The Last Death of Jack Harbin (24 page)

Taylor starts forward, but Ryder grabs her from behind. “No ma'am, this could be a trap. Her husband might be trying to lure you in there.”

He puts the megaphone up to his mouth. “Ma'am, I see you at the door. Your sister is here, and we want to help you, but you need to show yourself.”

The door opens wider, and Sarah steps outside, blinking in the bright light. She puts her hand up to shield her eyes. “Taylor?” She sways on her feet.

Taylor wrenches free and runs to her sister and grabs her as she slumps onto the porch.

Ryder is the first one to reach the house. His Sig Sauer “Equalizer” drawn, he steps over the women and throws himself to one side of the door. He slowly peers inside and his shoulders relax. He lowers his gun to his side and gestures with a nod of his head for the rest of us to come inside.

Curtis is lying on the living room floor, his eyes closed, one hand clutched to a seeping wound in his side. Oddly, there is a rosy lump on his forehead. “Send in the EMS,” Ryder hollers. “It's all clear here.”

Three young girls in their early teens huddle together on the sofa, clutching each other's hands, all as pale as if they'd been in prison. Curtis and Sarah only have two daughters, so I'm wondering who the third girl is and where the boys are. It's unbearably hot in the house, which could account for Sarah fainting. I find that the thermostat is turned off. I flip it back on and hear the immediate whine of the air conditioner.

Then I go back to the girls and say to the one who looks oldest. “You three go into the kitchen.” I nod in that direction. “Get yourselves some water.” They get up, but they seem so uncertain about whether to obey me that I go with them, shooing them in front of me. I sit them down at the kitchen table and get water for them. “It should cool down in a minute. You all need something to eat?”

They stare at me mutely, and for a second I wonder if they are in their right minds. But then one of them, who looks to be about twelve, speaks up. “We haven't eaten since yesterday.”

The older one grabs her arm. “Hush!”

I fling open the refrigerator. It's almost bare, but there is a jar of peanut butter and some jelly. In the cupboard I find a box of saltine crackers. I put them on the table with a knife. “Get some food in you.”

When I go back in the front room the EMS team, a hefty young man and a tall blonde woman with muscular arms, are coming in with their equipment. They crouch down to take a look at Curtis, who is stirring. The man moves Curtis's arm away from his side. “This doesn't look too bad,” he says.

The wound isn't in a strategic place, and isn't losing enough blood to account for Curtis being passed out on the floor. “You see this?” The woman points to the lump on Curtis's head.

“Somebody clocked him,” the man says. They both rise and step away to make way for a couple of highway patrolmen who are taking pictures of the scene.

“Let us know when we can get him out of here,” the woman says.

“Looks like he's waking up,” I tell her. “And we'd like a couple of words with him. Shouldn't take long. You can go out and get your trolley so it'll be ready to go.”

Taylor has helped Sarah to her feet and brings her inside, where it's starting to cool down. Sarah is leaning so heavily on her that Taylor staggers under the weight, so I get on the other side, and together we take Sarah into what was Bob's bedroom. Two boys, about ten or eleven, are already there, one lying on the bed, the other one pacing around. “Mamma!” the one pacing says, and throws himself at her.

Sarah musters strength to grab the boy to her. She closes her eyes and lays her cheek on the top of his head. The two of them cling to each other like shipwreck victims. The boy on the bed, who looks to be the older of the two, sits up, and I see that he has a bruised face. I have a feeling I know how he got his bruises and how Curtis got his lump, and anger surges up in me. I step to the bed and bend down to talk quietly to him. “What's your name, son?”

“Ben.”

“What happened to you?”

He stares at me, his mouth tight in a way that tells me he has no intention of talking.

“It's all right, Ben. You can tell Mr. Craddock.” Taylor sits down on the bed next to him. He shies away from her. Her eyes widen. “You don't know who I am, do you? I'm your aunt. Your mom's sister. I haven't seen you in a few years.”

“Where are the girls?” Sarah is alert now and panicked.

“They're fine. I took them in the kitchen to get them out of the way and gave them something to eat. Now you sit down.”

She sinks down next to Taylor.

“The girls said they hadn't eaten in a couple of days. Same with you?”

Sarah flushes. “They ought not to have told you that.”

“I'm sorry, Mamma, I told Annie she shouldn't have said anything.” The oldest girl is standing in the doorway with a plate of peanut butter and crackers. She holds it out to the younger boy.

“Thank you, sister,” he says. There's a lofty tone to his voice, as if he feels like it was her duty to bring him food. I'm wondering what has been done to these kids.

I go back to the front room to find out what Curtis has to say for himself. When I get there I find EMS ready to wheel him out on the trolley. I could have saved myself the trouble of coming to hear Curtis talk, because it's clear from the grim set of the faces surrounding him that he's refusing to say anything.

I have no patience left for him. I step up close and say, “Curtis, enough is enough. What the hell do you think you're doing putting your family in danger? And having a fistfight with one of your sons. Not to mention having a goddamn shoot-out like you think you're in the Wild West. What the hell is wrong with you?”

He opens his mouth and I find I'm not quite done yet. “And don't you dare tell me it's none of my business. You've made enough of a screw-up. Somebody has got to talk some sense to you. Now what are you doing here, and why did that guy Marcus come gunning for you?”

I guess I'm saying what just about everyone is thinking, because nobody says a word or makes a move to stop me. Only the blonde EMS woman says anything. “Whoa,“ kind of an aside to her partner.

Curtis tries to sit up more, but he groans through gritted teeth. “All right, but I'll talk just to you,” he says, looking at me. “I don't want anybody else in here.”

“Okay, let's clear out,” Ryder says.

“What the hell?” one of the troopers says. “Who is he?”

“I'm not leaving this man's side. He's in custody,” James Harley says, glaring at me.

“Can I have a word?” Ryder takes James Harley's arm and pulls him aside.

He talks low to him, but I know he's telling James Harley that the Texas Highway Patrol has the upper jurisdiction and that I have permission from him to take a statement from Curtis. I'm glad Ryder didn't take James Harley to task in front of everyone.

When they are done talking, James Harley hollers, “Okay, everybody clear out!” Saving face.

“Talk to me,” I say when Curtis and I are alone.

He runs a hand over his mouth. His eyes are full of fury. “You were right. That son of a bitch was looking to get his hands on my oldest daughter.”

“And another girl, too, looks like.”

He closes his eyes and his voice is a snarl. “We stole her. They're going to be after me, but she begged to go too. She and my girl had been set up in separate quarters. Both of them going to be married to so-called leaders.” He opens his eyes again and they burn into mine. “My wife was trying to protect our girl by saying she was sick. But that could only go on so long.” He clenches his mouth, and then spits out, “Why can't a man trust a soul in this world?”

“Why didn't Sarah tell you earlier what was going on?”

His face twists, and I'm pretty sure I'm seeing self-loathing in action. “She was scared to. Said she didn't think I'd believe her.”

“Would you have?”

He lets out a tormented groan and thrashes his legs around. Curtis isn't a man who's likely to change much, but he's facing a future without the church support he thought was solid behind him and knowing he has made serious errors in judgment.

“Look, Curtis, you did the right thing getting your family out of there,” I say. “Except for the shooting.”

“He came after me. It was self-defense, pure and simple.”

“Still, you could have called the police and let them handle it.”

“Well, I didn't. I put my trust in myself. And I'm not sorry.”

I'm figuring he will be sorry when he has to spend money he's so careful about to defend himself in court. But that's for another day.

I step to the door and call out for the EMS. “You all take him to the hospital and get him patched up.”

“What about my family? When the Brother Elders hear about Marcus, somebody is likely to come after them.”

“I'll see to it that your family is safe,” I say.

When the EMS crew has taken Curtis away, with a trooper to guard him, I tell James Harley and John Ryder what Curtis told me.

“The chief of police in Waco is going to want to know about this,” Ryder says. “And I'll alert the highway patrol center up there. Looks like that Marcus bunch is a nest that needs to be cleaned out.”

I go in and get Taylor out of the kitchen and bring her up to date. “I have an idea about how to keep them safe, but you may have to persuade Sarah.”

I tell her my idea. Taylor agrees that Sarah may make a fuss, but when we tell Sarah the plan she only puts up a token resistance. Before long, I hear the roar of a couple of motorcycles and I go out to meet Walter Dunn to introduce him to the people who need protecting.

It's another hour before I'm back home. As soon as I've poured myself a cup of coffee, I call Linda Eldridge, not knowing if my call will be welcome.

She tells me Boone still hasn't shown up. Her voice is subdued, like she's resigned herself to the worst.

“Mr. Craddock, I'm sorry I sent you away this morning. I know you're just trying to help.”

I tell her there's no need to apologize, that I know that she's under a lot of strain. “Your kids okay?”

“It's getting harder to keep them from knowing something is wrong. And I haven't heard anything from the highway patrol. At least they haven't found Boone's car.”

I tell her I'll come by first thing in the morning, and that she should try to get a good night's sleep.

I've never been so glad that Jenny and I have a wine-sipping date for this evening. I've got a lot to unload.

I've just come back up to the house from seeing to my cows the next morning when the phone rings. It's Vic from the motorcycle shop. I'd almost forgotten about him in all the excitement.

“I hear you were looking for me Saturday. Sorry, I was down in Galveston for the weekend.” He says he'll be working at High Ride all day, and I can come in anytime. He tells me that Curtis's two boys are being brought to the shop. “We're putting 'em to work. Walter says they need a little dose of the real world.”

I call Ryder, and find out that the highway patrol had a quiet night, for once. “Still nothing on Coach Eldridge's car. But it's been forty-eight hours now, so we can put a little more manpower into it. But what I'm thinking is that it's going to be a local person who finds Eldridge, dead or alive.”

Before I head for the motorcycle shop, I swing by to check on Linda Eldridge. I can tell when she opens the door that she's had a shock. Her face is dead white. “What's happened?”

Without a word, she walks over to the edge of the porch and vomits over the side. I hold onto her until she's done. She obviously hasn't eaten much; it's mostly bile that comes out.

When I get her sat down in the kitchen with a glass of water she says, “Just before you got here, two men came to the door. They said they were looking for Boone. They said they were expecting a call from Boone and they hadn't gotten it. I told them I hadn't seen him since Saturday morning.” She starts to shiver.

“Did they say what they wanted?”

“They didn't have to. When I told them I didn't know where Boone was, they said I'd better not be lying, that if I was, they'd be back. They sounded so mean.” She puts her head in her hands. “I think I'm beginning to figure out that Boone has done something bad. Probably what you were asking about.”

She describes the two men as looking like the same ones her daughter saw the night Boone was beaten up. I don't like it one bit. I don't like strangers coming to town and threatening people. I don't like that Boone Eldridge has brought this on his family. First Curtis, and now Boone, each in his own way letting weakness drive their actions. And both of them brought low because of it. There's no doubt now that Boone Eldridge has gotten himself involved in trouble that he's not likely to be able to weasel out of.

“Well, at least we know they haven't killed him,” I say. “It may be a matter of money. If Boone can manage to pay them off, he'll be okay.”

“But if he threw that game . . .”

She doesn't have to finish. If Boone threw the game, he'll never coach football again, never hold his head up in this town. His kids will be tormented. It's a bleak prospect.

Suddenly Linda stands up and looks at her watch. Her expression has gone from fear to fury. “I'm not going to sit around and wait for Boone to show up. I'm going to work this morning. If Boone needs to reach me, he can call me there.”

I get to my feet. “I think that's a good idea. It will keep you from worrying so much. There still might be a good explanation for what's happened.”

Tears spring to her eyes and she draws a couple of deep breaths. “I wish I believed that, but meanwhile somebody has to bring some money in for this family.”

When I arrive at the motorcycle shop, Vic is explaining to Curtis's wide-eyed teenage boys how he plans to repair the engine on a big Harley-Davidson. You couldn't have taken those boys to Disneyland and entertained them any better.

Vic tells them to keep their hands off the parts lying around, but he gives them a manual and shows them the page that identifies the parts and tells them he's going to give them a quiz when he gets back. I'm curious why they gave Vic the job of working with these boys, seeing that he's the only one of them without a family. But he seems to do pretty well with them.

We step outside to enjoy the nippy weather. Vic lights up a cigarette. “Walter told me you were interested in the last time we went to Coushatta with Jack.”

“That's right.” I tell him what the blackjack dealer overheard. “Walter says you might have seen who Jack was talking to.”

“I did. Jack and I were playing blackjack, and all of a sudden I see this man I know by sight, but don't know who he is. I tell Jack I think he's from Jarrett Creek, and Jack wants to go over there and say hello. I wheel him over to the craps table next to this guy and tell him Jack came to say hi. And then things get a little weird. The guy turns around, and his mouth falls open and he looks at me like he's seen a ghost. He doesn't say anything for a second and Jack says, ‘Who am I talking to?' And the guy kind of laughs and says, ‘It's Boone, Jack. How you doing?'”

“Boone? Are you sure that's who it was?” My heart drops to my stomach.

“Yeah, the high school coach. I didn't know him at the time, but I saw him again when I came to a game a couple of weeks ago with Walter.”

“So did Jack and Boone talk to each other?”

“They did, but they both acted a little strange. Jack asked the coach what he was doing there. And the coach got all jolly and made a big fuss about how glad he was to see Jack, and what a coincidence it was. You know, clapped him on the shoulder, good buddy stuff. But he was looking at Jack like he'd seen the devil.”

“What did Jack say to him?”

“Jack said he'd see the man back in Jarrett Creek and that they needed to talk and then Jack told me he wanted to go back and play some more blackjack. After that it happened pretty much the way the dealer told you. Jack was mighty pissed off. He said the coach shouldn't be gambling—especially with his money. We asked him what he meant, but he said that was between him and Boone. That was the end of it. He didn't want to talk about it anymore. We went off and had some drinks, and that was that.”

On the way back to Jarrett Creek, I try every which way to put the best face on what I've heard. But there is no good way to get out of what I know. I thought the worst thing that could have happened was that Boone Eldridge had gotten himself into trouble as a gambler. But now I know he's done worse than that.

I feel like I need to talk to some regular people and try to figure out what to do next, so I stop by the café. The regulars are there, gathered around Gabe LoPresto. I remember what Louis Cardoza's dad said yesterday morning about asking LoPresto if he knew anything about where coach was. So I pull up a chair, wondering if I'm dealing with a whole gambling cartel I didn't even know existed. I listen for a few minutes while the men wrangle over a couple of plays that were called in the game Friday night.

Lurleen brings me coffee and leans down to ask me if I've found out anything about Jack's killer. I tell her I'm working on it and may have something soon.

When the squabble comes to an end, LoPresto says to me, “I hear you were in the thick of that shoot-out yesterday. That family has had more than its share of troubles.”

“Curtis brought trouble on himself,” I say.

“How so?” LoPresto is grinning like a fool.

I tell them about his involvement with the survivalist group in Waco.

One of the men leans in, his eyes narrowed. “Seems to me he was protecting his family. You can't charge him with anything.”

“I'm in no position to charge him or not charge him. That's up to the law.”

“By God, if it was me and my family, they'd have a court fight on their hands if they tried to tell me I couldn't use my lawful firearm to protect my wife and kids. So I don't see how you can say he brought it on himself, if someone came after him.”

“I'm talking about his decision to throw in his lot with somebody without bothering to find out anything about his past. If he'd done his homework, he would have known this guy Marcus was a criminal and wasn't anybody he should be involved with.”

“It's a matter of trust,” the man says.

“You lie down with dogs, you get fleas,” LoPresto crows. He likes a good argument. But his statement brings me to the reason I'm here.

“You all know Coach Eldridge is missing?” I say.

“I heard that, but I didn't take it seriously,” LoPresto says. “Where would the man go? You think he's got somebody on the side?”

“You know his wife,” one of the men pokes the man next to him. “He'd be crazy to look elsewhere.”

“Anybody here ever gamble on the football games?”

They look at me uneasily. “Well sure,” LoPresto says. “We have a pool down at the office, and anybody can get in on it. I don't think the law is too excited about that.”

“I'm talking about big gambling. Like with a bookie.”

“On a high school game?” Dilly Bolton's dad sneers.

“Hold on,” LoPresto says, sizing me up. “I've heard something about that. You know my sister lives in Houston. Her husband likes to bet on college and pro games, and he told me once that somebody asked if he was interested in betting on high school games, too. My brother-in-law said he thought it was crazy, but the guy told him there was serious money to be made on Texas high school football.”

“I'll be damned,” somebody says. “If I'd known that, I could have been rich by now.”

They all laugh. It's not serious to them, because it would never occur to them that their coach would be involved in something so sordid.

Only LoPresto realizes there's more to it. He acts like a buffoon half the time, but I know he's a shrewd businessman when it comes to his real estate business. “Why are you asking?”

“Those guys who beat up Eldridge a few weeks ago? There's some question that they might have something to do with gambling.”

“What?” Bolton says. “I thought that was just somebody mad about the team losing to Bobtail.”

Again, it's LoPresto who gets the connection. “You're not saying Eldridge gambled on the games, are you?”

“Anybody ever hear any rumors of that?” I say.

None of them have. “But if I find out that's what Eldridge has been up to, and he threw that game, I'm taking a horsewhip to him,” the gun guy says. He's still riled up about our gun talk and looking for a target. He doesn't know I'm thinking that Eldridge's gambling problem took him a long way farther than just throwing a game.

LoPresto's face has grown fierce. “You're thinking he threw the game.”

I nod.

“Son of a bitch. So that's why he's skipped out of town?”

“Where would he go?” someone says.

“I'd look in Mexico,” the gun guy says. “If he stays around here, he'd be in a hell of a fix.”

“You think those boys who beat him up last time might have gotten hold of him and done worse?” LoPresto asks.

“I know they haven't gotten to him yet, because they called on Linda this morning.”

“Serves Eldridge right if they find him,” somebody says.

LoPresto shakes his head. “I imagine he's pretty desperate about now, trying to find some way to get them off his back.”

And just like that, I know where Boone Eldridge has gone.