by Susan Slater
“Got the copy of the schedule. Two of the five trips down south last year coincide with big dumps on the street. Could be coincidence, could be something we can use. You need to go over that plane. Pictures, fabric swatches from the seats, random samples of engine fluids, air from the tires, you know the routine. Use a vacuum whenever you can, then put everything in envelopes or lab containers. I’ve sent a package of materials out to the Double Horseshoe, including a camera. Let’s say you get that stuff to me day after tomorrow. We’ll meet at three, courthouse lawn.”
“Okay by me.” It wasn’t, but it was easier to reassure than argue.
“One more thing. That Enrico Garcia? It’s just like you suspected, big connections with Columbian drug lords. Stay on it. You could be close.”
Roger wasn’t going to waste time on small talk. He hung up after reconfirming the time they’d meet. It was just as well, he could see Hank leaning against the pickup by the curb.
Dan had promised he would have everything. That could be a lie unless he went out to the hangar tonight. He sat a moment and tried to decide what was bothering him. He felt pressured, that was one thing; then, there was this looking the gift horse in the mouth, staying at the ranch, sucking up Billy Roland’s hospitality while he was waiting to nail him. But wasn’t he trying to nail him on the cattle thing? Somehow, that was different, in the open, straightforward. Billy Roland was helping him find the answers, just like an innocent man or someone incredibly cocky.
For some reason, Hank was talkative on the ride back and Dan decided to take advantage of his mood. He’d picked up a six pack, offering a beer to Dan as he threaded his way through the late afternoon traffic on Highway Three Eighty, pushing the pickup over seventy when he could.
“Did you know Eric Linden, the pilot who worked for Billy Roland about eight years ago?”
“Before my time, but I heard of him. Combined a little business with personal interests. Smuggling, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. You fly to Central America. How easy would it be to bring something back?”
“Probably easy if you had connections.”
“Have you ever been stopped at the border, the plane searched?”
“Twice. A few years back and just a couple months ago. Nuisance. Clean as a whistle both times.”
Dan popped open a beer and contemplated his next question. Hank’s input could be helpful, unless he was in on it, too. But he hadn’t seen anything that indicated Hank was not what he said he was, a hard-working vet who was also a pilot.
“Do you think Billy Roland could be behind smuggling drugs?”
“No way. He’s a straight shooter. Hates that sort of thing.”
Hank hadn’t hesitated. And his answer hadn’t seemed rehearsed. But maybe false insurance claims fall into another category, Dan mused.
“This Garcia guy in Venezuela. Was he happy with the cows that you delivered last week?”
“It wasn’t exactly the Cisco Kid, but I think so.”
“Do you stay with the plane while you’re there?”
“It’s guarded. I stay up at the villa, private room, a little live entertainment if you know what I mean.”
“Not sure I do.”
“Women,” Hank grinned sheepishly. “All shapes and sizes, I have my pick.”
The beers had loosened Hank up, but Dan could only think of Eric enjoying the same live entertainment years ago.
“Has Mr. Garcia purchased other stock from the Double Horseshoe?”
“For many years.”
“Before you came?”
“Years before. His herd rivals Billy Roland’s.”
“This the same Enrico Garcia who’s rumored to be tight with the drug lords down that way?” Dan was fishing but it didn’t hurt to check. Maybe Hank had noticed something before or after the live entertainment.
“Can’t say. All those guys have skeletons in their closets. But the money spends the same.”
“Got another trip planned soon?”
“You thinking of coming along?”
“Might. I’ve always wanted to go to South America. See the last of the rain forests.”
“You’ll probably have time to finish your investigation at the ranch first, nothing’s on the calendar until late September.”
The six pack was history. Hank had downed four to his two by the time they pulled up in front of the barns.
“See you at supper.” Hank’s apartment was behind the first set of barns. A fairly small four rooms with private patio that put him just fifty feet from the clinic. That was taking your work home with you.
Dan walked back to the house. Supper was a family thing, Iris, Hank, sometimes Jorge, sometimes someone from town. Billy Roland really got off on having a group around him at meal time. Making up for not having a family, Dan thought. But, whatever, the meals were sumptuous. Not that Dan needed mashed potatoes, gravy, and meat every night.
He was crossing the veranda when he saw Billy Roland reclining on a chaise lounge in the shadows next to the house. The ice sounded like tiny bells as he swirled his drink and rubbed the cool glass across his forehead. “Can I fix you up with something?” His voice sounded tired, spent, in pain, even.
“Sure, why not.” Dan walked toward the stocked sideboard and poured himself a scotch. Billy Roland hadn’t moved.
“Drag up a chair. We’re overdue for a little chat, wouldn’t you say?”
“Could be.” Dan chose to sit on the steps.
“You ever have migraines, son?”
“No. A couple nasty hangovers in my youth probably don’t qualify from what I’ve heard.”
“Well, if you do, this here stuff’s the only way to go.” He handed Dan a vial that read Banamine.
“A painkiller for cattle?” It was then that Dan saw the syringe and a disposable needle on a tray table next to the chaise.
“Yeah. Dosage is a little tricky. Hank helps me. If I get a jump start on these things, I can lick ’em before I’m flattened. Now, why don’t you humor an old man and tell him how you’re doing. Just let me lie back here with my eyes closed.”
Dan wasn’t sure where to start. He was thinking about how he could check what was in the syringe. Wouldn’t that be a kicker if the lord of the manor was a user?
“I’ve looked into the alien thing. Just got back from delivering Shortcake Dream to Roswell.”
“Tell me the truth, son, you believe little blue people cut up my heifer?”
“I have a couple other leads.”
“I bet you do. You struck me as one who’d think that spaceship stuff was malarkey. But you live out here long enough and it happens more than once, it’s hard to ignore. I never sighted anything twirling around in the sky, but some of my friends have. Good upstanding citizens, hard to discount their stories.”
Was he telling Dan how to report the death, or just making small talk?
“I thought I’d check out the Masons.”
“Judge Cyrus would love to help you there.”
Was that a chuckle? For someone with a migraine, old Billy Roland seemed to be enjoying this.
“I’ll keep you posted.” Dan stood. He needed a shower before supper.
“No, no, sit a while. Supper’s going to be late cuz of my noggin, anyway.” Billy Roland sipped his drink. “You’re the best. I know you’ll get to the bottom of all this. I wouldn’t have asked for you, if I didn’t think you could do it. I did my research, and I haven’t changed my mind.”
“You asked for me?” Dan sat back down. He hadn’t been told. This was the first he’d heard that he was handpicked. So, why would the person being investigated want the best? Yes, a little bit of ego to let him consider himself the best.
“You have any idea how small and how intimate the cattle community really is? The big ranches, other Charolais breeders, the circle of judges? Well, let me tell you. You have gas on Monday, they know it by Tuesday. A few big claims and I might as well have farted in their faces, they know it that quick. An
d then there’s the speculation. Old Billy Roland’s in need of money. Who’s got it in for him now? They’re sharks, son, circling for the kill. I already feel like there’s a chunk of me in the water. Innocent or guilty, the reputation suffers.”
Dan waited while he took a long sip of his drink.
“Fix me another one of these, son, if you would, please. Lots of ice.”
“Could someone from that community be doing this?”
“I can’t imagine anyone from the circuit killing the Cisco Kid. We didn’t show him. He was one of those best kept secrets, you know, every breeder’s dream, a little something in the backyard that’d wipe ass from here to Sunday. Next to Shortcake Dream, his death hit me hardest. You got any leads?”
Dan hadn’t been prepared and almost let the bottle of scotch slip from his hands. He didn’t just have a lead; he damned well knew the killer but couldn’t say. He’d tried to forget Eric’s place in all this. He still hadn’t made up his mind how he’d report it.
“Looks like that bronchial virus thing the labs came up with. I don’t have anything better.”
“You know there are times when all this gets to be too much. Losing what you’ve worked for, thinking your friends might be to blame. Doesn’t help the headaches.”
He said it softly, rubbing the glass back and forth again across his forehead. Dan didn’t say anything. He could understand how a man like Billy Roland could get depressed.
And he felt sorry for him. That surprised him. He really didn’t want this man to suffer more. So, was he on the verge of letting feelings get in the way of good investigating? He couldn’t be sure.
“What can you tell me about Eric Linden?” Dan asked.
Billy Roland put his glass down and seemed to be thinking about something. Dan waited. He wasn’t in any rush.
“You mean the man who was killed in the flood?”
“Hank said he used to work here, was flying for you when he got caught.” Again, Billy Roland stared off into space, seemed to be choosing his words. At least, Dan knew he couldn’t pretend he didn’t know him. Not anymore. Dan knew their connection.
“You believe some people are just born no good? No Puritan work ethic, no morals, no consideration of other people’s property?”
Dan nodded. So far he hadn’t said anything about Eric that he couldn’t agree with.
“Well, that doesn’t even come close to sizin’ up your Mr. Linden. And I’m a Christian man. Like to see the good in a fella whenever I can. Look for it, even. Give someone a second chance.”
“I take it that was hard to do with Mr. Linden?”
“Nigh onto impossible. I watched Eric grow up. Knew his aunt, great lady, she stepped in when his parents were killed in that car accident. I even helped ’em out a little when he was having trouble at Yale. Made a few calls, that sort of thing, nothin’ much but it seemed to help.”
“You knew him all his life?”
“Gave the bride away at his wedding. I sure thought that would settle him down. You ever meet his wife?”
This was out of the blue. Dan stammered, “Yes, nice woman, smart.”
“Bet your sweet bippy. Elaine’s nice as they come. And pretty, don’t you think?” Billy Roland had turned to look at him.
“Classic beauty.” That wasn’t a lie. He thought that.
“It’s the legs. Never seen a heifer with a better pair.”
“But I take it that didn’t keep Eric around the house?”
“Maybe at first.”
“But later?”
“Everything just kept turning brown, if you know what I mean. He was an ambulance chaser. His practice never did take off. Oh, he did some work for your brother-in-law, nothing challenging, glorified bookkeeping. But he’d rather play. He burned through his inheritance on one plane or another. He was a good pilot. A lot of us tried to keep him busy, crop dusting, delivering cattle, odds and ends like that.”
“Guess it wasn’t enough.”
“Nothing would ever be enough for Eric.”
Dan thought of letting things drop, not question him about Eric anymore, then he decided against it. Why not go for it? What did he have to lose?
“Did you have any idea he was smuggling drugs?” He was curious as to how Billy Roland would answer. If he had offered the two million and then took it away….
“I still get hot under the collar. He threw everything in my face—all the help, all the years of knowing his family. Used my plane, even. He deserved to get caught. God knows how many trips there’d been where he’d sneaked through. And you know what’s funny? I never suspected. I just didn’t think he’d do anything like that. Goes to show you, you can be dead wrong about some people.”
You can say that again, Dan thought. He scanned Billy Roland’s face in the half light of early evening. The pain was etched deeply around his eyes but he couldn’t see the guilt, couldn’t hear it in what Billy Roland was saying. How could this man pretend innocence? It was his connection with Enrico Garcia. Eric was just his pilot.
“How’d the family take it?”
“’Bout killed his aunt.”
“And Elaine?”
“Devastated.”
“But she didn’t divorce him.”
“They don’t make ’em like that anymore. She’d stood by him through affairs—”
“She knew about his philanderings?”
“Looked the other way. Every once in a while, Eric would slip across the border with some little thing. Underfed, underage, wanting a chance at a good life. I’d find something for her to do here. But he never fooled me. I always knew he was getting a little special thank you, if you read me.” Billy Roland paused to look up at him. “There just wasn’t ever any keeping it in his pants. Hornier than a three-peckered billy goat.”
“Do you think he was working on his own?” Dan was finding himself vaguely uneasy with all these references to Eric’s sex life. And the old man seemed vehement about not being involved, not even knowing about the drug smuggling.
“Don’t know. He said he was. But who could believe him?”
“What do you think?”
“Part of me wants to believe he was set up. That he wouldn’t get involved in drugs on his own. It’s hard to say. Roswell has a few secrets, but its leading citizens don’t push drugs, that I know.”
“Was it unusual that he pulled time so close to home?”
“Now that took some doing. Judge Cyrus, his brother-in-law, a little help from yours truly—took a lot of clout to pull that one off. Thought it’d be better for Elaine and Matthew.”
“Was it?”
“Maybe at first. But, you know, she and the boy never visited him after the first year. Just stayed away, went about their business, but never went back to Milford Correctional.”
“Wonder why?”
“Guess I always thought she finally gave up. ’Bout the time he was supposed to get out, she served him with divorce papers. Probably couldn’t see the rest of her life with a felon. With Matthew off to college, guess she thought she’d start over.”
“Probably a good idea.”
“You know she deserves a good man, a good life.”
Dan was glad he didn’t have to answer. He wanted to be that man, and now things were out of his control. And he didn’t see any way of changing them. Would Eric talk to Elaine? Would she still leave him?
“You all going to sit out here till morning?” Iris stepped out onto the porch. “Supper’s getting cold.”
“Iris, honey, I didn’t know you were back from town. What you got on that table in there?”
“Couple of your favorites, yams with apricots and a pork roast. Some of that crusty old French bread you asked me to get.”
“Now, that does sound worth moving for. Dan give me a hand here.”
Supper was quiet. Billy Roland picked at his food but blamed his loss of appetite on the headache he’d recently circumvented, said that’s what happened, he’d get rid of the headache but be
a zombie the rest of the evening. He excused himself before dessert and went upstairs to bed.
Hank had lost the loquaciousness he had shown driving back from town but offered to stick around to play cards even though he couldn’t stop yawning. Jorge declined and left without dessert. Iris said she wanted to go to bed early, and Dan said he needed to do some reading. The peach cobbler was eaten in silence, and everyone left the dining room without coffee.
He had the study to himself. Dan picked a leather recliner and pulled down two books on Charolais cattle, then another on Coronado and his trek through this part of the country in 1541. That ought to put him to sleep. Actually, he needed to plan his evening. He found the box of supplies Roger had said he’d mailed on the hall table. He’d go through it when he was certain everyone was asleep. Tonight might be the best time to look at the plane.
He waited until midnight then started out on foot. It had crossed his mind to saddle Belle, but he might have made too much noise in the barn. He didn’t want to explain why he felt the urge to go for a night ride all of a sudden, burdened with an assortment of plastic containers with labels, a camera, and a mini-vac. It’d be better if no one saw him, coming or going.
He wore a denim, long-sleeved shirt and jean vest, its pockets crammed with supplies. The flashlight and gun were in separate hip pockets, each reassuring in its own way. He estimated the walk to the hangar would take forty-five minutes. The night was perfect, clouds obscuring the moon, no wind.
At first he kept to the row of poplar and hedge along the fence leading away from the house to the south. Billy Roland had ordered a mounted patrol of the property after the incident in the woods. The rider seldom came close to the house and made one wide circle of the property once a night.
He stood for a few minutes behind the trees watching until he was satisfied that no one had seen him leave. The house remained dark. From a distance its silhouette loomed on the horizon, secure, inviting, nestled into an extended windbreak of trees, the only inhabited shelter for miles. There was no sign of the patrol. Still a little early.
