“Okay.” There’s a pause, and then her voice comes back, serious. “There’s nothing out there is there, Mason?”
For a brief second I contemplate telling her about that feeling. But it passes just as quickly.
“No. Of course not. Just a really big, really odd young man living by himself, alone in the middle of fucking nowhere.” I grin, thinking of my next line. “You know, like you told me when we first came out here. Your people.”
She chokes back laughter. “Fuck you.”
It’s good to hear her happy. “So, see you around three?”
“Yeah. Maybe earlier if I can. Just make sure you’re at the station and ready to go.”
“Count on it.” I grab the phone and switch it off speaker. “Drive careful, Carmen.”
“Will do. Bye.”
The call ends, and I go to take a shower, which feels pointless when I put on the clothes I’ve been wearing for the past three days. Two days in Texas was what I’d hoped for, max. I’d packed for three, but that had all flown out the window when Carmen had driven off with my bag. I’ve spent the last few days in Stockdale wearing this same suit, and if there’s anything that makes me want to get back to Amarillo, it’s to rescue my bag. One night in a decent hotel, my bag with fresh clothing, and tomorrow morning I’ll be on a plane headed back to LA with information in hand for the final report, and enough ammunition to bust some LAPD balls too.
Not a bad trip, all in all.
The only thing I need to do now is show Clint that good law enforcement work isn’t based on feelings. It’s based on reacting. Assessing a situation and accepting it for what it is, and then reacting to how it unfolds accordingly. Feelings have no place in it.
Even my own.
I’m dressed and standing outside the door of the motel office when Clint pulls up in the Bronco. He gives me a curt nod as I pile in, and then he pulls out onto the main drag.
“Are we going back out to the Christiansen place?”
Clint turns his head towards me. “We ain’t gotta do that. Like I said last night I don’t need to be pitied.”
“You still think I’m pitying you?”
“You are.”
We’re sitting at the stoplight, unmoving. In LA horns would’ve already been blaring for ten seconds, and I’d probably be dealing with a road rage incident. Here, there is nothing.
“I told you last night we could go back out.”
“Yeah, you did.” Clint gives me a tight nod, mouth pulled taut. “But I ain’t an idiot. You’re just doing it to show the dumb hick kid how wrong he is.”
“Maybe. But weren’t you the one yesterday that rubbed my nose in the fact that I’ve been wrong before?” I stare at him patiently. “You going to pass up your one chance to show me that I’m wrong this time too?”
He twists his head, giving me a hard look.
“Like I said. You’re doing this out of pity.”
“Then prove me wrong on that too.”
He jerks the steering wheel hard to the left, tires barking slightly as he turns down the street towards the sheriff’s office. He pulls us up out front, and then yanks the door open and heads inside. I follow behind, moving past the clerk and into the back offices.
Clint is standing at his desk, leaning over it and studying something on his screen. Braddock sees me, and comes out from his office.
“Morning, Agent Jones.” He glances over to Clint, and then back to me, one eyebrow arching upward.
“Morning, Sheriff Braddock.” I give him a polite smile, and the briefest narrowing of my eyes.
“Coffee again?”
“That would be great, thank you.”
Braddock heads over to counter, and brings me back the same white mug with faded John Deere logo from yesterday.
“I didn’t figure on seeing you gentlemen this morning.” Braddock moves past, shooting me a look as he does. He goes to one of the desks, propping himself up on the edge of it. “Thought you’d decided to go back out and pay Daniel ’nother visit.”
“We ain’t gotta—”
“That’s just what we were—” Clint and I talk over one another, and then we both stop. He stares at me, and I stare back.
Ball’s in your court, kid.
“We… we just came back so I could look something over real quick. Then we’ll be heading out.” Clint’s voice is firm, and his eyes never leave mine. Yet again there’s challenge in them, and I can’t help but give him a grin of recognition.
Wasn’t sure you had it in you.
I lift my cup, taking a long pull. Braddock is watching Clint closely, and then he looks to me.
“I just came for the coffee.” I raise the mug up in a mock salute.
“All right then.” Braddock gives a slow nod, and then pushes his chin toward me. “You heard from Agent Rodriguez yet this morning?”
“Spoke with her a little bit ago. Her wife is being discharged sometime today, hopefully before lunch. As soon as she is, she’ll be heading up here. She thinks she should be here sometime around three, maybe sooner.”
“Sounds good. I’ll take that to mean I don’t need to have Clint here drive you to Amarillo?”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” I take another sip of my coffee. “Besides, I think once we’re done out at the Christiansen place, Deputy Nolan will have had his fill of me for the day. Or for a lifetime.” I give Clint a bright smile, as fake as I can muster it. He shoots me one back no less so.
“And I’m sure Agent Jones will be relieved not to have to listen to me crow all the way to Amarillo either.”
It’s dueling toothy smiles, and Braddock’s voice is thick with amusement as the two of us stare each other down. “Well, I’ll let the two of you sort things out.” He lifts himself off the desk. “Clint, you just make sure Agent Jones is back here in time to meet up with Agent Rodriguez. Or you will be taking him into Amarillo, no matter what either of you wants.”
Twenty minutes later Clint has gotten whatever information he was looking for, assuming there was anything to begin with. We pile into the Bronco and retrace our steps, heading back out to the Christiansen ranch for a second time. At first Clint says nothing, keeping silent and to himself, but once we’re tooling along the highway, he finally clears his throat.
“You know… I know you think I’m just a dumb kid—”
I hit the seat of the truck with a smack, cutting him off. “I’m not listening to that shit, deputy.”
He swallows whatever he was about to say, and I continue.
“I think you are young, determined, chivalrous, and naïve as hell. But I do not think you are dumb.” His eyes shoot back and forth between me and the road, and I can see from his expression what I’ve said has mollified him a little. “In fact, I’d say you’re probably just a bit too smart. You still believe in all those things I talked to you about last night. And part of that is because you’re young and haven’t had experience yet.”
“Like you have?”
“Yes.”
“So, I’ll be a better officer once I see some dead people, huh? Picking up some bodies is all I need to turn me into a good, experienced, cynical law enforcement officer like yourself, right?”
I know what he’s doing. I can see he’s trying to bait me. It won’t work, because I am all those things, and if Clint Nolan decides to continue wearing that uniform and pinning that badge on his shirt every morning, he will be too.
But I’m not going to rise to the challenge. He’s misjudged me if he thought that.
“Yes, Clint. That’s exactly it. That’s all you need.” I don’t even try to hide my derision, and I know Clint hears it. He snorts, and we continue in silence until we come to the gate blocking the road to Daniel’s ranch.
Clint puts the Bronco into park, starts to unbuckle his seatbelt, but I stop him. “I’ve got it.”
I climb out, remembering the secret place the key is hidden, and it only takes a few minutes to get the gate out of his way so h
e can drive through. Once it’s secured again, I get back in the SUV so we can get this over with.
As we draw closer, I speak up. “Clint…”
“Yeah?”
“This is not going to turn into a full-blown interrogation, okay? I want to be clear on that. You ask him whatever questions you want, but you make it quick. And unless something happens, we are in and out of here. I am not going to have this kid get a wild hair across his ass and make trouble for me later. You want to come back out here on your own, you clear it with the sheriff, and you do it on your time. After I’m long gone.” I look over at him. “Clear?”
“Sure. Perfectly,” he replies with no tone at all. It’s short, clipped, but I’ve made my message crystal, and even if he doesn’t like it, I know he’ll comply.
As we pull into the large, open dirt area that sits between the house and the barn, I can see Daniel standing on the porch. He watches us, face masked in shadow from under the eaves of the overhang, body stiff as it was yesterday, and again I’m struck by how big he is. He’s got to be over six and a half feet tall, and I’ve no doubt the NFL would have grabbed him in a second. If Clint pisses him off, I’m not taking a right hook for the kid. He’ll have to pick up his teeth and his dignity on his own.
Clint parks the truck, and we both climb out. Daniel doesn’t move from the porch, but tracks both of us as we approach.
“Morning, Daniel.” Clint addresses him first, voice low, personable.
“Morning, Mr. Christiansen.” I follow him up, giving Daniel a slight nod.
Daniel’s face swivels back and forth between us, still showing no emotion as he takes us in. “Why are you back?”
Clint takes the lead, and I have to put effort into not reacting to the first thing that comes out of his mouth. “Well, we was out again this morning at that old place where the young woman took that picture—”
What?
“She was trespassing,” Daniel interjects in a monotone, as if that needs to be clarified. Again.
Clint pauses for a breath, then continues. “Yep, that’s true. Like I was saying, we went out to check the old place out again, doing some further investigating, and figured as long as we was in the neighborhood…” He gives Daniel a personable grin. “Thought you might have remembered something since we spoke yesterday. Maybe jogged your memory?”
Daniel stares at Clint for a moment, and then slowly shakes his head. “I don’t know her. Never seen her.” And then, as if it’s the only thing that does register with him, “She was trespassing.”
“Yeah, that’s right, Daniel. She sure was.” Clint’s voice is faux patient, but if Daniel picks up on it, he shows no sign. Clint watches him for a moment, eyes searching for any reaction that Daniel might have, which despite the potential jab appears to be nothing. Seconds go by in silence, and then Clint looks skyward, reaching up and wiping an arm across his brow.
“Sure looks like it’s gonna be warm today, huh?” He looks back at Daniel, smiling. “Got pretty hot out there while we was tramping around, and here I forgot to bring anything to drink in the truck. Don’t suppose we could trouble you and come in for a couple of glasses of cold water?”
Daniel’s face remains impassive, but now there is a reaction. I catch as his hands begin to close, clenching into fists. All three of us stand there, Daniel watching Clint, Clint watching Daniel, and myself taking it all in. His fingers have nearly curled in upon themselves when they stop, and they slowly relax, flattening back out.
“Okay.” There’s nothing welcoming in the statement. None of the ‘Texan hospitality’ that Braddock spoke of on my first day here. It isn’t begrudging, but it barely registers as an invitation. However, he does move to the door and opens it, turning to look back at us.
Clint glances over at me, and then he moves off, taking the steps two at a time. I follow, watching as Clint disappears into the dark interior of the house. I step past Daniel and slip into the entryway where Clint has stopped. Daniel closes the door behind us, and then motions towards an opening to the left of the stairs.
“You can sit in the family room. I’ll get you your water.”
Clint gives him a polite nod. “Thank you, Daniel.”
He steps through into the room, and I follow suit. There are four bookcases along one wall of the room, carefully tended, obviously dusted recently. The rest of the furniture consists of two chairs, a coffee table that looks as if the top has been hand-hewn from a solid slab of wood, a pair of end tables, and a couch with pillows and a blanket over the back. The room is simple, austere, and yet it looks as if it’s been kept up for use. I glance at the bookcases as I pass by to take my seat, and they’re all full, the spines neatly arranged, facing outward. There is a larger Bible placed on the table, and another smaller one on one of the end tables. It’s homey in a weirdo Luddite kind of way.
I sit down, while Clint remains standing, perusing the bookshelves. Daniel looks at both of us for a long second, then turns. “I’ll be right back.”
I listen to him stride through the doorway, boots echoing in loud clump, clump, clumps, and then the noise fades as he disappears into the kitchen. No sooner has the sound gone distant than Clint is moving, heading out into the hall near the front door.
“Hey,” I hiss at him, keeping my voice down. “Where are you…” Before I can finish, he’s out of the room and gone. I get up, start to follow, but then stop. When Daniel comes back, one of us needs to be here. If he catches us both snooping around in his house, I don’t want to think about the kind of hell there could be to pay. We have no warrant, and absolutely no legal reason to be prying through his home. I may think the young man dense, but I’m not willing to risk that he’s not savvy enough to lawyer up if he feels he’s been wronged.
Instead of going after Clint, I stop and listen. I can hear the faint sounds of Daniel in the kitchen. A cupboard door opening, then closing. A tinkling noise; cups on a counter, or ice in a glass? It goes quiet, and I take a quick peek through the doorway, where I can see a kitchen table. Daniel isn’t in sight, but Clint hasn’t reappeared at the entryway. I move back toward my seat as tension builds inside me.
Clenching my hand open and closed, I stop at the bookcases, checking the titles. They’re mostly religious tomes and books on ranching. There’s nothing here that is not either practical to the business of raising livestock, or to the saving of one’s soul.
What the fuck are you doing, kid?
I can’t hear any sign of him, but Clint needs to finish up whatever the hell he’s got going on and get back in here because the last thing I want to deal with is Daniel stumbling into him sneaking around out there. The giant has been passive throughout everything so far, but I sense a level of suppressed anger there. An undercurrent just beneath the surface that I have no desire to butt heads with.
Come on, Clint. Get the fuck back in here.
I hear the heavy sound of boots returning, and Clint still isn’t back. I turn from the bookcase just as Daniel enters, a white stoneware cup held in each hand. He sees me, stops, and then looks around the room slowly.
“Where is he? The other one?”
Think fast, Mason.
“He had to use the bathroom.”
Daniel stands for a moment, and then he turns back towards the kitchen without a word.
“He should be back in a second,” I call out after him, but he doesn’t stop at my voice. I hear his boots in the narrow hallway off the kitchen just as Clint darts out of a smaller side room near the front of the house. He moves swiftly toward me, and his face brings me up short. His eyes are bright, intense, pupils wide as he approaches.
“Lud,” he whispers in a rush as he moves past me and to the bookshelves.
Lud? What the hell is that? Someone’s name? Am I supposed to recognize it?
I turn to look at him just as the sound of Daniel’s boots come back in this direction.
Daniel appears in the doorway, blocking it as he sweeps his gaze between the two of us
. He takes two steps into the room and then comes to a halt, brow furrowed.
“Hey, Daniel. Sorry, I was trying to find your bathroom.” Clint gives Daniel a tight smile, and then moves up to him, reaching for one of the cups of water Daniel is still carrying.
Suddenly I’m tense. Because as he moves beside Daniel, Clint catches my eye, and the look I see tells me there’s something wrong.
Very wrong.
Daniel silently pushes one of the cups into Clint’s waiting hand, and then steps forward to offer the other over to me.
“Thank you,” I reply in the most polite voice I can muster before I take the cup.
Daniel says nothing in return as we all stand, and I take a long pull of my water. Lud. I’m still not sure what that means.
Clint is tense, although he’s doing his best not to let it show. He’s seen something, and while I have no idea what it is, it’s clear he’s only suspicious at this point, because he’s not making a direct move toward Daniel. And that suggests he needs more time to suss it out.
Lud? Shit. Clint was trying to tell me something, maybe a warning, but I’ll be damned if I can figure it out. Maybe he’s freaked out that he’s a Luddite? No, he knew that, so it’s not ‘Lud’. I could have misheard him. Maybe it’s another word. Ffff..lud. Flood? No. What the hell would that have to do with anything? Lud. Crud. Mud. Dud.
Blood.
Fuck.
I finish the last of my water, and then move closer to Daniel, keeping his attention on me.
Let’s see if you still got it in you, Mason.
“Mr. Christiansen, I do appreciate the water.” I hand him the empty cup, and then ease my way past him and Clint until I’m standing near the doorway. “Now, there’s really only one more thing I’d like to ask of you today, and then I promise we’ll be out of your hair.” I take a few steps further until I’m out in the hallway.
Daniel glances back and forth between Clint and me before taking a step in my direction.
“When we got back to Stockdale yesterday, after talking to you, we went and spoke to the Hernandez brothers as you suggested. They said when they were working for you, they remembered seeing a blue car out in your barn. Mind if we see it?”
Jasmine Page 25