Chapter Fifteen

Sunday, October 27 th .

Wild Stallion Ranch.

Billy was slow to get out of bed Sunday morning. Didn't matter. We had the day off except for feeding the prisoners.

Dad laid out everything we knew about the two murders, and they didn't seem to be connected at all. "The killer slit the throats of both victims," said Virge. "Will Doc be able to tell if it was the same knife?"

"He should be able to," said Travis.

"Do we want it to be one killer, Dad?" I asked. "What would be best for solving the case?"

"I'm not sure. I locked Hoover up hoping he would come forward and spit something out."

"You locked Hal up even though you don't think he's the killer?" asked Virge.

"That's right. We need something and Hal fell into our laps. We'll use him to help unravel whatever is going on."

"What do you think Hal Hoover knows?" I asked.

"According to Cassie Blake, the dark green Jag was at the Ellington's more often than it would take to deliver a suit. So why was he there?"

"If he was fooling around with Sandra Ellington, he's not going to tell us that because that will make him look more guilty," I said.

"Uh huh. Would give him a motive—a weak one."

Billy shuffled into the kitchen with one hand on his left temple and his other holding a bottle of Advil.

"You okay, Billy?" Dad got up and poured Billy a mug of coffee. "You want cream?"

"No thanks." Billy chuckled as he sat down at the end of the table. "I don't remember getting home. Thanks, guys."

Travis pushed the coffee towards Billy. He took a sip and started talking about having Sunday cremated after the autopsy was done.

"Uh huh," said Travis.

"I want to take her ashes up to her cabin. I'll get her things and go through everything. I have to see what would make her do that. Just for myself—so I can understand."

"Nobody will be going up that mountain until spring, Billy. There's no way to get there until the snow melts. Sunday's cabin is higher than ours and there's no possible way to get there."

"I guess I'll keep her ashes until spring then," said Billy.

"We'll all go in April or May," said Travis. "I'll find a spot for Olivia at the same time."

"Long time to wait," mumbled Billy.

I saw the look on his face and wasn't sure he was going to wait.

Sheriff's Office. Coyote Creek.

The station was closed on Sundays, and we were only there long enough to feed the prisoners and lock up again. If Bob Ellington hadn't got lucky and arrived when we were inside, he wouldn't have gotten in to see his client.

Ellington banged on the front door and Travis opened it. "Office ain't open on Sundays."

Ellington pushed in. "I was informed one of my clients was incarcerated here and needed my assistance."

"Who would that be, sir?"

"Hal Hoover, Sheriff. Austin Quinlan, Hal's assistant at the store, called and asked me to do something on behalf of his employer."

"I see," said Travis. He had no intention of letting Hal Hoover have a call until Monday morning, and now that was in the wind. Pissed Travis off.

"I'll give you ten minutes in the run with Hal, Mister Ellington. We don't have any attorney/client meeting rooms here. This is a small station."

"I can speak with Hal in the run," said Ellington.

We sat in the break room and drank coffee with Dad while we waited for Mister Ellington to talk to Hal. Dad checked his watch and went into the run to fetch the lawyer when his time was up.

"I'll try to have Mister Hoover arraigned tomorrow, Sheriff. He says you've charged him with suspicion of murder—two counts."

"That's right. Tell me how the two murders are connected if not by Hoover. I'd like you to explain it to me and if I were you, I'd think twice about defending the guy who killed my wife."

Visibly upset, Ellington said, "I can see your reasoning for arresting Hal, Sheriff. But I don't think he's responsible for either murder."

"Do you have any evidence to steer me in a different direction, sir?"

"I'm sorry, I don't, but if I hear anything at all, I'll share it with you, Sheriff. I want my wife's killer found as much as you do."

Travis saw Ellington out the front door of the station and happened to see a Porsche parked across the street. Not a common sight in Coyote Creek.

He locked the door and turned, and Virge was right there next to him staring out the window.

"Is that the big blond lawyer who was banging Mrs. Ellington parked over there?"

"Could be, son. I don't know him. I believe Ted was assigned to him."

"He's the lawyer doing his own investigation," said Virge. "He drove his red pickup when he visited Sandra Ellington. He admitted that. Guess he figured the Porsche would be a dead giveaway. Now he's bent on finding the killer."

"Jesus, we don't need that. This case stinks and one of the things bothering me the most is Dan Darkers. Why was he at Sandra Ellington's funeral?"

"Don't know," said Virge. "Maybe you should've asked her husband while he was here."

"You're right. I should have come out and asked Bob Ellington if Darkers is a friend of his or of his wife." Travis reached for his cell. "I'm asking him now."

"Bob Ellington."

"I thought of something after you left, Mister Ellington. Just a simple question."

"Go ahead, Sheriff."

"I noticed Dan Darkers at your wife's reception, and I wondered why he was there. Was he a friend of either of you?"

"I'm sorry, Sheriff. I don't know the name. I don't know who he is."

"Okay, thanks."

"What did he say?" asked Virge.

"Doesn't know him."

"Huh," said Virge. "Bob doesn't know who Dan is, so he was at the funeral for Sandra. Had to be."

"Darkers knew Sandra Ellington," said Travis, "and he cared enough about her to put a suit on and attend her funeral. A funeral where he didn't know anybody else—not even her husband. What does that tell us, boys?"

"No clue, Dad," I said.

"Virgil?" Travis waited for an answer.

"He liked Sandra a lot and felt bad she was dead, or…he was scoping out the funeral to see if he could spot who killed her."

"Or…" Travis waited for us to come up with another reason.

"Don't know," said Virge. "What's the other thing?"

"Darkers killed her and went to the funeral for an entirely different reason."

"What's the reason, Dad?"

Travis shrugged. "No idea."

Nashville. Tennessee.

Casey and Ardal finished an exhaustive search of the music district in Nashville looking for the songwriter and Bobby Preston and they came up empty.

Casey called Blacky to see if he had any ideas of where they should look next. "Can't find them, bro. Have no idea where to go from here. Do you?"

"Nope. If you've tried coming at it from the songwriter angle and got nothing, you might as well come home. Prescott has probably sold the truck and hunkered down somewhere in Tennessee and the only way we're going to find him is by shit-house luck."

"Okay," said Casey. "We're packed up. I'll get us a flight and we should be home by tonight."

"Copy that."

Brentwood Estates. Tennessee.

Bobby and Ray spent each day kicking back and being happy they were free at last. Ray wrote new songs every day and sang them for Bobby. They named the songs and made a list of them for the demo CD Ray planned to make.

Bobby's gut wound was almost healed, and he was taking short walks each day to ease back into shape gradually.

Keeping to themselves in the trailer park was Bobby's plan. The fewer people who knew them, the better their chances of nobody ever finding them.

So far, so good.

Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange. Texas.

Blacky called Annie and told her that Casey and Ardal hit a dead-end in Nashville.

"I told them to come home. More money down the drain and they haven't made any progress."

"Bobby must be well hidden," said Annie.

"The only other thought I had was the bounty hunter who found Tammy. It would be cheaper and wouldn't drain my manpower if we hired him to find Bobby Prescott."

"Sure. He's excellent and I can call him for you, sugar pop. I have his card."

"Would you, Mom? The longer this goes on, the more I want to find Bobby Prescott and finally close the case. I'm sure he's kicking back someplace in Tennessee, laughing at me and figuring I'll never find him."

"I'll call Mason and see if he has time to take on a new client."

"Thanks. Let me know."

"I will, sweetheart. I'd like to bring Bobby Prescott in for many reasons, but mostly to talk to him about Tammy. She's obsessed with him and I'd like to find out why for myself."

"Uh huh. That would be an interesting conversation."

Houma. Louisiana.

Mason had recently completed a retrieval job for the Houma courthouse, received his bounty money and intended to take a week off. He'd spend his down time fishing and doing a few jobs around his house that had been on his repair list for quite some time.

His small frame house backed onto the bayou and his neighbors weren't close enough to bother him. Just the way he liked it.

With a mug of coffee in his hand, Mason sat on his deck overlooking the river and listening to the grunting of the gators. He had one old leathery guy who swam over to the dock every time he worked on his boat and Mason made sure to toss him a piece of raw chicken to keep on his good side.

Clyde let out a little woof when Mason's cell rang and at first he was annoyed, but he soon smiled when he saw who was calling.

"Look who's calling us, Clyde."

He put the call on speaker. "Mrs. Powell, I'm pleased to hear from you so soon."

"A business call, Mason. Something has come up and I'm wondering if you are in a position to help me."

"Why don't you explain your problem to me, and we'll find out?"

"For the past couple of weeks, I've had two of my boys in Nashville searching for Bobby Prescott and his friend, and they've had no luck and have since been recalled. I'm wondering if you might be interested in picking up where they left off."

"This is the wounded fugitive your step-daughter was involved with?"

"Yes. He's wanted for several murders and has been eluding Texas Violent Crime for months."

"Umm…I'm not sure I'm ready to take on a new job at the moment, but I'm sure I could be encouraged to do so if you joined me and Clyde in a joint effort."

Annie laughed. "I hadn't thought of it as an option, but we have been after this particular killer for too long. I'm not sure how long I can spend on it, but perhaps a few days."

"Wonderful." Mason got to his feet and paced the deck with the phone in his hand. "Why don't you fly into Louis Armstrong in N'Orleans, and Clyde and I will pick you up all ready to go? We'll leave from the airport and begin our journey to Music City."

"Let me check the available flights and see how quickly I can be ready, Mason. I'll call you back within the hour."

"I'll be waiting for your call, Mrs. Powell."

"We're going to be working together, Mason. Why don't you call me Annie? "

He laughed. "I have tried to do so, but I'm not quite there yet."

The call ended and Mason sat down and leaned back in his chair. He couldn't stop smiling.

"The Fates are smiling on us, Clyde. And now we have work to do, boy."