by Frank Hayes
An hour later he was sitting in his office when Jimmy came in early for his shift. He waved him over.
“What’s up, Sheriff?”
“You got to get more of a life, Jimmy. Coming in here over an hour before your shift starts.”
“Too hot to fish or do much of anything outside. Figured at least in here or in the car I’d be cool.”
“Well, as long as you’re here . . . I’ve been looking at this damn video footage till I’m practically cross-eyed, and seeing nothing. Maybe we need another pair of eyes. I’m going to run them again.”
Jimmy pulled one of the other chairs over alongside Virgil’s and together they watched the monitor. Just as Ruby had said, the Black Bull was jumping that night. The parking lot filled early and a few cars and trucks were actually parked along the county road. They were pretty much a blur on the extreme range of the video. On his first viewing, Virgil had been able to make out Buddy’s white pickup and he could see that there were two figures inside for quite a while, but the images were indistinct. Then he saw them get out and one of them walk over to another man that he took to be Harry Stanton. Then after a bit they walked into the Black Bull. It was only when they stepped inside that Virgil could clearly identify them as Buddy and Wade. The rest of the video inside showed nothing unusual, and a little after midnight Buddy was no longer seen. Wade was still inside, like he had told Virgil, when Buddy left. Buddy’s pickup was in the parking lot, but there was no sign of him. If, as Wade said, he went out to howl at the moon, he could have been around back. While he was watering the landscape, he would have been out of camera range.
Jimmy sat and watched the footage with Virgil and saw nothing that Virgil hadn’t seen. They had just restarted it when Rosie came in.
“See you boys are still watching movies. Doesn’t look like much of a plot to me. Virgil, I’m leaving. I gotta get home and make supper. Jessie, her husband, and the baby are coming over and Dave’s coming home from Redbud for some of that quality time we talked about. Alex is going to stay late down there if you need to talk to him.”
Virgil had paused the video while Rosie was speaking.
“That’s definitely Buddy and Wade like we seen before in Buddy’s truck,” Jimmy said as he stared at the frozen frame. “They was in there a long time. Whatever they was talking about sure must have been pretty important.”
“All right, Rosie,” Virgil said. “You take off. If we ever get through this and I’m hungry, I might just stop by.”
“You ain’t invited.”
“Thanks. I can live with rejection, but these reruns aren’t helping me out much.” He looked again at the frozen image on the monitor.
“Why is that guy standing by the road?” Rosie said.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you see out there on the road? That man just standing there?”
“Jimmy, run the footage.”
Jimmy pressed play. They sat in silence for the next four or five minutes, until Wade and Buddy got out of the truck.
“Look at that,” Virgil said. The figure Rosie had pointed out hadn’t moved. “That is strange. He seems to be watching the whole time.”
Virgil froze the video again and pulled his chair right up to the monitor. The figure on the periphery of the camera’s range remained a dark shadow.
“Who is he?”
“Can’t tell,” Jimmy said. “It’s too dark and he’s too far away.”
The three of them looked intently at the screen.
“Well, all I can see is a belt buckle,” Rosie said.
Virgil looked again at the screen. The few lights in the parking lot, along with the light from the full moon reflected off all of the vehicles bumpers and windows and one other thing near the road, the silver buckle on the belt of the unknown silent figure standing there.
18
Virgil had just hung up the phone when Jimmy came through the door.
“What’s up?”
“I was heading out on patrol and I didn’t know if you’d be here when I got back so I thought . . .”
“You still thinking about what we saw on that video?”
“Yeah and some other things, like maybe it would help some if you would tell me what you’re thinking. Then maybe there’s something I can do.”
“Jimmy, I don’t think this is just about Buddy. I think there’s more to this.”
“I don’t understand.”
“From the very first, I’ve had a suspicion this wasn’t just about someone not liking Buddy or getting into some kind of a hassle with him and killing him. I think Buddy was fallout, or maybe what they call ‘collateral damage.’ He got in the way somehow, or became a concern and it was decided the best way to handle him was to get rid of him. I could be wrong, but so far we haven’t found anyone who on a personal level had any reason to cause Buddy harm. There had to be some other reason and it had to be serious enough that the only solution was for Buddy to end up in that stock tank. If that’s the case, I can’t see any reason why it wouldn’t happen again. So I guess we’d better find out what that reason was. Look here.”
Virgil got up from his seat and walked to the whiteboard opposite his desk. He took the grease pen that he had grabbed from the top of his desk, and under Buddy’s name, which was already written there, he wrote three things: family, friends, and work. Then he turned to face Jimmy.
“Something happened in one of these three areas to result in Buddy’s death. From everything I’ve learned, his family was solid, no threat there. His friends, from what we know, were pretty much in his life for most of his life. Nothing had changed drastically in his relationships. They liked Buddy. He was one of them. Outside of a possible romantic relationship, that’s about it. That leaves work and that’s the one area where we don’t have much.”
“Well, we got the bag,” Jimmy said.
“The bag?”
“The pecan bag I found in Buddy’s truck. The one I gave you just before you went into the hospital for your operation. Why do you think he had it?”
“Maybe he just liked pecans and took a bag of them to snack from while he drove.”
“No,” Jimmy said. “Buddy would never do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because Buddy was allergic to nuts. When we were in school one time, he took a bite of peanut brittle Amy Poland offered him and he blew up like a balloon and they had to take him to the hospital. Buddy was real careful after that. He even had to wear a chain around his neck about his condition, or maybe that was about bee stings. Anyway, you could just ask Mrs. Hinton. She’d tell you.”
“You know, Jimmy, I dropped the ball on this one. It’s good I’ve got deputies like you for backup. This is something worth looking into, and there’s one other thing. I was going to take care of it, but I think you’re ready for some serious investigative work.”
“Anything you say, Sheriff.”
Virgil had to fight back a smile. “Okay, Officer,” he said. “It turns out Buddy was paying attention to some girl over at Hayward Ranch, probably one of the pickers. I want you to look into it and see what you can find out. Be careful, and try not to be too obvious. You know what I mean?”
“Absolutely. I’ll get on it right away, while I’m making my rounds.”
“We’ll talk in the morning. You can reach me on my cell if you need to. In any event, I might not be home till late.”
Virgil walked to the parking lot with Jimmy and watched him leave. He hesitated before getting into his car, then went back into the office. He went to the gray filing cabinet, pulled out the top drawer, and reached in back of the folders until he felt what he had put there earlier. It was the emptied bag of pecans Jimmy had found in Buddy’s truck.
He closed the drawer and spread out the bag on his desk. It was innocuous enough. The logo HAYWARD RANCH on the front, w
ith the standard packaging information and weight. He opened it. It was empty. He did notice a slight stain like a watermark at the bottom. He laid it flat on the desk again, and reread the printed words, this time out loud to the empty office. It was a technique he’d been taught early in his career. The idea being to employ as many of your senses as you could in the process of observation. He had touched the bag, read it and smelled it, now he heard it. But nothing. Nothing until the very last . . . Packaged in Ciudad Juárez, Mexico.
“Juárez.” He remembered what Clara had told him, about how she thought back on her life in Hayward every time she saw one of those Hayward trucks heading for the bridge into Juárez.
He folded the bag carefully and placed it in the top front drawer of his desk. Then he picked up the phone.
“Dr. Barrett’s office,” the voice said. “How may I help you?”
“Mimi, this is Virgil Dalton. Is Sam there?”
“Yes, Sheriff, he’s getting ready to go to the hospital.”
“Tell him I’d like to speak to him.”
The silence on the phone lasted only a few seconds.
“What’s up, Virgil? You got a problem?”
“Not of the medical kind, Sam. I was wondering if you could help me out with something.” He explained to Sam about the bag.
“Well, we’ve got a pretty good lab, maybe not as high tech as an FBI lab, but pretty much state of the art for a regional hospital. I’d put Charlene Gibbon’s analytical skills up against anyone’s. Send it over and we’ll take a look.”
“Great, Sam, I owe you one.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Virgil dropped the bag in a sealed envelope off at Sam’s office, feeling a little better about not picking up on it sooner. He was not in the habit of beating up on himself, but he realized that any possible significance the bag might have had was lost in the face of his unanticipated medical emergency. Fortunately, Jimmy had not dropped the ball. He was glad, because this gave him an opportunity to move Jimmy up a notch, to a new level of police work. His thoughts about Jimmy being ready for more than the mundane work of patrol and night watchman were still with him when he pulled into his driveway and saw Billy Three Hats sitting on his front porch.
“Hey, Billy.”
“Virgil.”
Virgil took the chair alongside Billy and the two sat in silence for a long minute looking at the barns, the corrals, and a red-tailed hawk watching them from a dead branch on a willow alongside the creek.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m good,” Virgil said. He had taken off his hat and put it on his knee.
“That scar looks pretty nasty.”
“Yeah, well, when my hair grows all in, they tell me you won’t even notice it.”
“He’s pretty upset that you didn’t let him know.”
“I figured he would be, but I was hoping he wouldn’t find out. I didn’t want to worry him. I reckoned I’d just mention it sometime after the fact.”
“He finds out everything. Don’t know how, but he does.”
“Can’t get away with much. Remember that trip to Nogales?”
Billy smiled at the recollection. “I still don’t know how he found out about that.”
“Yeah, well, when we got back, you only had to deal with him. I had him, my mother, and my father. It wasn’t fun.”
“Yeah, but that trip to Nogales was . . .” Billy stopped and slapped Virgil’s knee.
“Yeah, it surely was,” Virgil said, their simultaneous laughter breaking the quiet afternoon.
“So, I got the message that ‘Billy Three Hats’ was looking for me.”
“Yeah, well, I wanted you to know it was personal. If I say ‘Captain William Lightfoot,’ it suddenly becomes official.”
“Well, I was kind of expecting it. I’ve been feeling guilty about not seeing him, but besides my little hospital visit a lot’s been going on.”
“I’ve heard. By the way, I appreciate the way you handled that cattle incident over in Redbud. I keep telling everyone on the rez, we don’t need to make enemies out of our neighbors.”
“Wish a couple of stolen cows were the only thing on my plate.”
For the next few minutes Virgil filled Billy in on the ongoing investigation. When he was finished, he stepped inside the kitchen and returned with two cold beers. Billy took a long swallow from his can. The hawk kept looking down on them.
“I remember Buddy Hinton. That’s a tough way to end up. He must have been a burr under somebody’s saddle.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
Virgil watched Billy drain the rest of his beer then stand up and put the empty on the railing.
“Well, I’d better get down the road. Guess I’ll be seeing you next on the rez. By the way, talk to him about not driving anymore. He might listen to you. You were always his favorite.”
“That’s just because I was always distant. You were close by. He only saw me at my best.”
“Whatever,” Billy said. He walked down the couple of steps then turned. “Hope for you Buddy Hinton isn’t just the first.”
“Me, too.”
Virgil stood on the porch with his beer in his hand. He and the hawk watched Billy disappear down the long driveway. A few minutes later he went inside. After placing the empties in the recycle bin, he went upstairs to change out of his uniform. When he opened his drawer to take out a clean shirt, he looked at the feather that always stood vertically in the small bud vase on his dresser. He glanced at his wristwatch. It wasn’t yet five.
“Oh, what the hell.”
He went out the door and down the stairs. He put in a quick call to Ruby, begging off for that night. Ten minutes later, he was on the county road. It was a little after five thirty when he turned off the hardtop. The dust trail clouded in back of him. He followed what passed for a road as he started climbing up to the flat tableland. When he reached the top, he saw a small cluster of sheep in a rough fenced corral mostly patched with mesquite. Nearby was a double-wide backed up against some cottonwoods. In front were a couple of lawn chairs, facing out over the lower plains he had just left to reach the top of the mesa. In one was sitting a solitary figure looking toward the western horizon and the lowering sun.
Taking a deep breath, Virgil shut off the engine, stepped out of the cab, and walked toward the seated figure. There was no acknowledgement until he stood in front of him. Then there was a barely perceptible nod. Virgil took in another deep breath.
“Hello, Grandfather,” he finally said.
The old man looked through eyes that had seen thousands of sunsets like the one at Virgil’s back. His skin was tanned leather and, like the earth around him, worn deep with the furrows of history. He looked up at Virgil and a softness came into his eyes.
“It is good to see you, Virgil. How are you?”
“I’m fine, Grandfather.”
“I’m glad. I had heard something different but I did not put too much stock in it, because I knew if there was anything to concern me, my grandson would surely let me know.”
Virgil shifted a little in his boots.
“Sit next to me.”
Virgil sat down in the lawn chair to the old man’s left. Without thinking, he took off his hat and set it on his knee. The sky was a flaming palette of mixed colors, and the lateral sun no longer reached the deep arroyos that crisscrossed the land. Cottonwoods and pinions twisted by age and wind stood bathed in the fading light.
“That is a large wound.”
Virgil instinctively reached up and touched the large welt on the side of his head, instantly regretting removing his hat.
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to worry you.”
“I understand, but I have the right to worry. You are my grandson. My daughter is no longer here to worry about you. It is up to me.”<
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“You are right. I will remember that.” Virgil knew there was no point arguing. “How are you, Grandfather?”
“I am fine. Much better now.”
Virgil had never heard him complain. He looked at him in profile and saw little visible change, but knew beyond the stiffness which comes with age, the weathered skin covered a multitude of injuries.
The sun had slipped below the horizon leaving one more burst of color in its wake.
“Maybe we better get inside while there’s still some light to see.”
Virgil stood up and reached out. He felt the grip on his arm still strong and he pulled his grandfather to his feet with unexpected ease.
“Getting up is harder than getting down.”
Virgil remembered similar words from Clara in her garden.
“Let’s get something to eat.”
“I brought supper. Your favorite. We just have to pop it in the oven for a few minutes.”
A wide smile followed. “With pepperoni?”
“You got it, half with pepperoni and half with sausage and peppers.”
“You are a good grandson.”
“As long as I keep bringing you pizza.” Together, they glanced once more at the western sky then headed for the trailer.
* * *
“Well, how was it?”
He didn’t really have to ask. He sat back from the table and took a sip from the cold can, enjoying watching his grandfather relish one of the wings he had brought with the pizza.
“They call those wings Mexican Hot. What do you think?”
“Good name. Very hot.”
Virgil saw him strip the wing right down to the bone. Then, like Virgil, he took a cold drink.
“Mexican Hot. I’ll tell Billy to get me some. You know I used to know a little Mexican.”
“This sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.”
“No. I’m serious. I spoke Mexican pretty good.”
“I never heard you,” Virgil said.
“Yes.” After his comment the old man sat back, lingering a little with recollection. “I learned from a little Mexican girl many years ago. Before you were born. She was nice. Made good tortillas.”