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WE LEFT THE MOTEL, but Deputy Lewis stayed behind to guard the crime scene. Grady had instructed him to set up crime scene tape around the rooms in question and told him to remain alert and stay in the parking lot all night.
Grady hadn’t handcuffed me. No one had read me the Miranda rights. As far as I could tell, I wasn’t under arrest. I was free, but Grady had made it fairly clear that he didn’t want me out of his sight.
We drove in the Tahoe. The wheels rocked and bounced as he took tight turns around corners. The same traffic light from earlier had turned red for us as well, but Grady ran it.
He said, “Since you aren’t safe anywhere, and I don’t trust you, you and I are partners in this thing.”
I asked, “What do you propose?”
“I disagree with your assessment about Matlind. I say his wife left him and he then killed himself. End of story. She might even be shacked up here with a local or a tourist. The lake is full of young businessmen on vacations far away from their wives. Just because you made a couple of interesting observations doesn’t mean shit,” he said.
“So how do you explain the Mexican?”
He shrugged and said, “He followed you here. You brought some kind of trouble to my town. Whatever.”
I stayed quiet and thought about the idiots that can be found in small Southern towns. I thought how they’re the ones that give the rest of us a bad name.
“So why are we back here?” I asked.
We had pulled back into the Public Safety Complex’s parking lot.
“We’re going to have a better look at your Mexican friend. You say he tried to kill you and that he killed Matlind. I don’t see any connection between the two. But let’s see that mind of yours prove me wrong.”
He parked the Tahoe, killed the motor, and stepped out. The driver’s seat squeaked as he got out like it had probably done a million times. He opened the back door and let me out.
We walked into the building, past the reception area, past the bullpen, and down some steps to the door to the hallway with the holding cells. Grady flipped a couple of switches, and the holding cells lit up brightly. Lying against the wall, neck still broken, was a tangled mess of limbs—the corpse of the man who had tried to kill me. Grady went over to the body, reached into his back pocket, and pulled out his wallet.
I said, “I already checked his IDs. They’re good but fake. That’s the biggest clue that he’s a professional. IDs like that must’ve cost good money.”
Grady asked, “So who is he?”
“Some kind of Mexican hitman. Like I told you.”
“How do you know he’s Mexican?”
“Was Mexican. And I don’t. Not for sure. Just a hunch.”
“Share your theory?”
I shook my head and then said, “Not yet. I need more first.” Which I did, plus I didn’t want to reveal my cards.
Grady nodded and searched through the dead guy’s other pockets. He found a backup pair of surgical gloves besides the ones the dead guy wore.
“I bet that if you send the gun from Matlind’s motel room and those gloves off to a crime lab, you’ll find strands from the glove on the gun,” I said.
“Gloves aren’t uncommon. It doesn’t prove anything.”
“This guy killed Matlind, and you know it. Case closed. You just don’t want outsiders poking around. If I’m right, you’ll have to call the state police. Probably the FBI, too. I know that you small-town types don’t like the Feds, but this is out of control now. It’s time to call them in before this gets any worse.”
Grady stayed quiet. He frowned and stared at the gloves.
I said, “Faye could still be out there and alive. This is big, too big for you to handle on your own. You need to call the Feds. And call them now.”
“Who is Faye?”
“Haven’t you been listening? Faye Matlind is the missing wife. She’s still missing. Whoever this guy was, he’s connected to Faye somehow. He wanted to shut us up. It’s the only thing that makes any sense. He probably killed Matlind, and he tried to kill me.”
Grady stayed quiet. At first, he nodded like he agreed. But then he shook his head and said, “No. I never saw Matlind with any woman. No one else in town saw her, either. I’ve been sheriff here for fifteen years. These people are good, quiet folk. They aren’t concealing some big conspiracy about a missing woman.
“I know these people. I know those rednecks. They bring barbecue in for the tourists to buy every Sunday. They’re good, quiet people. The whole town is full of people like that. We don’t need some outsiders here poking around in our business.
“Matlind came into town and started trouble at the local diner one day. That has been my only exchange with him. There is no wife.”
I shrugged and gave up. It was like trying to convince a brick wall.
He went on, repeating what he’d just said. He said, “Mr. Matlind’s death was tragic, but there’s no wife. No one remembers her being here. This is a small town—don’t you think someone would’ve remembered her? A black woman? In case you haven’t noticed, Black Rock is full of rural white people. Someone surely would’ve seen a black woman walking around. Hell, she would’ve been the talk of the town. But no one saw her!”
I breathed in and breathed out. He was heated. I could see that.
Then he said, “I think we’ve had enough of you.”
He tossed the gloves back onto the corpse. They landed on his stomach. I caught a glimpse of the dead man’s face. Even in death, he seemed to be grinning at me.
Grady wiped his hands together as if done with the investigation. He said, “As unfortunate as this day was for Mr. Matlind, you’ve caught a break.”
I asked, “What do you mean?”
He said, “Our jail is a crime scene like you said. We’ve got two deaths. I don’t see any reason to hold you on an assault charge, being that we have nowhere to hold you. So, you’re free to go.”
I shook my head and said, “I’m going nowhere.”
“It’s not open to debate. Lewis’ll take you back to the motel to pick up your belongings. Then he’ll drive you out to the highway.”
I paused a beat. I didn’t want to leave. That guy in the jail might’ve been the one who shot my mom, but there had to be more out there. Someone paid him for it. And how did he lure her out to that road?
Grady looked at me, waiting for an answer. I couldn’t think of a way to get out of leaving, not without fists and broken bones.
I said, “I don’t have any belongings.”
“No baggage?”
“Nothing.”
Grady got on his radio and hailed Lewis. He gave him instructions to return to base. There was a crackle from the radio, and Lewis gave an affirmative response.
Grady looked up at me and said, “Then the highway is your next destination.” He paused a beat and said, “Don’t ever come back.”