Lockyear began to stutter, and he shook with anger. “All right, I did take over when Clint was killed. And I did take you and Sixkiller out in a boat. But you can’t prove I did any more than that.” A grin came to his lips, and he nodded with satisfaction. “You can’t even get me for attempted murder. You shot me, Miss Detective. I was just taking you across the river to a safe place until I was sure I had all the ‘evidence’ you claimed to have!”
Fran was staring at her husband, loathing on her face. Then she attested, “Captain Little, I know this man. He’s been a flop all his life. Wanted to play cowboy, and he hated Clint because Clint was what he’d always wanted to be. He wasn’t even jealous because I’d been married to Clint.”
“Some say he was, Mrs. Lockyear,” Little broke in.
“No. He never loved me. And he’s not a killer. He’s not even man enough for that! He might have had Clint beaten up, but he’d never kill anyone.”
Dani alleged, “You’re wrong there, Fran.”
“Prove it!” Lockyear shouted. “You’re just guessing!”
Dani looked at Lockyear, then slowly explained, “I was guessing for a long time. And all the time I had the answer right in my room.”
Bake looked up, his handsome face startled. “In your room?”
Everyone was staring at Dani now, and she spoke with a trace of sadness. “I always felt that I was missing something from the note I got from Megan. The one she gave you to give me, Luke.” She thought for a moment, then went on. “Her handwriting was terrible. That’s why she always used a tape recorder and a video camera instead of writing things down. Let me show you the note.” She turned to an overhead projector that had been set up; then switching it on, she placed a slip of paper on the glass.
“I doubt if you can read it. It says, Dani, I’ve got a lead. Will be back in the room after the rodeo. Don’t go to sleep. We’ve got to talk. That much I could read,” Dani said. “But the last sentence I could never make out. Not until two days ago. When I finally deciphered it, I soon knew who had killed Megan, and the one who killed Megan also killed Clint Thomas.” Then she turned and pronounced, “Clyde, you murdered them both.”
“You’ll never prove it!” Lockyear objected defiantly. “I was in the arena the whole time the rodeo was on! I can prove it. I’ve got witnesses.”
“But you weren’t in the arena before the show started, Clyde,” Dani pointed out. “You were in Clint’s trailer. And you killed him.”
“That’s crazy! I didn’t like him, but I don’t kill everybody I don’t like! And I wasn’t in that motor home before the show!”
“What did the last line say, Dani?” Ruth asked suddenly.
“It said, ‘If you get bored, watch the stateroom scene.’”
A puzzled look appeared on most faces, and Dani shared, “Megan and I were both crazy about old comedies. Laurel and Hardy, Buster Keaton, and most of all the Marx Brothers. The most famous scene in all the Marx Brothers movies is the stateroom scene. Megan and I had watched it three times. When I finally figured it out, I ran the movie and found this message from Megan.”
“I’ve seen that!” Bill Baker piped up. “Where they keep piling more and more people into the little ship’s cabin. That the one?”
“That’s it. It’s a scene from ‘A Night at the Opera.’ I want you to see a few minutes of it.”
Dani stepped to the VCR, and soon the old black-and-white movie began flickering across the scene. The group watched, bewilderment on their faces. “Don’t see what this is for!” Dixon grumbled. “Just a crummy old movie!”
But then the old film disappeared. Megan Carr’s face appeared, and she grinned, saying, “Hi, Dani! If you don’t find this tape, you’re no detective!” Then she sobered. “Listen, I’ve been tying this thing together. And Dani, it’s going to blow your mind! You’ll never guess who the Creep is!” Her eyes sparkled, and she cried out, “It’s Clint Thomas! I’ve got the goods on him!”
As she began explaining how she had discovered his identity, Dani grew sad. When she had first seen the message, she had not been able to hold back the tears, seeing the vibrant life and joy in Megan’s expression. If she’d only waited! Dani had thought painfully.
“I took a hint from you, Dani,” Megan was saying. “I got the idea of following someone who was paying the Creep off when he put the money down. So I went to one of the victims. I knew Clyde was getting clipped pretty good, so I decided to talk to him. He said Tom Leathers took the money, but that he’d make up some excuse for doing it himself. So he did. He called me two days later, and I followed him, then waited around. It wasn’t hard. Here’s what I got on film.”
Megan’s image disappeared, and the screen was filled with a scene taken in front of some sort of building with a large green yard and white benches. Clyde came into view, sat down, then after a while, got up and walked away, but he left a small briefcase. Megan’s voice came as he disappeared, “There’s the bait. Now let’s see who the rat is.”
The film stopped, then came on abruptly. “Here’s our rat!” Megan announced. There was no mistaking the man who walked up to the bench, picked up the case, then walked away without looking back.
“That’s Clint!” Ruth whispered. “I—I can’t believe it!”
But nobody heeded her. All were staring at the screen, for Megan was back, this time in a motel room. “Well,” she said, “now we know who the Creep is. But I want to nail him for keeps. I hate to do this to Clyde, but I want all the credit. Clyde’s going to be on ‘Candid Camera.’” She waved toward them, looking into the camera. “Clyde called me to find out what I’d discovered, and he’s coming over. I need his help, because to tell the truth, I’m a little shaky about this. Clint’s had some guys pulverized, and I don’t want to be next. I need a man, and Clyde will do.”
The film stopped and began again abruptly. This time it showed Clyde coming into the room. The light was poor, but as he stood in the middle of the room where Megan had focused the camera, there was no mistaking him. When Megan told him about Clint, he went wild. Megan looked nervously at the camera as Lockyear paced the floor. Finally, when he stopped she confided, “I want to get him, Clyde. But I need some help.”
Lockyear agreed grimly, “Anything to get him!”
“I’m going to confront him with this, Clyde, but I’m afraid of him. Will you go with me?”
“Let’s do it!”
Megan seemed to hesitate, then told him, “I’ve got a gun, but I don’t know how to use it.”
“Give it to me. I know how.” Megan crossed the room, took a revolver from a drawer of the dresser, then handed it to him. “Let’s go to his motor home, Clyde.”
“That’s good. You be there about five. He’s always there before the show. I’ll meet you there. He’s got a VCR, so we can hit him with this film.” There was an unholy light in Lockyear’s eyes that the camera picked up. He put the gun in his pocket then left.
As soon as he was gone, Megan looked into the camera. “I guess I ought to wait for you, Dani, but I want it all tied up. I’m going to use my radio, so I’ll have it all by the time I get back tonight.”
Dani turned the machine off, then turned to Clyde. “But she never came back. Because you killed her, Clyde.”
Lockyear stared at her, then insisted doggedly, “Okay, we went there. But Thomas wasn’t home. I had to make the show, so I told her we’d do it later. But she said to give her the gun back, that she’d do it herself. So I did.”
“You didn’t think you should mention a little thing like that to the police?” Little asked. He was studying the rumpled suspect in a manner that seemed to disturb Lockyear.
“I—I knew somebody would think I was in it, because I hated Clint. But I didn’t kill him—or her either. I didn’t go in that motor home that night! You can’t prove a thing!”
Dani shook her head. “I’ve got one more thing for you, Clyde. It’s a cassette recording.” She punched the button on a cassette recorde
r she’d placed on the table and stepped back as the voice of Clint Thomas, speaking over the sound of the stereo, came into the room. It started in the middle of a sentence, and the voice was mad with rage.
Clint: “. . . You two think you’re up to?”
Megan: “We want you to see a few minutes of this video.”
Clint: “What’s Clyde doing here?”
Clyde: “I’m here to see you go to jail, Clint old buddy!”
Clint: “I’ll break your neck. Just let—hey, now, what’s with the gun, Clyde?”
Megan: “Just watch the video, Clint. Then we can talk.”
As the tape ran, Little stared at Clyde Lockyear’s face. He had spent years watching faces, and now as the scene unfolded, he drew his conclusion. Clyde looked startled as the recording began. As it progressed through the part where the video was shown and Clyde taunted Clint with getting caught, the stockman’s expression changed. A sickly light came into his eyes, and he began to tremble. Suddenly he put his face in his hands and began to weep.
The tape ran on, and then Clint’s voice cried, “You little punk! You don’t have the nerve to get on a bucking horse! I’ll take that gun and make you—”
The shot could be heard over the sound of the stereo.
Megan’s voice cried, “You’ve killed him!”
A second shot.
Silence for a time followed by the sound of movements, of rustlings and footsteps. Then nothing.
Clyde got to his feet, his face contorted. “He was no good! And I didn’t mean to shoot him! He would have killed me, if he’d gotten the gun away from me! It was self-defense!” He looked around the room, and for one moment he looked haggard, a pitiful little man who had stepped off a cliff into a nightmare. “I—I had to kill her! She’d seen me kill Clint. I didn’t want to! Then I went through Clint’s things, and I found his book with all the people he was swindling. So I decided I’d do it. I’d do what he couldn’t do!” Then a crafty look came into his face. “You’ll never convict me,” he cried. “I’ll get lawyers. They won’t let you use these tapes!”
“But we can use what you took from Clint’s motor home,” Little reminded him.
“What? I didn’t take anything!”
“Then how did Clint Thomas’s championship buckles get in your trailer?” Little asked. “Plenty of witnesses to tell how much he thought of them. One witness will testify he saw them in Clint’s motor home the afternoon before he was killed. But when we searched your place, Lockyear, we found them hidden with Thomas’s book of records. The only way you could have gotten them was to take them from Clint Thomas’s desk, where he kept them.”
Suddenly Clyde Lockyear began cursing and raving, his eyes insane with rage. Little barked, “All right, you’re under arrest for the murders of Clint Thomas and Megan Carr.” He informed him of his rights, then said, “Now you can call a lawyer. Take him away, Edgar.”
When the policeman closed the door, momentarily they could still hear Lockyear’s screams, before they died away.
“How did you get that recording?” Little demanded. “She wasn’t wired. We’d have found that on her body.”
“Remember she said, ‘I’m going to use my radio?’” Dani asked. “Megan had a special radio. It was a radio. A very small one, that played AM and FM stations. But she used it sometimes in her work. It had a small tape recorder built into it and a powerful mike. When she interviewed people, she’d have the radio on, sometimes, then turn it off to do the interview. But when she turned it off, that turned on the tape recorder. I think she took it with her and at some point took it out of her purse and put it down on the table. Clyde didn’t see her do it. That’s where it was when Ben went by to check it out.”
“My men missed it?”
“It was just a radio, Captain. There was nothing to show that it was anything special.”
“I’ll have a little talk with my boys,” Little replied grimly, and obviously the “boys” were in for a rough session. Then Little lamented, “It’s all circumstantial.”
“It’s the best I could do,” Dani reminded him simply.
For the first time, a smile creased Amos Little’s lips. “You did just fine, Miss Ross. You ever want to be a real detective, you come to Houston. I’ll fire a couple of the waffle-fingered clowns I got and put you on.”
Ten minutes later the room was empty except for Dani, Ben, and Luke. The captain had informed them all that they would probably be called as witnesses when the trial was held. There had been a trying time for Dani as most of the cowboys came to say good-bye. Hank and Ruth had left together, and Ben had said, “Wouldn’t be surprised but what something might come of that. Good man.”
Then Dani asked, “What about Clyde?”
“Oh, he’s going where the dogs won’t bite him.” Luke shrugged. “But capital punishment’s out of favor. All the evidence is circumstantial. I’d say he’ll get life, but be out in ten to fifteen.”
“What could have been in his heart?” Dani whispered.
“He wanted what he couldn’t have,” Savage recognized. “I feel sorry for him. Know what that feels like.”
Dani gave him a swift glance, but his smooth face told her nothing. She said, “I guess we can go home now.”
Luke announced, “I guess I’ll stay with riding bulls for a while.”
“But the case is solved,” Ben objected.
Sixkiller looked embarrassed. “Well, I got to stick with Boone a little longer. He’s in pretty bad shape.”
Dani smiled and put her hand on his arm. “That’s good of you, Luke!”
“There’s a rodeo in Conway. I think I’ll talk the kid into going with me. Then we can sort of drop in on that little church where I got saved.”
Dani was pleased. “You’ll be a flaming evangelist, Luke Sixkiller! Give me a call when Boone gets the glory! Or better still, bring him back with you to New Orleans. We’ve got to celebrate your new calling.”
Savage watched them, saying nothing himself. Finally when the two others walked out, talking about the Lord, he stood there, thinking hard, before he shook his head with a strange gesture, then followed them.
21
Greet the Brethren
* * *
Dani watched as Ben fished for blue crabs, his hazel eyes turned to slits by the glare of the sun. He was wearing his favorite lounging outfit, a pair of faded denim cutoffs and a T-shirt with the picture of an old steam engine and the words Durango and Silverton Railroad written in ornate calligraphy underneath. He was standing knee-deep in the lake holding on to a short length of weathered cord that dangled into the water, his tanned face serious.
Something tickled Dani’s right leg, and she glanced down to see a red ant marching across her thigh. Quickly she reached down and brushed it away. She lay there in the sun, soaking up the warmth and idly watching Savage.
As he stood poised, waiting for the line to stir, Dani studied him from behind her dark glasses, thinking of how much time they’d spent together during the past two weeks. She’d spent a great deal of her days relaxing, going almost daily to her parents’ home off the shores of Lake Pontchartrain, riding a spirited mare named Lady a friend was keeping there during a long vacation. She’d spent time with her sister, Allison, going shopping with her and enjoying the things Allison made her do—such as going roller-skating. Somehow Ben had been there for a lot of it. The roller-skating, for example, had been fun, for he’d come home with her father for dinner, and Allison had insisted on his going along. Allison and Dani had laughed themselves sick as he’d fallen flat time after time, going around the rink rubber-legged, his arms flailing. When they were both holding on to his arms as his feet skidded wildly, he cried out, “Wait! I think I’ve got the hang of it!” Then he burst into a graceful routine, including leaps in the air that they’d seen only from Olympic champions. Dani shook her head, saying ruefully to Allison, “We should have known! Anybody with the timing and grace to be an aerialist would be great at somethin
g like roller-skating!”
The line in Ben’s hand moved slightly, and instantly he lifted the cord, removed the palm-sized blue crab that clung to the piece of meat tied on the end, and dropped it into the bucket that floated at his feet. He peered into the bucket, then picked it up and waded back to the shore. “This ought to be enough for supper.” He set the bucket down, moved to where she was lying on an old quilt, and plumped himself down beside her. He gave her outfit a critical look and shook his head sadly. “Don’t you ever read those fashion magazines?” he asked. She was wearing a pair of lime green shorts and a red halter top. “Where’d you get that outfit? At a rummage sale?”
Actually he thought she looked great, though she wasn’t a raving beauty, he decided as he gave her a critical inspection. “You better make it as a private detective, Boss.”
“Why?”
“Because you’d never make it as a fashion model,” he announced, then shook his head sadly. “Too much figure. To be a top-rate model a woman’s got to look like she just got released from a concentration camp. No curves allowed. Anyway, your face, Boss, just won’t do.” He reached out and put his hand under her chin, raised it up, then plucked her sunglasses off for a better look. “Nope. Face too square—mouth too big—crazy colored eyes.” He held her face for a moment, then commented, “Good complexion though.”
She stared at him, laughter in her gray-green eyes that reflected the water and the sun. “Thanks a lot, Ben. I was going to hit the salons tomorrow. Now you’ve saved me all the heartache of rejection.”
He held her chin a moment, then dropped his hand, saying briskly, “You look pretty good for an older chick.” Then he lay back and covered his eyes by throwing the back of his left hand over them. “Any more of those bad dreams?” he asked casually.
Dani shot a quick glance at him, then shook her head. “Not a one. Guess Dr. Savage’s Cut-Rate Psychology Course was worth all I paid for it.” Then she grew serious, her eyes changing with her mood. “I think about Megan a lot.” She came to a sitting position and watched as a brown pelican sailed by, as stately as a galleon. Then a flight of six egrets, flawlessly white and sparkling, moved across the cloudless blue sky.
Revenge at the Rodeo Page 27