Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(45)
“You know when he’s coming back?”
The deputy didn’t bother to look up. “Not ’til next week.”
This was something Benjamin hadn’t expected. He stood there wondering if it was better to wait or go ahead and tell Moran what he knew. It was a risk either way. Moran had a mean streak a mile wide, but waiting meant there was a chance the bearded man would leave town. As far as Benjamin could tell no one else lived there, and if so the man was a loner. No ties. The house didn’t have the look of a place someone cared about, so he could be a squatter. Squatters came and went like the wind. They picked up and moved on whenever they had a mind to.
With the responsibility of caring for Isaac and working Benjamin couldn’t keep a sharp eye on the man, so he had to trust Moran. Unpleasant as he could be the law was the law, and he was obligated to do the same as Sheriff Haledon.
“I can see you’re real busy,” Benjamin said, “but, sir, I got to report I found the man what killed my Delia.”
Moran looked up. “You did, huh?”
“Yes, sir,” Benjamin replied. “I ain’t got knowledge of his name, but I can say where he lives.”
“And exactly what do you want me to do about this no-name man you think killed your wife?”
“It ain’t what I think, sir, it’s what I know for sure. He’s just as my boy said.”
“Oh.” Moran cocked his mouth to one side. “And I’m supposed to take it as gospel ’cause a kid thinks he saw something?”
“The night they was hit, Isaac saw that blue truck with one whitewall tire on the back. That ain’t something a kid can make up.”
“There could be a dozen trucks fit that description. You got a license plate number or any real evidence?”
Benjamin shook his head. “It was dark, but Isaac saw the man driving had a beard.”
Moran laughed out loud. “Beard, huh? Half the men in town got beards!”
“Maybe so,” Benjamin said, “but this here’s the only one driving a blue pickup with a whitewall tire on the back wheel.”
“That still don’t prove—”
“Sheriff Haledon said if I seen this guy, I was to let him know and the law would take care of it.”
“Okay, okay.” With an annoyed yank Moran pulled a notepad from his desk. “What’s the address?”
“It ain’t a town address,” he said. “It’s a dirt road what runs off Cross Corner. About four miles past my place. It’s the only turnoff on the right.”
“That’s Luke Garrett’s place.” Moran shook his head dubiously. “That man come home from the war half-crippled, it ain’t likely he—”
“Excuse me for speaking, sir, but my boy saw what he saw and he got no reason to lie, ’specially about a man what served his country.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Moran grumbled. He scribbled a few lines on the notepad then said he’d look into it. The truth was if he wasn’t certain Benjamin would keep coming back until he got to Sheriff Haledon Moran would have tossed the note in the trashcan, but jobs like this were not easy to come by so he’d take a leisurely ride out there and that would be the end of that.
As Benjamin disappeared out the door, Moran pushed the notepad aside and grumbled, “Niggers gonna take over this town if we ain’t careful.”
~
Moran waited until after lunch to drive out to Luke Garrett’s place. He’d seen Luke in town and pretty much knew that’s who Benjamin was talking about. As soon as he turned down the dirt road he saw the blue pickup sitting in the front yard. Sure enough, it had a whitewall tire on the rear wheel.
“Aw, shit,” Moran mumbled as he climbed out of his sheriff’s department car.
Luke Garrett was still asleep when he heard the banging. Scrambling out of bed, he pulled on a pair of jeans and flung open the door. “What the hell…?”
“That your truck out front?” Moran asked.
“Yeah,” Luke nodded. “But it got license plates.”
“It’s also got a whitewall tire on the rear wheel,” Moran said. “You know what that means, *?”
“I come by that tire honest,” Luke replied. “You got no gripe with me.”
“I ain’t here ’cause of you stealing no tire; I’m here ’cause somebody driving a blue truck with a whitewall tire run down a nigger woman and her kid.”
“That’s it?” Luke smacked his hand against his head. “You’re hassling me ’cause of bumping a nigger woman?”
“She’s dead.”
“I’m real sorry about that,” Luke said sarcastically, “but it ain’t my fault. She was standing out in the middle of the road. How’s anybody supposed to see a nigger woman at nighttime?”
“Whether you seen her or didn’t seen her ain’t the issue,” Moran replied. “Her kid saw you, and he also saw that damn whitewall you got.”
“Jesus!” Luke dropped into a chair and cradled his head in his hands. “That was the day my Sally left.” He looked up at Moran. “You ever have a woman leave you?”
The deputy gave a halfhearted shrug.
“Man, let me tell you, it tears up your insides. You ain’t got mind enough to know if you’re dead or alive.”