Blanco County 03 - Flat Crazy (15 page)

“Well, I’m sorry to bother you at home,” Rudi said, smiling, “but as you know, there have been a lot of strange events out here in your county.” She said it more as a question, inviting him to respond. Marlin remained quiet.

She was undeterred. “We’ve talked to a couple of deputies and many of the local residents—but with you being the game warden, we thought you might like to give us your thoughts.” Another question in the form of a statement.

“You’re asking for an interview?”

Rudi nodded. “Just a quick one. Especially with the latest developments.” Third nonquestion in a row. She raised an eyebrow, as if they shared a secret.

“What exactly are you referring to?”

“The animal you found this evening.” The smile again, almost with a cat-and-mouse feel to it. “We spoke to Clay Summy.”

There it is. That’s what this is all about.
When Marlin had returned to Summy’s place to get his truck, he had felt obligated to tell the old rancher what they had found. He’d asked Summy to keep it under his hat, but news like that was hard to keep to oneself, apparently.

Marlin mulled it over. His gut told him to decline the interview, but then he realized it might be a good idea. If newcomers to town were after the chupacabra—and they thought it had already been caught—they’d pack their bags and go home. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you much,” he said. “It’s an ongoing investigation.”

Rudi nodded. “That’s fine. We don’t expect any more details than you’d put in your reports.”

Marlin was warming to the idea. “When would it air?”

“Tomorrow night. It’s our Saturday-evening show—our biggest audience.” Rudi eyed him expectantly. “We can just talk to you out here on your porch. Won’t take but a few minutes. Will you do it?”

Finally, a direct question.

“Yeah, sure,” Marlin said. “Just let me put on a uniform.”

Rudi turned and gave a thumbs-up to the men in the van.

20

WHOA,
RUDI THOUGHT, waiting on the porch.
How come they don’t grow ’em like this guy back in L.A.?
John Marlin was completely different than the Armani-clad power brokers out in Hollywood. Kind of rugged, without being some sort of hayseed.

Barry and Chad climbed the stairs, lugging the equipment with them. Barry would be running the camera, Chad on sound. Apparently, Chad had made his way up the ranks many years ago working audio. Fortunately, he seemed to be handling the components—new technology to him—without a problem.

“So he’s going to do it?” Barry whispered.

“Well, of course he is,” Chad said. “Wouldn’t you if you found a gorgeous young lady like Rudi standing on your front steps?” He smiled at Rudi, but it came across as a leer.

Gross.
Late last night, Chad had knocked on Rudi’s motel door, saying they needed to talk strategy. “Who we’re gonna interview next, things like that,” he had said, slurring, ogling Rudi in her nightshirt. She’d smelled the scotch on his breath.

“Go to bed!” she’d hissed, closing the door with a bang.

This morning, he’d acted like it had never happened.
Lecherous bastard.

She felt bad for Barry, too, because he was the producer and should be running the show. But since Chad was their boss, he was calling all the shots. He’d made all the decisions, from the approach they’d take to the story (“Deadly serious, not that light-hearted crap”), down to the motel they would stay at. And he’d been treating Barry like a gofer the whole time. In short, Chad was being his typical self: a grade-A asshole. He’d made his way to the top of the industry by being a world-class schmoozer, and he was quick to use his talents when the game warden returned wearing a khaki uniform with a badge pinned to the shirt.

“Good evening, sir,” Chad said, shaking John Marlin’s hand, “I’m Chad Reeves, executive producer of
Hard News Tonight.”

Rudi noticed that John Marlin, to his credit, appeared unimpressed. “John Marlin,” he said simply.

“You’ve already had the pleasure of meeting Rudi,” Chad said.

The game warden nodded.

Rudi waited for Chad to introduce Barry, but it became apparent that he wasn’t going to. So she said, “And this is Barry Grubbman, the
producer
for this segment.” Rudi hoped Chad noticed the emphasis she put on the word
producer.

Barry waved from behind the camera. “Hi.”

“Nice to meet you, Barry.”

Rudi steered the game warden closer to the front of his porch. She decided she’d stand one step lower as she interviewed him, making the game warden appear even taller and more authoritative.

“How’s this?” she asked Barry.

He had set up some klieg lights and was peering through the camera.

“Looks great,” Chad said before Barry could reply.

Rudi shot him a glare. He winked at her.

She turned to Marlin, holding a microphone. “I’m going to ask you some basic questions. Just answer naturally. Don’t worry if you get tongue-tied or anything.” She gave him her best smile. “Lots of people get a little nervous when they’re interviewed, but it’s no big deal. We can edit it later and make it work.”

“Sounds good,” he replied. To Rudi, he looked anything but nervous. God, he was nice-looking, too, but not in a Tom Cruise pretty-boy kind of way. The camera—and the show’s vast female audience—would love him.

Chad, listening on a headset, said the audio was ready to go. Barry gave her a thumbs-up, the camera rolled, and the interview began.

Rudi lobbed a few easy questions at John Marlin at first, just to warm him up. How long had he been the game warden in Blanco County? Did he work closely with the sheriff’s department? What were his primary responsibilities? But in the middle of one of Marlin’s answers, Chad gave her a let’s-move-along gesture. So she said, “What can you tell us about the animal you captured late this afternoon?”

“Uh, I can say it wasn’t a native species for the area. But nothing too unusual. Certainly nothing to be concerned about. There’s been somewhat of a frenzy around here, and there’s really no reason for it.”

Rudi was pleased. The man was a natural—cool and confident in front of the camera. He had a comforting, easygoing demeanor. “So you’re saying this was an animal you had never experienced before?”

“Well, I personally had never seen anything like it in Blanco County before, and we’ve had some odd animals get loose over the years. Ranchers and breeders can legally import all sorts of animals, and sometimes they manage to escape and cause an uproar.”

“So this was a legally imported animal?”

“I’m afraid I can’t comment on that.”

“Okay, but you think this animal—whatever it is—was responsible for the so-called chupacabra sightings? Is this the animal that people have been seeing?”

“I imagine so. In fact, we discovered the animal after a man called in reporting it as the chupacabra.”

Rudi smiled, wanting to draw the interview to a close with a playful question. “What exactly is the chupacabra supposed to look like, from what you know?”

The game warden grinned and played along. “Let’s see … sort of a cross between a flying monkey and a large reptile. Huge red eyes … long fangs. Something ridiculous like that.”

Perfect.
“I take it you don’t believe in it?”

“No, ma’am, I’m afraid I don’t. And I hate to disappoint all the people who are here looking for it, but they’re gonna come up empty. Better just to go on home.”

“That’s the end of the animal troubles, then?”

“That’s right. No more animal troubles.”

The horrible beast lunged straight for Max, and Beulah Summerall felt the leash jerk as her poor poodle tried to run away. She had her hand through the loop at the end of the leash, and there was no letting go now. She was tied to Max, and Beulah knew her fate and Max’s would be one and the same.

The next few moments were sheer confusion and chaos.

Max released an earsplitting yelp, and the beast appeared to have the poodle in its mouth.

Without even thinking, Beulah rushed forward and began to swing wildly with her walking stick. She heard fierce growling, tremendous squeals from Max, and the pounding of her own heart in her ears.

She swung a few more times and felt the solid impact of wood on flesh.

Beulah couldn’t be sure, but Max appeared to be fighting back. The light was too dim to be certain—but either Max was still in the beast’s jaws or he had a fang of his own sunk into the animal’s neck!

Beulah was out of breath now, her knees weak, her head spinning. She summoned the last of her strength, shouting,
“Get away!”
while swinging the walking stick as hard as she could from over her head.

The stick cracked and broke in two as it came down squarely on the animal’s neck. There was a horrifying scream, almost human … and then it was over.

The animal bolted back into the woods.

Beulah dropped to her knees, using the remaining half of her walking stick to prop herself up.

Then she heard it. A bone-chilling sound that carried through the quiet night. It was almost like laughter. The animal was
laughing
at her.

Max immediately ran to her, whimpering but wagging his tail. Beulah reached down and carefully probed for injuries. His fur was damp, but he appeared to be okay.

Beulah took one last look toward the brush on the side of the road. “Let’s go home, Max,” she said. “I don’t want to walk anymore.”

Duke Waldrip had tried calling the game warden’s home number several times that afternoon, but he hadn’t gotten an answer. He’d even called the sheriff’s office, but John Marlin wasn’t there, either. It was obvious, though, that nobody was looking for Duke. He’d called Sally Ann earlier, and she had acted normal—meaning she’d been cold and unresponsive. Hell, half the time when he went to the trouble to go home, he expected to find his belongings dumped in the front yard. What kept him and Sally Ann together, he didn’t have a clue. It sure wasn’t the vast quantities of love they shared. It was probably just the convenience of it all, the fact that she lived two driveways down the road. Anyway, the good news was, she hadn’t said anything about deputies looking for him. Still, though, Duke wanted to reach Marlin if he could. It was the best way to set his plan in motion. He grabbed his cell phone. As he dialed, he eyed Gus on the couch. His brother was reading a magazine, but he hadn’t flipped a page in thirty minutes.

The phone rang, and this time, the game warden answered.

Duke used his friendliest voice, the one he usually reserved for rich customers. “Hey, John, this is Duke Waldrip.”

“You talk to one of the deputies yet, Duke?”

Duke’s heart thumped. “No, sir. About what?”

“Just need to ask you a few things.”

“Shoot,” Duke said, trying to sound nonchalant. He had three balls up in the air—the Searcy fiasco, the shooting of the sheriff, and the accident with Kyle—and it was damn near impossible to gauge what the cops knew about any of them. All Duke could go by was what the deputies, and Marlin, asked him.

“Any idea where Kyle Dawson is?”

Oh Christ!
Had Cheri finally called it in? If she had, why weren’t deputies pounding on Duke’s door? But if she hadn’t called, why the hell
were
Marlin and the deputies looking for Kyle? “No, sir, I haven’t talked to him since—let’s see—I guess it was yesterday.”

There was a long silence.

“Tell me something: Did Kyle ever meet Oliver Searcy?” Marlin asked.

Jesus, what a perfect question! The entire purpose of Duke’s call was to point Marlin in that direction—to make Kyle a suspect. Now Duke didn’t have to plant that seed at all, because Marlin was already heading down that road. And that’s why the cops were looking for Kyle.

“Funny,” Duke said, straining to keep his voice even. “That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. You asked me to call if I remembered anything that might be useful…”

“And?”

Duke knew he had to play this just right. Not too over-the-top. He started out slowly. “I kinda feel like a snitch, since Kyle is my friend and everything, but I started thinking about my conversations with Oliver Searcy.…” Duke intentionally took a long pause, just like the game warden sometimes did. See how he liked it.

“What’d you remember, Duke?”

“I think I might’ve mentioned Kyle’s name to him, or at least the name of the ranch.”

Duke let that lie there for a second, too.

Marlin said, “So you’re thinking Searcy might’ve called Kyle direct and set up a hunt that way?”

Duke tried a laugh. “It wouldn’t be the first time a hunter went around me to the ranch owner. Some of ’em decide they don’t really need a guide and figure they can save a little money by cutting me out of the deal.”

“But you don’t know for sure?”

“No, I really couldn’t tell you. I’d say it’s a possibility. But it’s probably nothing. Even if Searcy
did
hunt out there, there’s no way Kyle killed him. He ain’t got it in him to do something like that.”

Duke could almost hear the game warden’s gears spinning as he pondered this new information.

Marlin said, “Has he said anything lately about leaving town? Maybe taking a vacation?”

Leaving town? Could the cops have already discovered Kyle’s car at the Houston airport? That would have been fast fucking work, especially for these yokels. But if they
were
that far along—Duke was really getting excited now—maybe they had even discovered the lock Duke had planted in the garage.

“Not that I remember,” Duke said. “But if he was going anywhere, he woulda taken his Lotus. He only uses the truck around the ranch. Was the Lotus gone?”

Instead of answering, the game warden asked another question. “Does he allow anyone else to guide out on his ranch, as far as you know?”

“Kyle’s friendly with a lot of guides and hunters all over the county, so there’s no telling who’s been out there. He hasn’t mentioned anyone, though.”

There was a long silence.

“Hello?” Duke said.

“I’m here,” Marlin answered.

Damn it, those pauses made Duke jumpy. He wished the game warden would just ask his questions and get it over with.

“What kind of animals do y’all hunt out there?” Marlin asked.

Duke had been regaining his composure, but now he started to sweat again. “Whitetails mostly. Some turkey and hog. Why?”

“You ever hunt any type of exotics out there?”

He played it coy. “You mean axis, fallow, like that? Yeah, sometimes.” Those were the most common imported deer in Texas. All perfectly legal.

Again, the game warden didn’t respond right away. It made Duke want to scream.

“If you talk to Kyle, have him call me.”

“Sure, no problem.”

As soon as Marlin hung up, the phone rang. It was Trey Sweeney, out of breath.

“John, I made a cast of its paws. They don’t match.”

“What paws?”

“The jackal’s!”

“They don’t match the tracks from Flat Creek?”

“Not even close.”