Death at the Black Bull (25 page)

“But maybe this helps to make that bearable.”

“Guess that's what you call looking for the silver lining.”

He put his hat on, then swung his leg back over the saddle and slipped his foot into the stirrup.

“Sit deep,” he said, “and throw your weight back into the saddle as we head back down the ridge.”

“My riding lesson is over?”

“Not till we get back to the barn and we're sitting on the porch with a cold beer and a sandwich.”

*   *   *

“Why didn't you tell me? I'm so sore even my eyeballs hurt.”

“If I had, I probably never would have gotten you up on the horse in the first place.”

“Poor Sugar,” Ruby said.

“Sugar?”

“Yes. At least I had a beer and a sandwich, and when I get back home before I go downstairs I'm going to soak in a tub for about three hours.”

“Don't worry about Sugar. A little hay, a little grain, a roll in the corral and she'll be ready to go again.”

“Are you coming by later tonight?”

“I'll try, but I've got to deal with that other world we talked about first. Besides, maybe you've had enough exercise for one day.”

“Yeah, well, it's going to take a lot more than a little grain for me. I'm not about to roll in the corral before I'm ready to go again. So if you're looking for that kind of action, you might want to sleep in your own bed tonight.”

Virgil was standing in the driveway watching Ruby's car turn onto the hard road when Cesar came alongside.

“How did it go?”

“Not bad. Not bad at all. She's got game.”

“Speaks good Mex, too,” Cesar said. “Maybe Nogales?”

“New York.”

“No,” Cesar said, shaking his head. “Nogales first, then maybe New York. Good-looking and spunky. That's a real dangerous combination.”

W
hen he walked into the office on Monday morning, he brought with him a certain measure of unease. It had started creeping in over the last few days, but it was full-blown by Monday. He wasn't sure when it had started or where it had come from, but he had spent a restless night because of it. Crazy dreams that seemed to have no connection and made little sense. A couple of times as he struggled for rest, he had that falling-off-the-cliff feeling. Twice he awakened in a sweat, in a grip of apprehension that caused him to fear slipping into sleep again. The women that had been in his life came to him, but their faces had become interchangeable. Once it was his mother who became Rusty, then became Ruby, and then at last a less distinguishable face. He wrestled for the connection, but came up empty.

By the time the first rays filtered through the curtained windows, they had all faded into his subconscious, to be replaced by the bloated body of Buddy Hinton in the stock tank and the two headless bodies from the ravine.

He sat on the side of the bed for a long minute, trying to shake off the images and the stupor from the torturous sleep. Finally, he staggered to his feet and found his way to the shower. He sat on the molded fiberglass seat, letting the water pour down in its relentless rhythm until it drove the images from his brain. By the time he got to his car, all that was left was the unease that he brought to the office.

He was glad that Rosie wasn't there, even if it meant that he had to make his own coffee, which for some reason was never as good as hers. He didn't feel up to a glib interchange with her, which had pretty much become standard practice. After a few minutes sitting at his desk in his semidarkened office, the phone rang.

It was a callback from an occasional acquaintance who worked for the DEA. The conversation lasted less than ten minutes. Virgil apprised the agent of the transport of the last of the inventory from Hayward Trucking to the facility in Juárez for processing. He explained to him, relying on the information from Carlos, that with the last of the inventory down there, the facility in Redbud would be put in readiness for the new harvest while that last shipment down in Juárez would be processed and brought back for the final distribution of the old stock. Virgil called his attention to the particular trailer and what he suspected was a hidden compartment.

The agent responded that over the last couple of years, since the factory in Juárez was opened, there had been regular checks of the trailers and they had found nothing. He said canine units had been used regularly and had been all over them.

When Virgil finally replaced the phone, he was genuinely puzzled. In his own head, with the ongoing drug wars south of the river raging, he had convinced himself that the contraband was there in that compartment. The agent assured him that when the trailer was on its way back across the border with its next shipment, they would check it like it had never been checked before.

Virgil sat back in the chair, a cold mouthful of coffee finally swallowed. He had never wanted to believe that Micah Hayward was involved in the grisly string of murders along with drug smuggling, but the only evidence kept pointing back to Hayward Ranch. He sat staring at the stains on the old tin ceiling until he heard Rosie open the door.

“I don't do ceilings,” she said. “Maybe sweep a little, make coffee. That's it.”

“Sounds to me like you're overpaid,” he said, smiling. “And there wasn't any coffee. I had to make my own.”

“How'd that work out for you? Never too late for a learning experience.”

“It was awful. Tasted like wet socks.”

“Now you know why the county pays me the big bucks. I'll make some fresh. Get rid of that taste in your mouth.”

Ten minutes later, Rosie was sitting across from Virgil. Each held a coffee mug in their hand.

“Just the smell was worth the wait,” Virgil said.

“What's the matter, Virgil? You look like you need about a week of sleep. What's got you up nights?”

Virgil put his cup on the desk. He knew Rosie wasn't just prying. He had long since recognized that she had good instincts and he had used her as a sounding board more often than anyone.

“I don't know, this whole thing seems to be centered around Hayward Ranch. It just doesn't make sense. I've known Mike . . . Micah all my life. I can't believe he's in back of this.”

“Then don't.”

Her abruptness caught him off guard. “But everything points . . .”

“Listen, Virgil, you are the most perceptive man I've ever known. The radar for most of you men only activates when something stirs in your pants. That includes the lovable guy I've been married to for over twenty-five years. But you, you have great instincts. If something is keeping you up nights, there's a good reason. About the only time you've gotten off track was when your testosterone got the better of you. Even then, you aimed high. The prettiest girl from the wealthiest and most powerful family. It didn't end good, but at least you passed on those good genes.”

Virgil sat up so quickly he bumped the desk and had to grab his mug to keep it from spilling into his lap.

“How do you . . . I mean, what?”

“Calm down, Virgil. I'll explain. Years ago, before I came here I worked for Doc Ramsey. You remember Doc. He was a good man, old school, but solid as a rock and back then the only stork-helper in town. He probably delivered everybody in this town over twenty-one. Anyway, babies were more than a little on my mind because I had just found out I was pregnant with Dave junior. Babies were more than half of Doc's practice. He got called out to Hayward Ranch that year a few times. At first it didn't mean anything to me, because no one from there had come into the office. Then one day he got called out, and I was puzzled because by then Micah's wife was in the institution and I knew he had put a call in to an obstetrician who was a specialist and a friend of his from medical school. When the specialist called back, I told him where Doc was and he said to call him back when he returned. Then he said to bring the patient as soon as he could to Phoenix. This was before Hayward Memorial was built. I told Doc when he returned from Hayward Ranch and that was the end of it. Except that two weeks later, Rusty died. You were away at college. Doc never said anything. Like I said, he was old school. He never discussed his patients or their problems, and by then I was getting bigger by the minute, so I had other things on my mind. Then I saw you and that young girl at Audrey's funeral. I knew in an instant. She's you and Rusty. Rusty's hair and coloring, but your face.”

A momentary quiet settled over the room.

“Virgil, why didn't you ever say anything?”

“I never knew myself. Not until just before Audrey died. I don't think I saw the girl three times in her life before the funeral. Who else knows? Dave? Dif?”

“Dif?” Rosie laughed. “God love him, but he doesn't have enough sense to come in out of the rain. He'd never figure it out, nor would Dave, and I haven't told either of them. As far as the other thing is concerned, if you can't believe that Micah is at the root of these killings then he isn't. Because you know it in your gut. We might be on opposite sides of the street, gender-wise, but we're a lot alike and one thing we have in common is good instincts. So begin your search for an answer to this thing by excluding Micah, but don't ignore him. He might be tied into this thing somehow and you'll have to figure out how. You might begin by asking him.”

“Thanks, Rosie. I don't think the county is paying you enough. From now on, forget the sweeping, but you still have to make the coffee. As far as that other thing is concerned . . .”

“Don't worry, Virgil. I'd say it's between you and me, but that's not exactly the case and you and I know it. You're going to have to decide what to do. I can't help you with that.”

The phone rang. Rosie got up from her seat and went to her desk to answer it. Virgil sat mulling over her last comment.

“Virgil, it's Jimmy. He wants to speak to you about the arrangements for bringing Carlos and his wife to Taxco.”

“Okay.” Virgil reached over and picked up his phone. “Listen, Jimmy, before we get into anything here, let me make a couple of calls and make sure everyone is on the same page. I'll get back to you.”

After he hung up the phone, he sat for a moment alone. Rosie had gone into the cell block. Then he made a quick call to his counterpart in Taxco. He knew Edgar Quintillo personally. They had attended a cross-border conference years before and they had been in irregular contact since.

“Edgar.
¿Cómo estás?
”

“Muy bien.”

The rest of the exchange was quick and in a mix of English and Spanish. Each was trying to renew the level of intimacy that had caused them to bond in the first place. Rosie returned as he was ending the conversation.

“Let me guess. You and Edgar are planning your next fishing trip in Acapulco.”

“I wish. Edgar's handling protection for Carlos and his family while they are in Taxco. By the way, thanks for taking care of the day-to-day lately.”

“It's been pretty quiet. Almost like the regulars know you're frying bigger fish these days. We haven't had a full house since the Fourth.”

“Who's back there now?”

“Some guy named Smithers who got drunk in the Lazy Dog and picked a fight with Florence. Said she was watering his drinks. There's two things I know about that man. He's not too bright and he must have a death wish.”

“Did she nail him with that field hockey stick?”

“Yep, that lump on his head would be a phrenologist's dream.”

“I better have a word with her. One of these times, one of these guys might try to make a case.”

“I doubt it. They'd be too embarrassed to stand up in an open courtroom and admit that a five-foot-tall seventy-year-old that'd dress out at maybe a hundred pounds got the better of them.”

“Anything else?”

“Two young guys who said they were just passing through when Jimmy pulled them over. DUI. Jimmy said he got high when they rolled down the window. Too late for night court, so they're back there. That's it. Said they liked the food, but then when you've got the munchies I think just about anything works. That's it.”

“Are they dealers or just users?”

“They say they're on vacation. Jimmy didn't find anything but a roach and an almost empty baggie. Doing a road trip and on their way back to San Francisco. I think they're a couple, Virgil. Seem pretty harmless.”

“Okay. If they're cooperative, tell the judge. I don't need any long-term boarders right now.” Virgil stood up. “I'll try to get back this afternoon.” He headed for the door.

“Be careful out there, Virgil. Ain't like it used to be.”

“I don't know if it ever was,” he said as he left the office.

On the road down to his grandfather's he thought over what Rosie had said about his instincts, and by the time he climbed up onto the mesa, he had made up his mind that after he settled the arrangements for Carlos and his family, his next stop would be Hayward Ranch and a talk with Micah Hayward.

It had been close to a week since the family had moved into the double-wide, and he could see that the kids had adapted when he tripped over a soccer ball just inside the door. The living room was littered with the evidence of their presence. He had to move a couple of stuffed animals to sit down on the sofa next to Carlos. For the next ten minutes, he went over the arrangements for the burial trip to Taxco. He told Carlos that as far as he knew, there had been no one looking for him or his family, nor had there been any unusual activity around their house. The story that had been put out was that because of the plant shutdown for two weeks, the family had gone to visit relatives. It seemed to have satisfied any inquiries. The identity of the two bodies that had been found was not linked to them, and any follow-up in the local paper had been fairly low-key. He went over again what Carlos knew about the specific trailer that Buddy Hinton had pulled, and that he and Jimmy had checked out at Wade's, but was left in the same quandary as when his DEA connection had told him that in the past they had found nothing suspicious about it and no evidence of drugs.