I shrugged. “Seems to be a concern of yours.”
He shook his head. “Now don’t go bringing up my kid again.”
“How’s the kid?”
“Asshole,” he said. “The kid’s just fine. In fact, I gave up his neighborhood singing and dancing recital this evening to meet you, so this better be good.”
“Singing recital?”
Sherbet shrugged, looked a little embarrassed. “It’s a sort of one-man show. Or a one-kid show. And the kid’s pretty good. Draws a fairly large neighborhood crowd. Stages it in our garage. He bakes cookies with his mother all afternoon, and serves them to anyone who shows up. It’s quite a production.”
“He’ll be disappointed you’re not there.”
Sherbet stopped eating. “Yeah, he will be.”
“Maybe I should make this quick,” I said.
He sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe you should.”
“You love that kid.”
“Yup.”
“Even though he’s not like you.”
“I do. Would be easier if he were more like me.”
“It’s okay that he’s not. Still your boy.”
Sherbet was about to speak when I jumped in. “Let me guess: you want to change the subject.”
“Lord, yes.” His fries were gone, and he started in on the Big Mac. “So what do you have for me?”
“I might just have a killer for you,” I said. In fact, I knew I had a killer for him, but I couldn’t let on to Sherbet that I had broken into Jarred’s condo. My search was illegal and would raise questions about evidence tampering. Jarred could walk. And I could lose my P.I. license.
“Okay, I’m interested,” he said. “Tell me about it.”
So I did.
Sherbet listened silently, working on his Big Mac, taking surprisingly delicate bites for someone who ate his fries three at a time. When I was done, he snorted. “Even though this Jarred went back for some water, doesn’t mean he sabotaged the vehicle.”
“Sure,” I said. “But it gives Jarred opportunity. And since Willie Clarke was later found without his water, or his cell phone for that matter, there is some room for doubt.”
Sherbet mulled this over, staring at me, chewing. The detective had me by about twenty years, but his face was smooth, nearly wrinkle free. His eyes never stopped working, as if he were continually sizing me up. There was grease on his chin, which caught some of the light and gleamed brilliantly.
“Sure, I’ll give you that. If this kid, Willie, brings some water out, there should be some evidence of the bottles. I can tell you there was none. Kid brings his cell phone, he should have it; he didn’t. Kid buys gas, he should have some; he didn’t.” Sherbet paused. “Don’t forget he was also found nearly ten miles from his truck. Could have tossed both the empty water bottles and the dead cell phone, and ten miles of desert is a lot of heat and sand to search for a fucking cell phone and some plastic water containers.”
“Two gallons of water should have gotten him to the main road,” I said. “Or at least kept him alive long enough for a passing vehicle to spot him.”
“Sure, if he didn’t get lost first and waste the water.”
“We are going in circles,” I said. “Dancing.”
“We are not dancing,” he said defensively. “What else do you have?”
“The way Jarred appeared that Saturday morning unannounced. The way he changed his tune once he returned from Willie’s truck. The way he refused to go back to see if Willie was okay.” I was leaning forward, my food completely forgotten. A few tables down a student was doing homework with some headphones on, a white cord attached to an iPod sitting on his table. “Taken individually, yes, sounds like I’m reaching for straws. Taken as a whole, we might have something here.”
“Okay, so we might have something here. What’s Jarred’s motive for sabotage and murder?”
I shrugged. “Notoriety and prestige.”
“Notoriety and prestige?” he said dubiously. A crumb had fallen from his mouth and disappeared into his thick arm hair. I wondered how many other crumbs had been lost in there. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Not to you or me, but to Jarred it makes perfect sense. He is a young historian with something to prove. He staked out Rawhide as his very own. He was going to make a name for himself there, even if that name was only known in very limited circles.”
“Have you been to Rawhide?”
“Yes.”
“It ain’t much.”
“No. But it’s untapped history.”
Sherbet was done eating. He wadded up the Big Mac wrapper, sat back and folded his arms over his rotund belly. The plastic bench creaked under his weight. “So he offs his competitor.”
“Yes.”
“So what do you want from me?”
“I want you to dust Willie Clarke’s truck for prints.”
He shook his great head. “Of course there will be prints, Knighthorse. Jarred admitted to going back for water. They’re probably all over the doors.”
“Sure,” I said.
Sherbet thought about it some more, and then the light went on. “The gas cap.”
“Bingo,” I said.
Chapter Forty-three
I was on my back doing crunches behind my desk when the cell rang. Not missing a beat, I reached inside my pocket, removed the phone and flipped it open.
“Knighthorse.”
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” said Sherbet.
“I’m doing crunches.”
“Crunches?”
“It’s not easy being beautiful.”
He ignored me. “We got the search warrant.”
I stopped crunching, lay flat on the floor. “Go on.”
“Jarred’s prints were all over that goddamn gas cap, not to mention along the center console.”
“Where the cell phone might have been located.”
“Exactly.”
“So when are you going in?” I asked.
“Tonight, when he gets home. He needs to be there for the search to be valid.”
“Of course.”
“But you knew that,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Sorry. I forget some private dicks know their shit.”
“This one does.”
He was quiet. I waited. I could hear him breathing.
“And Knighthorse?”
“Yes.”
“Please tell me we won’t find your prints at the condo.”
“You won’t find my prints at the condo.”
“Good. Have you been there?”
