Death at the Black Bull

by Frank Hayes

* * *

  “Well, you look well rested,” Rosita said as Virgil came into the office. “I guess you didn’t visit your new girlfriend last night.”

  Virgil stopped in his tracks.

  “C’mon now,” Rosita said, “did you think that you were gonna keep that a secret?”

  “Damn small towns,” he said with a wince.

  “Heard about Audrey Hayward, too.”

  “Did you happen to hear who’s doing these killings while you were at it?”

  “No. That’s on you. You gotta justify all that money this town’s paying you somehow.”

  “Yeah, pretty soon I’m going to have to open one of those Swiss bank accounts. By the way, is there anything going on related to what this office should be concerned about?”

  “Not much. Hiram Potts is in one of those cells back there, sleeping it off. Guess he heard there was a vacancy for town drunk since Harry died and he’s applying for the job. Third time in the last month.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No, it’s been quiet. Everybody staying home, enjoying the rain.”

  “Yeah, thank God,” Virgil said as he glanced at the steady rivulets running off the roof and down the window.

  “You making any headway on this thing?”

  “I think I am. Couple of things I’ve got to check on. I’ll be out of here for a while, but I’ll stop back before you’re gone.” He got up and headed for the door.

  “You weren’t here long enough to take off your hat. Where are you going?”

  “Can’t tell you. If I did, I’d have to kill you.”

  “Nothing I want to know that bad.”

  Virgil hesitated before he walked out. “Anything on the arrangements for Audrey?”

  “Would you believe the service is tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Yep. It’s what she wanted. Everybody thought she’d want to go out with a bang, not a whimper. Hell, I thought she’d want to lie in state for at least a month. Just goes to show you. Think you know somebody then they go and surprise you. All her life she was leading the parade, now at the end . . .”

  “People change, I guess.”

  “But Audrey Hayward?”

  “Yes, even Audrey Hayward.”

  * * *

  The roads were slick, the rain relentless. A couple of times he had the windshield wipers on full. The one plus was that the weather was mean enough to keep people indoors. There was no traffic. Rosita, Dif, even the boys down in Redbud maybe caught a break. He thought of Hiram sleeping it off in one of the cells. The night’s sleep had been restorative for him, too. He felt better, had woken up with a sense of direction. What Audrey had told him, he was forced to put on the back burner. He knew that there would be a time to sort it out, but that time could not be now. That’s why he was headed for his grandfather’s. He needed to talk to Carlos. Maybe he was getting a little paranoid but he didn’t want to call him. That’s why he didn’t even tell Rosie where he was going. He wanted that family safe. That’s why he kept looking in his rearview mirror even now. His gut had told him last night, when he had left Hayward Ranch, that there were eyes on him. After three bodies, he was pretty sure that a fourth or more was not out of reach for the people responsible, even if it was a sheriff, a mother, a father, three small children, or even his own grandfather.

  He hesitated for just a second when he got to the turnoff, then gunned the engine onto the dirt road, sure no one had seen him. The tires spun a little in the wetness, but he made it to the top of the plateau without incident. He took a deep breath as he got out of the cruiser. Everything looked right. For a second, the clouds broke and he saw a figure on the high tabletop, overlooking everything, sitting in the mist with a rifle in his lap. He would have to remember to thank Billy Three Hats.

  Virgil could hear the children before he opened the door. The double-wide that had seemed overly spacious for just his grandfather had become a lot smaller. There were toys on the floor, scattered randomly and temporarily abandoned. He could see his grandfather in his favorite chair with a baby in his lap and the two other children on either side of him. They were all looking at a book. The children were jumping up and down pointing at the pages as he turned them. Virgil looked to his left and could see most of the kitchen. Carlos was seated at the table with a cup of coffee, reading a paper. He could hear the voices of two women. One of them came into view, carrying a steaming tray of food which she set on the table in front of Carlos. When she turned, their eyes met.

  “You must be Virgil.” She was small but ample, with dark eyes and a ready smile. Her mixed gray and black hair hung in a long braid down her back.

  “Chato!” she shouted over the noise of the children. “Your grandson is here. I’m Teresita. Teresita Hoya.”

  “Yes. Grandfather has spoken of you. Good to meet you.”

  “You’re just in time for dinner. Come.”

  He followed her into the kitchen. Carlos put the paper aside and stood to greet him. Consuella came to the table carrying more food. After she set her burden down, she came to Virgil and wrapped her arms around him.

  “Thank you for protecting my family,” she said. When she stepped back, he could see the tears in her eyes. Virgil stood mutely until he felt the strong hands of his grandfather.

  “I was wondering when you were going to come to see us.”

  “I was tired of eating alone. Guess that’s not a problem here.”

  “No, but there’s always room for one more. Come, sit, have a piece of fry bread. I’ll get you a beer.” Virgil slid into the chair that was pulled out for him.

  “No beer, just a tall glass of ice water.”

  The rest of the food was placed on the table. The baby was put in a high chair and the other two children were sent to wash up. During the momentary lull, Virgil was mesmerized by the activity. It had been a long time since he had been witness to a busy family getting ready for the regular nightly ritual. He was amazed at how his grandfather seemed to take it all in stride. He had wondered after the fact if it would be too much for him, the children and the noise, but he sat next to him and he saw the smile on his face as he reached out with a gnarled hand to make a little dancing motion with his fingers on the baby’s high chair tray.

  “You and the children were reading a story when I came in,” Virgil said. “Looked like you were having a good time.”

  “Not really reading. More like looking for someone.”

  “Looking for someone? Who?”

  “Waldo. A man named Waldo who is hidden in the pictures. I’ll show you later.”

  “You are all right? I mean, this is a good thing you are doing and I . . . I’m sure they appreciate it. I don’t know how long . . .”

  “It has been good. I’m fine. It reminds me of long ago. Mrs. Hoya has been a great help.”

  “Yes. I can see. That is working out well for you?”

  The old man hesitated, looking at her as she was taking milk from the refrigerator. Then he answered.

  “I think, when they all go back to their home, she will stay.”

  For the next half hour, the room was filled with the sounds of eating and the exchange of ordinary conversation. At the end, Carlos and his wife brought the children into the living room while Virgil and Mrs. Hoya cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. Grandfather sat at the table, his eyes partially closed, a smile on his lips.

  “He is really happy to see you,” Mrs. Hoya said to Virgil. “I hope you will come more often.”

  “Yes, I will. Thank you for all . . . all of this.”

  She nodded. Then she went into the living room with Grandfather. Carlos returned to the kitchen and Virgil joined him at the table.

  “I thought maybe you wanted to speak to me about what’s going on.”

  “I do,” Virgil said. “I need some information
about Hayward Trucking. Carlos, how are the containers for the semis kept track of? I mean, one from another? They all look exactly alike.”

  “Each is numbered.”

  “The particular one that Buddy pulled . . . I guess you would have to look that up in some kind of computer list to know which one it was, right?”

  “Normally, that would be the case because there are a dozen or more on the lot at any given time, but I know the one that Buddy pulled.”

  “You do? Why? Is there something different about it?”

  “No, it’s just the numbers. I’ve always remembered. 010883. It’s the date Connie was born. I don’t know any of the others, but I know that one. Besides, that’s pretty much the only one Buddy pulled, which is strange. The other drivers pulled different containers all the time. Only Buddy pulled the same one. He told me that after that breakdown he had.”

  “Is that container in the lot now?”

  “Probably. There’s no reason why it shouldn’t be. I mean it’s just a box on wheels. It’s not like they need regular servicing. Besides, harvest hasn’t even started.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, until harvest starts, only an occasional trailer load goes down to Juárez. As a matter of fact, the plant is in a shutdown for the next two weeks because it’s slow at this time of the year. Once it starts up again, we’ll pretty much send down the last of the inventory for processing and we’ll be ready for the new harvest. Those containers are pretty much sitting there till then.”

  “What about maintenance?”

  “Like I said, they really don’t need much of anything. Unless a tire peels or an axle goes, they don’t have much more than a sweep-out. That box that Buddy pulled is probably just sitting in that lot.”

  * * *

  Hours later, after the kids were in bed and the noise level had dropped considerably, Virgil made his way toward his vehicle. His grandfather had insisted on walking out with him. There was a light rain falling. There was no moon visible and the night was as dark as it could be. If it weren’t for the spotlight, a walk outside in this kind of dark, even for just thirty feet, could end in an emergency room visit at the reservation clinic.

  “Thanks again for this,” Virgil said.

  The old man just waved his hand.

  “And thank Billy for that.” Virgil pointed to the top of the ridge, high over the trailer where he knew there was a man with a rifle that he could no longer see.

  “Take care, Virgil. Don’t worry about this. If you’re getting closer to the end, remember to keep your own rifle handy.”

  Virgil drove off the mesa, feeling good about where he had placed Carlos and his family. It had been a long day and he was feeling it, but he wanted to make one more stop. He wanted to get a look at that trailer, but he didn’t want to do it alone. He picked up the receiver and put a call in to Jimmy.

  “You feel like joining me to make a late-night call down to Redbud and Hayward Trucking?” He explained to Jimmy what he wanted to do.

  “Maybe we don’t have to go to Redbud,” Jimmy said. “I’m just making my rounds and I saw one of those box trailers in Wade’s place. Maybe it’s the one you’re looking for.”

  “We’ll see, Jimmy.”

  Virgil hung up the receiver. “Wouldn’t that be nice,” he said to the empty car.

  Jimmy’s cruiser was in the parking lot in back of the office by the time Virgil got there. Jimmy and Dif were sitting over some coffee and doughnuts.

  “Well, if that don’t fit the stereotype,” he said as he walked through the door. “Those things will kill you.”

  Dif wiped some cream-filled doughnut off his lower lip.

  “Something’s gotta, Virgil. It might as well be this. I sure miss those days when it was just booze that’d do you in. Then it became smoke, then for a while it became coffee and butter. Just about everything in my past life that I enjoyed was trying to kill me and I never knowed it. And you know what, I made it this far. So now, creeping up on seventy, I kinda feel like if I’m so close to the edge that this here doughnut is going to push me over, then I’m ready to go. Hell, I’ll jump if I’m that close.”

  Virgil couldn’t help smiling. “You know, that’s a different way of looking at it. What do you think, Jimmy?”

  “I don’t know, Sheriff. But if everything you like is bad for you, what’s the point? And them doughnuts sure are tasty. I don’t want to feel guilty every time I eat one. Besides, I read somewheres that stress is a real killer and if you’re always feeling guilty after enjoying something you like then all that stress from that guilt sure ain’t doing you any good.”

  “Well, you’ve convinced me.” Virgil sat down at his desk after pouring himself a cup of coffee. He took a sip from the steaming cup. “Dif, pass me that box of doughnuts.”

  For the next twenty minutes, they sat around Virgil’s desk, drinking coffee, eating doughnuts, and telling lies. Virgil swallowed the last of his second cup, put it down, and looked at the wall clock. It was almost one.

  “Okay, Jimmy. Let’s get ’er done and make some rounds.”

  When they left the building, the night air was still heavy with the day’s rain and a damp fog was rising like steam off the paved surfaces. Jimmy started heading for Virgil’s car.

  “No, Jimmy. Let’s take yours. It’ll look more normal. You just making your regular nightly tour.”

  Virgil got in the backseat while Jimmy slipped behind the wheel. Virgil stretched across the seat, his head barely visible in the rearview mirror. “Just you alone in the car on patrol, like usual. Follow your usual route.”

  It took close to a half hour before they came in sight of Wade’s place.

  “He opened the new car dealership last week,” Jimmy said.

  “Wade seems to be really coming up in the world. Not bad for a kid they almost had to burn the school down for so he could graduate. Did you have much to do with him, Jimmy?”

  “Nah, Wade and Buddy were older than me.”

  “But you knew Buddy. And you liked him.”

  “Yeah, Buddy always treated me nice. One time when some kids were getting after me, Buddy stepped in. He’d give me a wave whenever he saw me. One time, when I was down by the river with my little sister, he even stopped and threw us a Frisbee to play with. I heard some things about Wade that made me wonder why Buddy hung out with him. But Buddy always treated me nice. Here we are, Sheriff.”

  Jimmy had driven around to the back of Wade’s dealership, which was enclosed by an eight-foot chain-link fence. Virgil could see a trailer sitting in one far corner by itself.

  “Now we get to see how lucky we are, and whether or not we’re driving down to Redbud tonight.”

  Jimmy sprayed the yard with light from the spot mounted on the side of the car, just as he always did when he made his rounds. The shadows held no secrets and the only movement came from a feral cat that was out looking for a late-night snack. The light came at last to rest on the container.

  “How are we going to know if this is the right one?”

  Virgil explained about the number identification and Jimmy worked the light until it played on the left front of the container and they could see the panel with the identifying information.

  “I can’t make those numbers out, Sheriff. Not from here anyway.”

  “Well, if you can’t with those twenty-five-year-old eyes, I’ve got no shot. We’ve got to get in there.”

  “No sense in us both going. It might not be the right box.”

  “Okay, Jimmy, you’re elected.”

  Virgil got out while Jimmy pulled the car into the fence. He got out, climbed onto the front bumper, then scaled the fence as Virgil looked on, envious at how easy he made it seem. Once on the other side, he quickly made it to the container and after a moment he waved to Virgil to join him. Virgil tried to duplicate Jimmy�
�s agility, but quickly realized that a little more caution would get him on the ground in one piece. When he was at Jimmy’s side, Jimmy played the light on the identifying numbers.

  “Now all we gotta do is find out what’s so special about this container.”

  For the next few minutes, Jimmy and Virgil checked out the external condition of the box on wheels. Virgil double-checked the ID numbers while Jimmy crawled under the trailer to see if there was any kind of anomaly, but came up empty. Then they both went to the rear.

  “It’s got to be something inside,” Virgil said as he swung open the rear door. Jimmy hopped up, then turned and offered Virgil his hand. They played their flashlights across the interior. Not only was the inside completely empty, there wasn’t so much as a trace of its last cargo. Not a pecan or even a shell. Nothing. The box was whistle clean.

  “I don’t know, Sheriff. There ain’t a thing here. Not even dust. I don’t see nothing special about this here trailer at all. Looks just like every other one I check out on the road. Newer than that one on the other side of the yard that Wade stores tires in, but nothing special.”

  “There’s got to be. We’re just not seeing it.”

  Virgil continued to play his light on the walls, the floor, over every inch until he finally came to a reluctant agreement with Jimmy. Finally, they both jumped back down onto the blacktop. Jimmy started heading toward the fence. When he glanced back, he saw that Virgil hadn’t moved, so he walked back.

  “Staring at it ain’t going to make it happen. There’s nothing there, Sheriff.”

  “There’s got to be. There’s got to be.” Virgil had crouched down, shining his light on the undercarriage.

  “I checked under there, went over every axle, even checked the wheel wells. Nothing. Nada. There’s nothing different between this one and that old trailer over yonder.”

  Virgil stood up, put his finger to his upper lip in a reflective pose Jimmy had seen before.

  “Whatcha thinking, Sheriff?”

  “Jimmy, you got a tape measure in your vehicle?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “Do you mind getting it for me?”