Page 43

Luke’s radio spurted with a request while he patrolled his sector.

“Payroll needs the signed hard copy of your benefits sheet. Deadline’s today, Luke.”

Chiding himself for forgetting the paperwork, he took up his microphone. “It’s at home. Permission to swing by my place and get it? It’s quiet in my zone.”

Seconds later, dispatch radioed approval. Luke headed for his house in East Division. Once he got there, he found his form in an envelope on the shelf by the door with a sticky note from Carrie: Don’t forget.

The house was empty. Carrie was out and Vern had Emily. Driving on River Road, coming back near Fawn Ridge, tightening his hold on the wheel, he thought how the sheet would be insignificant once he came clean.

That’s when he glimpsed the property next to Clara Price’s place, across from the new subdivision.

Much of the fencing was overtaken with shrubs and branches, and hanging on sections of fence were signs that read Private Property, Keep Out and No Trespassing. But the gate, usually locked and chained, was open. On impulse, he took it as an invitation to make another effort to resolve his crime.

He turned down the property’s dirt road, his car tottering along the rutted pathway. It ended at a clearing with a sprinkling of buildings: a couple of aging sheds, a Quonset hut and a double-wide trailer that cried out for a power wash of its filth-laced walls.

This place belonged to Raylin T. Nash.

Clara Price, his neighbor, had cautioned how Nash didn’t care for visitors.

Luke wheeled his marked patrol car next to an orange Ram 5500 flatbed tow truck with RTN Towing, Clear River on the doors. Stepping outside, he first heard Tammy Wynette singing at low volume on a radio. Then came the tinkling of a long chain dragging on the ground. Then guttural growling as a large mixed-breed dog with a bone clamped in its jaws met him.

“Git back now!”

The command came from the depths of the shed. Old tires were piled in small towers, car batteries scattered nearby. An engine hoist stood to the side; a neat stack of new lumber peeked from a blue tarp. Inside the shed, Luke saw a workbench, a number of tools, a grease pit. A film of grease and sawdust covered the floor.

A man emerged from the open door, shirtless under his stain-smeared denim overalls. His muscular arms were sleeved with tattoos, his unshaven face stubbled. He stepped into the light, wiping his hands with an orange rag.

“Git!”

The chain tinkled and the dog sauntered off, disappearing around the shed.

The man eyed the patrol car, then Luke. “Need a tow?”

“Excuse me?”

Studying his rag, the man said: “You’re new. I have a towing contract with the county.” He nodded to his truck. “They usually just call. Where’s the wreck?”

“Oh, right. No, I don’t need a tow.”

“What, then?”

The two men were the same height and build.

“Raylin Nash?”

He gave a short nod.

“Was hoping you could help me.”

Nash’s eyes narrowed. “With what?”

“Some weeks ago, the night of a bad storm, we had a report of a person in distress on River Road, right up there near your place.”

“That so?”

“Do you recall seeing or hearing anything?”

“Ain’t seen nothin’ like that.”

“No one come down here, looking for help?”

“Nope.”

“Would you volunteer to let me look around?”

His lower jaw moved; he stuck out his bottom lip and scratched his stubble.

“Got a warrant?”

Luke took a moment, then inventoried all he could see, including the partially covered stack of new lumber, the tools on the bench. It appeared a couple were new power tools. One looked like a nail gun.

“A warrant?”

“That’s right.” Nash turned and tossed his rag toward a multicolored heap of rags and old clothes, faded denim, dirty T-shirts, torn colored clothes.

“Now, why would you ask me that?”

“Because if you want to stick your nose in my private property, that’s the law.”

“Right. I just wanted cooperation, not a confrontation.”

“Don’t want no trouble either.”

“Thanks for your time. Before I go, your lumber there, looks new.” Luke nodded to the workbench. “So do some of those power tools.”

Nash hooked his thumbs on his suspenders, sneering.

“I know what you people are thinkin’. Deputy Reeger came onto my place a long time ago, sniffing around after things got stolen from the construction. He knows I got it all in Lufkin. I showed him the receipts to prove it.”

Luke let a moment go by while he decided whether to believe Nash. “Good to know. You enjoy the rest of your day.”

As Luke moved to his car, the tinkling chain approached. Faster than before, and this time Nash did not call the dog away. Seconds after Luke closed the driver’s door, the dog rose on his hind legs, pawing at his door frame, teeth bared, snarling and barking.

Luke glanced at Nash, whose thumbs were hooked in his suspenders, a grin cutting across his face as Luke eased his car away and back along the road.