“Gold?” Sonny asked.
Jonesy shrugged. “Not sure. I felt her wrist for a pulse even though I knew there wasn’t gonna be one. That’s all I did. Then you pulled up.”
Sonny changed his focus from the far surroundings to the ground in front of him. “Any footprints you could see?”
“Nope. But I haven’t looked real close. Kind of seems like she just fell out of the sky.”
“Or somebody carried her out here.”
“Most likely.” Jonesy spit out the soggy piece of grass he’d been chewing on. “I think it’s the same person who done it,” he said, staring straight at the girl now.
Sonny followed suit. The girl’s body was about twenty feet ahead of them, but she was close enough for him to see the color of her hair. It looked like straw in late summer; not quite brown, and not quite yellow, still healthy. From a distance, her hair might have looked like a thick bush, dead from the beating of the sun’s rays. But that wasn’t the case.
“Why would you think that?” Sonny asked.
“Everything’s pretty much the same, at first glance, anyways. Face pummeled, nearly beat to a pulp, and I ain’t never seen her before. Looks like another Jane Doe to me. I bet there ain’t a stitch of ID on her, just like there weren’t on the others.”
“The necklace might help.”
“Might. But you know how that goes. Takes time to track stuff like that down. Time enough for a killer to get away.”
“Or kill again.”
“Exactly.”
Sonny nodded. “I don’t know much about what’s going on with the other two. I haven’t been paying close attention.”
Jonesy looked up at Sonny and studied his face. The man’s gaze made Sonny uncomfortable. “They started just after you got tangled up with Bonnie and Clyde. Strangers coming up dead every once in a while. Two of them found on the side of the road just like this one. We held some things back from the newspaper so folks wouldn’t know everything. Only me and Hugh Beaverwood knows all the details.”
“And you trust him?”
“I do. Said so earlier at Tom Turnell’s store and I‘ll say it again. Hugh Beaverwood is soft. Man ain’t got an ounce of meanness in him.”
“You know him better than I do.” Sonny drew in a breath, listened to the silence around him. The insects were holding their breaths, like they were afraid of being discovered or waiting for a curtain to fall, and there were no birds about to sing. It was like the earth was dead, too. When it came to murder, Sonny didn’t trust anyone, not even the local coroner.
He felt eyes on him and looked up at the road. Blue and Aldo were staring at him with unwavering curiosity from the truck. “There’s fair reason for unknown girls to come to this county from points beyond, Jonesy,” he finally said.
Jonesy looked away from him, back to the girl. “I‘ve been out to talk to Pete Jorgenson a couple of times if that’s what you’re sayin’.”
“It is.”
“He didn’t know any of the girls. Claimed he’d never seen them before. Of course, all we had was a picture of them that Hugh took at the morgue, and I dare say they probably didn’t look anything like they did when they was alive.”
“You believed him? That he didn’t know these girls?”
Jonesy nodded. “I do. I‘ve knowed Pete Jorgenson all my life. His mother was the same, soft-hearted, you know. She took in wayward girls, too, and Pete’s just carryin’ on the family tradition. He says girls just show up out of nowhere at all times of the day and night. Hobos mark you on the curb so’s they can find a soft touch, get a handout out at the back door. I suppose easy girls got the same kind of ways of telling one another where there’s a place to go to solve their troubles. They stay ’til they’re past their problems. Lidde does the midwifery and there’s been a slew of babies taken to the county orphanage out of that house. There’s a docket kept, a list of girls that’ve come through that house. Pete showed me. So, I‘ve poked around plenty and haven’t come up on anything that makes me distrust what Pete’s tellin’ me. But I sure do agree with you, Sonny; it’s an odd coincidence that these girls appear out of nowhere. Pete’s the most obvious link, but I‘ll be damned if I can’t come up with a connection that turns on any of the lights except for the obvious.” Jonesy bit his lip and looked back at the girl.
Sonny followed the sheriff’s gaze and found himself at a loss for words. It was as if the two of them were trying to will away the body, make it disappear, or travel back in time, so they could see what had truly happened to the girl. Sonny wasn’t sure he really wanted to know. He eased forward in silence and walked softly toward her, like he was on hallowed ground. Jonesy followed, sniffling like he was trying to ward off the onset of an allergy attack.
There might as well have been cotton stuffed in Sonny’s ears. He couldn’t hear a thing in the outside world once he got close enough to really see the girl.
Her face had lost its shape. Her cheek bones were shattered, caved in like they had been ramrodded with a club, making her eyes bulge out. Blood trailed out of the corner of each eye, bright red, fresh, still gooey if someone were to touch it. Sonny had no intention of doing that. The blood reminded Sonny of a statue he’d seen once of Mary, the Mother of God. It was in an old Mexican mission church, a long time ago. She’d stood under the crucifix staring up at her dying son with tears of blood. If he had been a religious man, then and now, he would’ve crossed himself, genuflected. But that was not the case. Instead, he kneeled and very gently took the girl’s cold hand into his. “She’s still limp,” he said to Jonesy. “Rigor hasn’t had time to stiffen her up.”
“Fresh. I told you.”
Sonny breathed in deep, exhaled, then laid the girl’s hand back down as gently as he’d picked it up. He gazed up and down her body, coming to a stop at the big red pool that had seeped out from underneath the low part of the girl’s midsection. A shiver ran through him, and he looked away immediately, not stopping until he found Blue in the distance, staring back at him. “The others, they were like that?” he asked, breaking eye contact with the dog and finding the sheriff’s eyes.
“We kept that out of the papers for a lot of reasons.”
“They were all pregnant?”
Jonesy nodded. “If Pete was somehow involved in this, we didn’t want him to run off. And if he wasn’t, we didn’t want folks paintin’ a black hex on his mailbox and throwin’ rocks through his windows. You know how things like that go. He’s got more than a few folks that don’t take kindly to the work he does anyways, and they’ve been pretty vocal about it. Says it reflects poorly on the town.”
“And you agree?”
Jonesy shrugged. “None of my business, now is it, if there ain’t no laws broke in the process?”
“I suppose you’re right,” Sonny said. “But he seems like the most obvious suspect.”
“He does, but that don’t make him a heartless, cold-blooded killer, now does it?”
“Innocent until proven guilty. I know the process.”
“Pete don’t seem nervous at all. Lidde, neither. She still drives into town and does her shoppin’ like there’s not a care in the world. I don’t think that woman could fake her way out of a brown paper bag. Pete, neither, as far as that goes. I‘ve had him down to the station more times than I can count, and he always claims innocence and has an alibi for his whereabouts. I can’t arrest a man on a hunch. Simple as that.”
“But the killer knows you’re holding back information.”
“Sure, but that don’t seem to be stoppin’ him, does it?”
Sonny exhaled and stood up. He wanted to run as far away from the girl as he could, but he knew he would never be able to forget her. “You said they were all pregnant. What happened to the unborn babies?”
Jonesy shrugged. “Beats me. No sign of anything. Just like this one. A pooch in the belly and cuts with a sharp knife in places cuts ain’t supposed to be.”
Sonny felt woozy, pale at the thought. �
��You don’t suppose these girls wanted to get rid of the babies and something went wrong?”
“I asked Hugh the same question. He said he’d seen that before—a coat hanger, you know—but this was something different. There’s intent, anger, no care at all for the girl. He claims he don’t know of any places nearby that might do such a thing, and I think Pete would know that, too—and tell me. Seems to be against everything he stands for.”
“It’s a sad way to die,” Sonny said.
“I‘d say.”
Silence settled between the two men again, and nature’s sounds started to return around them. The leg saw of a cricket. A distant caw of a single crow. The breeze picked up, changing direction from the west to the southwest. It wouldn’t be long before it was a full-out wind. There was a sound to that, too. Air sweeping across the flat land, rippling the cotton sleeves on Sonny’s shirt, especially the one that was pinned to his side. It was starting to flap against him like a flag bound up on a pole.
Jonesy kicked the ground with the toe of his right boot. “You wouldn’t mind running up to the closest house and giving Hugh a call for me, would you? I hate to leave her out here alone. We need to get on with the business of moving her and tryin’ to find out what really happened. If that’s possible.”
Sonny nodded. “Sure,” he said, then looked around.
“I think the nearest phone is over at the Maxwell place, about a half mile yonder. You know where it’s at?”
“I do,” Sonny said, “but I ’spect Betty is still at the hospital. I saw her there a little while ago, before I picked up Aldo.”
“Her boy, Leo, ought to be there. You tell him the call’s for me. He’ll let you in.”
Sonny had driven past the Maxwell place a thousand times in his life, but he’d never had a reason to stop there. He wasn’t sure he wanted to now, but Jonesy really hadn’t given him much of a choice. There was no other way of getting Hugh Beaverwood out to him, other than driving into town and tracking him down. That would take too long.
There was talk of the possibility of radio communication between police cars and base, that it was on the cusp of possibility and affordability, but as it was, such technology hadn’t found its way to Collingsworth County. That technology would change everything when it came to law enforcement, at least as far as Sonny was concerned. It would give the police an advantage over the criminals of the world. And, after what he’d just seen, the police needed all of the advantages they could get their hands on.
The Maxwell place was simple, a single-story house, well-kept, set back off the road, with a wraparound porch and a single dormer window facing the road. That window was cranked open, but everything else looked buttoned up, like there was no one home. The front door was closed. As was the door on the barn behind the house. There was no livestock about, and Sonny had expected to see a dog or two, but there weren’t any. Just a few empty cages to the east of the barn.
He parked the truck next to the house and looked over at Blue. “I hope somebody’s home. You stay.” He climbed out of the truck and stopped at the bed. “This should only take a minute, Aldo.”
The Mexican nodded. They hadn’t spoken since they’d left the spot where the body had been found. “Perhaps this is not a day to ask questions, señor; the policía seem to have their hands full.”
Sonny studied Aldo’s face for a long second. “You want me to take you home?”
“Sí, I think that would be a good idea. Maybe another day, and then we can find a way to speak with Señor Hamer.”
“Carmen may not have another day.”
“It is out of my hands, señor. I will have to live with whatever happens.”
“You don’t know anything about this, do you, Aldo?”
Aldo looked at Sonny curiously. “About the niña?”
“The girls? The murders?”
Aldo shook his head emphatically. “Absolutely not. I have seen many terrible things working in the hospital, but none so bad as what has happened to these niñas.”
“All right, but if you hear of anything, you’ll come to me or Sheriff Jones?”
“Sí, absolutamente.”
Sonny turned away from Aldo then and found himself looking at a boy who was staring at him. The boy was standing on the porch, on the top step, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his jaw set tight.
“You must be Leo?” Sonny said.
“Who the hell are you?” the boy answered, with a nod. He was more a young man than a boy, approaching sixteen or just past it, tall as a cornstalk, with a thin face void of whiskers. It didn’t look as if any had ever grown there or that any would begin to sprout any time soon.
“Sonny Burton. Sheriff Jones sent me up to use your phone.”
“Who says we got a phone?”
“The sheriff. Is your mother home, boy?”
“She’s at work.”
“What about your father?”
Leo scowled deeper, then squinted at Sonny. “He’s not around.”
“I beg your pardon, then.”
“Ain’t no skin off my back. What happened to your arm?”
Sonny glanced at the empty sleeve unconsciously, then looked back at Leo. “Had it amputated so the gangrene wouldn’t spread and kill me.”
“You’re that Ranger that run up against Bonnie and Clyde, ain’t you?”
“I am.”
Leo stared at Sonny for a moment. He was wearing a thin white shirt that looked like it had come just out of a barrel of lye and brown canvas pants that were a little too short, the hem coming to a stop just above the ankles. He’d obviously had a growth spurt since they’d been bought or made. The wind blew his hair, blonde and thick like his mother’s, and he had to wipe a long drape of bangs out of the way of his right eye to see clearly. It had been a long time since Sonny had come face-to-face with a teenager. It felt familiar. Jesse had been an angry boy, too.
“I suppose you can use the phone. Who you gonna call?” Leo asked.
“That’s police business, son.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.” Sonny stepped forward and climbed up the steps, but he had to stop. Leo was still blocking the way. Arms still crossed, feet planted apart solidly, like he was expecting a toll.
“That Mexican needs to stay in the truck,” Leo said.
Sonny looked over his shoulder, then back at Leo. “He’s not going anywhere.”
“His kind ain’t welcome here. Anything comes up missin’, I‘ll be looking to him first.”
“I‘ll only be a minute,” Sonny said. There was a hard tone in his voice that was meant to urge Leo out of the way. It didn’t work.
“That your dog?” Leo asked, with a push of his chin. He stared at the dog, breaking eye contact with Sonny.
Sonny shrugged. “I‘m taking care of him, at the moment. You know him?”
“Kind of looks like one of my granddad’s dogs.”
“Pete Jorgenson said as much. Do you know him?”
“Jorgenson? No way. I stay away from that place.”
“Why’s that?”
“Hell, man, I‘d rather associate with that Mexican than people like that.”
Words bubbled up on Sonny’s tongue, but he clamped his lips together as hard as he could until they passed by, unspoken. But he couldn’t help himself. “Why’s that?”
Leo glared at Sonny. “Phone’s hanging on the wall, just inside the kitchen, mister. I wouldn’t want you tellin’ my mother I was inhospitable.”
“What do you have against the Jorgensons?” Sonny insisted. He could smell the boy’s sweat, and it wasn’t pleasant. Even the wind couldn’t carry away the smell of anger and discomfort.
“I said the phone’s on the wall. Are you deaf?”
“All right, then. You don’t know the dog, then?”
“Nope, ain’t never seen it before in my life,” Leo said, stepping aside, letting Sonny pass by. “We’ve been out of the dog business for a long time.”
; Sonny pushed by Leo, hesitated at the front door, then pulled it open and headed straight for the phone without looking back.
CHAPTER 21
Carmen crawled over the front seat as cautiously as she could. There were shards of glass everywhere. The shooting had stopped as soon as they had crossed into Oklahoma and the car that was chasing them had spun out in a cloud of dust and disappeared from sight. She had no idea what had happened to the car, or the driver, and at the moment she didn’t care. Now was not the time to confront the possibility that she might have killed a man, become more than a thief.
“Are you okay?” she asked Tió. Her voice shook like a bird’s wing flapping against the wind. She had no sense of anything around her. It felt like she had fallen into a deep hole.
Tió was crumpled on the floorboard, stuck between the front seat and the back, on his knees, facing down. His right shoulder was red with blood. The stain on his shirt grew like a thunderhead on a clear summer day. Carmen had never seen so much blood.
She repeated herself as she settled onto the seat, avoiding the glass the best she could. “Are you okay?” She restrained herself from touching him. He had never shown her anything but distaste. There had been no mistaking that her presence was not welcome—and she had felt the same way about him. More than once, Carmen had wished that Tió would disappear. But she didn’t want him to die.
Tió didn’t answer, but Carmen could see the rise and fall of his chest through his shirt. His breathing was slow, almost like a tremble.
“Tió! Don’t you fuckin’ die on me,” Eddie yelled out from the driver’s seat. He looked over his shoulder at Carmen questioningly.
She nodded, and mouthed, “He’s breathing.”
The Model A was shimmying, threatening to come apart at the welds, as Eddie pushed it to the upper limit of its speed. Gravel bounced up underneath the car, banging the chassis like popcorn—or the shots from the famed Tommy gun.
“I lost the gun,” Tió said weakly. His forehead was still glued to the floorboard. The words were muffled, overtaken by the sounds of the speeding car. “I lost the gun,” he repeated, louder this time. He began to beat the floor with his fist. The cloud of blood on his shirt grew with each thrust of his arm.
A Thousand Falling Crows Page 15