Bone Dry

a strong possibility, but we need to keep digging.”

“Where?”

Garza gulped some iced tea, then offered a plan. “I’d say we need to reinterview all of the men on the work crews, both Mameli’s and Slaton’s. Especially Red O’Brien and Billy Don Craddock. They work for Slaton, and they were first at the scene at Slaton’s house. Plus, Wylie said they were offering some wild theories about Sal Mameli.”

“Yeah, and Wylie blew ’em off,” Marlin reminded him.

“I know, I know,” Garza said. “Don’t get started on Wylie again. Poor guy’s in bad enough shape as it is.” Garza grabbed the check and glanced at his wristwatch. “Let’s start with Red and see where it gets us. Meanwhile, I’ll send a couple of deputies out to interview some of the others.”

Smedley was slowly going insane. He was sure of it. And if he managed to come out of this with a few marbles still intact, he knew he’d have nightmares about singing farmers for years to come.

Earlier, he’d made an attempt to free himself, but all he’d done was topple the chair with him in it. Now he was lying on his right side, still facing the TV, the headphones still cradling his head. The two rednecks had come in, laughed at his predicament, and left him where he was.

He wondered about his car. Surely it was too damaged to drive. These two goobers must have left it where it was, and, if Smedley had any kind of luck, a cop would spot it and start nosing around.

Smedley was aware of a figure standing over him. It was Red, eating a hamburger. Burger King wrapper. Smedley tried to fight it, but his mouth began salivating and drool ran down his cheek. Red was saying something now, holding the burger out, taunting him. Smedley didn’t have to read lips to know what he was saying: Tell us where the body is, and you’ll get a burger of your own. Smedley eyed the burger, stomach growling, and was afraid he was going to cry.

Suddenly, Red’s expression changed and he set the burger on a desk. He glanced through a window and his eyes got wide.

Garza pulled through the gate to Emmett Slaton’s ranch and followed the driveway toward the house.

“Over there, to the right.” Marlin had spotted a small mobile home tucked in a cedar grove, with a small fleet of brush-clearing machines squatting nearby. Headquarters for Slaton’s business.

Garza steered off the paved driveway and followed a dirt road to the shiny single-wide. As they stepped out of the cruiser, Red O’Brien emerged from the trailer and stood on the steps to the door.

“How you doing, Red?” Garza called.

“Hey there, Sheriff. What brings you out here? Hey, John.”

Marlin nodded a greeting.

Garza squinted into the sun and told Red they were reinterviewing some of the witnesses in the Slaton case. “We’d like to ask you some more questions about Emmett’s disappearance, if you’ve got a few minutes. Wylie mentioned that you had some theories, and I’d like to hear them personally.”

Red was pretty sure he could feel his balls lodged firmly up in his throat. Something was in there in the form of a big lump. His hands had started shaking, so he slipped them into the pockets of his jeans. Now, if he could just control his voice, keep it from wavering all over the place like it normally did when he got shook up. Otherwise, the game warden would spot his nervousness in a heartbeat, because Marlin had seen it firsthand plenty of times.

Red took a quick peek at Smedley’s car, twenty yards away under a large tarp. Sweet Jesus, he was glad they’d decided to cover it up last night. With it being all smashed up, Garza and Marlin would likely be kind of curious.

“Well, yeah, I tol’ your deputy all about it,” Red said, trying to keep it brief. “Sal Mameli really had a hard-on to buy Mr. Slaton’s business, but Mr. Slaton didn’t wanna sell. Then one day-I think it was last Sunday-we seen Mameli driving outta here like a bat out of hell.”

Garza nodded. “Tell you what, why don’t we go inside and sit down? So John and I can take a few notes.”

Red felt faint, and his knees almost buckled.

“You all right?” Marlin asked.

Red tried to respond with a grin. “Little bit light-headed. We’re doing some paintin’ in there, and the fumes been gettin’ to me. You mind if we stay out here so I can get some fresh air?”

Someone was outside! Smedley craned his head and could see Billy Don peeking through the blinds. Red was out there talking to whoever it was.

Smedley tried to pull his wrists apart, but they were bound too tightly. He attempted to straighten his body, to break the tape that was securing him to the chair. No luck. Finally, in desperation, he began slamming his head against the floor of the trailer.

“What was that?” Garza asked.

They all could hear some sort of thumping or banging inside the trailer.

Red giggled. “Oh, that? Just Billy Don movin’ some furniture ’round in there. Boy’s clumsy. See, Mr. Slaton asked us to fix the place up a little. I figure, with him gone, it’s the least we can do. You know… in his memory.”

Marlin was fairly certain it wasn’t paint fumes that were affecting Red’s brain. The poacher was obviously nervous-the signs were easy to recognize-and Marlin figured Red and Billy Don had been smoking pot in the trailer. But Marlin didn’t care, as long as Red was willing to talk.

Garza asked a couple of questions about Sal Mameli: Had Red ever met him personally? What was he like? Had he ever heard Mameli threaten Emmett Slaton?

Red didn’t have much to say. Sure, he’d seen Mameli around a few of the bars in town, but he didn’t really know the guy. No-no threats, as far as he knew. Quick, short answers, with plenty of hemming and hawing in between.

Marlin decided to put him at ease. “Red, I’m not sure what y’all are doing in the trailer there, but we need you to concentrate on these questions. Whatever y’all are up to, don’t worry about it.”

Red gestured to himself with one hand, like, Who, me?

Marlin smiled. “We’re not here to break up the party. Tell us what you know, then we’ll be gone and you can get back to your drinking or smoking or whatever you’ve been doing.”

Red glanced from Marlin to Garza. The sheriff nodded in agreement and opened a small notepad.

“I appreciate that,” Red said, and took a deep breath of relief. Suddenly, they saw a more confident, composed Red O’Brien. “The way I figger it,” he whispered, as if eavesdroppers were lurking nearby, “Mameli was pissed that Mr. Slaton wouldn’t sell, so he offed him. You ever met the guy? He’s kind of greasy, if you know what I mean.”

“How so?” Marlin asked.

“Seems like kind of a con man. Always talkin’ fast, tryin’ to get an edge.”

“But is there anything you can tell us, beyond just a hunch?” Garza asked.

Red looked puzzled. “You mean, like, uh, hard evidence?”

“Exactly.”

Red mulled it over. “Can’t think of nothin’.”

Garza abruptly flipped the notebook closed.

“Well, he is Eye-talian,” Red offered.

“Oh yeah?” Garza asked with exaggerated suspicion, as if he and Red could unravel this conspiracy together. Marlin had to stifle a laugh.

“Hell, yeah, he is,” Red said, happy to regain an audience. “And I don’t need to tell you how those people are.”

“No, Red, you really don’t,” Marlin said-before Red decided to share his thoughts on Hispanics and Asians, too.

A chirping sound filled the air, and Red flinched. “Take it easy,” Garza said. “Just my cell phone.”

Garza answered the phone, listened for a moment, then handed the phone to Marlin. “Your friend at the lab.