Lone Creek

58

I spent a couple of minutes waiting out front for my pickup truck to come back from wherever they had it impounded. The morning was clear and crisp, the weather getting into that glorious Indian summer that was the best part of the year around here.

My liberty might not last long, but Lord, did it feel fine.

Like Reuben had said, a minefield of worries still lay ahead. With someone of Balcomb's stature, a host of authorities would step in, probably including the FBI. I could count on being grilled again, and it was all too possible that I'd slip up or that some damning piece of evidence would come to light. John Doe might come back for revenge, or Balcomb's smuggling partners might decide to get even with whoever had disrupted their operation. If none of those exploded under me, there was still Kirk's Jeep, which would almost certainly be found next summer. With any luck, the sheriffs would decide that he'd been in it when it crashed-had gotten thrown out of the open top and carried away by underwater currents. But the fact that it had just happened to end up in my neighborhood was going to raise Gary's hackles.

In my favor, there was good reason to think that Kirk and Balcomb had been involved with high-level criminals, which was true. No doubt Balcomb had plenty of other enemies to cloud things further. Only a few people knew what really had happened, and all of them had good reasons to stay silent. Madbird. Reuben. John Doe, if he was still alive. Laurie might or might not ever turn up again-with her money, she could stay vanished forever. But if she did get questioned, there was still no reason for her to do anything but feign ignorance. And she sure knew how to spin a story.

As for Balcomb, we had disposed of him, on Reuben's suggestion, at an old homesteader's cabin about two miles back into the mountains. There was nothing left of the structure except a rock-and-mortar foundation. But there also was a crumbling cistern dug into a hillside, which collected from a spring. I'd known the place was there, but not about the cistern-probably the only other living person besides Reuben who did know was Elmer. It was covered by brush and partly filled by erosion, but about two feet of murky scum-covered water remained on the bottom, fed by the still trickling spring. We'd weighted Balcomb down with rocks, kicked dirt in from the hillside to fill the cistern the rest of the way, and rearranged the brush for cover. It was almost as secure an entombment as Kirk's.

Then we'd gone back to the golf driving range to tidy up there.

"I know there's blood on these diamonds," Reuben had said, picking up the box, "but I guess I'm too much of a hard-ass old prick to think letting them stay buried here would wash it off. I'll liquidate them quietly and put the money where it'll do some good, if you boys are amenable." Madbird and I were. We covered up the safe, drove the cart back in over it, and went home.

And right now, all I cared about was the sight of my pickup truck, turning the corner and coming my way.

When it pulled up to the curb, I was taken aback to see that Gary himself was driving, with his elbow perched jauntily on the windowsill. He patted the dash, apparently admiring the truck again.

"This is some rig," he said. "Runs smooth and handles real tight."

"I had the steering gear replaced not long ago."

"I miss those old days. You had a ride like this, a girl, and a six-pack, that was as close to heaven as it got."

"I still can't think of much better," I said.

He shifted position experimentally, like he was getting used to the seat. He didn't seem in any hurry to climb out.

"You know, I'm kind of sticking my neck out, doing this," he said.

"I do know that, Gary. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

"Well, if you'd answer just one question, it might clear up something that's been bothering me a long time."

Everything in me stopped.

"It don't have anything to do with this, directly, anyway," he said. "I guarantee I won't hold it against you or breathe a word about it."

That didn't reassure me much.

"I'll try," I said.

"Did Pete kill her?"

I shoved my hands into my pockets and took a couple of steps, gazing up at the mountains.

If we want something from Gary, we better give him something, too.

I turned back to him. "Yeah."

That might have helped satisfy his curiosity, but it sure didn't please him.

"I didn't lie to you back then, Gary," I said quickly, trying to head off his wrath. "I didn't know."

"So how is it you know now?"

"You said just one question."

His eyes went hard as stone and his forefinger rose to point at my chest.

"I'm the goddamn sheriff of Lewis and Clark County, son, and I'll ask as many goddamn questions as I want."

I waited, braced for an ass-chewing that would take me out at the knees.

But then he lowered his hand and sat back again, his expression turning wry.

"All right, a deal's a deal," he said. "I can pretty well fill in the blanks from there, anyway."

We were both quiet for another half minute. He still didn't get out of the truck.

"When's the last time you went to confession, really?" he said. "You know, in a church?"

My unease swept back in. I didn't think I was imagining an element of sarcasm about my story of a cathedral in the woods.

"Not for years," I said. "Mass, either."

"I go every Sunday. But the difference between that and what I see every day-" His mouth twisted in the same grimacing way it had earlier. "It's kind of like this situation. On the one hand, I'm all for letting people solve their problems on their own, especially if they do it clean and decent, and double especially if it's no bother to me. On the other hand, that ain't necessarily how the law's supposed to work."

"I'm not sure I follow you," I said, although I did, all too well.

"Reuben's bullshitting. You and me both know it, and so does he. If Kirk and Balcomb were dealing with somebody that serious, Kirk's dead. Maybe Balcomb was slick enough to get out. Maybe not."

He swung his head toward me and skewered me with those slaty eyes.

"Maybe it was something else entirely," he said.

I kept my mouth shut once more.

"There ain't many bodies buried around here that I don't know where," Gary said. "It's something I kind of pride myself on. What do you suppose the odds are I'll run across another one someday?"

"I wouldn't want to bet against you on much of anything, Gary."

"You better give Bill LaTray a call. He's got a way of dislocating a skip's shoulder before they start chatting."

He finally opened the truck's door, got out, and handed me the keys.

"Be seeing you, Hugh," he said.