Bitterroot Blues

by Paul Moomaw

  Arceneaux wasn’t sure, but neither was he willing to disappoint Josh.

  “I’m just a little tired,” he said. “Hanging out with Josh will perk me up.”

  Teresa had looked at him doubtfully. “You look like you need to talk,” she said. “You want me to stay for a bit?”

  Arceneaux was tempted. He did need to talk, to unload, to purge himself somehow; but he shook his head.

  “We could never talk,” he said, and wished immediately that he had kept his mouth shut, as she winced and looked away. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Cheap shot.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” she said. She bent to give Josh a hug and kiss, and then spun away and started toward her car.

  “Teresa,” Arceneaux said. She paused, but did not turn to face him. “Thank you for asking,” he said. She nodded slightly and continued to her car. Arceneaux went into the house. Josh ran to the car and gave his mother another hug, then retraced his steps and entered the house.

  “You hurt Mom’s feelings,” he said.

  Arceneaux nodded. “I know,” he said. “I need to learn to keep my mouth shut.”

  Josh nodded gravely. “I think so, too,” he said. He paused. “You can talk to me.”

  Arceneaux hugged the boy. “Tell you what. Why don’t I order us a pizza for dinner?”

  “Can Jimmy eat with us?”

  “Sure,” Arceneaux said. “If it’s okay with his mother.”

  Josh jumped up. “Sweet,” he said. He headed out the door and Arceneaux picked up the phone and dialed the County Attorney’s office. He asked for Anne, was told she was in a trial, and left a message asking her to call when she had time. Then he just sat. He tried to think about practical things, but he could not drive the incident out of his mind. Finally he got up, went to the kitchen, and opened a beer, managing to hold it against his body with his cast while he twisted the cap. He was on his second when Josh came tearing into the house with Jimmy Littletoes, announcing loudly that Jimmy’s mother had lent them a movie, and had started a third when Anne called back.

  “You sound depressed as hell,” she said. “What are you doing?”

  “Drinking a beer and trying not to think.”

  “What happened?”

  “I watched a little boy beg his daddy not to die today.”

  “You want to talk?”

  “Yeah. Otherwise I’m going to get drunk, and that won’t do. I’ve got Josh.”

  “I’ll be there about six. What are you doing about supper?”

  “I was going to order a pizza.”

  “I’ll take care of that.”

  “Better make it pepperoni. Josh and Jimmy are eating with us.”

  There was a moment of silence, then, “Maybe I shouldn’t come.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know why. Josh. I’m not his favorite person.”

  “He’ll just have to deal with it,” Arceneaux insisted. Tonight I need to come first. I’m pretty down about what happened today.”

  “I can hear that.”

  “So come on over.”

  “Let’s compromise,” Anne said. “You have your pizza with Josh, and I’ll come over about nine.”

  “Eight thirty.”

  “Okay. Eight thirty.”

  It was closer to nine o’clock, after all,, when Anne arrived, but that worked out, because Josh resisted going to bed. Now Arceneaux sat on the sofa, Anne at his side. They had turned out the lights, but it was full moon, the hunter’s moon, and the light from it illuminated the bedroom with a silver glow.

  “Every time I close my eyes, I see Bryce,” he said.

  “Then keep them open and look at me,” Anne said.

  “Good idea.” He turned to admire the way the wash of light from the moon outlined her profile. “You’re kind of beautiful, you know?” He traced her forehead and nose with his fingers, holding the elbow high so that the cast would not touch her.

  She ran her hand across the cast. “How’s your arm?” she asked

  “It’s fine. No pain, just clumsy. I should be out of this cast pretty soon.” He stretched and sighed. “I can’t get over this afternoon. Crisp is a killer, and a total asshole to boot, but I really think he loves his son.” He paused, staring at nothing in particular for a moment. “And Bryce obviously loves him like crazy.”

  “Sons love their fathers,” Anne said. “Just like Josh loves you. Absolutely adores you, in fact. And that’s partly because he understands that you’re a big softie, no matter how much to try to act like a tough guy.”

  Arceneaux shook his head emphatically. “I’m no softie. I’m a hard, hard man. I’m just as hard as they come.”

  Anne ran her fingers down his chest to his stomach. She made circles around his navel, then dropped her hand to his crotch. “Well, excuse me,” she said. “I guess you’re right. You’re a very hard man.” She bent and kissed him lightly on the lips, then more passionately. “And you’ve had a hard, hard day, too,” she said. Then she sighed and pulled away. “What a waste, though. We’ll just have to wait until Josh goes back to Momma.”

  “Hey, we can be really quiet.”

  Anne shook her head and nipped him on the tip of the nose. “Sorry, my dear. I guess I’m old fashioned.” She got up, gathered her coat and purse, and headed for the front door. Arceneaux followed and opened the door for her.

  “I think we need to talk about the future,” she said.

  “You bet,” Arceneaux said. “Before you know it.”

  She slapped him lightly on the cheek. “You are hopeless, Sam.”

  “That’s why you love me.”

  “I guess,” she said, and stepped through the door.

  Arceneaux went to the front window and watched Anne get into her car and drive off. As her taillights disappeared around a corner he felt a sudden wave of unease, and then a quiet, whispering sense of sadness. For the first time he wondered if the day might come when he would be watching her leave for the last time.

  He shook the thought away and went to check on Josh, who was sleeping soundly, then headed for his own bedroom. He felt suddenly exhausted, and settled for taking off his shoes before climbing into the bed and pulling the bedspread up to his shoulders. He slipped into a restless sleep, filled with shadowy figures and dark, empty spaces, and finally he was back on the lawn again, in front of the Crisp house, except the lawn was all weeds and ticks, and the house looked like a mausoleum, and Bryce kept calling, “Daddy, Daddy,” but calling it out to him, not to David Crisp, reaching out to him, and staring at him, so that he tried to say, “I’m not your daddy. That’s your daddy down there in the weeds,” and Bryce would not listen, and kept calling him until he finally woke him up. He looked around the dark room and listened. The house was too quiet, and he found himself getting up and going back to Josh’s room again, his mind fearful and unsettled by the dream. Josh lay quietly in his bed, and for a moment Arceneaux was so convinced he had stopped breathing that he reached down and nudged the boy with his hand. Josh shifted and muttered something in his sleep, and Arceneaux went back to his own bed, feeling foolish, but relieved.

  Chapter 36

  David Crisp no longer looked cocky or mean, just tired, as he sat in the interrogation room in Hamilton. Arceneaux sat on the dark side of a large observation window, next to Barbara Drake, from whom he had cajoled and wheedled permission to observe Crisp being questioned. Crisp sat at one end of a long deal table, dressed in bright orange coveralls, ankles shackled with a foot-long chain between them. Tyler Rentz sat at the table to one side of Crisp, a small stack of papers in front of him. He turned on a tape recorder and spoke toward its built-in microphone.

  “This is Monday, November seventh. I am Sergeant Tyler Rentz of the Ravalli County Sheriff’s Department, interviewing David Crisp.” He looked across at Crisp. “Please say your name for the record.

  “David Herman Crisp,” the other man said. He sounded as tired as he looked.

  “You have been advised of your righ
t to remain silent and to have legal counsel, is that correct?”

  Crisp nodded. “Yes.”

  “And you have waived those rights, is that also correct?”

  “Unless I change my mind.”

  “You are entitled to do that at any time, and this interview will end right then.”

  Crisp snorted. “Interview. Some interview. Does that mean I get to ask the questions?”

  Rentz ignored the jibe. “You are charged with possession of dangerous drugs with the intent to sell them.”

  “What drugs? You find any drugs on me?”

  “The drugs you were getting ready to transport from a cabin on Piquette Creek Road that was leased from the Forest Service by Corey Wallace.”

  Crisp offered Rentz an innocent look. “I don’t know any Corey Wallace,” he said. “Oh, yeah. He’s that guy that got killed along with my daughter, isn’t he? Anyway, I don’t know anything about that cabin, either. I just happened to drive past it on a hunting trip, and thought I would take a peek. Just curiosity, is all.”

  Rentz finally began to look exasperated. “Now pay attention, David. Is it okay if I call you David?” Crisp shrugged and Rentz continued. “We have you cold on this one. You’ve been observed more than once at that cabin. You’ve been seen removing drugs from that cabin. You need to cooperate with me on this David. You help me, I’ll help you.”

  Crisp stretched out his hands and gazed intently at his calloused knuckles, then finally said. “Okay, I admit that I knew the cabin had dope in it. I really did stumble across the place when I was hunting. A storm had come up, and I wanted to duck inside to wait it out. When I saw what was there, I couldn’t resist, so I took a little weed.” He looked up. “But only for my own use. I never sold anything to anybody.”

  “The cabin was padlocked,” Rentz said.

  “I did that later.”

  Rentz jumped up and paced around the table. Then he leaned over Crisp and shook an index finger under his nose. “Come on, David, you need to do better than that.”

  Crisp shrugged again and kept silent. Rentz went back to his own chair and sat down. He ruffled through the papers in front of him.

  “We know that you knew whose cabin that was. We know that you did drug business with Corey Wallace.”

  Crisp shook his head rapidly from side to side. “I swear to God I never did.”

  “Give yourself a break,” Rentz said. “You weren’t even very careful. You were seen several times with Wallace while he was at the Double Pine the week before he died.”

  “I was at the Double Pine once or twice, yeah. But it was to see Samantha. She was having some problems, and she wanted my advice.”

  Behind the observation window, Arceneaux snorted in disgust. “You probably went there to tell her to shut up about you or else, and when she wouldn’t, you killed her, asshole.”

  Barbara Drake waved a hand at him. “This place isn’t that soundproof, Sam,” she said.

  “Sorry,” Arceneaux muttered.

  “You were with Wallace,” Rentz was saying. “The housekeeper saw you conspiring with him, David.” He shuffled through the papers, then leaned forward and pointed his finger at Crisp again. “Wallace had your name and telephone number in his little black book, David.” He leaned back in his chair. “Home number and work number. Bet you didn’t know that, did you?”

  “Is that really true?” Arceneaux whispered to Drake? She shook her head.

  “He made that up,” she said.

  Arceneaux shook his head in admiration. “Wow. I totally believed him.” He resolved then and there never to play poker with Rentz.

  “Now listen to me, David,” Rentz said. “We need to make a deal. You can do this the hard way, or the easy way. You can cooperate. For instance, you can tell us who was buying your stuff. That will be a big help, and we’ll appreciate it.”

  “I bet,” Crisp said. “Maybe even let me have a queen size bed in my cell.”

  Rentz shook his head sadly. “Not quite, David. But you have to understand that this case can go one of two ways. It can stay with us, and you can go before Judge Black. He’s not a bad guy, for a judge. He’d give you a break, especially if we can tell him you were helpful. You might get hardly any jail time at all.”

  Crisp crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling, being ostentatiously unimpressed.

  “Or,” Rentz went on, “we can turn this over to the federal authorities. That means hard time for you, a big, long sentence. You do the whole thing with no time off for good behavior and no parole.” He paused. “And we score points for our office. The feds will like us for handing them some raw meat, and Judge Black will appreciate having one less case on his docket. He’s overworked, you know?”

  Rentz now had Crisp’s full attention. He sagged a little, and began to examine his hands again. Then he looked up at Rentz.

  “Okay,” he said. “Okay. I’m not stupid. You deal with me, and I’ll deal with you.”

  Rentz nodded. “Tell me,” he said.

  Crisp took a deep breath and laced his fingers together. “I was having a hard time last year. Business stank. And I was doing a little gambling, too, except it started turning into a lot of gambling. That’s where I met Wallace, in a casino in Missoula.” He paused and looked up. “I didn’t gamble in Hamilton. Town’s too small, and I have a reputation to keep up.” He smiled ruefully. “Not any more, I guess. Anyway, he was looking for a connection in the Bitterroot, someone to run drugs to his customers around here.” He cocked his head and stared at the observation window, then waved at it. “You are going to be amazed at who some of those customers are,” he said.

  “I love surprises,” Rentz said.

  “When I read in the paper that Wallace had been killed.” He stopped for a minute and rubbed his eyes. “I can’t believe my Samantha was with him. He was a real sleaze. I may have done business with him, but he was not a good person.”

  Arceneaux had to slap a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. “Not a good person.” He managed to keep his voice low. “What a loving father.”

  “Anyway,” Crisp was saying, “when I found out he was dead, I was kind of in the dumps at first, because sleaze or not, he cut me in for some nice change. Then I realized that the cabin was still there, and still full of dope, and so at least I could keep things going until that stash ran out, and it was a big one.” He glanced over at Rentz. “I guess you already know that. So I just figured as long as it was there, I could sort of inherit it. I mean, it’s not very likely that he left a will, right?”

  “How do I know you didn’t decide just to do a buyout,” Rentz said. “A hostile takeover, you know? Maybe you killed Wallace, and Samantha was just sort of collateral damage.”

  Crisp was rising to his feet, shaking his fist at Rentz, and yelling, “Fuck you,” and Arceneaux was nodding his head vigorously, thinking, Right on, Tyler, when the telephone next to Barbara Drake emitted a low buzz. She picked the receiver up.

  “Drake,” she said. She listened for a moment, then grabbed a pen and notepad and began writing, nodding and grunting as the pen moved across the paper. “Got it,” she said, at length, and hung up. She pressed a button on the observation window sill and a buzzer went off in the interrogation room. Rentz glanced quickly at the window and stood up.

  “We’ll take a little break,” he said, and walked to the door to the observation room. Drake stood up and opened it. She and Rentz put their heads together. “Go ahead and take this back into the room with you and read it. Then you’ll probably want to change course.”

  Rentz took the note and re-entered the interrogation room, reading as he strode back to his chair and sat down. He finished the note, looked up at Crisp, and gave him a huge, unpleasant smile.

  “I think I’ll take a rain check on that list of customers, David,” he said. “We need to talk about a couple of other things.”

  Crisp eyed Rentz warily and kept silent. Rentz tossed the note on the table and tapped on
e fist lightly into the palm of the other hand.

  “First of all,” Rentz said, “we need to talk about the fire.”

  “What fire?” Crisp said.

  “The one you started, David. The one in Harvey English’s office.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you do, David. You lit that fire. You did a pretty good job, too, except you left prints. We found them on a mug right next to the file cabinet you torched. What did you do, decide to have a cup of coffee first?”

  “I don’t know a thing about a fire,” Crisp said. “I did visit English the other day. Samantha was seeing him, and she wanted me to talk to him. You know, give him some insight into her problems.”

  Rentz shook his head and sighed theatrically. “I bet you sure could do that, David. After all, you were the problem she was seeing English about. We know all about it. No wonder you wanted to destroy those files.”

  Crisp stared at the wall and did not respond. Rentz tapped the note again.

  “We also searched your house, David, and guess what we found?”

  Crisp shrugged. “I bet you’re about to tell me.”

  Rentz nodded. “You win the bet. We found a bat, David, a nice wooden bat. A Louisville Slugger, in fact.”

  “Big deal,” Crisp said. “I’ve got a son. What boy doesn’t have a bat?”

  “This one sure was clean, David,” Rentz said. “Looked like somebody had really worked it over. It even had a new coat of varnish on it.”

  “It was my old bat, and I gave it to Bryce. He wanted one of those fancy aluminum bats, but I told him he’d have to make do with the old one. Kid thinks I’m rich, or something. But I did fix it up as nice as I could.”

  “I guess you should have spent the money on a new one, David,” Rentz said. “I admit, you did a pretty great job on it, but I guess you didn’t notice that the wood had a crack.”

  Crisp froze and waited, and Rentz let him wait for half a minute at least.