He thought for a second, then he rolled down the windows an inch, no more. “That should help you follow along. Don’t forget. If you can hear us, we can hear you.”
He reached up and turned off the cab light, and then he locked the doors and stepped into the night. “Frank?” His pace as he walked toward Fillmore was slow and easy. “It’s me, Detective Lightfoot from the Big Bend County Sheriff’s Office.”
“What do you want? I ain’t hurting no one.” I could just make out Frank’s low, reedy voice. The Prius was parked between the two men.
“I’m looking for Josie Callahan’s dog. She said something about you being the last person to see him.” Lightfoot’s voice was low and steady.
“Last time I saw him he was out in the brush chasing after another mongrel.”
“That so?” One step forward was all Lightfoot took.
“Why such a big deal over such a small dog?” Fillmore glanced at the SUV, and I slumped back in my seat.
I could see Lightfoot smile, by the light from his flashlight. “Crazy as it sounds, he’s a local celebrity.”
“That so?”
“Writes a blog about what’s going on in the town.”
“Sounds like you might be a bit crazy yourself, Detective.”
Lightfoot laughed again. “Not me. I imagine his owner, Josie Callahan, writes it.” He stepped to the front of the cruiser. “Either way, folks read it. He’s the town’s mascot, you might say.”
“Isn’t that special.”
A coyote howled and then another off to the right, closer than before.
“I’d hate for us to have to fight off these coyotes, Frank. What say you meet me in the middle so we can talk?”
After a few seconds, Frank walked slowly to the side of the metal building. “Coyotes don’t attack people. You ought to know that, Detective Lightfoot.”
“I’m headed your way. No gun.” Lightfoot lifted his hands in the air.
I prayed he was lying.
The two men drew within ten feet of each other. “Aren’t you tired of running, Frank?”
Fillmore turned his head left and then right as if he suspected a trap. “You ever lost someone you loved?”
“Sure.” I could just make out Lightfoot’s deep voice.
“Then you get why I had to rid the earth of Lucky Straw.” He laughed, a sound like a squeaky gate.
“I’m trying, Frank. Help me understand.”
“Who found the stun gun in the chili? Was it you?”
“No, but that was clever.”
“Darn right it was. Thing is, you still don’t know what killed him.”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea.” Lightfoot slowly lowered his hands a few inches. “You wouldn’t be hiding any hacking abilities, would you?”
Fillmore clapped his hands. “Very good, Detective. Here’s the thing. I’m a talented guy . . . one of those indispensable IT guys who’s never supposed to be without a job.” He spread his arms wide. “Yet here I am without work, four years after Lucky Straw fired me.”
A coyote howled, Frank’s head whipped toward the sound, and Lightfoot took two steps closer.
“What’s the story with the blow to the head? Was that to throw us further off the scent?”
Frank’s unhinged laugh cut through the stillness. “All I had to do was hack into the manufacturer’s files for the know-how and Lucky’s medical records for the codes.”
“You programmed an interruption.”
I could see Frank nod and smile. “Very, very good, Detective. The sad thing is Lucky never knew it was me.”
“Not even when you whacked him in the head with his own skillet?” Lightfoot stepped closer.
“That’s far enough.” Fillmore stepped back, wide grin on his face. “In fact, I think I’ll be going.”
Off to my right, an explosion ripped through the night—like the bang of a cherry bomb only a hundred times louder. Lightfoot whirled toward the sound just as Fillmore ran at him, kicked him savagely in the knee, and made a mad dash through the brush. Lightfoot toppled to the ground.
Chapter 21
Night Moves
I had the door of the SUV open before you could say hospital emergency room. I hurried over to Lightfoot, keeping one eye out for Fillmore and another for Lenny. “You okay?” I whispered, keeping my eyes peeled at the place where I’d last seen Frank Fillmore as he disappeared.
“Quiet,” he whispered. His face was set in a grimace, which made his normally passive expression look like a happy face by comparison.
I offered a hand.
With a frown, he reached up, and I pulled until he staggered to his feet like a drunk. “Stay here.” He stumbled a step or two, gritted his teeth, and took off half running, half hobbling, with more than a little hitch in his giddyup. Frank had disappeared into the tall grass on the other side of the Prius, and without hesitation Lightfoot sprang after him.
If I’d have been born a canine, my ears would have pricked. A growl came from my left. My blood ran colder than a mountain stream. I swallowed hard. “Lenny,” I whispered.
Nothing but the sound of the wind blowing the loose metal sheets on the roof of the nearby building.
Lightfoot had run off with the flashlight and his gun. I opened the cruiser door and searched the glove compartment for another flashlight or any light, for that matter. I reached under the seat and found a headlamp. When and where Detective Lightfoot used a headlamp, like a Chilean miner, I hadn’t a clue. But what did it really matter?
I put it on, tightened the band. Now I could see, but I needed a weapon. Nothing was left in the cab that would help me, nor in the glove compartment, except a manual on the cruiser. It had heft, but it wouldn’t hurt a fly even if I could have aimed it with precision.
A growl and a yip, weak, but Lenny, for sure.
I ran to the Prius, and as I did the moon disappeared again behind the clouds, like
