“Are you saying he admitted to killing Rhonda?“
“He might as well have.”
Jesus. Back to square one.
“And,” Yates continues, “it occurs to me you’re the wild card here, Lucas. You’re the one who brings Thelma Paige into the picture and you end up accomplishing with the Getty case what I couldn’t with the Alvarro case. I figure if I’m smart I get you on my side and maybe I put a lid on both of them.”
“I see.”
“So let’s have it. What were you up to?”
We’re at the point where I really should piss or zip up. But mulling it over in my mind I still can’t see Yates accepting the fact that I’ve seen a ghost or that Deborah sees auras. The thing is, I can maybe tell him just a little and still save some face. “I’ll tell you what, Sergeant,” I say, “I’m going to ask you a question. If the answer is yes then it really doesn’t matter what we were up to.”
He runs his hand through his hair and lays one of those Clint Eastwood glares on me. “Okay, shoot.”
“Have you checked out Herb Kripps?”
The surprise on Yates’ face is very apparent. “Kripps? What makes you think Kripps had anything to do with this?”
“Just answer the question,” I say.
“Kripps is clean. We know that for a fact.”
He sounds awfully certain about it. “Would you mind telling me how you know that.”
“He was never specifically checked out as a suspect but it turned out he was an alibi for somebody else and was cleared automatically when we confirmed it through another source.”
“Can you be a little more specific?”
He sighs. “When we learned Paco Alvarro wasn’t the girl’s biological father, he was right up there on the priority list. We made a point of checking him out thoroughly. As it turned out he’d been in Las Vegas, golfing and gambling, for three days before the girl disappeared. We verified that with the hotel desk clerk, the pro at the golf club, several unrelated parties, as well as with the two buddies that went with him.”
I’ll be damned. “Who were the two buddies?”
“Kripps and Mel Hocking, the Circle H owner.”
I can hardly believe what I’ve just heard. I’m completely stunned by this new revelation from Yates. It means if Harold is not on Yates’ hot list for Anne Marie’s killing, and I’m back with the poker gang, there are only two names left as the possible murderer: Arliss Beckman or Sonny. And Arliss is, by far, the suspect of choice.
Yates can see the gears churning away in my mind. “So what’s the deal?” he says.
I’m not about to dump Arliss Beckman’s name on Yates without something a hell of a lot more substantial than what I’ve got. I look at him sheepishly. “The deal is we were way off base. If Kripps is definitely not your man then I’m not going to bore you with a lot of bullshit about why we thought he was.”
Yates doesn’t even try to hide how pissed off he is. “That’s it? You just, for some reason out of the blue, thought Herb Kripps was a child killer? Gimme a break here.”
“Like I said, Sergeant, if he’s cleared what difference does it make why we suspected him?”
Yates shakes his head, disgusted that he’s wasted this much time on me. He fires up the cruiser and pulls out on the highway back to town. “You’re right,” he says, making no effort to disguise the animosity in his voice, “it doesn’t make one damn bit of difference.”
35
Yates practically pushes me out of his car once we’re back at the garage. He’s in such a foul mood now I figure I’m lucky he even bothers to come to a full stop before giving me the old heave ho. But I’ve got other things on my mind besides the sergeant’s ire. My list of suspects has suddenly been reduced to two - one, if I don’t count Sonny. And as hard as I’ve tried to keep my mind open to all possibilities in this little mystery of ours, I still can’t seriously consider Sonny as a credible suspect.
So, what I need to do now is nail Arliss Beckman’s ass to the wall, and the only way to do that is to give Yates a logical reason to check him out. Obviously I can’t expect any help from Deborah for the time being; she’s a basket case. Am I up to trying my luck with Beth at this early stage? Not really, but do I have any choice? She’s all I’ve got in terms of moral support.
Well, the Lord hates a coward.
I call her at work around 2:30, knowing it’s a slow time for her. She comes on the phone sounding like her old self. “Hello.”
“Hi, it’s me.” I’m braced for the sound of a click but she surprises me.
“Mm hmm.”
“Do you want to talk?”
“Why not.” She says this like you would if you hadn't slept for a week.
“I know you think you saw something hurtful, but you didn’t.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Just what did I see then?”
“You saw me giving comfort and solace to a grieving friend.”
“Comfort and solace.”
“Right.”
“You know, Lucas, this is getting tiresome. The other day I asked that you be honest with me. In fact, that’s all I’ve ever asked of you. It doesn’t look to me like you took your promise to do so very seriously.”
Damn it all to hell, she’s absolutely right. I’ve treated her disgracefully. I should be ashamed of myself. What can I say? “Beth, I ---”
She cuts me off. “Either you’ve got something going with Deborah or you haven’t. If you haven’t, all I can say is that you’re exceptionally unlucky because every move you make makes it look like you have.”
“Unlucky. That’s me. Definitely, extremely unlucky.”
“Yeah.”
“Look, I know I haven’t handled things right. I’m an idiot. It’s just that right from the start you’ve never trusted me worth a damn. So I got into the habit of trying to cover up everything I do so you won’t think there’s something going on that isn’t going on.”
There’s a lull in the conversation. “I’m trying awfully hard to believe you, Lucas,” she says eventually, “but I’ll be honest, it’s not easy.”
“Have dinner with me,” I say. “We’ll talk more about it then.”
There’s another one of those embarrassingly long lulls.
“Come on, honey,” I say. “How about I pick you up after work and we go for drinks and dinner at the hotel.”
She sighs but remains remarkably calm. “All right. I’m off at seven.”
“I’ll be counting the minutes.”
She gives me a little ‘hmmph’ and hangs up.
I have to do a lot better than what I’ve been doing, I chastise myself, or I’m going to lose her. And, if I know anything, I know I don’t want that to happen.
By 7:15 we’re seated in the hotel dining room. Beth has spoken very little since I picked her up but I’m content for the time being, encouraged by the fact that she has at least been civil to me.
We order drinks.
I figure I'll get her mind off my recent mischief by filling her in on the situation with Rhonda Getty. “I guess you’ve heard the news about Harold,” I say.
Her demeanor immediately changes at the mention of Harold’s name. “Not really,” she says. “Everybody’s got an opinion but nothing’s been determined for sure, has it?”
I lean forward, talking in a near whisper even though there’s only one other table of diners in the place and they’re completely across the room from us, well out of hearing. “Actually, I learned a few things today,” I tell her.
She frowns. “About what?”
“You have to keep this real hush hush,” I say. “I mean it.”
“Of course,” she says. Now she’s hooked.
“Yates told me today that they’ve got proof Harold killed Rhonda Getty.”
Beth frowns again and this time her eyes get that heartbroken look in them. “Oh, God, really?”
“That’s what he said.”
“I was really hoping it wouldn’t be him. But I guess it was pretty obvious that it had to be, wasn’t it?”
“I guess so, but that’s not all. Yates isn’t convinced Harold is responsible for whatever happened to Anne Marie. Even though they’ve apparently got proof that Harold killed Rhonda, he denies having anything to do with Anne Marie’s disappearance. Why would he bother to deny killing Anne Marie if they know he killed Rhonda?”
“So you think Herb is still---”
“No, Herb is clean. And get this: Yates told me Herb, Paco, and Mel Hocking were all in Las Vegas for several days before Anne Marie disappeared. They’re all clean.”
She’s stopped dead in her tracks by what I’ve just said. I can see her mind working through the inference. “But if you’re right about someone in the poker group, that means---”
“Exactly. Only Arliss and Sonny are left. And that means Arliss.”
Now the look on Beth’s face is one of bewilderment. “What are you going to do? You should tell the police---”
“I don’t think so, Beth.”
“But why?”
“What exactly do you suggest I tell them?”
“Well, that … that ... yeah, I see what you mean.”
“I’ve got to get something on the guy first.”
“But how?” she wants to know.
“That, my dear, is the million dollar question.”
Although the food at the hotel dining room is nothing to fire off an e-mail to Gordon Ramsey about, the ambiance is certainly a notch above that at Herb’s diner. By the time we’ve gotten through our main course the quiet, tranquil atmosphere has put Beth in a reflective mood. The conversation all evening, although dominated by what the next move should be with Arliss, has been relaxed. But so far we’ve drawn a blank. Then Beth comes up with an idea. “It looks like Arliss has got something going with Alicia Hocking. Right?”
“I’d say that’s a near certainty.”
“If that’s the case maybe she knows something.”
“It’s possible, I suppose.”
“Why not find out?”
“How?”
“She’s just a kid. If you put pressure on her she’d probably cave in.”
“Yeah, maybe. But we don’t know that she knows anything for sure. And how could we put pressure on her without giving the game away to Arliss?”
“Why not just get her alone and tell her we know all about Arliss. If she wants to save herself she has to come clean about what they did. And, besides, maybe she’s completely innocent, but she could be in real danger herself.”
“I was thinking about that too,” I say. “But nothing we could tell Alicia would convince her that Arliss is guilty of anything. She’d just figure us for a couple of wackos if we start blathering on about my ghost sightings, Deborah’s auras, and Thelma’s psychic revelations. Of course, she’d immediately tell Arliss about us, too. And once he knew we were on to him that would blow any chance we’d ever have of getting anything on him.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Beth admits.
“We just have to keep thinking,” I say. “We’ll come up with something.”
But dessert comes and goes, after dinner drinks are consumed, and we’ve still established no good way to proceed. Then it’s time to find out where I really stand with Beth. “Shall we go?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says.
Once we’re in the Jeep I have a decision to make. Do I drive her home or do I head to my place? So far she’s given me no indication of her wishes for the rest of the evening.
I decide I’ll play it smooth, like there’s never been any doubt about how things will evolve.
We’re within sight of the garage when she looks over at me and, in a voice that leaves absolutely no room for negotiation, says, “I’d like you to take me home please, Lucas.”
“Oh … well … sure.”
Oh yeah, I’m smooth.
Like the surface of the moon.
36
By the time poker night rolls around again I’m living the life of a seasoned hermit. The only contact I’ve had with Beth in the last week was when she stopped by to pick up a pair of earrings she’d left in my room on a previous visit. Her attitude, although not overtly hostile, left little doubt about there being much hope of a reconciliation any time soon. Deborah has been quiet, too. When I called her a few days ago she was sullen and disinterested in pursuing our discussion beyond an update on Harold’s situation. She’s depressed, and who could blame her? It doesn’t feel like the right time to bring up what Yates told me about doubting Harold’s involvement with Anne Marie’s disappearance. That would just lead to explaining that our original list of suspects has been reduced, and I don’t think she’s up to worrying about that right now.
When Sonny stops in to ask if I’m ready to walk up to the hotel, I realize I’m actually looking forward to spending an evening with someone who can talk back. Victor is now indisputably my best friend but, I am sad to report, he has yet to master the art of verbal communication.
“So, feelin’ lucky tonight, Lucas?” Sonny asks as we saunter up Main Street.
“Oh yeah,” I tell him. “You might as well give me all your money now and save yourself some embarrassment.”
He snickers a little. “You’re nothin’ if not confident, I’ll give ya that,” he says. “Say, what’s the latest on Harold anyway?”
“Last I heard from Deborah he’d been charged with murder and was undergoing a bunch of tests to determine if he was competent to stand trial. His lawyer is pretty sure there’ll be a determination of incompetence, though.”
“What’ll that mean?”
“Probably that he’ll be sent to an institution of some kind.”
“Hell of a thing,” Sonny muses.
“Yeah. By the way, how is Paco doing? He was off the deep end after we found Rhonda’s body. Has he calmed down any?”
“Some, yup. But he don’t think Harold should be let off easy on these murders just because he’s simple-minded. Wants him locked up till he’s too old to be a threat to anybody ever again.”
“Everybody’s convinced that Harold is responsible for Anne Marie’s disappearance, too, then?”
“Well, sure, I guess. Aren’t you?”
“There’s been no evidence of it, as far as I know.”
“Hmm. Just seems likely, that’s all. When you think about it, who the heck else could it be?”
“That’s a good question, Sonny.”
He looks at me strangely. “Somethin’ on yer mind, son?”
By now we’ve arrived at the hotel. “Nothing but taking all your money off you, old-timer.”
This brings another smile to his face. “We’ll see about that,” he says.
Paco puts me at ease by coming up to me as soon as he sees me. “Sorry for the way I acted the other day, Lucas,” he says humbly. “I had no right yelling at Deborah Miller or talking to you the way I did either.”
“It’s okay, Paco. I understand.”
He seems genuinely worried when he asks, “We still friends?”
“You bet.”
He sticks out his hand and we shake. “Let me buy you a drink,” he says.
Paco leads the way to the bar where the gang is gathered around listening to Mel expound on poor cattle prices. On his worst day Mel is worth a gazillion times more than the rest of us put together and nobody feels too sorry for him. Arliss is the only one who even pretends to exhibit any degree of real sympathy.
Herb throws back a tumbler full of scotch. “If you’re through with your whining,” he says, “let’s play some cards.”
I’m always amazed at Herb’s lack of common sense. After what happened between him and Mel the last time he mouthed off, you’d think the guy would try to demonstrate a little cool. But Mel appears to take no offence to Herb’s typically crude remark.
Everybody nods agreement and takes a final blast of booze before heading to the poker table.
&n
bsp; I make a point of sitting beside Arliss. We’ve never really had a discussion beyond the basics and I’m thinking maybe I’ll get a better feel for what makes him tick if I can get him talking. I’ve often wondered about his relationship with Herb. I keep remembering the night I spotted him with Alicia at Herb’s place. Did he have anything to do with the strange delivery to Herb’s basement? Did Herb even know he and Alicia were there? Lots of questions, zero answers. “How’s it going with you, Arliss?” I say as I pull up a chair.
“Pretty good,” he says. “You?”
“Not so bad. Mel keeping you busy?”
“Oh, yeah. Always.”
Yeah, I’ll bet. Busy spreading the legs of the boss’s daughter. “You ever get a chance to do any golfing?”
“A little,” he says. “Not much good at it though.”
“Do you ever get invited along on the Vegas trips?”
He looks at me with raised eyebrows. “With Mel you mean?”
“Yeah. Don’t he and some of the boys get out there once in a while?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. I’ve been along on a few, when he needed to make up a foursome usually. Not just to Vegas, though. We’ve done Phoenix, Tucson, Monterey, Palm Springs … you name it. It’s out of my league, but when Mel’s paying it’s first class all the way.”
The rest of the gang have now pulled up their chairs. Herb is expertly shuffling a new deck. “Seven card stud,” he says through teeth clenched around the ever present cigar. “Ante up.”
I figure what he really means is ‘shut up.’
This time around the evening ends with Paco making most of the money. Sonny, Herb, and me are down pocket change, but Arliss loses a fair bit more than it seems he should be able to afford. He’s probably the poorest guy at the table with the possible exception of me.
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