by Carolina Mac
“That’s a fuckin joke. I’m way bigger than you.”
“Maybe, but Ranger Donovan has it all over you, sir.”
Lou turned his head to look for Farrell and Blaine pushed inside. “Cuffs or no cuffs? Your choice.”
“I don’t need no fuckin cuffs. All right, I’ll go talk to you in a sweaty little room, if that’s what this is all about.”
Farrell loped around the corner of the house and met them at the truck. “Hey, Lou, how’s your day going?”
“Shut up, fucker.” Lou gave Farrell an enthusiastic hand signal.
Blaine helped Lou into the back seat of his monster truck and slammed the door.
ANNIE saw Lane’s orange Jeep pull up to the gate at eleven forty-five. He was early.
Doesn’t matter. I have no life.
She opened the front door to greet him as he walked from the parking area in front of the garage towards the house. “Hey, there. Come on in. Did you eat lunch?”
“I had a late breakfast.” He flashed her a grin and she realized what a hot looking guy he was. Dark hair, dark eyes and tanned. Wow was he tanned. Former Seal, maybe he spent a lot of time in the water.
“How about a beer and a sandwich?” Annie asked. “That’s what I was going to make for my lunch as you drove in.”
“Sure, I’m easy.”
Annie giggled. “I’m not saying it.”
“Don’t. I barely know you and I shouldn’t have said that. I apologize.”
“It’s okay. I’m not easily offended.” Annie opened the door of the Sub-Zero and pulled out two cans of Lone Star and the fixings for a smoked meat sandwich. “How about Montreal smoked meat?”
“I don’t know much about Montreal meat.”
“I like it, but then again, I’m Canadian.” She handed Lane a beer, then opened one for herself and poured it into a glass.
Annie made the sandwiches, added mustard and opened a jar of pickles. She carried everything over to the harvest table and sat down.
She took a bite of her sandwich. “I should have eaten earlier, but I was working in the barn. Sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. I’m on your time.”
“Why did you think you needed more coaching, or did you just want to practice?”
“Both.” Lane explained about not killing Ewing Thompson when he had the opportunity. “Granted, it was dark, and he was running full out, but if I’d been a tiny bit more accurate he’d be dead. It would have saved lives in the long run, and it bothered me ever since it happened.”
“Well, then, let’s see what we can do to sharpen your aim.”
BLAINE opened the door of interrogation room number two and showed Lou Thompson to his seat. “You can sit here, Mr. Thompson and I’ll get you a coffee or a cold drink. Whatever you prefer.”
“Don’t want nothing from y’all. Get it over with and let me go home. This is Saturday night; out biggest show of the week and I have a rehearsal at three o’clock.”
Blaine turned on the recorder, gave his name and the date and Lou’s name. “If you’re in a big rush to leave, just tell me what I want to know, and I’ll have a squad take you home.”
“I don’t know where my brother is. I’ve already told you guys that.”
“Okay, maybe I believe that, but Mattie Larch knows where he is, and you definitely know where she is.”
“That’s what you want? You want Mattie?”
“You sound surprised,” said Blaine. “She has the information I need, and I’ll tear this city apart to find her before more people die,”
“You couldn’t find my brother.” Lou smirked. “What makes you think you can find Mattie any easier?”
“Because you’re going to help me.”
“No, I’m not. Mattie is scared of Ewing and I’m not giving her up.”
“Mattie aided and abetted a felon. She’s officially wanted and you’re helping her.”
“She had to help him. She’s a nurse.”
“Uh huh. She could have cleaned him up at your house, then called the police when he left. That would have been the smart thing to do. But she didn’t do that. What exactly did she do, Lou? You sure as hell are antsy about something.”
Lou was drenched in sweat, his long dark brown hair damp and curling around his neck.
“I’m antsy because my brother is out there, and he wants my wife. The second day he got out of prison, he attacked her on the kitchen floor and I had to pull him off her. He beat her up because she said ‘no’ to him.”
“I’m sorry about that, Lou. What do you think will happen when he finds her this time?”
“He won’t find her. She’s long gone.”
“Oh, yeah? Out of state? Out of the country? What?”
“Doesn’t matter. She’s not in Austin where my brother can find her.”
“You’re making it sound like she’s afraid for her life and why would she be if he wants her back? If Mattie fixed Ewing up and saved his sorry life, why would he want to kill her? Doesn’t make sense to me. Just because she didn’t stay with him he’d hunt her down and kill her?”
“Umm… yeah, he wants her back bad. She didn’t want to go with him, but she told me she’d go to his hotel room and fix him up to keep him away from our house and keep him out of our lives.”
That sounds like a big lie.
“First you said Ewing forced her to go, and now you tell me Mattie went to get him away from y’all. Which one is it?”
“He was making her go, then she went just to get rid of him. Kind of a compromise.”
“A compromise, eh? I’m not buying it, Lou.”
“Tough.” Lou folded his arms across his plaid shirt and set his jaw. He wouldn’t be saying much more.
“Now that Mattie is safely out of the way, why don’t you tell me which hotel your brother is staying at and let me pick him up. Then you can get your life back to normal.”
“I want that, Ranger Blackmore. I honest to goodness do, but Mattie wouldn’t tell me where he was. She was afraid I’d go there myself, face off against Ew and get killed. She told me as soon as she was safe, she’d call you.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that?”
“I wish you would. It’s the truth.”
“If Ewing took Mattie to his hotel room and wanted her to stay with him, how did she get away?”
“I asked her that same question, because Ew can be brutal and he always gets what he wants. I was scared out of my mind the whole time she was gone.”
“Explain to me how she got away from him.”
“When he was half out of it from the bullet wound and the blood loss, she gave him a shot and left the hotel room when he passed out.”
Blaine tapped his pen on his yellow pad and sorted through the lies and half-truths.
Why is Mattie hiding? She’s the one person who’s not afraid of Ewing. Robbery thought she was his partner all along, according to Farrell. And why did she want to patch Ewing up at his hotel and not at Lou’s house?
“Oh, Mother Mary and Joseph,” Blaine was on his feet pacing when he figured it out. “Lou, tell me I’m wrong. Please tell me Mattie didn’t take the money.”
EWING rested all day, trying for enough strength to get off the bed and leave the hotel before he had to come up with more cash for the extra day.
He’d stared at the empty safe a thousand and one times during the day, purposely leaving the door open, and each time he focused on that empty space, his resolve to find Mattie and hurt her a hundred different ways hardened.
I’ll find the bitch, kill her and take my money back.
He gathered up his few belongings, left the suit hanging in the closet, and ventured into the carpeted corridor.
The stairs were his first choice, but he couldn’t do more than one flight. A fact he couldn’t ignore. It had to be the elevator.
The bell dinged at lobby level and Ewing stepped out onto the slippery marble floor and almost wiped out. Not too steady on his feet�
�at least not yet. By the end of the night he’d be himself. That was the bullshit he was feeding himself.
Two people were talking to the clerk at the registration desk and holding his attention. Good. Ewing sailed right through the lobby and out the glass doors. He turned right, shuffled across the drop-off area to the street and spotted a bus stop on the corner. Had he ever ridden the bus? Not that he recalled.
He sat down in the shelter and waited next to a couple of kids. Tall black dude with short white girl, both staring at their phones and ignoring him. Just the way he liked it.
With a whiff of diesel and a screech of brakes, the bus pulled up to the curb and the three of them hopped on. Ewing had enough change in his pocket to go three stops—the driver pointed to the front seat and said he’d tell him when he’d reached the limit of his funds. He felt like a skid and it pissed him off knowing he had more money than everybody on the fuckin bus put together.
A mile down the road, the driver pulled over and let Ewing off the bus in front of the Holiday Inn. Rested a little from his mile ride, he trudged slowly into the parking lot, spotted an old white-haired guy walking towards a vehicle with keys in his hand.
Ewing followed along until they reached the gray Nissan, then he grabbed the old guy from behind, knocked him to the pavement and bashed his head against the asphalt a couple of times.
The old guy groaned as Ewing rolled him away from the car. “Shut up, you old fart. Be thankful I’m letting you live.”
He picked up the keys, slumped in behind the wheel barely able to breathe and shoved the key in the ignition.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sunday, March 15th.
The Ides of March.
JESSE woke when he heard a little voice on the monitor next to his head. Charity was awake and talking to her teddies like she did every morning. She rarely cried unless something was wrong. Jesse smiled, listening to her jabber away. Just the sound of her sweet baby voice filled him with joy. Then he heard a second voice and Charity was laughing out loud. Something she did with more frequency when her Uncle Tyler was with her.
Jesse smiled as he sat on the side of the bed and waited for his heart to catch up with him. He’d improved noticeably since he’d been seeing Jan Wagner on a professional level, but once he tried to put a personal twist on things, the beautiful lady doctor was not happy with his heart rate, his blood pressure and a lot of other stuff he didn’t want to think about.
She made the call and said although she was interested and attracted to him, he wasn’t ready for the added stress a new relationship would put on him. They had to wait and see each other only casually for the time being.
But today was the day, and Jan was coming for a casual Sunday dinner.
BLAINE sat at his favorite antique table—the one he and Annie had picked out together—in the window alcove of his kitchen, nursing his third mug of coffee and wondering if they’d ever get a break on Ewing Thompson. The hundreds of people they’d shown his picture to at all those hotels out by the airport, and not one person recognized him. How was that possible? Somebody had to have seen something. It was the law of averages or Murphy’s law of spotting cons or something.
“What are you looking so miserable about?” Farrell clunked into the kitchen in boxers and cowboy boots and poured himself a coffee. He trucked over to the table carrying the sugar bowl and a spoon and plopped down.
“We need a break, bro. Phone call, a new sighting, anything. This morning, I’d take anything at all, no matter how small.”
“Won’t be no good winds blowing our way today,” said Farrell as he sat spooning sugar into his coffee. “Ides of March are upon us.”
“You fucking dork.” Blaine gave a chuckle. “Since when do you quote the Bard?”
“Mom says that.”
“Bullshit, she does. I never heard her say it once.”
Farrell whipped out his phone. “I’m calling her.” He waited then when Annie answered he put it on speaker. “Hey, Mom, what day is this?”
Annie giggled. “Why are you asking me that? Let me check. Oh, the Ides of March are upon us. Be careful, my love.”
“Thanks, Mom. I love you.”
Blaine was shaking his head at Farrell and about to launch into a barrage of insults when his cell rang. “Lieutenant Lopez, lovely to hear from you on a Sunday morning.”
“Shove it, Blacky. I should be home sleeping.”
“What have you got for me?”
“Not sure he’s yours but trying my best not to miss my tee off time in an hour.”
Blaine laughed. “You’re trying to dump a body on me?”
“Hey, I think he belongs to you. Ward Ingram.”
“Fuck,” hollered Blaine. “Yeah, he’s mine all right. Where the hell is he?”
“He’s reclining at one of his real estate listings in West Oak,” said Lopez. “This is the address.”
EWING rolled over in bed and woke himself with a groan. “Got any Advil?” he poked the girl lying next to him and she opened sleepy eyes.
“Maybe some in the bathroom.”
“Go get it.”
“Don’t boss me around.”
“You invited me here.”
“That was a couple years ago when we were writing steady,” she said. “I got better sense now than to write to cons in the slam.”
“Yeah, and I got better things to do than hang around with a dog like you, but I had nowhere else to go.”
“Don’t call me a dog or you can get out of my trailer.”
“Woof,” said Ewing. “Get the hell out of this bed and get me some pain pills.” He kicked her scrawny leg as hard as he could, then wished he hadn’t wasted the effort when he felt like puking.
FARRELL GROWLED out the truck window. “How can the media hounds get here ahead of us, bro?”
“Better scanners than us,” mumbled Blaine. “Jesus, they’ve got the road gridlocked.”
“Smash into the fuckers,” said Farrell, his vehemence showing. “You’ve got the goods on the front of this baby.”
Blaine turned on the siren and the strobes and waited not too patiently until three or four vans with call letters moved out of his way. When it became possible, he drove in the driveway of the property listed for sale and parked behind the Medical Examiner’s van.
The front door of the rambling stone house stood open and all the activity seemed to be centered in the expansive foyer. Ward Ingram lay in a heap on the white marble floor where he’d fallen when the two bullets struck him in the head. A large pool of Ward’s blood surrounded his head, pumped out by his closing heart beats.
“Double tap,” said Farrell. “Same hitter.”
“Who did Jesse say the bookie was in his copy of the interview?” asked Blaine.
“Guy named Yugo.”
“Jesse was convinced this was all about Ward Ingram and his debt to the wrong people.”
“Boss is probably right,” said Farrell. “Usually is.”
Blaine nodded. “Yep. Yugo didn’t get his money and bingo—now there’s two people dead,” said Blaine. “One was the wrong person and now he got the right guy. We need an address for Yugo.”
Lopez crossed the foyer and pointed. “That’s the client and his wife sitting in the kitchen, Blacky. Mr. and Mrs. Cornell. They found the body.”
“You took their statement?”
“Uh huh. I’ll make sure you get a copy.”
“I’ll speak to them for a minute.” Blaine strode into the all-white kitchen and greeted the witnesses. “I’m Blaine Blackmore, and I’m sorry you had to be detained until I got here. I know you’ve given your statements to Austin Homicide, but just run through quickly for me—let’s see—start when you pulled in the drive.”
“Nice to meet you, Ranger Blackmore,” said the wife. “I’ve seen you on TV.”
“I’ll start,” said the husband. “I parked the car and Mr. Ingram’s Beemer was already here. We walked up to the house together, pausing to look at the v
iew and the flower beds. Cindy said the house looked too big and I told her to wait until we saw the whole thing.”
“We don’t need this much space or to spend this much money if there’s only the two of us,” she said.
“Go ahead and finish, Mr. Cornell.”
“We didn’t ring the bell or anything because the double front doors were both wide open and we could plainly see Mr. Ingram.
“It was so terrible,” said Mrs. Cornell. “I never saw a dead person before. Only at a funeral home.”
“There was no one around when you arrived?” asked Blaine. “No vehicles on the road that you noticed. You might have passed one on the way up the street?”
“Umm… we did pass that Jeep with the doors off,” said Mrs. Cornell. “Member I said, ‘that looks like fun.”
Mr. Cornell gave his wife a blank stare.
“What color was the Jeep, Mrs. Cornell?”
“Black and shiny. It looked new. New and fun.”
“Excellent.” He nodded to Farrell and his brother was getting it all down. “Now think about the driver for a minute. Who was driving the Jeep with no doors?”
“This is fun,” she said. “It’s like a game, isn’t it?”
Her husband frowned at her.
“Did he look tall behind the wheel?” asked Blaine.
“Tall and straight as an arrow and his hair was buzzed like a military dude.”
“Blond or dark?”
“Fair hair and reflector shades. You know—those blue ones.” She stared at Farrell for a minute and looked twice at his hat. “No hat.”
“No hat. Good.”
“How did you see all that, Cindy? We passed him in a couple of seconds.”
Mrs. Cornell shrugged. “I don’t know how. I just did.”
“Wonderful memory,” Mrs. Cornell. “Anything about the Jeep? Sign, sticker, tag numbers, letters?”
“In the passenger corner of the windshield there was one of those blue stickers that lets you park up close.”
