Forty

Arn wiped his tire-grimy hands on his jeans. He sat on a tire at the bottom of Fat Boy’s heap and answered his phone. “Dr. Oakert’s been located,” Oblanski said.

Arn crawled off the mound of tires and turned his back to the wind. “Where’d you find him?”

“We didn’t,” Oblanski said. “The deputies found him. All I know is he’d dead.”

“Where?”

“County road up north. Slade and his forensics people are headed there now with the state crime van. Not a hundred yards from where deputies caught Eddie Glass trespassing a couple nights ago.”

“You going to help here?” Danny said, still sorting tires.

Arn ignored him and cupped his hand over the phone. “What did Eddie say about it?”

“Can’t say that either,” Oblanski answered. “He’s disappeared. I’d disappear too. Slade put out a BOLO for him a few minutes ago.”

Arn disconnected and checked his calls. Ana Maria had left him a voicemail telling him Eddie had failed to show for his interview with her and she was going to the Johns’ ranch to look for him. “I just hope I catch him and Bonnie doing the wild thing,” her message concluded.

Arn dialed her phone but it went to voicemail. He left a message. “Dr. Oakert’s been found dead where deputies stopped Eddie a few nights ago. Don’t go to the Johns’ place looking for Eddie. Repeat, don’t go.”

Danny stood and stretched his back atop the mountain of tires. “Problems?”

“I can’t get hold of Ana Maria.” He gave Danny the headline version of Dr. Oakert being found and Eddie disappearing. “I’m afraid if she looks for Eddie she’ll find him.”

Danny rubbed his forehead and a black streak smeared across his head. “I can’t blame you. But there is a little good news.” He lobbed a tire onto the ground. It rolled a few feet before falling over. “That’s a Cooper with a good size chunk of tread and sidewall missing.”

Arn bent to the tire and ran his hand over it. He didn’t have a cast of the tire print he’d spotted in Wooly Hank’s pasture—Slade and the sheriff’s office had that—but the tire appeared to be a match to the impression the killer’s truck had made. “I’ll call into the sheriff’s office and have one of Slade’s guys pick this tire up. Give it to them when they arrive. In the meantime, go inside and grab Adam and see if that’s one of Floyd’s old tires.”

Danny put his hands on his bony hips. “And just what are you going to do while I’m doing the heavy work?”

“I’m going to Bonnie and Beverly’s ranch. Ana Maria might have been unlucky enough to catch Eddie there.”

Oblanski called Arn as he was turning onto the county road five miles from the Johns’ turnoff. “Turns out Sacramento has no photos of Steve Campbell after all. They were just switching to digital booking photos about the time he was released, and they had problems back then. But I sent them photos of Eddie Glass when the sheriff’s office nabbed him the other night.”

“Any luck with that BOLO?”

“Troopers thought they had Glass’s truck on I-25 north of town, but they lost it once they turned around. And before I forget it—Dr. Oakert’s car was found parked at the curb a block from his home.”

“It just gets better and better.” Arn stopped to let a Black White-Face heifer cross the road.”

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything. And by the way, would photos of the victims help? The task force formed to investigate the murders catalogued them.”

“I don’t see how,” Arn said, “but send them to my phone anyhow.”

He disconnected and tried Slade’s number again. “I got no time to talk, Anderson.”

“Just a quick question,” Arn blurted out before Slade could hang up.

“Better be real quick. We’re fixing to work Dr. Oakert’s crime scene.”

“Okay,” Arn said. “Was the doctor killed the same way as Jillie Reilly and Don Whales?”

“How’d you guess?”

“Any stock detective could figure it out,” Arn said. “And I understand Eddie’s on the run.”

“He hasn’t been located yet if that’s what you mean,” Slade said. “Right now all I want him for is to interview him. There’s nothing to indicate he killed Dr. Oakert.”

“Hardly coincidental the doctor’s body was found close to where Eddie was stopped a couple nights ago.”

“What do you want from me, because I’m up to my ass in alligators here.”

“Have you tried the Johns’ ranch? Eddie and Bonnie are still having an affair, and he might go there.”

“Anderson, we don’t have unlimited manpower like you big city dicks did. There’s been more sightings of Eddie Glass than there have been UFOs, and we’re running them all down. When I get a free unit, we’ll send someone out there.”

Arn pocketed his cell phone and turned onto the Johns’ drive. When he drove into the yard, Beverly had just crawled off an old Allis Chalmers with very little red paint left on it. A cigarette hung out of her mouth and a pair of work gloves hung out of her back pocket. There were days when Beverly was attractive. And days when she wasn’t. Today—after hours of hard work—she was less than her best self.

Arn shut off his car and met her as she brushed dirt off her dungarees. “I need to talk with Bonnie right away.”

“Whoa,” Beverly said as she backed away. “You need to calm down a little. My sister hasn’t done anything. She told me what happened when you caught her and Eddie necking in Pearly’s pasture.”

“I have reason to believe Eddie may be the Saturday Night Strangler.”

Beverly tilted her head back and laughed. “He’s a flaming jerk, and I hate him for stringing Bonnie along, but he’s no killer.”

“Are you willing to take that chance with Bonnie?”

Beverly’s smile faded.

“Ana Maria was supposed to meet Eddie someplace for an interview, and I think she’ll be in danger if she finds him.”

“She never mentioned Eddie when she was here.”

“She was here? When?”

“She stopped by to start work on Bonnie’s pickup. She said she was supposed to talk with someone but they never showed up. That must have been Eddie.”

Arn looked around. “I don’t see Bonnie’s truck.”

“The tan outfit?” Beverly said. “That was Eddie’s old beater he let Bonnie use until hers could be repaired.” She started for the barn. “Bonnie’s is here.” She motioned to the tarp that covered the vehicle beside the broken-down tractor. “Don was going to fix the old McCormick, but …”

Trailing off, she led Arn to the tarp. She unhooked bungee cords securing it and threw the tarp back. Dust and chaff had settled on the dented navy blue truck, and he didn’t have to compare his paint chip to know that Bonnie’s truck was the same color as the rustler’s truck that hit Wooly Hank’s gate.

Arn bent to the truck and ran his hand over a broken marker light dangling from the damaged fender. It had crinkled when Bonnie hit the gate. He straightened and faced Beverly. “Bonnie didn’t go out drinking after she was kicked out of the Boot Hill that night, did she?”

Beverly nudged a corn cob with the toe of her boot.

“And no one drove her truck home that night for her, did they?”

“What are you saying?” Beverly asked, her voice breaking up.

“I think you know just what I’m saying. Bonnie was witness that night to Jillie’s murder. I think she was at Wooly Hank’s to rustle sheep. Probably took your Buckwheat with her.” He showed her the paint chip and shards of marker light. “She left this when she fled.”

The color drained from Beverly’s face. “Are you suggesting Eddie is the strangler?”

“He could be.”

“But Bonnie would report him—”

“Think again,” Arn said. “She loves Eddie so much, she might not. But if Eddie is the strangler—and if he realizes Bonnie is the witness—he won’t hesitate to kill her, too.”

“Oh, God,” Beverly said, running her fingers through hair matted with alfalfa chaff. “I’ll start checking her usual haunts.”

“And I’ll call Slade and have him add Bonnie to that BOLO.”

Beverly ran to the house for her truck keys, while Arn grabbed his phone to call the sheriff’s office. The photos of Steve Campbell’s victims had downloaded, and Arn opened them. Each corpse showed where a ligature had choked the life out of them—repeatedly. The killer—like the killer of Jillie and Don—had enjoyed choking them to the point of death before letting up, only to enjoy it again. Until he grew tired of the game.

Arn maximized the photos. Each of Campbell’s victims had dark eyes. And dark complexion. And dark hair.

And each was about Ana Maria’s age.

Arn shuddered as he looked at the photos of the dead victims. Any one of them—if their hair were long—could have been Ana Maria.