Shelton arrived last with Hiram, escorted by Richard Alvaro and Lloyd Sampson. Plus another deputy, who stayed with the two official vehicles. That seemed excessive for one portly prisoner.
Portly and unhappy prisoner.
“Up that hill again? Wasn’t bad enough all the bother it’s gotten me into the first time I did it, and now you want me to do it again? York should’ve been killed years ago, all the upset, irritation, and misery he’s caused.”
Alvaro and Sampson directed him up the slight rise to where Furman York had been killed.
Shelton and I followed.
Scowl in place, he said, “This better work.”
Norman Clay Lukasik, striking a heroic pose at the brim of the upslope, like a captain of a sailing ship, interrupted, “In the future, call ahead of time to see if I’m available.”
He didn’t realize he came in a distant second to a fourth-grader for authoritarianism.
“Of course.” With luck, there would be no need to call him in the future. With lots and lots of luck.
I stopped, gesturing Lukasik ahead of me.
Shelton hung back slightly. Either guarding the pass or disavowing any involvement.
* * * *
“Who are these people,” Lukasik demanded.
As arranged, Mike shifted to stand near him in the rough circle we’d created. The lawyer didn’t appear to notice the move, but Shelton did. He sent me another sharp look.
Bypassing any prelude, I said, “Most of you know each other. For the others, we’ll do introductions as we come to them.”
Lukasik had to have a good idea of some, since his son had just taken Asheleigh’s hand in his, with her mother on her other side.
“Let’s go back to the morning of Furman York’s murder. From forensic evidence, we know he was standing approximately there—” I pointed to where the bootied footprints had congregated, now wiped clear by wind-driven dirt. “—when he struggled with someone and was shot with his own gun.”
Under his hat brim, Shelton’s face was rigid. But I could feel the heat of his fuming over forensic evidence. It sounded so much better than inference and deduction.
“As I believe you all know, his body was reported to authorities at approximately nine-thirty in the morning by Hiram Poppinger. York had been dead for a short time.”
“See?” Hiram said to Lloyd Sampson. “Killed by somebody else. They go away. Then I find him. Proves I didn’t do it.”
“The gap doesn’t prove you didn’t do it, Hiram,” I said. “You could have shot him. Been occupied with other things — staging the scene, for instance — and then reported the body.”
He started to growl. I talked over him.
“Hiram was here to do a favor for Clyde Baranski — to confront Furman York about suspicions he’d rustled cattle from grazing association members. He’d stolen cattle a couple ways, with Clyde a victim of the direct method the night before. Fence was cut and cattle removed from a field.”
I turned to the rancher.
“Clyde, you had other conflicts with Furman York.” Before he, his father, Tom, or anyone else could defend him, I added, “I know. Lots of people did. That’s why we need to get it all out in the open. He drew you into the fraud by a feedlot operator in South Dakota. You’d written a large check. It was only lucky timing that prevented a major loss. And then he hit you again with direct rustling.”
“Was he the only victim of Furman York?” Lukasik asked smoothly. A stab at Tom.
I raised a hand to quiet him.
“Clyde, I’ve already asked this of most, so I’ll ask you now, did you see Furman York the morning he died? And where were you that morning?”
“Didn’t see him. Where I was? On my place, examining York’s handiwork from rustling my cattle.”
“Is there proof of this charge against—”
I cut across Lukasik’s belated defense of his former client. “Yes. Shelton has the information. We’ll deal with rustling later. Stick with murder for now. Were you alone, Clyde? Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts?”
“Alone.”
I nodded. Why should he be any different? “What exactly did you ask Hiram to do for you?”
Clyde shifted his weight and stared at the ground. “Asked him to, uh, talk to York. Tell him to stay the hell away from me and my cattle. I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t trust myself not to get myself in real trouble. Same reason I wasn’t telling my father, didn’t want him pulled into my mess.”
“Why Hiram?”
He looked up, a glimmer of amusement. “York hadn’t responded to reason, wasn’t even scared off by law enforcement breathing down his neck about that business in South Dakota. Thought Hiram’s, uh, unpredictability might shake him up.”
“Before your ranch was hit the night before York’s death, you already suspected him of rustling in the area, especially from grazing association members, didn’t you?” I asked.
Clyde’s gaze shot to his father.
“Yep.”
“Your father, Kesler Baranski, who works at the Lukasik Ranch, also suspected Furman York.”
As I shifted focus to Kesler, I was aware of Hiram relaxing because I hadn’t asked about Clyde’s advice to him on winning Yvette’s heart.
“Suspect, yep. No proof,” the old man said.
“What about you, Gable?”
He shook his head once. “Didn’t know there was rustling going on until… after.”
“But you knew.” I turned to his father. “Perhaps not that York was stealing from other people, but your own herd… Those flat cattle counts year after year told you something was wrong. That’s why you’ve stayed at the ranch for two weeks, when you usually only come for a few days.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I needed a rest, I came here for the fresh air and lack of stress. I have no interest in the ranch. I do not deal with such matters as herd count.” His mouth twisted on the last two words.
“No interest? Yet you’ve always seen to the payroll. At least as far as paying Furman York a princely salary.”
Shelton became more alert.
Across the circle of people, Jennifer named the sum. That drew a reaction from everyone except Odessa and Asheleigh.
As if that called my attention to them, I said, “Oh, yes, I need to introduce you all to Odessa Vincennes and her daughter, Asheleigh.”
“My fiancée,” Gable said immediately.
Nobody produced any congratulations, but the couple’s hands tightened, they looked at each other, and they didn’t appear to need any external approval.
After a slight pause, I added the punchline.
“Odessa was born Linda Pedroke. She is Leah Pedroke’s younger sister.”
That got reactions, even a few words. Along with instant seethe from Shelton, beside me. He’d make me pay for holding that back … later.
Diana and I had talked about how to say this next part. If it didn’t produce a result, I’d have a steeper climb. If it produced too much of a reaction, everything could fall apart.
“Odessa — Linda — came here to see where Leah lived her last months.”
“I came here to find Leah’s murderer and our parents’. I worked to come here. I saved and saved—”
“We saved, Mom. I worked, too. All my life. Saving for school and this move.”
Gable released Asheleigh’s hand to put his arm around her shoulders.
Odessa did not look at her.
The woman had a choice: Daughter or revenge? Though Odessa surely would say she sought justice.
Small compensation for her daughter.
As if the interruption hadn’t occurred, Odessa continued.
“York killed my sister.” Her thumb rubbed at her finger. “The trial killed our parents. And then I learned here about jurors being bribed to let him go. Those jurors are dead, like York. I cannot kill them.” She lifted her head and stared at Norman Clay Lukasik. “But you killed my parents. You deserve to die.”
“I have no idea what—”
“He is dying.” I faced Lukasik. “That’s the true reason you’ve stayed on at the ranch. You must be thinking about what will happen after you die. How the things you established will affect your son, Gable. Because—” I looked around the circle. “—Gable was about to inherit being the victim of Furman York’s decades-long blackmailing scheme.”