Low Pressure (38 page)

B
y turns, Ray was enraged and nervous.

The man at the airfield had made a fool of him.

He must’ve looked real stupid to the old codger, when he’d thought he was being so clever.

He was aware of his limitations. In high school, he’d been told he read below a second-grade level. That was okay. He could live with that. But it stung deep to be exposed as a complete imbecile.

By now Dent and Bellamy would have heard the story of how he’d walked—charged—right into the carefully laid trap. Ray imagined the old man wiping tears from his eyes, slapping his knee with hilarity as he told them, “He came running in here and stabbed a slab of rubber. What a jackass.”

They would have had a good laugh at his expense. Instead of being scared of him, they’d regard him as a clumsy buffoon. The thought of that infuriated him. Mostly, though, he was mad at himself. He hadn’t done Allen proud.

He needed to fix that.

And that was what made him nervous, because he wasn’t sure what he should do next.

Once he’d put some distance between him and the airfield, he’d switched his truck’s license plates with those of another pickup he found at a twenty-four-hour Walmart. He’d put on a straw cowboy hat so that his near-bald head wouldn’t be so noticeable. He’d swapped out his leather vest for a shirt with long sleeves that would cover up his snake tattoo. The old man couldn’t have seen it because it had been too dark inside the hangar, but Dent Carter might have noticed it when he jumped him at the IHOP. It made Ray easily identifiable.

He hated having to cover it. Like some people felt about wearing a cross on a chain around their neck, or carrying a rabbit’s foot for good luck, Ray believed that his snake tattoo gave him special powers. He felt stronger and smarter every time he looked at it or touched it.

Afraid to stay in his apartment in case the police came looking for him there, he’d driven around all day, no destination in mind, never stopping for long, just keeping on the move. All the same, he felt trapped, like things were closing in on him.

But by damn, he couldn’t get caught until Bellamy Price was dead. So anything he did now had to count, and it had to count big. He must be bold.

“Take the bull by the horns.” That was what Allen would advise.

With his brother’s words of wisdom echoing inside his head, he took the next exit off I-35 and made a U-turn beneath the overpass, reentering the freeway in the northbound lanes.

He knew what he had to do, and it didn’t have to be fancy.

Feeling much more confident now, he rolled up his shirtsleeve and placed his exposed left arm in the open window of his truck, practically daring anyone to mess with him.

Right off, Gall sensed the tension between Dent and Bellamy.

No sooner had her toe touched the tarmac than she excused herself to call her stepmother. Gall watched her enter the hangar, then turned to Dent, who was coming down the steps of the airplane.

“How was your flight?”

“Fine.”

Gall patted the side of the airplane. “This puppy practically flies herself, doesn’t she?”

“No airplane flies itself.”

“Just saying.”

“You’ve said it. I’d be crazy not to hire on with this guy.”

“As I said, I’m just saying.” Gall motioned toward the hangar. “What’s with her?”

“Bellamy?”

“No, the Queen of Sheba. Who do you think?”

Dent glanced in her direction. “The news from Houston isn’t good.”

“That explains it.” After a beat, he asked, “What’s with
you
?”

“With me? Nothing.”

“Something.”

Dent took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m tired, is all.”

“Pull my other leg.”

“All right.” He folded down the stems of his glasses and slipped them into his shirt pocket. “I’m tired of your questions.” He started for the hangar. “Got any coffee?”

“Don’t I always?”

“Yeah, and it always sucks.”

“You’ve never complained before.”

“I’m too nice.”

Gall harrumphed. “Nice you ain’t.”

Dent muttered, “So I’ve recently been told.”

“She’s not making it with you, is she?”

Dent stopped and came around, his eyes throwing daggers.

Gall took his cigar from his mouth and shook his head with bafflement. “This ain’t like you, Ace.”

“Don’t go thinking I’ve lost my touch. She says no, it’s her problem.”

“Not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“A woman says no, it ain’t like you to give a flip.”

Dent opened his mouth, but closed it before saying anything. Then he started toward the hangar again.

Gall said, “I’ll brew you a fresh pot.”

Dent called back, “I’ll brew it myself.”

By the time Gall had secured the senator’s airplane and rejoined them, Dent was foisting a mug of steaming coffee onto Bellamy. Using both hands, she took the oversized mug, looked into it, but didn’t drink from it.

“How’s your daddy?” Gall asked.

“No change. Still not good.”

“Sorry.”

She gave him a bleak smile. “I appreciate your asking.”

Dent, sipping his coffee, motioned toward his airplane. “Where’d you lay out the dummy?”

“Behind the left wheel. But the real dummy was that idiot.”

“You don’t have to be smart to be dangerous,” Dent said. “The man who attacked me has a lot of rage inside him. I felt it. Heard back from the sheriff’s deputy?”

“He left a voice mail on the hangar phone. It was Ray Strickland, all right. They ran the plates on the pickup. But when a state trooper stopped a small pickup with those plates, it wasn’t Strickland driving. It was a young black woman, college student, dean’s list, works part time at Walmart. No police record, nary a blemish on her good name, and she’d never heard of Strickland.”

“Ray switched the plates.”

“Seems like. So they’re looking for a truck with this college kid’s plates now.”

“Is Ray employed?”

“At a glass works of some kind out on the east side. According to the deputy, they checked there, and Ray’s foreman said he hasn’t reported to work for several days. Not answering his cell phone. He’s not at his house, either.”

“Whereabouts unknown,” Dent said.

“You got it.”

“No sign of . . . the other?”

Gall, realizing that Dent was referring to Bellamy’s fan Jerry, cast a look in her direction, but she seemed to be lost in her own thoughts. They must’ve been troubling. Her brow was furrowed, her eyes staring vacantly.

“Naw,” Gall said to Dent. “All the same, you two gotta be careful.”

“Planning on it.”

“What else are you planning?”

“Moody was pretty straightforward with us, but he fell short of making a full confession. He didn’t tell us
the
thing that might have made a difference in the outcome of the case. We need to talk to Rupe Collier.”

Gall spat a chunk of cigar to the floor. “It might not mean doodle-dee-squat, but Rupe was on TV today. Caught his show while I was still at my lady’s place.”

“His show?”

“He wasn’t hawking cars, but conducting a press conference.”

“What?” Dent exclaimed.

Bellamy suddenly came to life. “Talking about what?”

“About how his face got fucked up. Not in those words, of course. But Ace here can’t hold a candle to how bad Rupe looked.” He gave them a description. “He claimed not to have got a good look at his attacker and was vague about where the assault had taken place, but he played the victim angle up big. You ask me, the timing of this is fishy.”

“It stinks to high heaven.” Dent turned to Bellamy. “We need to have a heart-to-heart with the former ADA. Do you know where his office is?”

“His flagship dealership. That’s where I met with him.”

“He whipped the media into a frenzy during that press conference,” Gall told them. “That car lot is surrounded by reporters hoping to grab another sound bite or two, which Rupe is good at. You couldn’t get anywhere close without them swamping you, too.”

“That leaves his house,” Bellamy said quietly. When he and Dent turned to her, she added, “I know where he lives.”

“No wonder you know his address,” Dent said as he turned onto the street. “You hail from the same ritzy neighborhood.”

The Lystons’ estate where she’d grown up was several streets over. “Don’t hold that against me.”

“You ever been inside Rupe’s place?”

She shook her head. “After Strickland’s conviction, my parents were invited to his Christmas open house three years in a row. They declined each time, and I guess he and his wife finally got the message, because the invitations stopped coming.”

Rupert Collier’s limestone house sat on a rise of sprawling lawn with well-tended grass, centuries-old live oak trees, and lush flower beds. Parked at the curb in front of it was an Austin PD squad car.

Dent asked, “What do you think?”

“They’re probably here to discourage the media from storming the castle.” She gave it a moment’s thought, then said, “I have an idea. Pull up and get out like we’re expected.”

He parked at the curb directly behind the police car. As soon as he cut his engine, two officers alighted and approached their car from each side.

“Your idea doesn’t include jail time, does it?” he asked.

“I hope not.” She pushed open her car door and got out, smiling brightly at the policemen. “Hello. We’re here to see Mr. Collier.”

One of the officers said, “Sorry, ma’am. His house is off limits to visitors.”

“But we have an appointment.”

“You media?”

“Hardly,” she said around a light laugh. “We’re personal acquaintances.”

One officer squinted at her, looking more closely. “Aren’t you the lady who wrote the book?”

“That’s right. Mr. Collier helped me when I was researching the legal aspects of it.”

The two officers exchanged a look across the hood of her sedan. The one standing nearer to Dent stared into his face as though trying to see past the dark lenses of his sunglasses so he could determine the reason for the bruises. Dent acted supremely unfazed by the scrutiny.

Turning back to address her, the cop said, “Mr. Collier didn’t mention to us that he expected anybody this evening.”

“Well in light of his getting beat up, our appointment might have slipped his mind. Wasn’t that just awful?” She flattened her hand against her chest. “I hope y’all catch the person who assaulted him.”

“You can bet we will, ma’am.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of it. In any case, I’m sure Rupe . . . uh, Mr. Collier . . . will want to see us. In fact, he asked for the meeting. I have some vital information for him about Dale Moody and Jim Postlewhite.”

Dent, who was standing in the open wedge of the driver’s door, jerked his head in her direction, but his surprised reaction went unnoticed by the two police officers, who were fixated on her.

One gave his partner an inquisitive look, and when his partner said, “Better let him know,” the first said, “Wait here,” and started up the walk toward the house.

Bellamy smiled up at the other, the one who’d recognized her. “Have you read
Low Pressure
?”

“My wife bought it when she read that it was based on a true crime that occurred here. Must be good. She hasn’t put it down since she started it.”

Bellamy smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.”

While engaged in this conversation, she was also well aware of the one taking place at the front door of Rupe’s house. After a brief exchange, the officer made a gesture as though tipping his hat to Rupe, then he turned away from the door and motioned them forward. “He says it’s okay.”

After thanking the officer with whom she’d been chatting, Bellamy went around the hood of the car, and she and Dent started up the walk. Under his breath, he asked, “When did you become an eyelash-batting, breathless Texas belle?”

“When I needed to.”

“Why haven’t you ever tried it on me?”

“Because I didn’t need to.”

“And who the hell is Jim Postlewhite?”

“Trust me.”

That was all she had time to say. They were now within earshot of the front door, where Rupe Collier stood waiting. The damage done to his face was so extensive that if he hadn’t peeled back his swollen lips and smiled, he would have been unrecognizable. The teeth were unmistakable even rooted in red, puffy gums.

“Well, well, look who the cat dragged in!” The false bonhomie was for the benefit of the police officer, who stood aside for Bellamy and Dent so they could proceed across the threshold and into the two-story vestibule. “Thank you, Officer.”

Rupe waved him off and closed the front door, then turned to them, his smile still in place. “You thought I’d be angry, didn’t you? Fit to be tied that you finagled your way in here?” Laughing, he shook his head. “Actually, I’m tickled to see you. Come in.”

He walked past them and motioned that they follow. The hallway was wide and long and dotted with area rugs of marginal quality. From the vaulted ceiling hung three massive chandeliers better suited to a Spanish castle. The rooms they walked past were ostentatiously decorated.

Finally they arrived at a den that was more tastefully furnished and actually looked like it was lived in rather than there just for show. It had a wall of windows overlooking a limestone terrace and a sparkling swimming pool with a fountain in its center.

Rupe motioned them toward a sofa. “Have a seat.”

They sat down side by side. On the coffee table in front of them lay today’s issue of
EyeSpy
. The picture of them taken on the apartment-building balcony comprised one-third of the front page.

“Worth a thousand words. At least,” Rupe said.

Bellamy tried to appear unaffected by both the photo and his remark, which was difficult to do when he was wearing a hyena’s grin and bobbing his eyebrows suggestively.

“My wife is out of town, and I gave the housekeeper time off, so I can’t offer you anything except a cold drink.”

“No, thank you.”

Dent, whose jaw looked carved of granite, shook his head.

Rupe sat in an easy chair adjacent to the sofa. He said to Bellamy, “Congratulations on your best seller.”