Black Night Falling (16 page)

‘How? Look how much blood there’s been, and still it goes on. You can’t keep fighting this, it’s too big.’

‘Don’t let yourself think that way. I can make this right.’

She drew a slow breath, and I stared at the numbers on the telephone, wondering if I’d done the right thing by coming clean. Eventually she broke the silence. ‘Do you think they murdered that poor nurse because of what she told Jimmy Robinson?’

‘I don’t know. I think that’s what he thought, at least.’

‘What would make him say she was killed? How would he know that?’

‘I don’t know.’ My head drooped against my chest. ‘I keep thinking, if I’d just got to him before he died . . .’

‘What about the woman he was with – he must have told her something of what he was thinking?’

‘Ella Borland?’

‘Yes.’

‘She said they weren’t close.’

‘I don’t believe that. He was infatuated with her, surely. Why all the photographs otherwise?’

I hadn’t thought about it that way. I kicked myself for being so blinkered. Robinson had always struck me as a lone wolf, but Ella Borland had the goods to turn any man’s head. ‘I got the feeling she was holding something back when we spoke, now you’re making me think maybe that’s it.’

‘Be gentle with her, Charlie. If she does know something, she’s probably afraid. If something happened to him, I mean.’

‘I will.’

‘If she had any feelings for Robinson at all, she’ll tell you what she knows, eventually. I wouldn’t want that on my conscience if I were her.’

I loved my wife for seeing the things I missed. ‘I should go. I need to keep moving.’

‘Charlie, wait a moment.’

‘What is it?’

She was hesitant. ‘I won’t say come home, but please, please, be careful. If the police catch you, you’ll never leave. Do you understand what I mean?’

I told her I loved her and I’d call again as soon as I could. I understood perfectly what she meant. If Cole Barrett’s men caught up to me, I wouldn’t likely even make it into custody.

I didn’t dare go inside the Southern Club. I was parked down the block from the entrance, watching for Ella Borland to come out, at the same time ready to bolt if I saw sign of the cops. I’d already stiffed a call to the Southern to check she was there – hanging up before the man on the other end could ask any questions. Now all I could do was wait for her to show.

An hour in, my legs were aching and I had a headache. There was enough traffic around to keep me hidden in plain sight, but I was wondering if I should move on anyway. Then she appeared, hitting the street in a plain skirt and jacket, her face showing only touches of stage makeup. She turned and walked in the opposite direction from where I was parked, so I pulled out and drove after her. As I caught up to her, I slowed to fall in step, and drew up close. ‘Miss Borland.’

She stopped and I pulled over to do the same. She looked at me as if she’d been spooked by a wild animal, and I thought she was about to run. Then she came over, gazing at me through the open passenger window. ‘Mr Yates, what are you doing here?’

‘I need to talk to you. Would you allow me to give you a ride, please?’

‘You asked me where Clay Tucker’s brother lived. The last time I saw you—’

‘It’s not what you think. I didn’t kill him.’

She stared at me and I held her eyes with mine, willing her to believe me.

Before she could say anything more, a man appeared at her side. He had his hands in his pockets, was squinting at me through the window. William Tindall.

‘Everything all right here, Ella?’

She blanched, whipped around to look at him.

‘Everything’s fine,’ I said. ‘I’m just talking to the lady.’

‘That right? Would’ve thought you’d have manners enough to step out of your car at least, eh?’ He spoke with a mongrel accent, strains of Hell’s Kitchen Irish crossed with British – but not the kind you heard on the Pathé films; a regional dialect, coarser. He was wearing a baggy three-piece suit, and the same newsboy cap I’d seen before, pulled low over his left eye.

‘This doesn’t concern you, friend,’ I said. ‘Move on.’

He laid one hand on the roof of the car, leaning closer. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. You’re talking to one of my girls like you’re trawling for company, and that concerns me very much.’

‘Mr Tindall, please, it’s no trouble,’ Borland said. ‘This is an acquaintance of mine, he was offering to give me a ride home.’

He never took his eyes off me. ‘Isn’t that gallant.’

I held his look, feeling as though he was sizing me up. Despite his slight frame, he carried himself in a way that exuded power and control.

He reached down and opened the passenger door. I started to swivel in my seat, thinking he was about to come at me, but he pulled it wide and held it open for Borland. ‘My apologies, then. Don’t let me hold you up.’

Borland looked from me to him and back, then squeezed around him and folded herself into the passenger seat. Tindall shut the door gently, then crouched to look at me again. ‘Pay me no mind, pal. I’m protective where the fairer sex are concerned – I were raised by women, see.’ There was a twinkle in his eyes as he said it, and even though his tone had softened, I still heard menace in it.

Borland smiled nervously. ‘Thank you, Mr Tindall. I’ll see you this evening.’

He nodded and patted the roof. ‘See her to her door safe, now. You’ll answer to me if not.’ He winked and then watched as we drove away. Looking at him in the rearview, still staring, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew exactly who I was.

Ella Borland sat as far along from me as she could get. ‘You can let me out once we get around the corner. I couldn’t think what else to say back there.’

‘Thank you for not telling him who I was. I promise you, I didn’t have anything to do with Clay Tucker’s death.’

She looked at me out of the corner of her eye, then straight ahead again. ‘I believe you. I wouldn’t have got in the car if I didn’t.’

‘Where do you live? I’ll drive you.’

‘That won’t be necessary.’

‘It’s no trouble.’

She flattened her skirt, turning her head to me now. ‘Make a right after the next block.’

I nodded, switching lanes. ‘You work for Tindall?’

‘I work for the Southern.’

‘And he owns it?’

‘I don’t know, I just dance there.’ She turned a little towards me. ‘I was trying to reach you, before. The man at your motel said you’d disappeared. When I heard on the radio – the killing – I assumed—’

‘That I was on the lam?’

She cleared her throat and looked away again, said nothing.

‘I told you, I didn’t do it. I went there that morning, after I saw you, but someone else was there after me. I’m starting to think I was set up.’

‘By who?’

‘By whoever killed Jimmy.’

She reached into her purse, pulled out a compact. ‘You say that as though you’re sure now.’

‘I am.’

She held it in her fingertips but made no move to open it. ‘How?’

‘Clay Tucker was warned about the fire before it happened.’

‘What?’

‘I think that’s why he was killed – because he told me as much.’

‘Who warned him?’

‘Cole Barrett.’

The compact slipped from her grip. She moved swiftly to snatch it up from the footwell, fumbling it as she put it away again.

‘Is everything all right?’

She pointed up ahead. ‘You can leave me at the corner here. Thank you.’

‘I’ll gladly take you to your door, ma’am.’

‘No.’ By the look on her face, it came out firmer than she meant it to. She swallowed and when she spoke next, her voice was softer. ‘Thank you, this will be fine.’

I drew up to the kerb and stopped. We were at the intersection of Orange and Ouachita, a bank on one corner, a bar opposite, businesses along both streets – not a residential neighbourhood. She thanked me again and reached for her door handle.

‘Ma’am, why were you trying to call me?’

‘Pardon me?’

‘You said before you were trying to reach me. I was wondering why.’

She looked to the handle, then back at her lap. ‘I was curious as to how you were faring in your endeavours, that was all.’

‘I’m getting closer.’

She glanced up at me. ‘To finding who killed Jimmy?’

‘To the truth.’ I put my hand on the dash. ‘You’re not curious about Barrett? What I told you just now?’

She took a clipped breath. ‘I don’t see what it matters.’

‘A girl as smart as you? No sale. Now I think about it, anytime I’ve mentioned him, you’ve gone cold on me. If there’s something you’d like to talk to me about . . .’

‘There’s nothing.’

‘Doesn’t it throw a new light on what happened to Jeannie Runnels? Doesn’t it make you question what really happened with Barrett and Walter Glover?’

She turned her head away so she was facing the passenger window.

‘Either Barrett killed Jimmy, or he knows who did. I know Jimmy confronted him. What did he have?’

I could hear her breathing – shallow, rapid.

‘Miss Borland?’

‘I told you, I don’t know.’

I took Robinson’s pictures of her from the bag and dropped them on the seat between us. ‘Here.’

She turned around to look. She tried to keep her features expressionless, but her eyes widened enough to betray surprise. ‘Who took these?’

‘They were Jimmy’s.’

She picked up the image closest to her and examined it. Then a second, and a third.

‘You told me you weren’t close, but so far as I can tell, you’re the only person Jimmy passed any time with while he was here. From the looks of these, he was holding a candle for you. Are you telling me he never once confided in you?’

She stared at the picture of her with William Tindall, and I noticed her jaw muscles tense.

‘I think there’s something you want to tell me,’ I said. ‘I think that’s why you agreed to meet me in the first place, it’s why you were calling me, and it’s why you haven’t got out of this damn car yet, even though—’

She flung the picture down onto the seat. ‘Walter Glover didn’t kill Jeannie.’ She threw her hands to her face.

The sound of passing traffic filled the car.

I watched her, waiting, gave her some time to keep talking. My throat was tight.

Thirty seconds passed. I was about to try coaxing her when she lowered her hands. ‘Jimmy told me Glover didn’t kill her. Or Bess Prescott.’

I took my hands off the wheel, turned to her very slowly. ‘Who did?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t think he knew.’ A tear came to her eye and she dabbed at it with her forefinger.

‘How did he come to that conclusion?’

She shook her head, then met my eyes, imploring me. ‘I swear to you, that’s all he said.’

I tried to give her a handkerchief but she refused it. ‘How long have you known?’

‘Jimmy told me last week, just before the fire. I’ve been so unsure, I— It didn’t make sense to me, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t think you’d believe me.’

I said nothing, thinking it through. Walter Glover was still incarcerated when Ginny Kolkhorst was pulled out of Lake Hamilton in April. If Robinson somehow knew her killer was the same man who went on to murder Runnels and Prescott, he would have known it couldn’t have been Glover.

‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ Her eyes were burning a hole in mine.

‘Don’t put words in my mouth. I believe you, all right. I’d just like to know how Jimmy put it together.’

She said nothing to that, started plucking at the hem of her skirt. In the mirror, I glimpsed a Hot Springs PD prowler cruise across the intersection behind us, heading away. I inched lower in my seat, checking the intersection in front and the streets around for any others.

‘Do you think Cole Barrett was behind Jeannie’s death?’ she asked.

I rubbed my face, thinking about all the evidence and all the dead ends, the stolen papers, everything that pointed back to him. I remembered his face when he ambushed me in my room, the speed with which he’d drawn his weapon and left me with no doubt he was capable of killing. But there was something else too, something I hadn’t understood until now – his eyes showed no hatred. Almost closer to regret. His insistence that he’d tried to warn Robinson. ‘I don’t know. I have to make a telephone call. Let me drop you somewhere.’

She opened the door, determined that she would walk the rest of the way. ‘What are you going to do now?’

I hadn’t set on the decision in my head, but a surge of fear welled in me. ‘Lay low a few days. If you don’t hear from me in seventy-two hours, go see Samuel Masters, tell him everything you know.’

I made the call from the bus station, urgency making me break my own vow not to use the same bank of telephones twice. It felt like I was making it easy for them to find me.

The operator patched me through, and one of the staffers picked up. I gave a false name, to dupe Masters into taking the call, and a few seconds later he came on the line.

‘Sam Masters.’

‘It’s Charlie Yates.’

He drew a breath to speak, then paused. ‘Unless you’re calling to tell me where you’re at, I’m hanging up.’

‘That’s your choice, but it would be a mistake.’

‘I’ve made worse, I’m sure of that.’

‘Remember I told you Cole Barrett warned Clay Tucker in advance of the fire?’

He hesitated, deciding whether to bite. ‘Yes.’

‘Did you do anything with it? Did you look into it?’

‘In case it escaped your attention, the only man can back your story up is dead.’

‘Barrett’s not, though.’

‘Be serious.’

‘So you just sat on it?’

‘Are you questioning my methods?’

‘I’m twisting in the wind here and it feels like I’m the only one gives a damn.’

‘You’re a goddamn murder suspect, and all I’ve got is your say-so. What did you expect of me?’

I gripped the receiver right in front of my mouth. ‘You know what the knock is on you? That it’s all just rhetoric. All your talk, that big speech you laid on me, and you don’t give a damn about justice, only politics. It’s true, isn’t it? There’re no votes to be had in figuring out who killed some out-of-town hack.’

‘A wanted man taking shots at my character. Now I’ve heard it all.’

‘Look, I’ve got a source telling me the night of the fire, a call was placed from Teddy Coughlin’s office to the home of the fire chief. Corroborate it for me, make sure it’s true. I’m betting it is, and you tell me that wouldn’t warrant looking into if it is.’

The line went quiet, the roar of a bus pulling away filling the booth I was in. ‘Who’s your source?’

‘I’m not going to answer that, but if you want to get to Coughlin, I’m giving you your chance.’

He sighed. ‘We never had this conversation, understand?’

‘I understand.’

‘I’m serious what I said before, hand yourself in. I’ll see to it you get a fair shake in the courts.’

‘I’d never make it that far,’ I said, and slammed down the receiver.

Barrett’s LaSalle was parked right there on the scrub in front of his cabin.

I stopped short of his property and waited, scoping the area. I watched the windows, didn’t see anyone moving. The broken-down door on his woodshed was swinging in the breeze, banging gently against its frame.

My impulse veered towards flight – that old urge to bolt and get as far from the coming confrontation as I could.

I left the engine running and the car door ajar. A chopping sound came from somewhere behind the house, like an irregular heartbeat. I stepped into the trees next to where I’d parked and started looping towards the back of the house in a wide arc, moving from trunk to trunk for cover. I could see the brown water of the pond below, streaked with afternoon sunlight. I moved slowly, mindful of the dog I’d seen last time I was there.

Barrett came into view. He was splitting logs on a block, a pile either side of him, waiting to be chopped or stacked. He was perspiring heavily, his blue shirt wet at the arms and neck. He wasn’t wearing his gun belt. There was a large metal stake in the middle of the yard, a chain attached to it, but no sign of the dog. I moved closer, stopped behind a tree near the edge of his yard. It felt like a nest of vipers had broke loose in my guts.

Barrett placed the next log on the stump and lofted the axe. He brought it down in a tight swing, cursing as it caught in the wood. He worked it free, kicked the two sections onto the pile on the right, then dropped the axe down on the grass. He turned his back to where I was hiding and walked a little way to where a pitcher was set on a rock. He took two long gulps, then splashed water over his face and neck.

I broke cover and started towards where the axe lay on the ground. Suddenly the clearing erupted – a furious barking sound. I jumped to the side in shock, flinching from the noise. I looked over, saw Barrett’s dog on its hind legs, baying at me from behind the screen door. Barrett whipped around and saw me right away – nowhere to hide in the open ground.

Some reflex took over. I ran to the axe and put my foot on its neck.

Barrett hadn’t moved. The pitcher hung loose in his hand. He took a few steps towards me, measured, and as he did, I saw that his gun belt was stashed behind the rock. He saw me look at it. ‘You still here.’

I was breathing hard. ‘Still here.’

‘You thinking on picking up that axe? Better be quick if y’are.’

‘Only if you make me.’

He raised the pitcher to his lips and drank. I could feel my legs bucking, tremors running up and down them. I planted my feet to gut them out.

He wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist. ‘You fixing to tell me what you want, or you gonna stand there all day with your teeth rattling?’

‘I want to know who killed Jeannie Runnels, Bess Prescott and Ginny Kolkhorst. I know it wasn’t Walter Glover. And I want to know who started the fire.’

His free hand opened and closed again. He set the pitcher down on the ground. ‘You the damnedest cuss I ever came across.’

‘Jimmy Robinson found you out, didn’t he? Because of the Kolkhorst girl.’

He stepped backwards and sat down on the rock, his hands on his knees, his back straight at first but then seeming to sag.

I grabbed up the axe and took a step towards him. ‘Don’t go for that gun, Barrett.’

He lifted his head, a sour look on his face. ‘Put the damn axe down. You turned around on everything.’

‘I’ll keep it for now, if it’s all the same.’

He flicked his fingers, the threat I posed inconsequential.

‘Who killed them?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Ain’t nothing I can do about that.’

‘Yes there is. Convince me.’

He hung his head and a bead of sweat fell from the end of his nose. ‘Your friend got killed because he came here and said the same things to me. They gonna do the same to you now.’

‘Who? Who killed him?’

He ran his hand over his face. ‘I ain’t know who started the fire – pick a name out of a hat, you be just as close. But that ain’t what you asking, is it?’

‘On whose orders?’

‘You said his name the last time.’

‘Coughlin.’

‘You shouldn’t have to ask. Ain’t nothing happens here without his say-so.’

‘Why did he want him dead?’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘You seen what he had his nose into. He was told to let it alone and he never listened.’

‘Because he found out Walter Glover was your patsy and you murdered him. And they killed Jimmy to protect you.’

He shook his head once. ‘Not me – the story. To protect the story.’

‘You’re a goddamn liar.’

He looked up and fixed his eyes on the trees behind me. ‘You have any idea what it is to think you strong and find out you ain’t?’

The words reopened a wound I thought had scarred over. The war, the accident, my shame. He was talking about himself, but I felt my face flush just the same. ‘Is that how you excuse yourself for killing innocent people?’

‘I done what I could.’

‘I don’t see it.’

‘Goddammit, I told you, I tried to warn your friend. I tried to warn you. Ain’t none of y’all sons of bitches would listen.’

‘You’re talking about Duke’s? All you did was make a phone call when you knew the whole place was going to burn. Was that enough to ease your conscience? Hell, Tucker ended up dead in the end anyway, didn’t he?’

He pointed his finger at me now, anger bringing a flicker of life to him. ‘Clay Tucker was a goddamn reptile. I told him what was coming, and I told him to clear the building, but he figured he could parlay it into some relief for what he owed Teddy if he didn’t interfere. A man’s life goes for cheap in these parts.’

‘Did you kill him on account of it?’

He lolled his head back. ‘I ain’t never killed anyone. Cost me everything I had because I didn’t, so you get that much straight in your goddamn mind.’

‘You can’t even keep your own lies straight.’ I pointed at him with the axe, my voice raised now. ‘You killed Walter Glover so you could hang those murders on him. Who are you protecting?’

‘Glover was made bad; don’t waste no tears on him.’

‘That doesn’t make it right.’

He pushed himself off the rock and stood up. He locked his eyes on me and his lips parted as though he was about to speak, but he hesitated, ran his hand over his face. ‘It wasn’t me killed him.’

‘What?’

He kept staring, so still I could have been looking at a statue.

I brought the axe across my chest, suddenly heavy in my hands. ‘You said you did. All the newspaper stories, all the . . .’

‘Teddy likes to say, “
You get along by going along
.” I always done that for him, but I drew the line when he asked me to kill a man – but it ain’t like you just say no to Teddy. There’s a price for that.’

My mind was racing to keep up. ‘Saying you did and being feted as a hero?’

‘It cost me my badge. You can’t know how much of a man’s pride gets tied up in that damn piece of tin.’

I stared at him standing there and saw a whole different man before me; a husk, the insides rotted away over the years until all that was left was an ossified shell, now beginning to crumble. ‘Who killed those women? Tell me who Coughlin is protecting.’

‘I don’t know. Teddy ain’t tell me and I ain’t ask. That’s how we worked all these past years.’

I lowered the axe and let it slip from my hand. ‘You’re pathetic.’

‘Call me anything you like – maybe words matter where you from. Only thing matters here is power. The money and the gun.’

‘Then be a man, goddammit. Go talk to Samuel Masters. He wants Coughlin, he’ll cut you a deal.’

‘Then I’d be as dead as you are.’ He pushed his sodden hair from his forehead; he seemed to have aged just in the time we’d been talking. ‘Masters is a fool. He thinks winning a few votes is gonna change things in this town. What’s it gonna change? Casinos ain’t just gonna up and leave, there’s too much money at stake. Too many livelihoods. Even if he gets Teddy out of office, he’ll be back.’

‘So you’re happy with your lot, hiding out here, chopping wood? Feeling sorry for yourself while more people die?’

He looked away. ‘Ain’t no one else needs to die if you’d just walk the hell away.’

I glanced around me, saw the dirty waters of the pond beneath us, the peeling paint on the walls of his cabin. If this was all he had left, it was still more than he deserved. ‘Why the Kolkhorst girl?’

He closed his eyes, looked pained. ‘It’s all the same question. I ain’t have no answers for you. She popped out of the lake, looked certain someone put her there against her will—’

‘Why? What made you sure of that?’

‘Her mouth.’ He swiped his fingers across his lips. ‘Someone slashed it up like they’s scoring a hog.’

I closed my eyes, trying not to see it. At every turn, something worse.

Barrett didn’t stop. ‘But then I get the call from the boss man says, “
Cole, far as anyone’s concerned, she took her own life
.” Case closed.’

My right fist balled up hard as a rock. ‘You spineless son of a bitch.’

‘You feel like hitting me, have at it. Didn’t do your friend no good.’

I saw Robinson’s ghost run across the yard to lay one on Barrett. I wished I had a measure of his temerity.

Barrett just looked at me, the way a man watched dirt being thrown onto a stranger’s casket.

‘What happened when he came here? Tell me.’

He dipped his head to his chest. ‘He said he knew the same man murdered Kolkhorst killed Runnels and Prescott, and wasn’t no way it was Walter Glover. I told him to leave, but he weren’t agreeable to the idea until I let Lucy off the chain.’ He nodded to the dog. ‘But he came back, few days later. He was liquored up to his chops and he caught me with a cheap shot. Started whupping on me saying he was gonna kill me, till I got to my gun.’

‘What did you tell him?’

He clamped the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. ‘Same as I just told you. I ain’t meaned to, I spilled it when he was beating on me. Few hours later, I got wind the fire was gonna happen.’ He let his hand fall from his face and he looked up. ‘I made the call to Tucker. I tried.’

‘Don’t stand there trying to sell me your remorse. Didn’t stop you stealing his goddamn papers from my room.’

He was shaking his head. ‘There weren’t no papers in your room. The Lord as my witness.’

I didn’t want to believe him, but he cut too worthless a figure not to. I thought about my suspicion I’d been framed for Tucker’s murder. If that was the case, whoever killed him had to have been shadowing me that morning, to know I’d been out there. Tough for Barrett to do that and then make it back to the motel before me.

I turned and started to make my way back to the car.

‘Where you going?’

I stopped, my neck tightening, thinking I’d let him fool me. I turned slowly, expecting to see him holding the gun on me.

But when I faced him, he was still standing in the same position, the gun belt untouched. ‘Won’t take them long to catch up to you, you know. There’ll be men watching the roads. I can help you get out. There’s bootlegger trails ain’t no one uses by day.’

‘I’ll take my chances.’

‘I meant what I said before about them killing you. It’s a matter of time.’

‘Makes me wonder why they’ve let you live, then.’

‘Teddy don’t need no more attention on what went on. It’s hurt him bad already. Besides, I’m a hero, ain’t you know?’ There was disgust in his voice as he said it.

‘Well, you tell him to take his best damn shot. Killing me won’t make a difference. I’m not the only one that knows about Glover.’

His face went taut and he paled. ‘Who else?’

‘That’s no concern of yours.’