Hunting Dixie

by James, Harper

  Back in the driver’s seat with Miguel standing dejectedly on the sidewalk, he buzzed the window down, pointed his gun at him. The sounds from the radio floated out into the night air.

  Miguel stood staring at the lunático with his bloodshot eyes, a vicious red weal circling his neck. Was this when the bullet came? There was a deadness in his eyes, like he’d seen the news of his death in Jackson’s stupid, grinning face.

  But all Jackson said was, ‘That looks painful, I’d get your mamma to rub some ointment in it. You don’t want to get an infection.’

  Miguel watched him disappear in a cloud of dust and exhaust fumes, the sound of his out of tune voice singing along with the radio as he went. Miguel didn’t think it at the time, but he’d had it easy compared to the next guy to feel Jackson’s garrotte.

  Chapter 29

  EARLY THE FOLLOWING MORNING Kate Guillory took a call from her partner, Ryder.

  ‘You remember that guy you were asking about the other day?’

  ‘Who? Joseph Delacroix?’

  ‘That’s the guy. Somebody put a couple of bullets in him some time last night.’

  She shuddered as if cold bony fingers had taken hold of the back of her neck. The feeling was immediately replaced by a hot flush of guilt as the last words she’d spoken to Evan flashed through her mind.

  Don’t do anything stupid.

  ‘Is he dead?’

  Ryder let out a short chop of a laugh.

  ‘As good as. But he’s a tough old bastard. He’s hanging on in there. For the moment.’

  She didn’t want to ask the question that was on her lips. So she asked another one instead, one she already knew the answer to.

  ‘Why are you telling me? I’m suspended.’

  ‘Because we want to talk to your good buddy—’

  ‘Evan?’

  There was a sharp, bark of a laugh from Ryder.

  ‘Ha! There’s a giveaway if ever I heard one. Now, why would you say that?’

  ‘Apart from the fact that you’re obsessed with him, you mean?’

  ‘I’m not obsessed—’

  ‘Forget the bullshit. Why do you want to talk to him about it?’

  ‘Well, first of all, you were asking after Delacroix for him.’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘You didn’t have to. Who else do you run errands for?’

  She held her tongue. Bit down on the anger rising up inside her. She could almost understand why Evan hated him so much—and immediately felt guilty for that thought too. She felt like cutting the call right now. But she knew herself better than that.

  ‘Is that all?’

  She knew it wasn’t and Ryder knew she knew.

  ‘He was shot two blocks away from Buckley’s office. Looks like Buckley—sorry, somebody—surprised him as he was getting into his vehicle.’

  ‘Well that clinches it—’

  ‘On top of that, Delacroix had a picture of Buckley’s wife in his wallet.’

  ‘He what?’

  ‘You heard. He’s carrying around a picture of Buckley’s wife.’

  ‘How do you know it’s her? You’ve never seen her.’

  There was a slight pause from Ryder. She’d worked with him long enough to know he felt uncomfortable with whatever he was about to say next.

  ‘I checked the file from when she went missing.’

  She snorted, an unpleasant sound full of scorn.

  ‘Not that you wanted it to be Buckley of course. Not that you specifically went looking for it to be him—’

  ‘And was proved right.’

  Their voices had risen to the point where they were almost shouting at each other. She couldn’t see any good reason for that to change now.

  ‘Bullshit. Are you seriously suggesting Delacroix is the reason his wife ran off? He’s been screwing her and Buckley found out and shot him?’

  As she said it, she remembered the story Evan had told her—that Delacroix had come after Sarah, sent by Chico to recover the stolen money. That’s why he had a picture of her. It was obvious—because he’d hunted her down. She was so busy weighing up the likelihood of the story being true, she missed what Ryder said next.

  ‘What was that again?’

  He repeated it for her. She wished she hadn’t asked.

  ***

  GUILLORY REELED AS IF she’d been backhanded across the face by a bear.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Not one hundred per cent, no. But sure enough to bring him in.’

  ‘Any witnesses?’

  ‘Yes . . . and no.’

  ‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’

  Ryder hesitated, a nervous pause that gave her some small comfort that he was wrong.

  ‘We’ve got this old fart of about a hundred and ten who sort of interrupted him.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, not asking for the moment what sort of interrupted meant. All she cared about was the case sounded less slam-dunk the more he talked. If she could only forget what he’d said a minute ago.

  ‘He was out walking his dog—which in dog years is even older than he is—when he heard a couple of shots. He says he knew it was gunshots, not a car backfiring or anything, because he was in the army for twenty-five years and he knows the sound of a gunshot when he hears one, let me tell you, young man, blah, blah, blah . . .’

  Guillory laughed out loud, couldn’t help it.

  ‘It’s not funny. The little shit-machine bit a hole in my new pants. Anyway, the gunshots set this dog off yapping, scared the shooter away.’

  ‘Did the guy get a good look at him?’

  A strangled squawk came down the line.

  ‘Do me a favor. You’ve heard of the thousand-yard stare? Well, this guy’s got the thousand-yard discount liquor store stare. He can read the price sticker on a bottle of Thunderbird at half a mile. But as far as the shooter’s concerned he can’t say whether he was black or white or even if it was a man or a woman.’

  ‘He might have saved Delacroix’s life though. Stopped the shooter putting another bullet in him.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe,’ Ryder admitted. ‘Anyway, the old fart doesn’t own a cell phone. Hell, I’m surprised he even has a house phone. So he has to shuffle back home before he can call it in. And of course, Rover’s even slower on his legs than he is. Has to stop to piss up every tree, street light, you name it. The only thing he didn’t piss up against was a policeman’s leg. Naturally, the old fart doesn’t like to rush him or else he does it up the drapes when they get back home. Delacroix was lucky he didn’t bleed out.’

  Guillory could feel the frustration oozing down the line, knew exactly what Ryder had to deal with. She hoped there were more complications to come.

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Not much. The old fart said there was a beaten-up old pickup truck parked near Delacroix’s vehicle. It took off in a hurry right after the shots were fired.’

  ‘And he didn’t get the license number or even see who was driving?’

  ‘How the hell did you guess that?’ There was a short pause before he carried on. ‘There’s one other strange thing.’

  ‘Uh-huh?’

  ‘The old guy reckons he saw a flash. As if the shooter took a photo of the body.’

  ‘What, like a contract hit?’

  ‘That’s what it sounds like.’

  ‘Do you believe him?’

  ‘Who knows? The guy’s old. He likes his booze. He might have something wrong with his eyes. Flashbacks from all that combat action he saw, blah, blah, blah. Did I tell you he died in two World Wars for the likes of ungrateful sons of bitches like me?’

  ‘If it’s true, it means it’s unlikely to be Evan.’

  ‘Another thing,’ he said as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Delacroix’s right hand was busted up pretty bad. Like he’d been in a fight recently. Punching Buckley’s thick head would do that to your hand.’

  She didn’t rise to the bait. He wasn’t waiting for an answer anyway.


  ‘You didn’t say why Buckley asked you to find out about Delacroix.’

  ‘He didn’t say,’ she said without thinking. She suddenly realized she’d just lied to her partner. He knew it too.

  ‘Whatever you say.’

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Ryder coughed nervously.

  ‘I know you like the guy . . .’

  ‘Yeah well, maybe it’s lucky I’m suspended at the moment. Easier for you, easier all round.’

  ‘I wanted to let you know first.’

  ‘I appreciate it.’

  She cut the call. She knew what she had to do. The reason she was sitting at home kicking her heels was because she’d been unable to accept that she had to release a sick pervert back into the general population when she knew the guy was guilty as hell but couldn’t prove it.

  And now Evan, who she instinctively knew was innocent despite all the circumstantial evidence to the contrary, was about to be picked up for attempted murder. It was wrong on both counts. She couldn’t do anything more about the pervert—she’d already sacrificed her career after all—but she could do something for Evan.

  She called him.

  ‘Missing me already?’ he said when he picked up.

  She heard traffic noise in the background. He was driving. Maybe that was why he wasn’t already in a police cell. Ryder wouldn’t have called her before going around to pick him up.

  ‘What did you get up to after I had to run out on you last night?’

  She tried to sound casual and offhand, knew she was failing dismally.

  ‘Funny you should ask. Things have really moved on. You’ll never guess—’

  ‘Evan!’ It was a bark, her tone stopping him dead.

  ‘What?’

  ‘We need to meet. You can tell me then.’

  There was a momentary silence. In the background she heard a siren. Half-expected it to be followed by tires screeching to a halt, doors flung open.

  ‘Okay. Since you ask so nicely. You want to come to the office? I’m heading back there now.’

  An irrational surge of panic gripped her.

  ‘No, not there.’ Her mind went blank as the siren in the background grew louder. ‘Meet me at the breakfast diner. Soon as you can get there. And don’t go back to the office first, whatever you do.’

  Chapter 30

  EVAN WAS ALREADY IN a booth by the window when Guillory arrived. She saw him through the window as she walked up, did a double take. Her heart sank. Could she have been so wrong? He looked like he’d been in a fight.

  ‘What happened to your face?’

  ‘That’s what I was trying to tell you on the phone before you suddenly went all Secret Squirrel on me.’

  ‘I didn’t want to have this conversation on the phone.’

  ‘There you go again. Do we need to go into the men’s room?’

  She gave him a withering, give-it-a-rest look.

  ‘Your face doesn’t look so great either.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She touched her face carefully with her fingers as if she was feeling for broken bones.

  ‘You look like your dog just died.’

  ‘Tell me what happened to your face.’

  He told her about finding Dixie sitting in his office and the subsequent fight. Her face went through a whole range of expressions as she listened, finally settled on incredulity.

  ‘Let me get this straight. You attacked the guy while he’s got a gun in his hand.’

  ‘He was distracted. It seemed like a good idea at the time.’

  ‘A beer-fuelled good idea, you mean.’

  ‘Probably. You should know, you were there. Drinking faster than me, too.’

  She shook her head in amazement.

  ‘At least I didn’t get into a fight afterwards.’

  He didn’t say it, but he’d have opted for a fight with an armed man every time over what she had to go back to at her brother’s house.

  ‘I didn’t think it could have gotten any worse,’ she said. ‘The face I mean. Proves how much I know, huh. What happened next?’

  ‘We carried on talking for a while—’

  ‘Hang on. Did you mention that ridiculous story about him going after Sarah?’

  ‘Uh-huh. He denied it, of course.’

  ‘Do you believe him?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Which means—’

  He nodded. ‘Carly’s been lying to me from the start.’

  She managed to keep her hands from breaking into a spontaneous round of applause, wasn’t sure her face didn’t give her away.

  ‘You can wipe that I told you so look off your face.’

  She shrugged.

  ‘If you’d listened to the grown-ups in the first place . . .’

  ‘Easy with hindsight.’

  ‘Did he say anything else about her?’

  ‘Not really.’

  She looked at him a long time without saying a word. It got uncomfortable. He felt as if he was being judged in some way. That she had a decision to make based on that judgement. He also got the distinct impression there was something she wasn’t saying. Something important. And whatever it was, she was weighing up everything he’d said against it.

  He went to say something to break the tension but she talked right over him.

  ‘How would you say things were when you left this guy?’

  He gave it a moment’s thought.

  ‘Pretty good.’

  ‘Okay. Care to be a little more specific?’

  ‘Sure. He offered to ask around about Sarah.’

  ‘That’s good of him.’

  ‘I showed him a picture of her.’

  ‘Showed? Don’t you mean gave?’

  He frowned, his forehead tightening.

  ‘Alright, gave. How did you know?’

  She shook her head, not now.

  ‘He didn’t think I should rely on Carly.’

  ‘Right.’ She forced a big grin despite the fact that her heart was in her mouth as they got closer to the crunch. ‘Sounds like a man after my own heart. Got his head screwed on right.’

  ‘I knew there was something familiar about him. An overriding negativity.’

  ‘It’s called facing the facts. Try it some time.’

  They stared at each other for a long moment across the table. Neither of them were grinning now.

  ‘So you didn’t follow him out to his car and put two bullets in his back?’

  ***

  ‘DON’T LET YOUR MOUTH hang open like that,’ she said. ‘It makes you look like a retard.’

  ‘Somebody shot him?’

  She nodded. Watched his reaction carefully. She had a lifetime’s experience reading people. And if what she read on Evan’s face wasn’t genuine surprise, she didn’t know what was.

  ‘Is he dead?’

  She shook her head slowly, never taking her eyes off his face.

  ‘Not quite. The prognosis isn’t good though.’

  He couldn’t help but recognize the exact same phrase she’d used the previous evening talking about her niece. Thankfully, it didn’t register with her.

  ‘We should have gone to the Jerusalem. I need a drink.’

  ‘Maybe that’s why I chose this place.’

  ‘Do they know who did it?’

  She hesitated a second. Long enough for his eyes to widen even before she opened her mouth.

  ‘Ryder thinks he does.’

  ‘Me?’ His voice was a strangled squeak. He cleared his throat loudly. ‘He thinks I shot him?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Based on what?’

  The what was almost a shout, caused a woman at the next table to send over a dirty look. Guillory made keep-it-down gestures with her hands. His voice dropped to a whisper.

  ‘Because I asked you to look him up?’

  ‘That’s for starters.’

  ‘What else?’ His voice was loud again. He shook his head violently. ‘I don’t bel
ieve this. I don’t—’

  She held up her hand to silence him.

  ‘Let me tell you what he’s got. What he thinks he’s got.’

  He threw himself back into his seat. Spread his hands on the table as if he was preparing to pounce on her if she said anything he didn’t like the sound of.

  Anything else, that is.

  She flicked a finger out on her left hand as she’d imagined Ryder doing, only hers were long and powerful, not short, fat sausage fingers with dirt under the nails.

  ‘As you said, there’s the checking up you asked me to do.’

  She flicked out a second finger.

  ‘Then there’s the fact he was found two blocks from your office—’

  ‘Of course he was, he’d been to see me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t tell Ryder that. Especially now your face shows evidence of a recent fight. He might jump to the right conclusion. Think you’d been fighting with him in your office.’

  He shook his head. As usual, it didn’t make any of it go away.

  ‘You know how cops’ minds work. Why wouldn’t you follow him down the street, settle things for good after getting a humiliating pasting? Imagine what his nasty suspicious mind might think if he found out you’d got a belly full of beer as well.’

  ‘What else?’ he said, staring at the table top.

  She flicked out a third finger.

  ‘They found the photo of Sarah in his wallet.’

  His head shot up. Met her eyes.

  ‘That’s why I asked if you gave him the photo. But Ryder doesn’t know that. All he knows is he’s got a nearly dead man with a picture of somebody else’s wife in his wallet. Somebody else whose temper he’s seen—been on the receiving end of, in fact. Somebody who is obsessed with finding his wife. Maybe he says to himself, What would a man who’d spent five years searching for his wife do if he found out she’d been screwing another guy all that time? What might he do if he’d had a drink and gotten himself all riled up and then the other guy—the one who’d been screwing his wife for five years—gave him a beating as well?’

  Evan stared at her, unable to think of anything useful to say.

  ‘I didn’t do it.’