The Highwayman: A Longmire Story (Walt Longmire #11.5)(7)

“Wow.”

He picked up the coin and stared at me. “The bank was getting wise to them, so they lit out north and got as far as the canyon, but when they were pulled over, both of them got killed, and the bag of Hot Lips Morgans was gone.”

“Who pulled them over?”

He rested a hand on the car. “Who do you think?”

“Bobby Womack.”

Flipping his ponytail back and resting his hand against the side of his face, Sam studied the coin. “There was a big to-do, and a lot of suspicion fell on Bobby from both sides.”

“Why?”

“The two WYDOT guys who stole the Hot Lips Morgans were Indians and known to Bobby.” He shrugged and as he climbed in the clown car, its suspension crouched down on one side. “Everybody figured it had been some kind of inside deal with Bobby in on it, and when things went bad Bobby decided to divest himself of his two partners.”

“Did he have any history of that kind of thing?”

Sam slammed the door of the car, barely getting it closed, and began cranking the starter a few times before it caught. He started to back away, but the import stalled. “Not once.”

“Then why would anybody suspect him?”

Sam Little Soldier continued to study the silver dollar in his hand before tossing it back to me. He cranked the uncommunicative engine of the Toyopet Crown again and then sighed in the silence. “Because he was an Indian.”

? ? ?

Static. “I’ve never heard that story.”

I keyed the mic with the radio preset to Jim Thomas on the HPs frequency. “Probably before your time, you pup.”

Static. “That’s Captain Pup.”

“Right.” I glanced at Henry, who was staring through the windshield of my truck as Trooper Wayman had a conversation on the side of the Wind River Canyon Scenic Highway with a motorist in an aged Diamond Rio tanker truck that she had pulled over. “Right. Anyway, can you get me the reports on the incident so I can check it out?”

Static. “Happy to. So, you guys are settled in for the night?”

“Yep.”

Static. “Well, I’ll be listening up here, but Rosey says it’s a faint signal, so if it does happen I probably won’t hear it.”

I checked the clock on my dash. “We’ve only got a half hour to go.”

Static. “Give me a report in the morning.”

“Roger that.”

Static. “Hey, Walt?”

“Yep.”

Static. “If you don’t hear anything tonight? Well, I’d really appreciate you helping me get her to talk to someone. I’m really worried about her.”

I keyed the mic one last time. “Right.”

The Bear studied Rosey, who was still engaged with the trucker. “If she does not give him the ticket soon, she may miss her call.”

I pulled the Morgan from my jacket pocket. “We can take a message.”

He reached out and took the coin from my fingers. “What did she say about this?”

“She didn’t. I was hoping to hear more tonight.”

He gestured through the windshield. “Well, it looks as if you are going to get your chance.”

The running lights of the truck Rosey had pulled over disappeared into the distance as she walked past her unit, yanked open my back door, and climbed in. “I hate that rat.”

“Who?”

“Coleman. He owns a crappy heating oil business in Thermopolis and runs the fuel down to the rez during the winter at jacked-up prices. I’ve charged him a couple of times, but I can’t get anything to stick.” She glanced over the seat at the dash. “What time is it?”

“A little after midnight.”

The Cheyenne Nation chimed in. “And only six days till Easter.”

Rosey slumped forward onto the back of my seat with a sigh. “This may be the longest half hour of my career.”

The Bear held up the silver dollar. “Care to tell us about this?”

She looked at the two of us, reached up and took the coin, and then delved into her duty shirt pocket. Pulling out an identical Morgan, she handed them both back to Henry. “That’s the second one I’ve found.”

“Where?”

She leaned back in the seat and looked at the headliner. “The first one was near mile marker 117 about two and a half months ago. I was driving down from Thermop right at sunset, and there was something gleaming on the road. I pulled over and stopped, and there this thing was, sitting in the middle of the two painted lines like somebody put it there.”

I took the first one from Henry and examined it. “Well, that’s kind of funny. . . .”

“That’s not the funny part. About eleven that night a Jeep Cherokee hauling three kids from on the rez blew a tire and swerved, rolling the thing against the inboard rock wall at the exact spot that the coin had been.”

Henry’s voice rose from the darkness on the other side of the cab. “Did any of them survive?”

She nodded. “The two passengers did, but the driver was dead on scene when I got there.”

The Bear held up the other silver dollar. “And this one?”

“About a month ago I found it at mile marker 115 at the same time of day, right when the light gets really perpendicular, you know? That last little bit of light that hits everything and makes it stand out? I was driving along, and I saw something flash in the middle of the road so I stop, and sure as anything that coin is laying out there shining like a beacon.”