Speed Trap. Patricia Davids

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СКАЧАТЬ as good as they used to be. It wasn’t light enough for me to see the color clear. I think it was a black Ford, but I can’t be sure.”

      “Can you describe the man you saw?”

      “He was a white guy. Tallish. He had on a dark cowboy hat.”

      Tallish with a cowboy hat. Emmett had just described two-thirds of the men in her county. Cowboys were as common as fleas at a dog park here in the Kansas Flint Hills where ranching was the main occupation. And ninety-nine percent of the men drove pickups.

      “Which way did he go?”

      “Toward town.”

      Fred drew her attention with a shout. He held up a black purse. Mandy excused herself and walked over to her officer.

      Fred handed her the pocketbook. “This must have been thrown out of the car. The vehicle has Sedgwick County plates. I’m having Donna run them now.”

      Inside the cheap vinyl handbag, Mandy found a few cosmetics, a tan wallet and a date book. Opening the wallet, she located a driver’s license. The photo matched the dead driver. Her name was Judy Bowen, age twenty-five.

      Only two years younger than I am.

      The license listed a Wichita address. Mandy hoped it was a current one. It would make it easier to notify next of kin.

      Also in the wallet were two pictures of the baby. Mandy turned one over. Colin, four weeks old, was written on the back. She glanced toward the ambulance. So his name was Colin. It was a good strong name.

      Other than thirty-three dollars and some change, there was nothing else of interest in the wallet. Mandy pulled out the date book, opening it to today’s date.

      A notation said, Meet Garrett at the ranch.

      Mandy had lived in Timber Wells for the past eight months, but Fred had lived here all his life and he’d worked for the previous sheriff. She held out the book. “It appears the driver was Judy Bowen. Does the name Garrett ring a bell?”

      Fred’s eyebrows shot up. “Sure. Garrett Bowen lives about ten miles on the other side of town. She’s his ex-wife. She left him about a year ago.”

      An interesting bit of information. “Did you know her?”

      “I picked her up for possession of meth right after she moved out of his place. She pleaded out for community service, never did any time. She left town after that. I never heard anything more about her.”

      “What about the ex-husband?”

      “I seem to recall they were both busted on drug charges down in Oklahoma a few years ago. I’d have to look it up. He hasn’t stepped out of line in this county—that I know of—but I never did trust him.”

      “Why?”

      “He’s got a funny way of looking at you. Like he’s looking through you. It ain’t right.”

      “Emmett says the car was deliberately run off the road.”

      Fred handed back the book. “According to those skid marks she was heading away from his ranch not toward it. Maybe her visit with her ex didn’t go so well.”

      “I’m thinking the same thing. What else do you know about him?”

      “Not much. He lives by himself. I see his truck and trailer going through town at least once a week.”

      “He doesn’t happen to drive a dark-colored Ford, does he?”

      Fred nodded. “Come to think of it, he does.

      Mandy watched as the coroner’s hearse pulled up behind the squad cars. “Fred, notify the Highway Patrol. I’d like them to process the car.”

      “You think I can’t do it? I’ve been working accidents since before you were born.”

      Rather than take offense, she chose to mollify him. “That’s why I want you to stay and see that it gets done right. You know as well as I do we’ll get the crime scene reports back faster if we let the KHP assist us on this.”

      “And what are you gonna to be doing?”

      “I’m going to get cleaned up, then I’m going to pay Mr. Bowen a visit. He wouldn’t be the first ex-husband to settle a marital score with murder.”

      Mandy knew that all to well.

      Garrett pulled a bent nail from the pouch at his waist and laid it on top of the wooden fence post. With careful taps of his hammer, he straightened it. Using his elbow to brace the next board against the post, he hit the nail, hoping it wouldn’t bend. It went in straight and sure.

      “See that, Wiley? All it takes is finesse.” He glanced at the shaggy black-and-white mutt sitting near his feet. Wiley cocked his head to one side and wagged his crooked tail.

      Garrett straightened another rusty nail, but it bent like a wet noodle when he tried to hammer it in. He tossed it into a nearby bucket of similar failures. The dog dashed over to nose the contents.

      “Laugh at me, Wiley, and you’ll go to bed without supper.”

      The dog leaped to his hind legs and pawed the air as he turned in an excited circle and yipped. The words breakfast, lunch or supper all brought about the same reaction. Wiley had a thing about food.

      “Just kidding, buddy.” Having suffered that punishment more times than he could count as a boy, Garrett would never inflict it on Wiley. He and the little stray had a lot in common. They both knew what it was to be beaten, hungry and abandoned.

      “I may not have enough money for new lumber, but I reckon I can afford kibble.”

      Garrett stared at his half-finished corral. For now, he had to make do with used boards and nails salvaged from an old shed, but with a little luck and hard work, next year would be different. His herd of Angus cows might be small, but they were producing some fine calves this spring and prices were good.

      Careful saving and the extra money he’d started earning as a cattle buyer would let him add to his herd in the coming months, but there wouldn’t be cash left over to fix up the place.

      He didn’t mind waiting.

      Pushing his hat back, he paused to lean both arms on the post and survey the green rolling grassland sweeping toward the horizon. Someday, these hills would hold hundreds of fat black cows with calves at their sides, all wearing his brand.

      It was the one dream he held on to.

      The month before Garrett turned eighteen, his alcoholic father died of a stroke. Garrett had inherited a nearly worthless house, two hundred and fifty acres of pasture and a mountain of debt. He’d had nowhere to go and no reason to stay—except that he loved the land.

      Nothing about the prairie was closed up or shut in.

      He loved the wide sweep of the horizon and the way the wind sent ripples dancing through the long grass. He loved the smell of newly mown hay and the sight of cattle СКАЧАТЬ