“Drake. Miller. Ranger at Fort Robinson,” a man replied. “We think we got your truck.”
Hixon lifted a hand and cut his gaze through the room, snapping his fingers. He hit a button with his other hand and put down the handset.
“You’re on speaker, Ranger. Got my deputies with me.”
“Right. Found a Ford F150 this morning. Like you asked, we did a number of patrols so it wasn’t there yesterday. Found it on a patrol this morning. Seems dumped, no one around, engine cold, so whoever had it’s been gone awhile. Your plates but even if they’d switched ’em out, won’t matter. Back cab is filled with blood.”
Hal prowled out, yanking out his cell.
“It’ll take a while, but we’re coming with lights on, Miller,” Hix told him. “You call your locals?”
“Figured you’d want the news first, but they’re my next call.”
“Great. Thanks. It’ll be a trek to get up to Dawes, but we’re on our way. You got my cell in case you need to call?” Hix asked.
“Got it. See you when you get here.”
They disconnected while Hal walked back in.
“Forensics is on their way there,” he announced.
“Good, Hal, thanks,” Hix muttered then looked to Larry. “You’re with me.” He turned his attention to Donna and made sure she read his look that she wasn’t going to like what he had to say for a variety of reasons, but she was going to have to do it. “I’m on the road, we still gotta talk to our meth man. You’re gonna do that with Hal.”
Her eyes shared she didn’t like it but she just said, “Got it, Hix.”
Hix looked to Bets. “Bets, want you goin’ over any calls Reva takes. Do it while runnin’ names of known fugitives anywhere in the U.S. that have ties to McCook County.”
“Needle in a haystack?” she asked.
“Yup,” he answered. “Also, the McCalls don’t turn in their boy for spray painting the Mortimers’ barn after school today, you take a ride out there and have another chat with them.”
“Bryce did it?” she asked, eyes crinkling.
“Louella shot his dog,” Hixon answered.
“Art I’d paint on their fuckin’ barn’d be a lot more colorful, those assholes shot my dog,” Hal muttered.
Bets set her crinkle to Hal, muttering back, “Totally.”
Hal looked surprised she shared this with him, but Hix didn’t have time to feel relief it seemed his uncomfortable chat with his deputy yesterday might bear fruit.
He turned to Larry and said, “Let’s roll.”
“With you, boss,” Larry replied.
And they rolled.
Hix and Larry were standing next to Ranger Miller as the Cherry County forensics boys went over the truck when his cell rang.
He dug it out of his pocket, saw the call was from Donna, took it and put it to his ear.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Kavanagh Becker is a dickweed,” she answered.
Kavanagh Becker, their meth man.
Hix blew out a sigh before he asked, “What?”
“Won’t talk to anyone but you,” she told him. “And that would be you and only you, not you and another one of your deputies there for backup.”
He could strangle Blatt for leaving him this shit.
“He give any indication it’s worth my while to make that effort?”
“I don’t know. Think he’s scum but that’s not the only reason I wouldn’t play poker with the man.”
Damn.
“This gets done, I get back, I’ll take care of that. Anything else?” he asked.
“Sadly, no. There?”
One of the forensics men was heading his way so he said, “Not yet but I gotta go.”
“Right, Hix. Later.”
“Later.”
He disconnected and jerked his chin up to the guy as he shoved his phone back in his pocket.
“First, the good news,” the man started.
Which meant there was bad news.
Shit.
“Let’s have it,” Hix said.
“Guy didn’t have time to run a vacuum, so we got hair, we got some fibers, we got mud. Your vic took care of his truck so it’s tidy but not clean as a whistle. This may narrow some shit down.”
“Right, good, what else?” Hix pressed.
“Well, obviously, he couldn’t clean up that blood and reckon he knew it because he didn’t try. Also, your vic’s cell is in there. It’s stomped to shit but it’s his model. It’s not much but at least that mystery’s solved. ”
Hix nodded.
“Now, the bad,” the guy said. “Whole damned thing is wiped down. Steering wheel, dash, handles, windows, even the exterior. Hood to tailgate, thing’s been gone over with what looks like Windex. Streak free. Not even a partial fingerprint we could pick up.”
“Fuck,” Larry bit off.
“Larry,” Hix murmured.
“I’d say this is a fuck moment, Sheriff,” the guy put in, sounding frustrated himself.
Hix gave him a nod and turned to Larry. “On your cell, man. Call Faith, ask her if her husband happened to keep a bottle of window cleaner in his truck. He didn’t, get on to Bets and get her on the phone to every gas station and convenience store between Glossop and Fort Robinson to see if any of their clerks recall a man in a white Ford truck buying glass cleaner in the last three days.”
Larry nodded and stepped away.
Hix looked to the ranger. “We’ll arrange for this to be towed to McCook.”
“You got your hands full and I got a brother-in-law with a towing business. You want me to take care of that for you?” Miller asked.
“Be obliged.”
Miller nodded and stepped away.
Hix looked to the forensics guy whose name he now knew very well was John.
“We find this asshole, you come to the pig we’re gonna roast in celebration and I’ll have your favorite bottle waiting for you.”
“Cherry’s a big county, Sheriff, but can’t say we’ve had anything this interesting in a while, no matter how much what we’re investigating sucks. That said, never turn down a hog roast or a bottle.”
“Me either,” the other forensics guy, named Jay, called.
“Hope the next call you get from us is sharing the details of when you can roll up for that and not another request for you to roll out,” Hix replied.
“Me too, brother,” John muttered, turned and headed back to the truck.
Larry returned and immediately shared, “Bets is on it.”
“Right,” Hix said, staring at the truck.
“You figure his prints are in the system and that’s why he was so methodical about wiping that truck down?” Larry asked.
“I figure anyone with a TV set or who can read knows their prints in a truck owned by a man who was murdered would be methodical about wiping down the truck they transported his dead body in and then stole.”
“Yeah,” Larry mumbled.
“We’re out,” Jay said as he and John moved from the truck. “We’ll call we got a report.”
“Thanks,” Hix replied.
“Tow’s comin’,” Miller said, joining them.
Hix turned his attention to the man. “Thanks to you too, Ranger.”
“Skeeves me out, knowin’ that trash was in my park. But still, hope this gets you a step closer in catching him,” Miller returned.
Hix did too.
Larry was with Bets running down a lead at a convenience store in Alliance, where a man shared he’d sold a bottle of Windex to a man in an older model, white F150, and Hix was in his Ram heading out to their meth man’s fortress when his cell went.
He dug it out, saw the call was from his girl and took it, answering, “Hey, honey. How you doin’?”
“You have a girlfriend?” Corinne asked in accusation.
Fuck.
“Cor—”
“I can’t believe you have a girlfriend. You broke up with Mom like . . . a month ago.”
Not even close.
“Corinne,” he growled.
“She says we should prepare because you’re movin’ on and we’re gonna have to do it with you,” Corinne declared furiously.
But Hix felt a burn hit his gut.
“Who?” he demanded.
“What?” his daughter snapped.
“Who said that?”
“Mom, Dad, who else?” she retorted.
Hope.
Hope probably knew his Bronco was in Greta’s drive last night, and in retribution she’d told his daughter he was seeing Greta.
“She tell Mamie?” he asked.
“Just me and Shaw. She doesn’t want Mamie upset. And anyway, Mamie’s at dance. And by the way, not cool you told Shaw about it and not me.”
“I didn’t tell Shaw.”
“Well he knew and he was all up in Mom’s face about sharin’ something with your kids about their dad.”
As much as that had to suck for Hope, she’d bought it, and now she’d bought the fact that Hix was not going to do fuck all to help her rid herself of it.
“We’ll talk about this next week,” he told his girl.
“Will you be marrying her by then?” she asked snidely.
“First,” he bit off, “you do not talk to your father that way. Second, you need to calm down and think about this. Your mother and I have not been apart for a month. We’ve been apart a lot longer than that. And last, Corinne, we’ll talk about this next week.”
“So I’m sure you want me to keep it from Mamie like you kept it from me.”
“Yeah. That’d be nice,” he returned. “Seein’ as I would have told you myself if there was something to tell and I’d do it when it was the right time to tell you. I’d appreciate it if you let me at least do that with your sister if that time comes.”
“Whatever, Dad.”
“Again, you do not talk to me that way.”
She said nothing.
So he said, “I’m ticked at you but I love you and now I gotta go.”
“Right, later, Dad.”
He didn’t understand the emphasis on “dad” but he wasn’t going to ask and it wouldn’t matter. She hung up on him.
Hix drove and did something he didn’t like to do for two reasons, the new one—speaking to the woman at all—being the one he most disliked.
He called Hope.
She answered on the first ring.
“Fancy you phoning me,” she said sarcastically as greeting.
Like that wasn’t what she’d been angling for.
At least one thing was clear. She was over her urge to be there for him when he needed her.
“I told you we were done.”
“Yup, remember that, Hix. Vividly.”
“We weren’t. You’re the mother of my children. I was intent on finding a way to keep hold on that and find something good we could still share through it. But now, Hope, we’re done.”
There was a pause before, “What’s that mean?”
“That means you’re the mother of my children and that’s all you’ll ever be in a way I seriously hope you consider reclaiming your maiden name.”
There was a moment of stunned silence he actually felt was stunned through the line before, “Hixon, if you’re pissed I told Shaw and Corinne—”
“Yes, I’m pissed. And the way I’m pissed means you just broke the last straw, Hope.”
“Does she mean that much to you?” she snapped.
“No. Not yet. But my children do.”
On that, he disconnected and threw the phone on the passenger seat.
She called back four times in the six miles it took him to turn into the long drive that was on an immense plot of land where he had to ignore the man hanging at the opening of the fence, a walkie-talkie and a SIG Sauer on his belt.
He drove up to the massive, sprawling ranch house that had been built last year after Becker had scraped off his last not-quite-as-massive, sprawling ranch house and replaced it.
When he did, his phone rang again, and since he had to pick it up to take it with him, he saw it wasn’t Hope but Shaw.
So he took the call.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the game?” he asked in greeting.
“Yeah, Dad, but we need to talk.”
“Shaw, sorry, son, but I’m in the middle of something.”
“I get that, Dad, and I gotta be quick anyway ’cause Coach’ll be ticked he sees me on the phone. But just to say, I’ll talk to Corinne after she cools down and I want you to think about me livin’ exclusively with you.”
“Shaw—”
“She’s a bitch.”
Goddamn it. He had to defend her.
“Don’t say that about your mother.”
“Okay. Right. Sorry,” he clipped out each word. “I still wanna talk about livin’ exclusively with you.”
“We’ll talk later, Shaw. Keep your cool too, look after your sisters, have a good game tonight and we’ll talk, kid. Promise.”
“Okay, Dad. Be safe, yeah?”
“Always.”
They disconnected, Hix swung out of the Ram, rounded the hood and walked up the steps with his eyes on the man standing at the top, also with a walkie-talkie and a gun on his belt.
“Mr. Becker is waiting for you,” the guy announced when Hix’s boot hit the top step.
Mr. Becker.
Like he was a genteel landowner.
Priceless.
Hix lifted his chin and the guy turned, opening a hand-carved door that had to cost thousands and guiding Hix through it.
Hix didn’t bother looking around. The wealth and opulence enjoyed by a man who destroyed lives was of no interest to him. The man in front of him who was armed was.
He was led down a hall and then through a door to the left.
He’d barely cleared it and noted he’d hit a well-appointed study before Becker was moving to him, arms out, smile wide on his face, crying out, “Hixon!” like he was a beloved son returning home from war.
“Becker,” Hix replied, briefly taking him in.
Tall. Lanky. Aged fifty-eight but looking maybe forty-five, tops.
He didn’t look like a wealthy rancher rolling in it.
He didn’t look like a respectable meth-dealing businessman who was killing it (which was unfortunately what he was).
He looked like an aging rock star who was past it.
Faded jeans. Washed-out rock concert tee (Mötley Crüe). Salt and pepper hair heavy on the salt brushing his shoulders.
Hix never knew if Becker wanted to blend into the scenery of Nebraska and/or his clientele or if he wanted it known he might live in a house that cost over a million dollars, but he was true to his roots of being raised in a trailer in a trailer park on the outskirts of Dansboro.
His glance wasn’t so brief on the woman sitting like she belonged there in the chair behind Becker’s desk.
If Becker looked the aging rocker, she looked the aging groupie. It didn’t take intense scrutiny to see, shave a couple of decades off her, she’d be a knockout. But it was clear she still took care of herself and held on to as much as she could of beauty that had once been immense.
It also didn’t take intense scrutiny or her proximity to Becker to understand she was bad news.
Her eyes were sharp on him.
He turned his attention to Becker who stood three feet away, pretending to be miffed Hix had dissed him on a hug.
“Congratulations in order?” he asked.
Becker gave him another ridiculously large smile.
“This is Tawnee. My new babe.”
He was a fifty-eight-year-old man describing a woman at least in her late forties as his “new babe.”
And again.
Priceless.
Hix turned only his head to her and dipped his chin. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
For some reason she smiled at him like she’d just heard an in-joke that Hix didn’t understand, and she liked the idea he
was on the outside.
“Sheriff,” she purred.
Hix fought his lip curling.
“Tawnee, Hixon, Tawnee,” Becker stressed, like Hix should know who she was, and with that name, maybe she was an aging groupie. A famous one. Maybe an ex-rock-video-vamp. “Tawnee Dare,” Becker went on.
Hix grew still.
“That’s why you’re here, only you, Hix,” Becker shared and faked looking sad. “Sorry to say, I don’t know anything about this horrible story of the young ranch hand cut down in his prime leaving his family widowed. But Tawnee wanted a word with you, and I figured you’d want her to have that privately.”
“He was a foreman,” Hix forced out.
“Say what?” Becker asked.
“Nathan Calloway. He was foreman at the ranch where he worked.”
“Well, that’s impressive,” Becker remarked, but did it like he didn’t mean his words.
“And I’m here to talk about him.” He glanced through Tawnee Dare, obviously—her last name, her beauty so extreme years only dimmed it, they didn’t fade it—Greta’s mother. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“Already told you,” Becker started, “I don’t know anything about this foreman. But,” he swayed his upper body back, wrapped an arm around his middle, resting his other elbow on it and his chin on his upraised hand, “seein’ as you’re fuckin’ Tawnee’s daughter, she thought she’d have a few words with you.”
“Yeah, Sheriff,” Tawnee said, gaining Hix’s focus. “Now, I figure you know my girl is a good girl, and you goin’ back for more, you know just how good. But thought, way I look out for my daughter and all, you also best know she’s connected here in McCook. She’s got family.” She smiled a smile the opposite of what her daughter could achieve. It did nothing to the rest of her face and eyes. It was just a movement of her lips she didn’t come close to meaning. “Family who looks after her, say someone thinks he can fuck her and then fuck her over.”
“So you wanted me out here so you could threaten me,” he said, and her eyebrows shot up feigning shock.
“Now, I wouldn’t do that. Though, won’t be no reason to, you don’t fuck my girl over.”
Hix looked from Greta’s mother to Becker. “You don’t have anything for me on Calloway I have no reason to be here.”
He gave Hix another massive smile. “Reckon not, since Tawnee said what she needed to say.”
Complicated Page 24
