Double Prey

Chapter Twenty-eight

“What leads you to believe that the bones are those of Eddie Johns?” Estelle asked as she leafed through her small notebook to a clean page, jotting down the date, the time, and the name.

“I remember that holster, for one thing,” the rancher said. “I saw that, and right away…” He took a deep breath. “Johns wore that 24/7, I think. Always wore that damn gun, everywhere he went. Always.” He looked at Gastner. “You probably remember that.”

“I do, as a matter of fact.”

Estelle reached to the back of her belt and slipped the small hand-held radio free, keying the transmit pad. “Sheriff, can you come down here for a minute?” She watched as Torrez straightened up from what he was doing and looked down the mesa side at her. “We have some information, sir.”

Torrez waved a hand, tapped the transmit pad once so his radio squelched a burst of static, and headed down the hill.

Bill Gastner’s left arm was cradled across his belly, giving support for his right. He rested his chin on the knuckles of his right hand, regarding Miles Waddell like an old Bassett hound waiting for the chase. The rancher started to say something, but Gastner held up his hand, then with a wonderful economy of motion, bent his right index finger to point toward the approaching sheriff.

“Sir,” Estelle said as Torrez drew within easy earshot, “Mr. Waddell tells us that the skeleton may be the remains of Eddie Johns. He has reason to believe it might be.”

“No shit,” Torrez said. Estelle kept her smile to herself. The sheriff was surprised by the announcement, since he took a few seconds to kick the toe of one well-worn Wellington boot against the sidewall of Miles Waddell’s back tire, dislodging some non-existent dirt from the waffle sole. “How do you know that?”

“For one thing, the holster rig,” Waddell said. “Like I was telling the young lady here, I’ve seen that often enough. Johns always had that damn gun on, all the time. Never saw him go anywhere without it. Even when we’d drop into the saloon for a beer, you know. He had it. Not supposed to carry in a place like that, I don’t think.”

“Nope. But lots of folks do. You know what kind of gun he carried?”

“I’m not much for handguns, sheriff. But I know it was bright steel, with rubber grips.”

“Stainless steel, or nickel? Something like that?”

“I couldn’t tell one from the other. I remember a time or two seeing him fussing with it. Adjusting it in the holster…that sort of thing. A big, awkward looking cannon. I remember that. Seems like more of a nuisance than anything else.” He chuckled. “Last time I remember any kind of fight in the Broken Spur, it was Victor using a cast iron frying pan.”

“And that’s it? You think the holster was like the one that Johns wore?” Torrez didn’t bother to disguise the skepticism in his tone.

“You recognize the boot, too?”

“Ah, no. I’m not sure anyone is going to recognize what’s left of that. But Johns did wear boots. Always.”

“When did you see him last?” the sheriff asked. “You were partnered up with him now and then.”

Waddell leaned back against the tailgate, face pursed, and looked up at the blank blue sky. “I gotta think about this, now.” The thinking went on long enough that the sheriff let out a sigh of impatience.

“It’s been a while,” Waddell said. “Four, five years, maybe. At least that.”

The rancher’s eyes narrowed a little, and he selected his words carefully. “Look, we didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. When he got involved with other deals-down in El Paso, I think, well…it didn’t just break my heart.”

Estelle had been watching Waddell’s face, and then glanced at Gastner, who raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Sir, you’re telling us that you haven’t seen Eddie Johns for five years?”

Waddell nodded. “And he was a whole lot more alive when I last saw him.”

“What were the circumstances of your last meeting with him, sir?”

“Well, we weren’t seeing eye to eye on some things. Let me put it that way.”

“You argued with him, you mean?”

“We had our disagreements. Ask Herb. He knows.”

“Mr. Torrance was present the last time you saw Johns?”

“Herb? Hell, I don’t remember. He might have been.”

“And then after that, you never saw Johns again. Is that what you’re sayin’?” Torrez looked sideways at the rancher.

“Never saw him again.”

“And how would that happen?”

“Well,” and Waddell seemed to stumble on the memory. “I just didn’t, that’s all. I mean, I didn’t see him again. Simple as that. Time went by, and I kinda wondered, you know. I was thinking of giving him a call, but…” He let the thought go unfinished.

“But, sir?” Estelle prompted.

“But I didn’t.” He smiled self-consciously at an answer so obviously evasive. “Not seeing Eddie Johns again wasn’t the worst thing in the world, in my book.”

“You didn’t think it odd when he just dropped from the picture? When he never called you, or visited again? No email, no notes, no nothing?”

“Well…sure, I wondered. A little bit.”

“You know, my memory is not worth a damn, but the last time I can remember seeing you and Eddie Johns together was that day out at Herb’s place,” Gastner mused. “That day we were talking to Herb about his boy-when he borrowed your cattle. That’s been what, five or six years, at least?”

“Borrowed, hell,” Waddell guffawed. “When the little shit stole a trailer full of them, you mean. You recall that Johns was with me that day? I couldn’t swear to it. But sure. Except that’s longer ago than what we’re talking about.”

“So you saw him after that, obviously.”

“I couldn’t say, but sure. Probably I did. Eddie and I were working on several projects after that. I guess when I get home, I could check my old day planners. I keep them-whatever for I don’t know. I’ll see what I can dig up.”

“Interesting that someone could just go missing like that, and no one would report it.” Gastner looked first at Estelle, and then at Waddell. “No one cared enough to inquire? You didn’t wonder where Eddie Johns went?”

Waddell ducked his head in embarrassment. “Look,” he said. “This is complicated in some ways. I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, you know. What was his business, was…his business. He and I didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, and some of our last meetings were pretty hot-well, from my perspective, they were. Eddie…well, listening to other people and understanding their point of view wasn’t one of his strong points.”

Estelle tapped the cover of her notebook impatiently. “Sir, we’re going to have to hear about some of those things-your disagreements with him. What you understood he was doing. But not out here. You’ll come by the office later this afternoon? Say at six?”

Waddell laughed weakly. “I have a choice?”

“I can come out to the ranch, sir. Either way. We’d appreciate your cooperation, sir.”

“Miles, there’s no point in skating in circles around this,” Gastner said. “The sooner this is cleared up, the better for everybody.”

“I don’t know who killed Eddie Johns,” Waddell said. “That’s as simple as I can say it.”

“We appreciate your cooperation,” Estelle said. “We have a few things to close out here, and then we’ll be back in town. If you’d stop by, that would be good.”

“I’ll do it,” the rancher said. “You know, you might want to talk with Herb. He might have seen Eddie sometime recently.”

“Not too recently,” Gastner quipped.

“Well, you know what I mean.” Waddell nodded at the procession of people now starting down the hill, laden with equipment. “I’ll get out of your way. Canyon road still closed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I’ll head north. You have my cell. If there’s a problem, or you guys get hung up with something so you can’t meet, let me know before I drive all the way into town.”

“We certainly will, sir.”

They stepped back as the rancher climbed into his truck. He swung the vehicle around in a wide circle, and waved a salute as he rumbled off.

“Bobby, what’s the rifle in the back of his truck?” Estelle asked.

“An old 250 Savage,” the sheriff said.

“Drives a really light bullet really fast?”

“Yup. Depending what he’s loading it with, it’s probably a light twenty-five caliber bullet, pushed out there pretty quick for its day. That ain’t the gun used on Freddy’s four-wheeler, though, if that’s what you’re thinkin’.”

“And we know that because…”

“That big scope? That’s for shootin’ at four hundred yards, maybe more. It’s a prairie dog gun. You try findin’ a target at twenty-five or thirty yards, all you’re going to get is a blur.”

“The scope can’t be focused for short distances?” Estelle was intrigued with how instantly Robert Torrez reached his decisions-especially those involving firearms.

“Could, maybe.” He held up both hands, forming a circle the size of a basketball. “With that much magnification, something movin’ real fast and up close is going to be just a big blur. I don’t care how careful he’s got it prefocused. It ain’t the gun.”

“The bullet hit the fender, then the rim and tire. Whoever pulled the trigger didn’t hit Freddy…if Freddy was the target.”

“I don’t think he was.” Torrez said. “If he really wanted to, he would have tried more than once.”

“Except he didn’t need to try more than once. The arroyo finished the job for him.”

“Yup.” He nodded down the two-track toward the southwest. “We need to spend some time down in the canyon. You got time for that?”

“Of course.” They both looked at Bill Gastner.

“Hey, I’ve been fed,” he said, holding up both hands. “I’m ready for anything. Jackie is going to be wondering if she’s been abandoned.”

“She won’t have wasted the time,” Estelle said.