Yes and no. When Runyon got him on the line, Madison said immediately, “I heard from my brother last night,” in a voice that quivered a little. Nervousness, maybe fear.
“Is that right?”
“I know I said I wouldn’t let you know if he contacted me, but I thought about it all night and I couldn’t just keep quiet, do nothing. Not now.”
“He still in the Bay Area?”
“Right here in the city. Hiding out-he wouldn’t say where. He wanted money, a lot of money.”
“How much is a lot?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I’d have to talk to Arletta. He gave me an hour, that’s all. An hour to try to convince her.”
“And did you?”
“No,” Madison said. “I didn’t talk to her at all.”
“Why not?”
“No point in it. She’s tightfisted and she already said she wouldn’t waste another penny on Troy. She meant it, too. No way she’d let him have ten thousand dollars.” Anger and bitterness mixed with the fear now. “I guess I can’t blame her, but she doesn’t know him the way I do. How dangerous he is when he doesn’t get what he wants.”
“He threaten you again when you told him he couldn’t have the money?”
“Yes. I tried to stall him, reason with him… no use. He wouldn’t listen. My God, he was furious. He said he’d get Arletta for turning him down. Kill me, too, unless I made her change her mind. He
… he sounded strung out, crazy.”
“You have any idea where he’s hiding?”
“No, none. I don’t know what to do. I guess that’s why I called you-advice. What should I do?”
“Have you contacted the police?”
“No. Not yet.”
“You should. Your brother’s a fugitive; he’s made threats. They can give you protection.”
“Yes, but will they? Before it’s too late?”
Runyon had no answer for that. A bail-jumping drug dealer was small-time, and the verbal threat of bodily harm had no teeth to it as far as the law was concerned. The detectives at the Hall of Justice had bigger and more immediate crimes to deal with. They’d take Coy Madison’s statement; they’d send out patrols to keep an eye on his home and place of business; they’d add to the warrant that was already out on his brother. And that was all they’d do because it was all they could do. No point in saying this to Madison; he probably already knew it. Still, the smart thing in a case like this was to go through the motions-always, no exceptions.
“Call them anyway, Mr. Madison. The sooner the better.”
“Isn’t there anything else I can do or you can do?”
“One thing, yes. If your brother calls again, tell him your wife has changed her mind and he can have the ten thousand after all. Set up a meeting so you can give him the money.”
“… And then tell you where so you can be there to grab him? Is that the idea?”
“Me or the police.”
“Yes, all right. I should’ve done that when he called last night, shouldn’t I? But I wasn’t thinking straight.” Madison made a deep-breathing sound. “But I doubt he’ll call again. As crazy as he sounded last night… I’m afraid, Mr. Runyon. For Arletta more than myself.”
Runyon asked, “As far as you know, does Troy own a firearm?”
“I don’t know. He may have one-he used to go target shooting with a friend of his when we were kids.”
“Do you own one?”
“No. Arletta won’t have a gun in the house. I could buy one, I suppose…”
“Are you firearms qualified?”
“If you mean have I ever fired a gun… no, never. I never liked them.”
“Then don’t buy one.”
“Then how can I protect my wife and myself?”
“Notify the police, first thing. Stay home as much as you can, doors and windows locked. Keep a weapon handy, but not a gun.”
“That’s all, for God’s sake?”
“All that makes good sense, until your brother’s caught.”
Madison said, “If he’s caught, if he doesn’t kill Arletta and me first,” and broke the connection.
Linkhauser Trucking was a small outfit shoehorned between a couple of larger businesses in an industrial area of Hayward. And none too prosperous, judging from the age of the trucks bearing the company name and the run-down condition of the warehouse building and its two loading bays. Hanging on, like so many small companies in the current economy.
Bud Linkhauser had returned from his Central Valley run; Runyon had made sure he was on schedule before driving down the Peninsula and taking the Santa Mateo Bridge across the bay. Runyon found him on the loading dock, talking to one of his handful of employees. The two of them went inside the warehouse, into a corner where a forklift stood guard over a stack of empty pallets, to do their talking.
You tend to think of truckers as big, beefy guys with potbellies and a gruff manner. Linkhauser didn’t fit the stereotype in any of those ways. Short, wiry, losing his hair and compensating for it with a mustache of the same brushy sort Runyon had worn until recently. Soft-spoken and cooperative.
“Nothing much I can tell you,” Linkhauser said. “I haven’t seen Troy in… must be three years now.”
“Have you been in touch with his brother or sister-in-law recently?”
“No.”
“So you didn’t know Troy had been arrested again.”
“Not until you told me. Damn shame.”
“But you did know he’s an addict.”
“Meth user, yeah, that’s why I had to fire him,” Linkhauser said. “He showed up stoned a couple of times, didn’t show at all a few others. Unreliable. I got to have men on the job I can count on.”
“And you knew he was selling drugs?”
“Well… I heard that’s how he was supporting himself.”
“How’d you hear?”
“From Coy. He tried to get me to give Troy another chance to straighten himself out. I was willing, but the first day he was supposed to come back to work he never showed. After that, well, I just wrote him off. Damn shame, like I said. But what else could I do? I got a business to run and times are tough enough as it is.”
“When was that?”
“Three years ago. Last time I saw him.”
Runyon said, “I understand you and the Madisons grew up together.”
“Down in Bakersfield, right.”
“Close friends?”
“I wouldn’t say close,” Linkhauser said. “Hung out together sometimes.”
“Were the brothers close?”
“Not so’s you’d notice. Always arguing about something. Coy used to beat up on Troy sometimes.”
“Coy did? Not the other way around?”
“Nah. Thing about Troy, he’s a mild guy, you know? Shy, laid-back. Go out of his way to avoid a fight.”
“And his brother was the opposite?”
“Well, not exactly opposite. Coy’s okay until something gets him riled up. Got a temper. Piss him off some way, he’d go after you. That’s the way he was as a kid, anyhow.”
“Troy have a short fuse, too?”
“No. Real easygoing kid.”
“Never retaliated when Coy beat on him?”
“Not that I ever saw.”
“Was Troy afraid of Coy?”
“Seemed that way to me.”
Runyon said, “Coy must care about his brother, if he tried to get you to help him straighten out.”
“Wasn’t his idea. It was Troy’s.”
“Is that right? Then why was Coy the one who contacted you?”
“Troy asked him to,” Linkhauser said. “Too shy and ashamed to come to me himself. This was after one of the times he got busted for possession and I guess he figured it was time to get clean. But he was hooked too deep and it didn’t last. Went right back on the stuff.”
“Would Coy help him on his own, do you think? If he’s in big trouble like he is now?”
“Sure, probably.” Linkhauser frowned. “Help him run away, you mean?”
“Or hide out.”
“I can’t answer that, man. It’s been three years since I seen either of them, like I said. Who knows what people will do when push comes to shove?”