Desperation Road(60)

“And that is the beginning and the end of what we know.”

“That’s it.”

“Then take your free cigar and go find out something else.”





41


BOYD HADN’T TOLD THE SHERIFF THE PART ABOUT RUSSELL AND THE woman at the Armadillo. Caroline. Wasn’t much to go on but he figured it was worth riding by the bar and asking, deciding to wait until later to go visit the shelter. The Armadillo didn’t open until around one so he lost a couple of hours riding the highways. He dragged a dead deer out of the middle of the road. Ate lunch at the truck stop so that he could look around. See if maybe they were missing something.

He finally drove downtown to the bar and he walked in. It was dark even in midday, lit only by a row of lights that shined on the liquor shelves behind the bar. He heard a clamor and he called out and then a man in a sleeveless shirt came through the swinging door behind the bar. He held a case of beer and he set it on top of one of the coolers and looked at the deputy and hoped he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“How you doing?” Boyd asked and he sat down on a bar stool.

“Fine. You?”

“Not complaining. Not right now.”

The bartender’s tattoos covered most of his arms and he wore a silver earring in each ear.

“Mind if I ask you a thing or two?” Boyd asked.

“Nope.”

“You don’t happen to know a woman named Caroline. Comes in here from time to time.”

The bartender opened the case of beer. Pressed his lips together. Seemed to be thinking. Boyd knew the look. The look of someone trying to figure out how to answer.

“She’s in no trouble,” he said. “None at all. Nobody is.”

“Nobody?”

“Nobody mentioned so far. You know her or not?”

He slid open a cooler and took beers from the box and placed them in and the bottles tapped against one another in small clangs. “I think I know who you’re talking about,” he said.

“What’s she look like?”

“Not too damn bad,” he said.

“Come on. Gimme something.”

The bartender shrugged. “Brown hair. Some freckles.”

“How old?”

“Depends on the light.”

“Ballpark.”

“Thirtysomething. Fortysomething?”

“Don’t know a last name, do you?”

“Caroline. Caroline.” He closed his eyes. Trying to see the name on the credit card. “Caroline Pitts. Caroline Pitts,” he said and he opened his eyes. “No. Potts. Caroline Potts.”

“Caroline Potts.”

“Think so.”

“All right. That’s a big help,” Boyd said and he stood.

The bartender held a beer toward him. “One for the road?”

“Good one,” Boyd said and he nodded and left.

Back in the cruiser he radioed the dispatcher and asked for an address on a Caroline Potts. He cranked the engine and turned up the air conditioner and waited. A minute later he had what he needed and he drove on toward the address of Caroline Potts, telling himself that this was a waste of time. That Russell had told him the truth.


The four houses sat in a rectangle and they looked identical. White siding. Green shutters. Red front door. He looked around for number 12. A gray four-door was parked in front and he parked next to it. He walked along the skinny sidewalk that led to the front door and he knocked. He could hear a television. He waited and when no one came he knocked again and the sound of the television went down. Then the door opened and a woman stood there wearing a robe and a towel wrapped around her head. The hair that stuck out from under the towel was wet and there were beads of water on her neck. She seemed a little out of breath and she looked at the sheriff as if he were a strange animal.

“Sorry to bother you,” he said.

She tugged at the robe and tightened it across her chest and neck.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Are you Caroline Potts?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Are you Caroline?”

“Yes.”

“Caroline Potts?”

“I said yes.”

“I need to ask you a couple of questions if you got time. Real quick, I promise.”

She opened the door farther and moved back and he walked inside. She left the door open and she wiped at her neck. With her face freshly clean and free of disguise the freckles were more abundant across her nose and cheeks.

“What’s this about?” she asked.

“I got two questions and I’m done. If you shoot me straight.”

“Fine.”

“First one is do you know a man named Russell Gaines? He claimed he met you downtown at the Armadillo.”

She nodded. “Maybe.”

“Maybe what part?”

“I met a man named Russell. Couldn’t tell you his last name.”

“You know what he looks like?”

“Tall, dark, and handsome. Like all of them down there, right? Had a soft little beard, though.”

“That’s plenty,” he said. “Part two. Did he spend the night here with you?”

She gave a cross look. “Without modesty I say yes. But he didn’t stay all night. Got up and left. Can you arrest him for that?”