Death at the Black Bull (3 page)

“Will do, Sheriff.”

Virgil watched as Carlos walked back inside. As far as Buddy Hinton was concerned, at this point he was digging a dry well. He hated to go to the Hintons' empty-handed, but it didn't look like he had much choice. A few minutes later he was back on the road. The sun was now at his back, but he still had the headache.

*   *   *

Jimmy Tillman was ready to go to work. He tossed the ball a few more times to his twelve-year-old sister, Abby, then he hopped on his bike. He worked hard to make sure her life as a twelve-year-old was much better than his had been.

“Jimmy, can I have a ride on your bike?”

“Not now, Abby. Gotta go to work.”

He saw the disappointment on her face.

“Tomorrow maybe,” he said. “We'll even stop and get a slushy and fish off the bridge.”

He didn't wait to see the transformation, just gave a wave. It didn't bother him that the town council wouldn't let him take a cruiser home. He liked the exercise because he knew once he started making his rounds he'd be sitting most of his shift. Besides, Virgil had told him he was going to see to it at the next meeting that the policy changed. Twenty minutes later, he was walking through the back door of the sheriff's office.

“Hey, Jimmy, you're early. I just got off the horn with Virgil. He was just leaving Redbud.”

“Anything happening? About Buddy, I mean?”

“Nothing yet. No trace. It's starting to get worrisome.”

“Maybe since I'm early I'll go have a look-see.”

“That's fine. I'll be here for another hour.”

Jimmy knew he had a lot to learn, and he was paying attention, especially to Virgil. There had been men in his life, of course. His dad for a little while, but it was hard to remember him sober. Then there was Grandpa. He was always good to Jimmy and glad to see him when he stopped over, but Jimmy did that less and less since Grandpa's latest woman. She was meaner than a snake and Jimmy couldn't figure out why Grandpa would want any part of her. But then he'd come to understand there was a lot about people that was a complete mystery to him. That was, with the exception of Virgil. To Jimmy's way of thinking, there was Virgil, then all the others. He would walk barefoot over broken glass for a mile if Virgil asked him. It was as if his life was going nowhere before Virgil came along. Now he couldn't think of his life as being anything without him.

Once in his car, he headed out of town, crossing the bridge that he and Abby would probably fish from the next day. He rode pretty much aimlessly around town, stopping at occasional places where he thought Buddy might be. He ended up at the Black Bull. It had been the local watering hole on and off for the last thirty years and the last place where anyone had seen Buddy Hinton.

Jimmy got out of his car and stood in the parking lot. There was no sign of life yet. His was the only car in front. He saw some staff cars around back. It would be at least another hour before the first beer of the day would be poured. Jimmy wandered around, not quite sure what he was looking for, although the thought struck him that everyone was convinced that Buddy had taken off from here for parts unknown. He wondered if maybe that wasn't the case.

He walked around the back of the roadhouse. There were a couple of Dumpsters, a lot of broken glass, and not much else. The sun bounced off the shards of glass all over the lot and even on the hillsides that marked the boundary of the flatland on which the building stood. Obviously, Buddy had only been one in a long string to come out and howl at the moon. Some had obviously climbed to the top of the ridge in back during their lunar sojourn—maybe not alone and maybe leaning on each other—looking for a little privacy.

Jimmy noticed for the first time there was a snakelike cut between the sloping hills. He walked toward it. Where it disappeared around one of the slopes, he saw a tire track. Probably, he thought, somebody too drunk to walk tried getting to the top with their four-wheel drive. He reckoned the hardpan at the beginning of the climb wouldn't show a tread but the softer sand midway up would. The upward swath, he realized, was wide enough for a vehicle, but why anyone would chance it just for a little sweet-talking when there were a lot more accessible places was beyond him. Barren desert for miles, it led nowhere. It would be a miserable place to get stuck. He continued the climb, sweat freely running down his back. The rough path snaked for a quarter mile or so, then started a gradual straight-up climb onto the ridge.

There was no more sign of tire tread, but the ground was so hard and baked that was not surprising. The sun beat down on him, evaporating the sweat before it got a chance to mark his shirt. He walked along the top of the ridge, looking down on the barren landscape that stretched to the horizon. Cottonwoods, cholla, and tumbleweed filled the flatland and in the deep draws that creviced the earth.

Then a brighter flash of reflected light caught his eye. He scrambled along the ridge in order to be able to look into the crevasse. The reflected light hit his eyes at such a sharp angle that he had to shield them with both hands when he finally stood over the draw. There, down fifty feet below him, he saw what he realized had brought him to this place. It was Buddy Hinton's truck.

“S
o, you're sure that's Buddy's truck.”

“Yessir, Virgil. I checked. Went down there myself. A 150, blue with the white stripe down the sides just like Buddy drives.”

“You went down there?” Virgil looked down over the edge of the ravine as he spoke. “Jimmy, you could have broken your neck. What were you thinking? Should have waited till somebody got here. Hell, if that had happened, I'd have been shorthanded.”

“I had to check,” Jimmy said. “See if Buddy was down there. He coulda been lying there hurt for two days. I just couldn't wait.”

“I know, Jimmy. Woulda done the same thing myself. It's just that I don't want to lose one of my top men.”

A sideways glance told Virgil his pat on the back had been received.

“Good detective work,” Virgil said, “but you know there's a lot of 150s around here. How do we know for sure this is Buddy's? I bet there's more than a couple with those white stripes.”

“It definitely is,” Jimmy said proudly. “When I came back up, I ran the plates.”

“Follow-up,” Virgil said, smiling. “That's what it's all about.” He looked out over the wide expanse. Shadows were lengthening. He knew the truck would probably have to sit there until the next morning. It was already past six.

“What are we gonna do, Virgil?”

“There's not much we can do. It's getting late.”

“I know, but what about Buddy?”

“Well, we know he's not down there. From what you described I don't think he ever was. So we just have to keep on looking.”

“Whaddya think happened to him?”

Virgil looked down at the truck one last time then stepped back from the rim.

“I don't think it looks too good for Buddy,” Virgil said. “It's not likely he drove that truck off this ridge for no good reason. So I figure someone else did it. That leaves me with only one conclusion. That person alone knows what became of Buddy.”

Jimmy headed back to town. Virgil stood in the Black Bull parking lot watching him until he was out on the county road. A couple of cars had pulled in carrying some workmen with an early thirst. One or two hesitated when they saw Virgil's car but he waved to them to let them know that they could go on in. He absentmindedly kicked a stone with his foot while he digested what he'd just learned. He was happy with Jimmy's success and handling of everything. Now he was wrestling with his next step, his visit to the Hintons'. At least he had something to tell them now, even if it wasn't what they wanted to hear. And there was no way he could say it that would make it less fearful.

He tried to ignore it, but that feeling that had been gnawing at him more and more was getting stronger. This whole thing was going to end badly.

For Buddy, it probably already had.

I
t was almost eight when Virgil started for home. He was thinking about Viola and Charlie Hinton. He wished he had more for them. They were the kind of people you wanted to do for. About as close to normal as you could get in this crazy world. He'd told them about the truck and how they'd get it out of that ravine the next day and look it over real carefully. It wasn't much to offer, but it was something.

They didn't say much. Viola insisted he have a glass of iced tea. He'd accepted and sat awhile, trying to talk of unrelated things. It was as if they were choosing not to speculate, but Virgil knew. This was the one piece of information he'd given them that would maybe start preparing them for the worst. He'd seen it in their eyes. The only spoken hint was when he got to his car to leave. Viola and Charlie had walked across the yard with him.

“Well, folks,” he said as he opened the car door, “I wish I had more for you.”

“Thank you, Sheriff, for what you gave us. It ain't much, but it's something. Buddy sure did like that truck.”

Charlie looked at Viola when he spoke. She nodded. That's when Virgil knew they were getting ready.

It had been a long day. He shut off the AC and rolled down all the windows. The warm breeze felt good. The shadows had overtaken the hillsides, and everything else was bathed in a soft glow. He was looking forward to a ride into the high country to check on the stock tanks. It was probably unnecessary, but it made him feel like he hadn't completely abandoned the day-to-day that had to be done on his place. Ever since he'd become sheriff, he'd been forced to let Cesar and a couple of hired hands pretty much run things. It struck him how much his life had changed, yet stayed the same. If anyone had told him right after college that this was going to be his future, he would have questioned their sanity. Hayward was the last place he expected to end up. He'd seen one tumbleweed too many. There were places to go and things to do. Or so he thought.

He remembered sitting in a bar one late afternoon in Bisbee, on his way home from school. It was a nice town, about the size of Hayward but a few rungs up the ladder in chic. He'd never been there before and he was thirsty and hungry, so he'd stopped. The cold beer tasted good. It was cool and pretty quiet. He'd been thinking a lot about his future and law school.

“One on the house,” the bartender said, breaking his reverie.

“Thanks,” Virgil said. “Nice town.”

“Yeah, it is. See the Hole?”

“The Hole?”

“On your way into town. It's probably the main thing we're famous for.”

Virgil remembered the huge crater he'd passed on his way in. “Yes, that's some hole,” he said.

For the next five minutes the bartender talked about what a tourist attraction it was, how people marveled when they saw it. The five minutes sitting with that cold beer, listening to that bartender, had been a moment of clarity for him. Not to denigrate the good people of Bisbee, but he wanted to live in a place that was known for more than just a hole in the ground. That was his epiphany when he left the bar. Convinced, he went home.

Then he fell in love with Rusty.

All these years later, here he was in Hayward. And there wasn't even a hole.

*   *   *

“Why do you have Jack in the stall?”

“Picked up a stone, got a little bruise. A day or two. Just a little rest. He'll be fine.”

Virgil reached over the stall door and stroked the horse.

“Guess you're going to wait for another day, pal.” He grabbed a halter and a lead rope off a hook next to Jack's stall. Then he walked from the barn out into the corral. A few minutes later, he was back, leading a young bay mare. Cesar looked up as he threw a last flake of hay to Jack.

“That hay smells good,” Virgil said. “Got some nice color, too. Wonder if we're gonna get a second cutting?”

“Pretty dry. Not if this heat keeps up. You still going? Getting late.”

“Yeah. I need to get out. Besides, I been out in the dark before.”

“I'm just saying be careful. She's not Jack.”

Virgil looked at the horse calmly standing next to him, tail swishing slowly in the evening air.

“Still water runs deep,” Cesar said, as if reading Virgil's mind.

“She'll be fine. Look at her, doesn't have a mean thought in her head.”

Cesar shrugged and shook his head.

“What?”

“Thought the same thing about my second wife, till she slid a knife between my ribs.”

“Yeah, but you probably gave her plenty of reason. I'm just gonna sweet-talk this little gal right through the ride.”

While he bantered with Cesar, Virgil finished saddling. He kneed the horse firmly in the abdomen, then drew the cinch a couple of notches tighter.

“Sucked in some air, didn't she? She's not too anxious for a ride up into them hills in the dark.”

“There's a full moon. It won't be total dark for another hour. She's just letting me know you been slow at your work. Ain't been using her enough. I'm gone all day, and you, Pete, and Joe spend a lot of time leaning on fence posts talking about your past and future amorous adventures.”

“Pedro and José ain't hardly had any amorous adventures worth talking about.”

“So you're the only one worth listening to. Cesar, the great lover. Boy, conversation around here must be a lot duller than I thought.”

Cesar mumbled something Virgil couldn't make out.

“What did you say? Must be all the noise in here. Couldn't hear you.”

Virgil waited for a response as he flipped the reins over the mare's head, getting ready to lead her from the quiet barn. This time Cesar spoke in the loudest voice Virgil had heard in a long time.

“Wouldn't hurt you none to have one of those amorous adventures. That little mare is getting more action than you. That belly of hers is filled with a little more than air.”

Virgil stopped her after she took a step. His eyes locked with Cesar's for an instant.

“Okay, you win,” Virgil said. “But it does have something to do with opportunity.”

“Maybe that and maybe a little work, too.”

“I'm done with this conversation. You're a regular Ann Landers, ain't you?” He waved and walked the mare down the runway toward the opened barn door. He barely caught Cesar's smile.

The air felt good. Just a hint of a breeze as he stepped from the barn. The sun had slipped below the horizon and the persistent heat had finally relented. He slid his foot into the stirrup, then lifted smoothly into the saddle. Pressing his knees lightly into her sides, he moved her forward. When he did it a second time, she crow-hopped a little and snorted. Virgil slapped the loose end of the reins against her neck, dug in his heels a little harder against her sides. She snorted once more, then moved out into a trot. He repeated his action until she went into an easy canter.

He rode for a little over a half a mile until he reached the ridge where he had sat the night before against the bed of his pickup. He stopped. It had always been his favorite spot on the ranch. From here, he could see the ever-flowing creek which had made this land more valuable than most, as it meandered out of the hills, wandered down behind the barns, filled a small pool, went under a bridge on the driveway, ran a bit, filled another pond, then ran under the county road to the land on the other side. As far as he could see in any direction, the land was his, bought and paid for. It was what enabled him to live a life he loved, but it was not the way he had wanted it.

His father had worked hard, constantly adding to the land that had originally been homesteaded by his great-grandfather, but to get the deeded land he finally got, he almost lost it all. There were a couple of bad years, livestock prices down and people eager to see him go under so they could get his prime land with its ever-flowing creek. Among them was Audrey Hayward's father-in-law. What had helped out in the hard times was his sheriff's salary. Just about the time Virgil and Rusty discovered each other, Virgil's mother and father were killed on the brand-new interstate. Insurance money had paid off and saved the ranch once and for all. The bitter irony was that Virgil's future had been secured by the loss of his parents. There were now over fifty thousand acres of deeded land and another thirty thousand leased through the Bureau of Land Management.

He heard the hoot of an owl and wondered if it was the same one that had chastised him the previous night. The mare's ears were forward. Virgil leaned over and stroked her neck.

“Guess we better get to those stock tanks.” He nudged her away from the overlook and headed for the backcountry. Although the creek flowed through a large portion of the acreage with the BLM leased land, it was necessary to have the stock tanks to make sure, especially in the summer months, that the cattle were well watered. Sometimes in a bad year even the creek could be brought down to a trickle. This had been a fairly good year overall. That made this jaunt more of a choice than a necessity.

By the time he got to the second-to-last stock tank, the nocturnals were starting to scurry around in the underbrush. An armadillo crossed in front of the young mare, but she didn't even flinch. He caught sight of a coyote and heard another. These were the night sounds of the prairie that he'd grown up with and loved. The smell of sage crushed underfoot mixed with the stored daytime heat rising into the nighttime sky, filling the air with a different perfume.

The last stock tank was on the other side of the county road. By the time he got to that one, having ridden in a loop, he would be closest to home. Everything to this point had been in working order. Around or near the tanks he had seen his cattle, most with calves at their side. They all looked in good condition. Resting in the gullies and washes during the heat of the day, they moved to the tanks in the dusk, then spread out throughout the grassland to graze during the night. It looked like a good year for the ranch.

It was only when he was in sight of the last tank that anything seemed out of place. The moon had risen full, flooding the brushland in silver. The mare had no trouble picking her way. When the creek was running full, the land on this side of the county road was always more lush and better pasture. When there was an abundance of rain, the water tank was virtually unnecessary. At this point in midsummer the rains had been spotty, not drought conditions but dry enough that the cattle would water at the tank rather than forage in the rocky and reduced streambed. Virgil saw them in clusters, shadows bunching up, starting to move into almost a herd formation. It puzzled him. He hadn't by now really expected to see any of them in the vicinity of the tank. He figured by the time he got to this last tank, they would have all watered and spread out to graze. He moved toward a couple of them near the tank but they spooked as he got close. Then the mare did an unexpected sidestep and a crow hop. Virgil caught himself, the pommel of the saddle digging into his groin. He slipped a stirrup but quickly got it back.

“What the hell!”

The mare snorted. The cattle nearest the tank bolted back to the perceived safety of the herd. His puzzlement grew as he allowed the mare to step away, trailing the cattle.

There was a little prominence a quarter mile back. He turned the mare and rode to it quickly. She did not have to be urged. He pulled her to a stop at the top. From here, he had a pretty good view in all directions. Deep shadows untouched by moonlight marked the ravines and washes where he knew danger could lurk. But he saw no sign. He reached down into his saddlebag and pulled out his cell phone. Cesar answered the barn phone on the fourth ring. Virgil described to him what he saw and how the cattle were acting.

“Could be a cat. Maybe a lobo wolf.”

“Yeah, that's what I was thinking. Strange, but they're acting almost thirsty. I can see a few that took a chance with the bad footing down in the creek, but even from here I can see the stock tank is brim full.”