Atonement (13 page)

“Yes, Logan,”  Kate said in answer to his question.  “I would have shot the bastards.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Larry
spent most of the day sitting and thinking over what options he had, but couldn’t come up with more than two.  He could stay and hope that the problem went away, or run.  He finally made a trip into town to buy some supplies, and then went back home and packed what he needed, loaded it in the Silverado and then phoned Denny Matthews.  Told him he had a personal problem to take care of and that he would be out of town for a few days.

“Anything I can do?”  Denny said.

“Thanks, Denny, but I got it.”

“What about Lyle.  Does he know?”

“He knows my back’s bad.  I plan on lettin’ him just keep thinkin’ that for a spell.”

“Okay, Larry.  Hope you work out your problem.”

“I will, Denny.  Bye.”

After swapping plates on the SUV with those of a rusted up old Chrysler that stood wheel less on cinder blocks out back in a timber garage, Larry headed west with Bama sitting next to him on the passenger seat.  He hadn’t phoned ahead to say that he was coming; would just roll up at his aunt’s place, that was situated on a country road a couple of miles outside the old silver mining town of Leadville.

Miriam Carmody was not Larry’s aunt.  She had been his late mother’s cousin, and had lived in an apartment on Colfax just a five minute walk from the Hortons’.  Miriam had only seen Larry a half dozen times in the twenty years since he had been a nineteen-year-old and she had stood next to him at his mother’s funeral.  Larry’s mother, Alma Horton, had been an alcoholic, and her diseased liver had quit functioning on her a week before her fortieth birthday, which was just eleven months prior to his father, Ben, dropping dead of a massive heart attack as he climbed the stairs to the apartment.

Miriam had been married three times, but was now living alone.  Two of her marriages had ended in divorce, and the third had been cut short when George Carmody had been shot dead in a hunting accident.

Larry had kept in touch with Miriam down the years, mainly by phone, and had not mentioned her name to anyone in the Creek.  No one could make the link and connect him to her.  Even when he had visited her he had not told a soul.  His private life was nobody else’s business.

Logan saw a flaking hand-painted sign for the Big Elk Trailer Park.  Turned off the back road he had taken and followed a winding track for a few hundred yards through woodland, to where there were half a dozen trailers each side of a center driveway.  He thought that they would have looked fine back in the sixties, but that they were now just shadows from the past that no self-respecting tourist would seek out.

“Help you?”  an old guy wearing faded navy-blue overalls over a thick plaid shirt and a red, sweat-bleached ball cap with a Texaco logo on it said – coming out of a small hut that had ‘office’ stenciled on the wooden door – as Logan parked in front of it and climbed out.

“I’m sure you can,”  Logan said, manufacturing a solid smile.  “My wife and I would like to rent one of your trailers for a few days.”

“My name’s Clem Parker,”  the owner said, “I can let you have the best of the bunch for ninety bucks a night.”

Logan noted that only three of the trailers had vehicles parked in the spaces next to them.  “I’m John Bryce, Clem,”  he said.  “And I’d say sixty-five would be a fair rate.”

Clem grinned.  His few remaining teeth were walnut-brown from half a century of chewing tobacco.  He scratched at the silver stubble on his cheek and said, “I don’t normally get into a haggle Mr. Bryce, but seein’ as how you could look elsewhere, I’ll save you the trouble and come down to seventy-five, and not a cent less.”

“Fine,”  Logan said.

“Would you and your wife care for a cup of coffee while we check you in?”

“Sounds good,”  Logan said.

Twenty minutes later, Logan and Kate were inside one of the tired and externally neglected trailers.  They placed brown paper sacks full of groceries – which they had purchased from a country store ten miles away – on the small table in the dinette.

“It’s a lot cleaner inside than I thought it would be,”  Kate said.  “But I’ll have to wipe down every surface to feel a little better about it.”

Logan shrugged.  It looked fine to him, after having laid his head to rest in much dirtier and more uncomfortable places during his life.

“What are we going to do now?”  Kate said as she filled the coffee pot with fresh water.

“You’re safe here, Kate.  No one followed us, so if you keep your cell phone switched off there is no way that anyone can find us here.”

“You hope.”

“I know.  I checked the pickup over before we set off.”

“Bugs?”

“Yeah.  The vehicle is clean.  Old-style tracking devices are large and magnetic.  Some modern ones are the size of pagers, and nowadays smaller and more expensive GPS tracking devices can be hard-wired into the battery and hidden almost anywhere.  But someone would have needed time and privacy to go to those lengths, which they wouldn’t, because there was no reason to think that I would use Clifton’s pickup, or leave town.”

“You’re planning to leave me here, aren’t you, Logan?”

“Not for long.  I want to go visit with Horton.  And I need to do it without worrying about your safety.”

“He won’t admit to killing the girl.”

“Maybe not.  But I have enough to convince him that I know he did it.  Push someone hard enough and they react; they fight or run, and usually make mistakes.”

“If he
is
guilty, he might just shoot you on sight.”

“I don’t plan on giving him the chance, Kate.  I should be back in a few hours.”

“And what if you aren’t?”

“Then you’ll need to call Lyle and tell him everything that you know.”

“Run through it for me, I’ll make notes,”  Kate said as she rummaged in her purse for a notepad and pen.

“Larry Horton was in the Wagon Wheel on the evening of the murder.  The time he left will negate him being at the bar as an alibi when Tanya was killed.  And when I stuck my nose in, found the zip tab and convinced Lyle that Ray Marshall had been set up, Larry decided that I was a threat, so he contacted an old pal in Denver, Wade McCall, who happens to be a gangster. He agreed to help Larry out.

“He sent a hitman, Mickey Morgan, to deal with me.  And when Mickey fouled up I went up to the city and braced McCall.  He didn’t have the sense to back off, so sent another two idiots to get the job done.  If Lyle finds the link between Horton and McCall, it’ll all come together.”

Kate put the pen down, got up from where she had been sitting at the table and went to Logan, who had been leant up against the archway that led into a small living room.

“Be careful, Logan,”  she said, looping her arms around his neck and looking up into his face.

They kissed, conveying their feelings through the physical gentleness of their lips as Kate held him tight and Logan cupped her cheeks with his hands.

“Careful is my middle name,”  he said.  “I’ll be back before midnight.  If I get hung up I’ll phone this place and give Clem a message for you.”

Kate watched as Logan drove away.  She felt more alone than she had ever been in her life.  A few minutes later she switched on the old twenty-inch TV to provide a distraction from her bleak thoughts.  CBS News was churning out doom and gloom, so she used the remote to surf the channels, to stop on a rerun of
Cheers.

Logan parked twenty yards up a firebreak that was a couple hundred yards from the driveway to Horton’s place.  He approached from the cover of the trees until he was at the fringe, opposite the lakeside bungalow.  Moving low and fast across the narrow highway he was soon standing at the side of the building, catching his breath and listening for the slightest sign of occupation.  He had not seen Horton’s Silverado, and there were no lights on, or smoke coming out of the chimney.  If his quarry was out, then he would be able to take him by surprise on his return.  He would have to arm himself, though, because the large, crossbreed dog was potentially as dangerous as Horton.  But the deputy would not want to start shooting, having no idea who else knew of Logan’s whereabouts.  He was sure that the deputy would prefer to talk it over, given the chance.

Using a knife taken from the cutlery drawer in the trailer, Logan forced open a kitchen window at the rear of the house, climbed in and checked every room.  No one home.  He found a flashlight on a counter in the kitchen and began searching in earnest.

It was in the bedroom closet that he found a Mossberg pump action shotgun and a box of ‘aught’ cartridges powerful enough to take out large game such as deer.  Logan loaded it up; five shells in the mag and one in the chamber ready to go.

He went through every drawer in the house, looking for everything in general and nothing in particular.  As an ex-cop it was just standard procedure.  People, and especially criminals, kept things that they should not.  Horton wasn’t much of a collector.  There were a few paid bills and the usual dross that took up space.  It was while shaking some old, dog-eared gun magazines that something fell out on to the floor that spiked his curiosity: a photograph of Larry Horton standing in front of what looked to be a small ski lodge with snow-capped mountains as a backdrop.  He thought that Horton looked perhaps a decade younger.  Turning the photo over, he smiled.  There was a printed name and address on the back, as well as a time and date stamp.  This was not an image copied from a digital card.  Someone had taken a roll of film into a store to have it developed and printed.  And the store was Clinton’s Pharmacy, situated in the town of Leadville, Colorado.

It was two hours later when Logan had the gut feeling that Horton had taken off.  He drove back to the trailer with the conviction that the deputy was on the run, having enough sense to know that once he was linked to Wade McCall, then everything was bound to come out.

Kate came out of the trailer to meet him as he parked the pickup next to it.

Logan could see the relief in her expression, and she was trembling.  Maybe leaving Kate alone had been a bad idea, but he hadn’t wanted to put her in danger.  And yet just by knowing her and becoming a part of her life had done that.  Once again he realized why he needed to walk alone through life.  He could bear the violence and jeopardy that had become a part of his existence, but did not – by association –want to bring it to others’ doors.  Closeness to people involved them in his seemingly unrelenting episodes of conflict.  There was a part of his psyche that would welcome a more settled lifestyle.  He could visualize an alternate Logan in a long-term relationship, living in a rustic setting; a man enjoying his middle-age and becoming more than the sum of his turbulent life to date.  But that was a pipedream, and he knew it.  His personality dictated that he do a lot of wrong things for what he truly believed were the right reasons.  He supposed that he was a man that found it easy to use violence as a tool against those that warranted it.  He had spent his life drawing hard lines and never backing down.  You had to know who you were and learn to live with it, he mused.

“I’m glad you’re back,”  Kate said, hugging him.

Logan smiled.  He wasn’t used to being missed.

“Did you see Horton?”

He shook his head.  “No, he’s flown the coop.  But I think I know where he’s headed.  We’ll leave here in a couple of hours and find him.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Wade
had wasted no time.  He’d made a call to a big hitter in Cheyenne, who had got on the next flight down to Denver.  They met in the back room of the Burlington Coffee Lounge on East Colfax, and Wade gave the tall, slim Latino everything he had on Logan and Larry.

Vicente Martinez was a stone killer.  He terminated anyone for the right money.  His narrow olive-skinned face was framed by overlong jet-black hair, and his eyes were as sharp and shiny as the lava glass obsidian.  Vicente was forty, now freelance, though still procured most of his contracts from the mob.

Leaving Denver, Vicente made good time down to Carson Creek in the rental Subaru he had picked up at the airport using an alias. He was pleasantly surprised to see Horton’s Silverado in a slot outside the general store on Main Street.  He parked several vehicles away, walked in between the SUV and a Kia and stopped and bent down as if to fasten his shoelace, to quickly attach a magnetized tracker under the front fender.  That was one of the players located.  He needed to find Logan now, so drove out to the Pinetop Motel.  Knocked at the door of the house opposite the rooms, that had an Office sign in a front window.

“Help you?”  Clifton said.

“I’m lookin’ for a buddy of mine,”  Vicente said.  “His name is Joe Logan.”

“You’ve missed that no-good drifter,”  Clifton said.  “He took off without settling his bill.”

“What was he drivin’?”

“He was on foot.  He hitches from place to place.”

Vicente wasn’t convinced that the motel owner was telling him everything.  He would have preferred to spend some time questioning him, but that would have got messy and he would’ve had to kill him.  There was a family loading up a truck outside a room, and a young couple standing next to a Pinto, just engaging in idle chatter.  He could have taken them all out if it had been necessary, but did not consider it essential, so everyone at the Pinetop got to live another day.

Vicente thanked the motel owner, got back in the rental and drove away.  From what Wade had told him, Logan was determined to bring Horton to book, so would have obtained a vehicle.  He would most likely know the deputy’s whereabouts and follow him.  All Vicente had to do was track Horton and all three of their paths would at some point cross.

Vicente followed the signal from the transponder to a bungalow next to a lake; kept well out of sight and waited until the Chevy Silverado left.  He didn’t have to keep the other vehicle in view.  The unit was top of the range and the signal was transferred directly to the mapping program in his smart phone.

It was ninety minutes later when Larry stopped at a viewing area to let Bama find a suitable place to take a dump.  While the dog searched out a spot, Larry poured some water from a two liter plastic bottle into a stainless steel bowl for Bama, and then walked across to a food truck and bought two burgers and a cup of coffee.

Bama ate his burger in seconds, so Larry got him another while he took his time eating his own and drinking the black coffee.

The view of the Rockies from the overlook was magnificent.  Larry actually forgot for a minute or two that he was on the run, and that he had murdered the Foster girl.  Things would work out, they always did.  He had a couple of grand in folding money that he had kept in a shoebox, and he knew that he would be safe at Miriam’s house.  Laying low and seeing how events panned out was the way to go.

“C’mon, Bama,”  Larry said, climbing back in the 4x4.  “Let’s go and surprise Auntie.”

Frankie Weller was ten minutes late for work, and fully expected to receive an expletive-packed tongue-lashing from Ned.  He walked past the SUV and through the open rear door of the diner, thinking of some lame excuse that he knew wouldn’t be believed.

There was no sign of Ned.  Frankie checked the building and then made his way back into the kitchen.  “Boss!”  he shouted.  “Where are you?”

“In the f…fuckin’ freezer room, Frankie,”  came the muffled reply.

Frankie went into the short corridor and saw that the metal pin on a chain was through the hole in the handle, effectively locking the door and preventing egress from the walk-in freezer.  He pulled the pin out and opened the door.

Ned staggered out. He was the color of a blueberry, shivering violently and hugging himself.

“Jesus, boss, how’d you get locked in there?”  Frankie said.

“Don’t ask,”  Ned said.  “Get me a coffee, Frankie, I feel colder than a corpse.”

Thirty minutes later Ned was parking in a slot outside the sheriff’s department in town.

“I need to have a word with Lyle,”  Ned said to the dispatcher.

“Yeah, Ned, what’s the problem?”  Lyle asked as he came out front to see the owner of the Wagon Wheel.

“Logan is the fuckin’ problem,”  Ned said.  “He came to see me, and then locked me in a freezer.”

“Why would he do that, Ned?”

“Because he’s a fuckin’ headcase.”

“What did he want with you?”

“A name.  He wanted to know if Larry Horton was at my place the night that the girl got strangled.”

“And was he?”

“Yeah.  He had a few beers and then left.”

“Was anyone with him?”

“No.”

“What do you think Logan makes of that, Ned?”

“That maybe Larry did the deed.”

“You didn’t mention that one of my deputies was in your place that night.”

“Hell, Lyle, I didn’t give it a thought at the time.  Larry’s a cop.”

“Okay, Ned, better late than never.  What time did Larry leave your place?”

“About nine-thirty.  Maybe a little later.  You think that Larry could be the killer?”  Ned said.

“No.  But I’ll need to talk to him.  Do us both a favor; don’t go starting rumors that could turn out to be totally off the wall.”

“He likes ‘em young,”  Ned said.

“What do you mean?”

“Larry.  He has a thing for teenage girls.”

“How would you know that?”

“Carl told me.  Said that Larry was always lusting after jail bait.”

Lyle walked Ned out to the street.  Reminded him to keep his thoughts to himself, thanked him for stopping by, and then went back inside and had the dispatcher contact Denny and tell him to return to base.

While Lyle waited for Denny, he thought it through.  He had to consider Larry Horton as a suspect now, but hoped it proved to be way off base.  And yet having talked to Ned he wasn’t sure that it would work out that way.  Larry was a dark horse, lived alone, out of town in an isolated spot, and didn’t socialize a lot.  Whoever had arranged for the two hitters that had been sent to the Creek by Wade McCall was most likely the killer.  If he could find a connection between Larry and McCall, then it was as good as solved.  That caused Lyle to consider the corpse in the burned-out car again.  A picture was taking shape like a jigsaw in his mind; pieces dropping into place.  Ray Marshall had been set up for his girlfriend’s murder, and Logan had started investigating and come up with the zip tab out on the road.  He was digging, and was going to worry at it like a dog with a bone, and so the killer had arranged for Logan to be taken out.  That pointed to the ex-cop being responsible for the death of the out of town hitter.

Lyle sipped at stale coffee and filled in the blanks.  Logan would have no doubt gathered information from the man before killing him, but could not come forward with it without implicating himself.  It followed that Logan’s mystery trip had almost certainly been up to Denver to talk with Wade McCall and procure the name of who had arranged the contract on him.  So Henry Shaw and Benjamin Dawson, known to be on McCall’s payroll, had been sent to finish the job and failed.

Lyle was on the sidewalk waiting when Denny parked the cruiser.  He climbed in the passenger seat and said, “Drive out to the Pinetop, Denny.  I need to talk to Clifton Marshall.”

Clifton opened the door and invited Lyle and Denny in.

“How’s Ray doing?”  Lyle said.

“A lot better, Lyle.  He regrets what he tried to do, and seems to be coping.  Why the visit?”

“I need to talk to Logan.  Is he in his room?”

“No.  He took off.”

“Where to, Clifton?  I need to find him.”

“I don’t know, Lyle.”

“Did he take the pickup?”

Clifton hesitated for a half second too long.

“Damnit, Clifton, this isn’t a game.  People are dead, and it isn’t over yet.  I need to know what you know.”

It was a hard call to make.  Clifton knew that if he gave Lyle the plate number on the pickup, that Logan may be located.  And he owed the man.  But he also knew that the Latino that had called by was no doubt after Logan and Kate.  He felt between a rock and a hard place.  Decided it would be best to tell Lyle what he knew.

“All I know is that Logan and Kate are together, and that they took the pickup, but changed plates with my Impala.  And a guy came by asking for Logan.  Seemed a city type, and not someone that would be a friend of Logan’s.”

“Where are they headed, Clifton.”

“Logan didn’t say.  But I got the impression he knew who killed Tanya Roberts, and that he was going after him.”

There was no more.  They searched the room that Logan had been staying in but found nothing of interest. With the plate number of the pickup and a description of the Latino, they left.  Denny put out a BOLO – be on the lookout – for the pickup.  Clifton had not got a number for the Subaru that the Latino had been driving.

“Head on over to Larry’s place,”  Lyle said to Denny.  “And be aware that he is now officially a suspect in at very least the murder of Tanya Roberts.”

“Larry?”  Denny said.

“I know.  Straight out of left field, but it’s looking that way, so be careful.”

There was no reply, and Larry’s Silverado was missing, so Lyle just kicked the front door open and went in, followed by Denny.  It was hard to determine whether Larry had decamped or not.  There wasn’t a lot of clutter, and although the coffee pot was stone-cold, he could have just gone into town, or even be out on the lake fishing.

Lyle scrolled the contacts in his cell phone and called Larry.  It was dead.  The deputy’s cell was switched off, or perhaps destroyed.

“Best put an all points bulletin out on Larry’s vehicle as well,”  Lyle said to Denny.  “But if he is in the wind he’ll have changed the plates.”

It was a mess.  Lyle had to consider the worst case scenario; that Larry was on the run, and that Logan – accompanied by Kate – was in pursuit, and the guy that had called at the Pinetop was a hitman, in all probability sent by Wade McCall to finish what others had failed to do.  He had no leads as to where they were headed, so decided to give everything he’d got to the State Police.

Stopping for a bite to eat and coffee at a roadside diner, Logan and Kate looked out through the window as large flakes of snow began to fall, drifting down like goose feathers to begin forming a white carpet on every surface.

“If this keeps up we could be snowed in up here for weeks,”  Kate said.  “A lot of the back roads are closed through the winter months.”

“It’s not that far now to where we need to be,”  Logan said.  “With a little luck this will be a done deal by tomorrow at this time and we’ll be heading back to the Creek.”

“What exactly
do
you plan on doing, Logan?”

“Apprehend Horton, listen to his confession, and then hand him over to the authorities.”

“You really think it’ll be that easy?”

“Probably not.  But everything works out one way or another.”

“I don’t know Larry Horton that well, but he strikes me as a hard, capable man, Logan.  He won’t confess to murder or anything else.”

Logan said nothing, just shrugged.

“You intend to kill him, don’t you?”  Kate said.

“No, Kate.  I aim to resolve this, but with no intent to take life.  That will be up to Horton.”

“You frighten me, Logan.  You seem to look on life as something inconsequential.  How do you live with what you do?”

“I cherish life, Kate, and do not go out of my way to snuff it out like a candle flame.  But some people abuse any right they have to exist.  If they predate on others and cause nothing but harm and grief, then I’m content to deal with them as I see fit.”

“You’re not God, Logan.”

“No, I’m not.  And I tend to think that if whatever you believe in as being God has given me free will, then I take it that I can use it if and when necessary.”

“But―”

“Please, Kate, no buts.  I don’t need all this shit.  It just presents itself, and I can’t turn away and ignore it.  You’ve lived in a big city, so know that someone can be mugged or killed on a crowded subway train and other passengers will just look out the window and mind their own business.  I’ve seen a young woman being beaten on a New York street, and people just crossed over and kept going.  They do not want to, or do not feel able to get involved.  I choose to sleep well by not having to live with the guilt or shame of turning a blind eye as I go through life.”

“It’s not that a lot of people don’t care,”  Kate said.  “They just haven’t got the ability to deal with violent situations.  They’re too scared to do anything.”

“Millions of ordinary people have had to overcome their fear and fight for their country, Kate.  Most of the fallen that come back from war in body bags are aged between eighteen and twenty-five.  City folk have lost community spirit, and allow all manner of crime to proliferate.

“I spent twenty years mopping up the aftermath of what people are capable of doing to others.  The harsh reality is that to a great extent crime
does
pay.  There are less cops on the streets, and more criminals taking advantage of conditions that favor them.  For every solved crime there are a hundred that never are.  Probably ten times that figure.  The world we live in isn’t that nice a place.  It’s full of false hope and unfounded dreams.”

“You sound as if you don’t like people, Logan, and yet you help them.”

“I don’t dislike people in general, Kate.  So if someone decent is in a fix and comes to me, and I can help, then I do. The majority of the world’s population lives in poverty, while a very small minority is privileged and lives off the fat of the land.  That seems wrong to me.  Everyone should merit the same chances, but that isn’t how it works.  There is a system that excludes the masses from ever having the quality of life that should be a given.”