The Walt Longmire Mystery Series Boxed Set Volume 1-4 (114 page)

In the best of situations, I am only a competent horseman and, after being beaten half to death by every tree in eastern Pennsylvania, I was lucky I even knew which way to face. Henry was already gone, and I felt the lurch of gathered horse muscles as the big mare shot from under me and surged toward the arch of the stone bridge. I grasped my hands around the leads and bounced forward, almost coming unseated at the first strike of her gallop. She was very fast, and she seemed to know where we were going. I assumed she would follow Henry, and the only thing I needed to do was remain neutral and allow her to take us where we needed to go.

Hi-yo, Creampuff.

The trail split in two directions on the other side of the bridge; the Bear had reined in his mount and was standing in the stirrups; he looked west and then east as my paint slid to a stop alongside him. I settled my rear into the seat and tucked my heels down for a better ride. “Well, hell…”

He actually smiled as he turned his paint to the left, and they blew down the incline to the east, easy in the saddle and melding together in a rhythm of man and horse. Creampuff started to follow him, but I wrapped the reins and veered her to the right. I broke west and thundered down the ramp to Forbidden Drive as the rain continued to pummel me. The big paint’s gallop was steady and, after I got centered, I could see further down the trail to the periodic illumination of the dusk-to-dawn lamps, which were momentarily faked to darkness by the flashes of lightning.

I dug in my heels and allowed the mare to have her head; in an instant I was around the far turn. I heard the terrible sound of the automatic again, like fibers being torn in cloth.

I could feel Creampuff reaching out and grabbing the rough surface of the path and throwing it behind us. I leaned with her and missed a sign by inches, almost spilling the two of us on the rain-slick trail. Just around the corner, I could see that something was down and that Toy Diaz was warily approaching it. It was a horse, kicking and screaming in the pathway, with William White Eyes trapped underneath.

The drug dealer could not catch a galloping horse, but the 9 mm had.

The fickle streetlights chose that moment to burst into full illumination, and there was a sharpness to the edges of everything, a glistening, as Diaz stood to the side of the fallen horse, careful to stay clear of its kicking legs. My paint’s mean streak and mine kicked in in a last-second attempt to save William’s life, and I felt the surge as Diaz lifted his arm.

It’s possible that he was so concentrated on the action that he didn’t hear me or that the echo of thunder in the ravine had deafened us all. Either way, by the time he heard us, it was too late. The big paint didn’t slow; she didn’t veer or misdirect her momentum. She simply ran right over Toy Diaz.

He must have pulled the trigger on impact, but the rounds flailed emptily into the hillside to the left. There was a momentary muffling of the horse’s hooves, and her balance shifted just a little as I reined in and veered from the injured horse lying on the gravel.

I thought I would come unseated when the paint reared and pivoted to the left. She stiffened her legs and backed away from the smell of blood and the screaming of the other horse. She wanted nothing to do with the scene in front of us and backed away into the trees along the creek bank.

She reared again, and this time I wasn’t as lucky. I fell against the saplings that lined the Wissahickon as she went over backward, slipping on the wet gravel and falling to the side. I clawed my way to the left as she slid right and rolled. We both made it to the flat area of the trail at the same time, whereupon she turned left and disappeared away from the vehicle approaching from the direction we’d been heading, its revolving yellow emergencies strobe-lighting the shiny surface of the pebbled path.

I pulled the .45 from the small of my back and clicked off the safety.

Diaz had been thrown to the side of the trail; he still lay there, face down and unmoving. The shoebox-shaped automatic was there as well, where the horse and I had struck him, far out of reach even for a whole man.

I approached carefully with the Colt pointed at his head. He didn’t move, so I knelt beside him, and placed my fingers along his wrist. There was a pulse.

His clothes were soaked from fording the stream, and he wore a hooded black leather jacket that was waterlogged and must’ve weighed a ton. I put his hand back on the pavement and lowered myself enough to look at his face. He was, indeed, the small man I’d seen with Osgood at the shooting range. He might have been handsome then, but he had struck the pavement like a cue ball, and his head seemed lopsided under the hood of his coat. The leather was torn at the shoulder, and he was bleeding from a spot where one of my .45s had clipped him, near a gauze bandage at his throat where Vic must’ve gotten him before.

He opened his eyes and blinked but said nothing as I watched him. My voice came out in a heavy rasp. “Don’t move.”

I felt the blood rushing to my head and the throb of my own pulse as a large, white truck pulled up. The door read FAIRMOUNT PARK COMMISSION, but the two men who got out weren’t carrying rakes.

“Are you all right?” I stared at the little red dots. “Sheriff, you all right?”

I converted the chill in my back to a nod. “Yep.”

Katz looked past me, and Gowder continued on to Toy Diaz. I stumbled a little as I walked away, stopped, and just stood there, breathing and fighting the nausea that rose in the back of my throat. I became aware of a noise in front of me and a screaming that wasn’t human.

William White Eyes had disengaged himself, pushing with his good leg, and had dragged himself to a shallow ditch; he was covered in dirt and leaves. His eyes were large as he struggled to rise up on one elbow but, even from a few yards away, I could see that something was broken in him. He slumped back against the ground, groaned, and looked at me as the screaming continued.

I stared at his pale, white body in the stark illumination of the street lamps that had pulsed on again and noticed how all the different colors of his war paint now looked black. I went over and kneeled beside him. “You okay?”

His voice wheezed with effort. “No.”

I kept quiet and held onto him till the EMTs arrived and took over.

I walked back up to the path where the gelding still kicked weakly. I kneeled again and placed a hand on the bay’s neck beside the Cheyenne medicine sign for wind. The horse attempted to raise its head but let out a rattling gasp and resettled. I counted at least five bullets in the poor animal. My father was a blacksmith and had told me when I was a little boy that the beasts of the field didn’t feel pain the way we humans did. I remember not believing him then, and I still didn’t.

I could hear the steady clop of hooves on the pathway stones as Henry rode up from behind and, from the sound, I could tell that he had captured my mount. More vehicles arrived, adding blue and red to the already abundant yellow that ran between the trees. I’m sure if it had been daylight, I would have been able to look back up the ravine and seen Chief Tedyuscung with his hand over his brow, looking west, at the mess of things in general. The screaming continued along with the sirens, and something was going to have to pay; that’s the way it always was, and it was usually the innocent.

I was cold, and my legs complained at carrying my weight. My eyes didn’t seem to want to focus as I pushed my hat back and felt the trapped rain run down my back. I looked at my hands and watched them shake, and a chill ran through me. I placed my hand back on the bay’s neck to steady him and, looking into the eye with the circle around it, spoke to him softly. “Easy…Easy boy…”

A weight hung in my chest and, before my eyes could completely blur, I raised the Colt and fired.

Two weeks, and I still had the screaming in my head.

I tossed a few more crumbs from my bagel to Mutt and Jeff, who were looking a little thicker than their hundred or so compatriots scattered across the roach-coach area of the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania. I guess they felt like they’d found good pasture and saw no reason to move on. It was slow going with the finger brace Rissman had put back on me. My ribs still groused every time I took a breath, but everything still hurt a little, so I just ignored it all.

“Are you going to answer my question?”

I looked up and again thought about how much she looked like her daughter. I thought about how seeing women in floral-print summer dresses gave me hope about things in general, and I thought about what she knew, which was probably more than I wanted to admit. “I’m sorry.”

Lena took a sip of the coffee she had brought with her. “Toy Diaz?”

“He’s a little worse for wear. He’s going to have a supervised rehabilitation at Graterford, and it promises to be lengthy since he no longer has his friends in the district attorney’s office.”

“What about the young woman?”

“Jo Fitzpatrick?”

“Yes.”

I tossed the pigeons more crumbs. “By the letter of the law, she didn’t do anything wrong.” I reached over and picked up the cup of coffee she’d brought for me; it was finally cool enough to drink. “Maybe it just seems like enough people have been punished for this mess. Every mistake she made was because she cared about people or because she cared about her child.” Lena nodded, but I don’t think her old-world sense of justice was satisfied. I sipped my coffee as she and Mutt and Jeff watched. “I don’t know.” I slapped my hand on the backpack, containing all my homework from Detectives North. “If Katz and Gowder want to pursue it…” I let it trail off, just as I had the investigation.

“I hear William turned state’s evidence?”

“Yep, it was as I’d suspected. Vince Osgood and Toy Diaz headed up the operation and, when Billy Carlisle became a bit of a problem, Osgood decided to streamline the operation by retiring him to Graterford. The wildcard was the unscheduled release of William White Eyes. That set a power play into motion between Osgood and Diaz, which meant that one of them had to die.” She looked at me over the rim of her coffee cup, the ginger of her eyes in full bloom. “Diaz needed a soldier, and Shankar DuVall fit the bill. The official Academy of the Fine Arts plan was to kill Osgood; DuVall just didn’t count on Gowder or Vic.”

“Or you.” She finished her coffee and decided to give law enforcement a rest. “The Indian abducted my daughter today?”

Vic had been recuperating at Cady’s, while I had been spending most of my time at the hospital with my daughter. “Henry said something about Pine Street. Since they’re driving back, I think they were taking Dog and going antiquing.”

She nodded but couldn’t resist more questions. “So the lawyer connection was through Devon Conliffe, and he was responsible for the money laundering?”

I tossed some more bagel to the pigeons. “The tripping point was Cady; she wouldn’t play.”

“And so Diaz had DuVall throw Devon off the Ben Franklin Bridge?”

“Yep. As Alphonse said, Devon was preparing to turn state’s evidence. When Osgood and Diaz found out their boy had all the fortitude of a cheap lawn chair, they decided to start doing a little housecleaning. At least that’s what William White Eyes said.”

She stretched her legs out and crossed them at the ankles. “How does he know?”

“He was there.”

She turned to look at me. “William was on the bridge?”

“Yep. He was tailing Devon to make sure he didn’t go back to hurt Cady any more.” I thought about it. “I don’t think he knew Diaz was going to have Shankar DuVall kill Devon but, when he did, I think it might have sealed the deal on his wavering allegiances.”

She watched me, and I watched Mutt and Jeff. “So, was there anybody in this case that didn’t deserve to die?”

“Yep.” I didn’t say anything more but just sat there thinking of a large brown eye with a painted circle around it.

Lena let go of my arm when we got to the hospital valet parking kiosk and swung around to look at me. The dark luster of her hair shone blue in the morning sun, and I noticed that her smile had the same lupine slant as Vic’s. The Moretti women smiled like they were going to eat you, and you’d like it. “Dinner? I know a place for pizza.”

“I bet you do.”

“Bring Henry and the Terror. Michael says he’ll stay with Cady.”

“I think that might be turning into a situation.”

She nodded. “I think you’re right.”

She examined my finger brace and gently stroked a valentine-red nail across the bruised flesh. I waited a while before I spoke again. “It was you who opened the door at Cady’s when…Before the reception, I mean.” Her head slipped to one side and she looked up at me through her lashes, her eyes sharp for only a moment.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

She saw the Thunderbird pull up before I did, and that most likely explained what happened next. She stepped in close, rose up on tiptoes, and placed a very gentle kiss on my lips. I might’ve leaned in a little after her, but she gave me my hand back and turned to walk past the powder blue convertible like a panther in floral print.

Vic was studying her mother very closely as she passed, the summer dress swaying provocatively in time with the slap of sandals against her naked heels. “Mother…”

Lena paused at the back seat for only a moment to scratch under Dog’s chin. “Victoria…”

I walked over and leaned against the chrome frame of the windshield as all the males in the vicinity watched Lena disappear down the sidewalk and into the crowd.

Vic poked me in my still-sore ribs. “What? Are we fucking interrupting something here?”

It took me a while to think of anything safe to say. “I thought you guys were antiquing.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Looks like you were, too.”

Henry interrupted, before it could get any uglier. “It is our last day, and I have not seen the Liberty Bell.”

I nodded and looked down at Vic’s arm, which was still in the sling. “It’s cracked, but like most broken things, it’s worth keeping.” She looked up at me and smiled. I glanced at Henry. “Headed back early tomorrow morning?”

“Yes.” He looked back at the beast. “Are you sure you do not want me to take Dog?”

“No, I might need him, and he’s good company.” I studied the streamlined flanks of the Thunderbird, admiring the work of the South Philly body shop. “You gonna be all right driving back by yourself?”

He smiled. “Yes. I am meeting my brother in Chicago.”

I stood there, more than a little surprised. “Lee?”

“Yes.”

I knew that the two had spoken only once in the last fifteen years, and only a handful of sentences at that. “I thought you guys didn’t talk?”

He nodded. “I thought it was time we started.” A moment passed. “Dena is in Rapid, so I may stop and see her, too.”

I continued to watch him, but he didn’t say anything else, and I could feel those slender strings thread their way down the Rocky Mountains, across the plains, over the Appalachians, finally coming to rest in attachments, here, in Philadelphia. I pulled the backpack further up on my shoulder and looked down at Vic. “What about you?”

“I’ve got a flight to Billings this afternoon. Chuck Frymyer’s picking me up.”

“Who?”

“Frymyer, the deputy you hired for Powder Junction?” I nodded some more, and they both watched me very carefully. “What do you want me to tell the county and Kyle Straub?”

There was everything to say, but no way to say it. “Tell them that I’ll be coming home, eventually.”

She exhaled a quick laugh. “They won’t like the sound of that.”

I cleared my throat and got off Henry’s fender, allowing two fingers, including the one in the finger guard, to rest on the side mirror. “Well…Tell them I’m slow, but eventual.”

She continued to smile and gently enclosed my fingers with hers. “That, I know.”

Cady was no longer in the ICU but had been downgraded to a regular room on Vic’s old floor. Dr. Rissman was standing at the nurse’s station when the elevator doors opened. “Those cops were here, looking for you again.” He adjusted his glasses. “But I think it was a social call.”

I stopped and put my hands in my pockets. “They know where to find me.” He looked at the floor, the wall, and finally at my left shoulder. I thought about how irritating I had found the trademark behavior when I’d met the man and how it endeared him to me now. Lightning rods didn’t look you in the eye. “I want to thank you for all you’ve done.”

“I didn’t do that much.”

“Excuse me, but that’s crap. Besides all the manual labor, you gave me hope and that gave her hope.” Finally, he looked directly in my eyes and smiled.

Michael was sitting by the bed reading the sports page of the
Philadelphia Inquirer
out loud. He was back on regular duty and was wearing his uniform.” How ya doin’, Sheriff?”

“They still punishing you with third watch?” His eyes were tired, and he really didn’t have to answer. “So, you got out of having dinner with us tonight.”

He nodded and folded up the newspaper. “I told Mom I’d stay here, but you get everybody else.”

“Who’s ‘everybody’?”

“Mom, Al, Tony, Vic the Father, Vic the Son, and Vic the Holy Terror.”

A tiny terror of its own ran through me. “I just saw her downstairs, and she said she was flying out this afternoon.”

He nodded and stretched his back. “I guess she found a way out of it, too.” He stood, squared his shoulders, and placed his cap back on his head. “I guess it’s just you and the family.”

“Sounds interesting.”

He laughed. “It’s always that.” He tucked the paper under his arm and covered a yawn with his hand. “I’m going home to take a nap; see you here around seven?”

He turned back to Cady, squeezed her hand, and left.

I sat in his chair, pulling it a little closer to the bed, I covered my face with my hands and again listened to the screaming that now resonated like the strings in a piano. I listened to their vibrations, to the chords and the melody that connected all of us. I thought about Henry’s brother, Lee, about Dena. I thought about Vic, about her family. I thought about Cady.

I pulled her book from the backpack, from its spot between the printed dossiers and depositions Gowder and Katz said I had to read through before my meeting with the district attorney’s office and the fifth district court. I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees and her book in my hands. Like a lot of things in my life, I’d just about worn it out, but it was worn out with love, and that’s the best kind of worn-out there is. Maybe we’re like all those used cars, broken hand tools, articles of old clothing, scratched record albums, and dog-eared books. Maybe there really isn’t any such thing as mortality; that life simply wears us out with love.

It took a while for my eyes to focus, but when they did, the words were familiar. “‘Long, long ago, there was a king and queen…’” I felt a squeeze on my hand but tried to keep my attention on the page. “‘…who didn’t have any children.’”

“Da-ddy…?”

I continued reading. “‘One day the queen was visited by a wise fairy…’” My eyes blurred like they always did, and I watched as the drops hit the wrinkled page where they had struck so many times before.

“Da-ddy…”

Her voice was not strong, and Rissman said the pronunciation will continue to get better. We had a legion of hours in rehabilitation ahead of us, but if she continued to improve at the rate she had so far, the neurosurgeon said I might be able to take her back to Wyoming next month. I continued reading. “‘…who told her, you will have a lovely baby girl.’”

“Da-ddy…ish okay.”

I look up at the clear and beautiful gray eyes, at the winning smile of youthful invincibility, at someone far more courageous and determined than I, and sometimes I make it through the entire story.

But most of the time, I don’t.