by R.J. Ellory
“Well, if you already know what’s inside, then there’s no need to unwrap it further, is there?”
“You always have been a sour old goat, Clarence Ames.”
Clarence smiled. “I know your pa, Evie. He’s a good man. I also know that he and Alvin Lang shared a few words.”
“Do you, now?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And how is that, Clarence? How do you know that Alvin came over and talked to my daddy?”
“Very little escapes me, Evie. You should know that by now.”
“Well, if there’s very little that escapes you now, that tells me that you know exactly what the deal is with Carson and Evan Riggs, that you know exactly who the daughter is and where she lives. I bet you even know her name.”
“Not a betting man, Evie,” Clarence said. “Only betting man I know is Carson Riggs, and I wouldn’t advise wagering on anything with him.”
“I have to say that I am beginning to dislike you, Clarence Ames.”
“I have to say that I don’t much care whether you like me or not.”
“So, you’re not gonna help us?” Evie asked, almost as if she was giving him one last chance.
“I have given you all the help you need right now,” he replied.
“Mr. Ames—” Henry started.
“Leave it, Henry,” Evie said. “He’s not gonna help us. He’s on Carson’s payroll.”
Clarence Ames walked the pair of them to the front door without a further word. He let them out and watched until they reached the street. He had intended to defuse the situation, but it was obvious from the get-go that this pair were not seeing sense, likely never would.
As soon as they were beyond the bounds of his property, he turned back down the hall and went for the telephone.
He dialed a number and waited.
“Sheriff … it’s Clarence Ames … We need to meet …”
He paused, inhaled slowly and closed his eyes.
“No, Carson … all of us …”
The journey back to the Chandler place was made in silence.
Henry tried talking, but Evie said, “I’m wound tight, Henry. Let me unwind or I’m likely to snap your head off.”
Henry let her unwind, and all seemed to be settling just fine until they turned off the highway and the house came into view.
Carson Riggs stood beside his car, hat tipped back, thumbs in his Sam Browne belt, cigarette parked in the corner of his mouth. He had on sunglasses, and as Henry Quinn pulled up, Riggs took off those glasses and smiled.
“Fuck,” Evie said under her breath.
“Fuck,” Henry echoed.
Hesitant then, Henry let the engine idle for a moment before he turned it off. He got out of the truck slowly, paused for a moment, and then closed the door.
Evie reached for the handle on her side, but Henry shook his head. “Stay in the truck,” he said.
“To hell with that, Henry Quinn,” she replied, and got out.
The smile never left Sheriff Riggs’s face, even as he stood straight and said, “Heard you went on up and made a visit at Ector County Hospital.”
Henry didn’t reply.
“Maybe you’re surprised how I know so much so fast, huh?”
“Never meant to be a secret, Sheriff Riggs.”
“Is that so?”
“It is.”
“So tell me this, son … Why the hell do you go on digging around in this business? Straight up, no bullshit.”
“Like I done told you and anyone else who asked, I just made a promise, Sheriff. Gave my word, is all.”
“Okay, so we have what they call a stalemate, don’t we? I’m asking you to back off. You’re saying you’re gonna do whatever the hell you want regardless of what I say.”
“I don’t think I’m doin’ whatever the hell I want, Sheriff Riggs, I think I’m doin’ what is right.”
“Sometimes the person who’s doin’ ain’t the best judge of what’s right.”
“I can see that.”
Riggs nodded slowly. He took off his hat and scratched his head. “Say I decide to help you.”
Henry frowned. “Come again.”
“Say I give you a helping hand. Say I point you in the right direction, help you out some.”
“And why would you do that?”
“Because I am not a selfish man, Henry Quinn. Because I got to thinkin’ about my dumbass brother up there in Reeves and how he’s been there all these years. Okay, so he killed a man and screwed up his life, but I seen his daughter one time, and she was something special. Bright, you know? Pretty as a picture. If God, in his wisdom, decided to get one good thing out of Evan’s life, then it’s gonna be that girl. And you know, I ain’t so sure that she wouldn’t want to know who her father was … who her father is. Maybe she’s aware of something missing. I don’t know if her folks ever told her that she was adopted. I don’t know much of anything, to be honest. Anyway, I got to ponderin’ all of this, and I figured that maybe I was wrong to get in the way of this. Maybe this is one of those things that’s meant to be.”
Henry listened to Riggs, his mind turning over rapidly. What the hell was this? Was this sincere, or just another misdirection?
“So,” Riggs went on, “I had Alvin look up some of this stuff, and he has a name and a town for you. Dates way back, ten, fifteen years, and maybe it ain’t gonna get you to her, but it’s something more than the nothing you’ve got right now. You go on over to Alvin’s place and he’ll give you what he found.”
“Seriously?” Henry asked. “You’re really giving me a hand with this?”
“No, son. I ain’t helpin’ you none. If I’m helpin’ anyone, it’s Evan.”
Riggs looked at Evie. “You know where Alvin lives, right?”
“Yes, sir. I do.”
“You go on over there now. He’s got the information I told you about.”
“That’s much appreciated, Sheriff,” Henry said.
“We shall see what happens, eh?” Riggs said. He put on his hat, his sunglasses, and he opened the door of the car. He paused, turned back. “Actually,” he added, “you can save me a journey.” He reached in through the window and took out a package.
“Just old parking tickets and whatever, all expired, but we gotta store ’em for two years. Old Alvin has a mountain of the things in his garage. Don’t have room for them in the office.”
Riggs tossed the package to Henry and Henry caught it. It was as it appeared—just a stack of tickets, all bound together and bagged in plastic.
“You just give that to Alvin for me, would you, son?”
“Sure thing, Sheriff,” Henry said.
Riggs got into the car and started the engine. He backed up, paused to look out the window at Henry.
“Too many years have gone by for me to stay angry, I guess,” he said. “Just the thought of it wears me out.”
Without another word, he turned onto the street and drove away.
“Something is fucked up,” Evie said. “I know it.”
“Let’s go see what Alvin Lang has to say for himself, then, shall we?”
“I don’t like it, Henry,” she said. “Somethin’ really ain’t right here.”
“So, what do you want to do? You want to quit on me now?”
“Not sayin’ that, and you know it,” she said. “Just sayin’ that it seems mighty strange for him to be doin’ the Mr. Helpful thing all of a sudden.”
“Maybe it’s one of those times when what someone says and what someone means are actually the same.”
Evie frowned. “Are you just dumb or naive or both, Henry Quinn?”
“Both, I guess,” he said, smiling. “It’s all part of the charm, you know?”
“Get in the car,” she said. “Let’s go see how deep this shit goes.”
Alvin Lang was on the porch when Henry and Evie pulled up in front of his house. He was in jeans and a T-shirt, seemed incongruous out of uniform, as if his head no longer suited his body.
“Howdy there,” he called as they exited the pickup.
Evie raised her hand in greeting. Henry picked up the package of spent tickets and walked up the drive. When he reached the steps, he said, “Got a package here from Sheriff Riggs.”
“That them tickets?”
“’S what he said.”
Alvin nodded at a small table beside the swing hammock. “Set it down there, son,” he said.
Henry did as he was asked.
“So, Sheriff Riggs asked me to make a few phone calls and check a few things out on this here Evan’s daughter business,” Lang said. “Said I should give you what I got, let you take it from there.”
“Did you find out her name, where she lives now?” Henry asked.
“Her name? Nope. Didn’t find that. However, I did find something. Doesn’t harm to have your granddaddy be the lieutenant governor of Texas. People tend to jump when you play that card.” He gave a self-satisfied smile, as if he had been personally responsible for his grandfather’s election success. “Anyway, it seems she went out to some place in Menard, far as I can figure. Some kinda orphanage, I guess. Whether it’s still there, where they kept records of where she went once she was growed up, who knows? But that’s what I got for you.”
“Is there any paperwork?” Henry asked.
“There is some paperwork, sure.”
“Can we look at it?”
Alvin smiled, shook his head. “We got ourselves a misunderstandin’ here. When I said there was paperwork, there is paperwork, of course, but ain’t no kind of paperwork we’re s’posed to be lookin’ at. This is confidential stuff, you know? Hell of a thing Sheriff Riggs done for his brother here, and if someone found out that he was snoopin’ around in stuff like this … well, let’s just say that it might compromise his pristine service record with the Sheriff’s Department. You just take what you got and be grateful, son. Orphanage in Menard, like I said.”
“That’s very much appreciated, Deputy,” Henry said.
“Nothin’ at all to me, Mr. Quinn. Like I done said, Sheriff Riggs had a change o’ heart. After all that happened between him and that crazy son-of-a-bitch brother o’ his, I think that shows the kind of forgiveness you rarely see in a man.”
“What—” Henry started, and knew immediately that it was one question too far.
“Conversation’s done, Mr. Quinn. You go on about your business. Oh, and if you want a word of advice, I wouldn’t go drivin’ on up to Menard today. It is Sunday, after all, and some folks don’t take too kindly to unexpected visits on a Sunday.”
“Understood,” Henry said. “And thank you.”
Alvin Lang merely nodded, turned, and went back into the house.
Henry and Evie got back in the truck.
“I don’t like this even more than I thought,” Evie said. “Somethin’ seems really fuckin’ out of whack here.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Henry said, and started the motor.
THIRTY-FIVE
Despite strenuous efforts to locate Evan Riggs, he could not be found. His mother, ever the wisest of the Riggs clan, suspected this was due to the fact that he did not wish to be found.
“To hell with him,” was Carson’s response when—two days before the wedding—he was informed that the likelihood of his younger brother being there was growing ever more unlikely.
“Warren can be best man,” Carson said.
“Warren Garfield?” his mother asked.
“Sure, why the hell not? He’s a good man. Reliable, you know?” Carson seemed settled on the idea. “I’m sure he’ll do it,” he added soberly, as if what was being proposed was a posse heading for the Diablo Plateau after cutthroats and brigands of the worst kind.
“Town lawyer seems an odd choice,” Grace told William.
William shook his head. “Garfield’s a little man trying to be bigger,” he said. “He’ll do whatever Carson tells him to do—always has done, always will. Not a good situation for the sheriff to have the law in his pocket like that.”
“You don’t think Carson’s doing a good job as sheriff?” Grace asked.
William smiled wryly. “I have no doubt that he’s doing a good job, my sweet. My only concern is that he’s doing too good a job.”
“Meaning what exactly?”
“Man thinks he’s being done a favor when the sheriff lets the odd traffic ticket slide, when some complaint about steer grazing where they shouldn’t is overlooked. Sometimes things a little more serious, you know? All well and good until the sheriff comes asking for a favor in return.”
Grace frowned. “In plain English, if you don’t mind, William Riggs,” she said, but William would not be further pressed for details.
She wondered if there wasn’t some sort of small-town conspiracy going on, her sense of unease precipitated more by ignorance than indirect involvement.
Thus it was: Warren Garfield was asked, and Warren Garfield accepted. It was a substantial wedding by Calvary standards, and after word got out that Grace Riggs would not be pleased to once again be asked as to the whereabouts of her youngest, the subject was no longer raised. Truth was, Evan knew all about the wedding, had received at least two of the telegrams, but the prospect of watching his older brother marry Rebecca Wyatt could not be faced. On the day in question—Saturday, March 12, 1949—Evan could have been found in a bar near the junction of Red River and East 7th, and though he did raise a glass to his brother and new sister-in-law, it was his fifth or sixth glass, and he would have happily raised a glass to the revocation of American independence. Their marriage was a fleeting thought; the memory of that night with Rebecca was not.
Evan was alone again, and Evan did not believe he was at his best when alone. That was a viewpoint unshared by those who considered him a friend. When Evan was in love, he was besotted. When Evan was angered, he was, in fact, outraged and terrifying. When Evan was morose or nostalgic, he was closer to abject depression. Evan Riggs did nothing by halves. Just as when he drank, everything was in doubles and triples, sometimes forgoing the glass altogether and swallowing life straight from the bottle.
He made money, but he just as quickly lost it. He was not extravagant, just irresponsible. He bought guitars, pawned them, retrieved them only to pawn them again three days later. He slept on couches, floors, one time in a doorway and was tanked for the night by the cops. That he had made a moderately successful record counted for nothing. It was Austin; everyone and his cousin had made a moderately successful record. The Whiskey Poet, though acknowledged as an adequate representation of a more-than-adequate talent, was six months old, and that flurry of excited sales right before Christmas had tailed off. Herman Russell and Leland Soames were after him for another record. Crooked Cow was not a sufficiently established label to survive on back catalog alone. They needed new material, and if that material wasn’t coming from signed names, then it had to come from new blood. Only so many times would Herman drive from Abilene to Austin to drag Evan Riggs out of some drunken self-loathing funk. Soon that gas would be put to better use taking him to those selfsame county fairs and talent shows where Henry Quinn would later be discovered. There were new singer-songwriters everywhere. Texas was good for oil, good barbecue rubs, longhorn steers, and balladeers. That’s what it did best, and Herman was a hound for the latter.
Back in Calvary, the newly-married Riggses were spoiled for choice. There was ample space at both the Riggs and Wyatt spreads, and then there was Carson’s place in town. Alongside the badge and the salary, the sheriff was afforded a comfortable two-bedroom apartment in Calvary center. It was here that Rebecca chose to live, excited at the prospect of furnishing it the way she wanted, having her own place away from home, she and Carson maintaining their own schedule, eating at their own table, waking in their own bed. Carson gave her what she wanted. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind, least of all Carson’s, that he had secured himself the best wife a man could have wished for east of the Pecos. He was not infa
tuated or smitten; he was not Evan when it came to such matters, but he was altogether satiated with love for the girl. See him on the street, he in uniform, she in whatever finery he had paid for, and he was big boss with the hot sauce. All that Calvary was waiting for was news of a baby, and that news came soon enough.
Rebecca told Carson that he was going to be a father in April. He lit up like a Roman candle and whirled through Calvary in pretty much the same fashion, telling everyone who crossed his path that he was going to be a daddy, and those who didn’t cross his path as well.
They headed out to see her father, dragged him along to the Riggs farm, and there they made the announcement. William, old-school when it came to such things, saw the Riggs name passing down the line with the farm. Had he ever doubted that Carson would give him grandchildren? No, he had not. Had he doubted Evan would do the same? Most definitely. He was reassured, at least, that neither the county nor the state would be selling his farm and donating the proceeds to some so-called community purse.
“Couldn’t be more proud of you, son,” William told his eldest. They stood on the veranda together, smoking a ritual cigar. William had kept a box for such occasions, though knowing nothing about the correct manner in which to store good cigars, they had dried out. Tasted like maize stalks rolled in damp newspaper, but neither uttered a word of complaint.
“She’s a great girl,” Carson said. “Love her dearly, Pa. I really do. And she’s gonna be an excellent mother.”
“No doubt about that,” William said. “Heart the size of Texas and then some.”
“You heard word from Evan?”
“Not a sound,” William said. “But that don’t trouble me none. Evan is Evan. He’s his own start and finish, and no one knows how he gets from one to the other.”
“He wasn’t here for the wedding, and now he’s not here for this.”
William turned to Carson. “You worried about him?”
Carson smiled. “’S what brothers do, Pa. Worry for one another even when there’s no reason for it. Just sad that he ain’t as close to the family.”
William shrugged. “You don’t choose family, son. Family gets chose for you. I know he loves us just as much as we love him, but that don’t mean he’s gotta see us three times a week.”
