrie took a few moments to look over the kitchen. Compared to the rest of the house it seemed relatively untouched. Opening the refrigerator he found milk and butter, a package of bacon wrapped in waxed paper as well as an unopened bottle of wine.
The cupboards yielded nothing but crockery and some cookware; a few cans of food and a sack of ground coffee. Mary-Beth had kept a little cork noticeboard pinned to the wall, though nothing was pinned to it and it hung askew. Nothing stood out. Nothing spoke to him and he eased his hat a little higher on his brow.
‘Chief,’ he said, ‘did you come across an address book or anything like that? Something with phone numbers in it?’
‘No sir, we did not.’
Quarrie looked back at him. ‘Doesn’t that strike you as odd?’
‘Not really. Not everybody keeps an address book. She was new to town and according to the neighbor that found her, nobody ever seemed to come visit.’
The neighbor’s name was Jane Perkins and she actually lived three blocks down the street, and wasn’t a neighbor so much as a woman who also worked for MacIntyre’s Farm Machinery. Opening the door when they knocked, she showed them into an identical one-bedroomed house, only it was neat and clean. About Mary-Beth’s age, she told Quarrie that her husband had died of cancer and she’d been on her own the last five years.
‘I been working for Mr McIntyre almost ten,’ she added. ‘He owns these houses and I don’t know if you knew that, Mr Billings?’ She glanced at the chief. ‘They come as part of the job and that’s why Mary-Beth was so keen to get it. It’s why she worked that first week without any pay a
nd I had her staying here with me because she didn’t have money for a motel.’
Quarrie squinted at her. ‘She roomed here?’
‘Yes, she did, but only for a week.’
‘Where did she come from?’
‘I don’t know, sir. She never told me.’
Quarrie raised an eyebrow. ‘A couple of girls rooming together and the two of you didn’t talk?’
‘Oh, we talked plenty, but Mary-Beth never really said where she was from or what she’d been doing before. I asked all right, but when she didn’t tell me right off I didn’t figure it polite to be asking again.’
‘Did anybody ever visit with her?’
‘Not that I know of,’ Mrs Perkins said. ‘At least nobody she ever talked about anyway. I don’t recall seeing any cars parked at her place, other than hers I mean. But then she was only here six weeks. She was nice enough, I guess. But she was quiet. She kept herself to herself.’
Sitting back in the chair, Quarrie crossed his ankle on his knee. ‘While she was staying here did she call anybody on the phone?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Mrs Perkins twisted her lips. ‘She certainly didn’t when I was home and she never asked to use the phone. But then I wasn’t home all the time. Sometimes she was here on her own.’
‘Do you still have the bill from back then? When she was staying with you, I mean.’
‘From the phone company? It might be around somewhere but I don’t hang on to them as a rule.’
‘But you read them though, right? The numbers I mean, check for any mistakes?’
Mrs Perkins made a face. ‘I don’t know as I do so much actually. Not especially now you mention it, no.’
‘But you have long-distance?’
‘Yes sir, but only if I call the operator.’
Quarrie looked closely at her then. ‘Mrs Perkins,’ he said, ‘if it’s all right with you I’m going to need to sequester your records from the phone company.’
Billings looked sideways at him.
‘What do you need those for?’ Mrs Perkins seemed a little puzzled.
