by Rod Reynolds
I got back into the car and sat there, cooling off by trying to figure out my next move. My gut told me Clay Tucker wasn’t coming back. He’d been gone for three days, and if his debts were as bad as Masters made out, chances were he was in the wind. There was merit in what Masters said about the simplest explanation usually being the right one. But even knowing that, my thoughts kept tracking back to Barrett and Coughlin. I had a firm link between the two men now; Barrett running bag explained Coughlin’s motivation in intervening to protect him from a grand jury. And the rumours about Coughlin ordering the murder of the previous sheriff elevated him to a whole new level of criminal.
Favours owed and favours repaid. Had to make for a nervous situation between the two men now – both counting on the loyalty of the other, just as Masters’ campaign made the price of that loyalty skyrocket.
Jimmy Robinson had been wading around in the Glover case for weeks before he died; what if he’d turned up some evidence to incriminate Barrett? If so, and Coughlin or Barrett had got wise to the fact, it was the start of a motive for why they might want him dead. A panic move, but a necessary risk, even in the glare of Masters’ spotlight.
As a theory it was a long way from watertight, and I knew it. I kept moving the pieces around in my mind, trying to figure out who was more compromised, who had the most to gain from silencing Robinson, but I just didn’t have enough to see the picture. Maybe there was no picture, Clay Tucker the target all along. Jimmy unfortunate to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Businesses along the street started to stir, but Duke’s remained dark and still. I figured I had little chance of catching up with Tucker before Coughlin’s men, but then I had an idea for a long shot. I drove up to the Arlington and placed a call to Ella Borland’s number. A voice I didn’t recognise from the previous times said she hadn’t been in that day and to try the Southern Club. I thanked the man and hung up.
The Southern was right across the street from me. The frontage was less garish than that of the Ohio, but not by much; it sported the familiar striped awnings, a candy-cane green and white in this case, but the structure was more understated – a grey concrete facade with minimal flourishes.
I went inside and found myself in a deserted restaurant. The tables were laid and ready for service – the lights glinting off buffed silverware, the smell of parched white tablecloths – but all stood empty. I spotted a waiter in the far corner. I went over and asked for Ella Borland.
He nodded to the grand staircase at the back of the room. ‘She’s rehearsing.’
I climbed the stairs and garnered a nod from a heavy seated on a stool on the landing. Open double doors led into a large room that evidently served as the casino. There were three roulette wheels, a half-dozen dice tables, a chuck-a-luck cage and three rows of slot machines. Even at that hour on a Tuesday morning, one of the dice tables had a thin crowd around it, and the slots were seeing action, the continuous dinging of bells like a fire truck.
At the far end was a small stage. Ella Borland and two other women were on it, walking through the steps of some kind of dance routine. I moved closer and watched, waiting for a chance to talk to her.
The stage wasn’t lit and the women moved at half-speed, stopping to re-do a step every few seconds. It was apparent that Borland was no natural; her movements were stilted by comparison to the other two women, and she struggled to keep pace with them. Even so, she moved with a certain grace, and was mesmerising. She kept her eyes on the back of the room, and where the other two wore smiles that were too wide to be mistaken for real, Borland just seemed to shimmer, in a way that could buckle your knees.
She stopped abruptly when she caught sight of me, and the spell was broken. She looked uncomfortable at noting my presence; she said something to the others and then slipped off the stage and came over to where I was standing. ‘Mr Yates, what are you doing here?’
‘As it happens, I was looking for you.’
‘Why? We don’t have anything more to talk about. I’m certain I made it plain when we met that I don’t care to trawl through everything again.’
I held up my hand. ‘I’m not here about Jimmy. I need your help – I’m trying to track down Clay Tucker. He’s not been seen at Duke’s since Saturday. You happen to know where else I could try?’
‘Clay Tucker? I wouldn’t have the first idea. I have nothing to do with that man.’
‘I understand that, but I’m wondering if he had any family in the area, something along those lines.’
She glanced back at the stage, the other two dancers now in hushed conversation to one side of it, then looked back at me. ‘He talked about a brother, sometimes. Leland, I think. I remember him saying he lived out by Stokes Creek.’
I memorised the place name to look up after. ‘Do you have anything more specific?’
She shook her head. ‘I have to get on.’
‘I appreciate it.’
She started to walk to the stage, then stopped and turned back. ‘What do you want with Clay Tucker, Mr Yates?’
I stepped closer to her again. ‘I spoke to Samuel Masters earlier and he had some interesting things to say. The more people I talk to, the less it seems like that fire was an accident. I think Clay Tucker knows what really happened, and I’m going to make him tell me.’
She frowned. ‘Why, what did Mr Masters say to you?’
I put my hands in my pockets. ‘That Clay Tucker is behind on his debts to some serious people. I’d like to know if that had some bearing on what happened.’
Her hands were by her sides and she splayed them, but only for as long as it took her to realise she’d done it. ‘If you find him, you won’t mention my name, will you?’
I shook my head, wondering why she looked so worried. ‘No, of course not.’
She nodded and then turned and went back to the stage.
I watched her a moment longer, thinking she looked rattled. But it was fleeting, and in a moment she was moving fluidly again. The casino sounds came back to me and started to grate. I wheeled around and crossed the room heading for the stairway.
Halfway there, I stopped in my tracks. William Tindall was standing with one of the pit bosses, his eyes moving around the room, taking everything in. Before I could think, I’d ducked out of sight behind a bank of slot machines. I let a second pass before I peered over to watch. The pit man was trying to argue a point, but his words just seemed to bounce off Tindall. He persisted, each sentence rolling into the next, until something he said caused Tindall to look him straight in the eyes.
Right away the pit man fell silent. His mouth parted and his head tilted to one side, like he’d just missed the last lifeboat. Then he held one hand up and backed away. From what I could tell, Tindall hadn’t even spoken a word.
Keeping out of sight, I slipped along the row of slots towards the exit.
Chapter Seventeen
Stokes Creek was a long and narrow inlet off the Ouachita River, running along the southern edge of the airfield I’d first flown in at. I could see houses spaced all around the U-shaped shoreline as I drove towards it, the opposite banks of the waterway no more than three hundred yards apart. I stopped at the general store at the eastern tip of the creek and asked for directions to Tucker’s brother’s place – a half-mile down the road it turned out.
The house was a sprawling wooden structure near the water’s edge, with flaking green shutters and a shady porch that ran the length of the bottom storey on the landward side of the property. There were four rocking chairs spaced along it, Clay Tucker sitting in one wearing a yellowing white shirt, and a man who looked like him sitting in another. I’d driven out there to grill Tucker’s brother on Clay’s whereabouts, assuming there was no chance he’d be hiding out from Coughlin somewhere so obvious, and yet there he was, bold as a Halloween lantern. It was another wrinkle that didn’t make sense.
I stopped the car out front, and as I did, I saw two pickup trucks parked on the far side of the house. The
closer of the two looked like the one I’d chased outside the Mountain Motor Court that night.
Tucker saw me as soon I opened the car door. He jumped out of his chair, sending it rocking wildly. He bolted along the porch and disappeared around the side of the house. I ran after him. The second man darted towards me and tried to block me off, but I had the momentum and barged him out of the way, sprinting full pelt after Tucker.
I rounded the house and saw him in a small boat, ripping the starter cord on the outboard motor. I splashed into the shallows, water kicking up all around me, and shoved him over the side, nearly toppling myself as I did. He clawed his way up to all fours in the brown water, spluttering and panting.
‘Why’d you run, Tucker?’
The second man jogged down the bank but stopped short of the water. ‘Clay?’
Tucker turned his head, water dripping from his hair. ‘Go on inside. Get the shotgun.’
I shouted over to the brother, still pointing at Tucker. ‘You bring a gun out here and I’ll break it over your head. Stay there.’
The brother looked at me and must have seen a madman – knee-deep in the muddy water, suit trousers soaked through, balling my fist. There was doubt on his face and he didn’t move.
I waded around the boat so I was standing over Tucker. ‘The fire was no accident, was it?’
He pushed himself up so he was on his knees. His face was white as a sheet. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘You’re in hock to Teddy Coughlin. Start there.’
He got to his feet and called out to his brother. ‘Leland, will you go inside and get the goddamn gun?’
‘DON’T MOVE.’ I turned back to Tucker. ‘Who started the fire, them or you?’
He started to make for the bank, but I stood in his way.
‘You don’t know the first damn thing, do you?’ he said.
‘So tell me.’
‘And wind up like your friend? No way.’
I stepped closer to him. ‘What does that mean?’
He was shaking and it spilled into a scared laugh. ‘It means talking to you’ll get me killed.’
‘Why? By who?’
He stumbled around me and out of the water and flopped down onto the mud. He hung his head. ‘Why’s this have to land on my doorstep? I ain’t never wanted nothing to do with this.’
‘Answer the question, goddamn you.’
‘I don’t know, already.’ He held his arms out. ‘Ain’t like no one sat me down and explained anything to me. The man calls me and says, “Get outta your bar or you’re gonna burn,” so I did. Next thing I know, I got two goons bouncing my head off the wall and telling me to keep my mouth shut. I tried to tell them, I can’t say nothing ’cause I don’t know nothing—’
My brain fritzed. He was warned in advance. He could have stopped it. ‘Who? Who called you?’
He shook his head. ‘Walk away, city boy. Get the hell out of here while you can.’
I jumped on top of him and had my hands at his throat before I knew what I was doing. ‘Why didn’t you warn him?’ I pressed him into the mud. ‘Why didn’t you tell—’
There was a shout behind me. I lifted my head and saw Leland advancing on us with a shotgun aimed from his hip. ‘I said, get off of him.’
I let go of his throat and staggered to my feet. Tucker reached for his neck, gasping.
‘You left Jimmy to burn. You could’ve saved him.’
Leland picked his way down the bank until he was standing close to Tucker.
Tucker screwed his face up. ‘Jimmy’s the one they wanted. I try to warn him and they’d have killed us both. It was him or me. I never wished no harm upon him, but I got kids, I got a wife.’
‘So you saved yourself.’
He looked along the water, squinting.
I eyed Leland and his shotgun, no inkling how close he was to pulling the trigger or not. ‘Who killed him, Clay? Give me that and I’ll take my leave.’
He fixed me with a look now. ‘I swear to you, I ain’t know what’s going on.’
‘Who warned you?’
He shook his head, drops of water shaking loose from his hair.
I knelt down so I was at eyeball level with him. Leland tracked me with the gun barrel. ‘I know you’re afraid. I can help you. Give me the name.’
He scoffed. ‘How you gonna help me? You got an army behind you I don’t see?’
‘Samuel Masters is looking for ways to get at Teddy Coughlin. If you tell him what you know—’
He slapped the mud with the flat of his hand. ‘Fink on Big Teddy? Y’all dumber than you look. Masters is a flash in the pan, Teddy ain’t never going away. Everyone knows it too, and that’s why ain’t no one gonna open the book on him.’
‘Don’t be naïve. There’s always a weak link. Always. Someone’ll be desperate enough to talk, and he’s the only one going to get a pass. This is your chance to—’
‘No one ever crossed Teddy and walked away.’ He pushed a strand of wet hair from his temple. ‘No one.’ He reached up without taking his eyes off me, gripped the shotgun’s barrel and pointed it at his own head. ‘I’ll make Leland pull the damn trigger before I rat Teddy out. It’s the same damn thing.’
I looked away over the water, the fear on his face contagious.
‘Anyway, I done told you I don’t know nothing. I don’t know what Jimmy done to end up like that.’
‘Who called to warn you? I’m not going away until you spill on that.’
‘Are you confused about who’s side Leland’s on?’
I looked at Leland, saw his finger wasn’t touching the trigger. I took a swing in the dark. ‘Leland’s not a killer, he’s not firing that gun. Neither of you are.’ My heartbeat ran triple-time. ‘Tell me.’
‘I can’t, goddammit.’ His eyes welled up. ‘I never wanted this. I never wanted none of this.’
‘You want money?’ I took my wallet out. ‘You owe Coughlin, right? How much?’
‘More than you got.’
I drew my sleeve across my face, taking the sweat from my forehead and leaving creek water in its place. ‘Try this then: I’ll go have a talk with your insurance adjuster; figure he’ll be interested to hear how you knew about the fire and let it happen.’
He was still then.
‘Think I won’t?’ I said.
‘Goddammit, leave me out of this, can’t you? You gonna get us all killed.’
‘You left an innocent man to die. Don’t try me for sympathy.’
He looked at his brother, uncertainty writ across his face. ‘Son of a bitch.’ Then he closed his eyes. ‘Cole Barrett.’
It shouldn’t have been a surprise to hear his name, and still it shocked me. I rose up slowly, feeling water seeping up my trouser legs like a creeping panic. Barrett set the fire – so whatever Robinson had on him was serious enough to kill for. ‘Did Coughlin order it?’
‘That’s what I’m telling you, I ain’t have a clue what was behind it. On our mother’s grave.’ His eyes were wide, pleading. Afraid.
Leland had let the gun sag below his paunch, his fight all but gone. They would have been pitiful in other circumstances.
‘That was you at my motel room window the other night, wasn’t it? Your pickup truck.’
Tucker offered no denial.
‘What were you doing there?’
He let his head loll back, his arms still wrapped around his knees. ‘See what all you was up to. You come around asking all them questions . . . made me nervous as hell.’
I stared at him, deciding what my next move was.
Tucker must have sensed as much. ‘You can’t go to the cops and you can’t go after Barrett,’ he said. ‘Do like I told you and walk away. For all our sakes.’
I tried to marshal my thoughts. I thought about Robinson’s notes sitting back in my room, wondered if the truth about Barrett was in there somewhere. And what he’d do to me if he knew they existed. ‘Never.’
Chapter Eightee
n
I left Tucker staggering back into his brother’s house and drove away from Stokes Creek. I wanted like hell to drag them to the authorities to see them punished, but as limp a pair as they were, it was still them had the shotgun, and it spoke for them.
It felt like my guts were lodged in my throat. If Barrett killed Robinson to keep something buried, then it stood to reason he’d kill me too if he thought I was a threat. I thought back to my theory, that Barrett found out Glover wasn’t the murderer sometime after he shot him. Was that motive enough – or was it something even more sinister?
I parked outside my room at the Mountain Motor Court and sank my head against the steering wheel. My soaking trousers clung to my calves, and my skin felt cold and stained with dirt. The snatched memory of another conversation came back to me, Dinsmore speculating about the fire report being falsified by Teddy Coughlin’s office; what was pure guesswork at the time now seemed a real possibility – and it indicated a conspiracy that went so high, there was no way I could penetrate it. It felt like the walls were closing in on me.
I dragged myself out of the car and unlocked my room door. I stepped inside and froze cold. Cole Barrett was standing in the far corner.
‘We need to talk. Shut the door.’ He looked me up and down. ‘The hell happened to you?’
A tremor ran head to toe through me. I glanced at his hands – empty, but he was wearing a hip holster. His wicker Stetson was on my bed, thrown there like he was home. I weighed making a run for it, but then I remembered Robinson’s papers – and then saw they were gone. ‘Where are they?’
‘Where’s what?’
‘The files. You cleared them out already?’
‘You’re talking double Dutch. Bring yourself inside.’
I pushed the door over without taking my eyes off him. ‘What do you want?’
‘You need to quit playing detective before you get yourself hurt.’
My chest tightened like a drum. ‘Don’t threaten me.’
‘I ain’t threatening you. Clean your ears out, you’ll hear I’m offering you a warning.’
