Zeb took a sip of water from a straw the medic gave him. For an old man with a head injury he was talking too much. “Nevin shouted about some big jewel robbery then about murders and warrants . . . it didn’t make sense. They were fighting so bad I swung up out of the chair . . .” He stopped to cough. “And all of a sudden they both laid into me. DeWayne shoved me and hit me real hard . . . Nevin yelled, ‘You were into my bank papers. What kind of father are you!’ He grabbed DeWayne, said, ‘You knew, too.’ He hit DeWayne again, knocked him into the table . . . kicked him until he was down, until DeWayne’s white hair was all bloody.”
By this time the old man’s voice was about gone. The blond medic gave him a cool cloth. Joe could see, by the blood pressure gauge, that Zeb was pushing takeoff.
Zeb said, “DeWayne staggered up and out to his car, I heard the door slam, heard it race away, roaring rough up Highway One like it needed an engine job. Not one of those limos they drive but one of those old rough-running cars they brought with ’em, and I hope he doesn’t come back.”
Officer Crowley went outside, walked around the place; he came back in, avoiding others’ footprints and tire tracks. “Both cars gone,” he said needlessly. “What is this about bank statements?”
Max said, “Let him rest.” Crowley nodded, said no more. A car pulled up out front, Charlie’s SUV. She came in the front door, stood out of the medics’ way watching, and then followed Max outside where they could talk; of course Joe Grey followed.
“He said it was about the statements,” Max said. “What statements?”
“Zeb brought them to me,” Charlie said. “Nevin’s bank statements that Zeb copied, in town. He put the originals back in Nevin’s dresser where he found them. He said to give you the copies when the time was right. He said he didn’t want to be seen going in the station.” She grinned at him. “Now, I guess the time is right.”
“Statements from a Molena Point bank?”
“No. Santa Cruz and three others.”
“And the originals? Zeb has them here?”
“That’s what he said, that he’d put them back where Nevin hid them, folded in a gray sweater—but that he also found a stack of newspapers in the trash that gave the dates of the robberies. He compared them with the statements, cut them out and made copies. He gave those to me, too. It’s all at home, in the safe.” Charlie had never done anything like this, had never hidden evidence from Max or lied to him—except the one secret she had sworn to keep, about the speaking cats. Now, it took her a while to tell Max all that Zeb had told her. “But why is . . . ?”
“It’s only corroborating evidence,” Max said. “Might not mean much now. But it could mean a lot if Zeb knows even more than he’s telling. The snitch’s voice, the night of the murder and bank-money theft, pretty much matched Zebulon’s. What else did he see, that he didn’t tell you about? And why not?”
“Maybe because he wasn’t sure?” Charlie said.
“Maybe because he was sure,” said the chief. “Because he’s scared as hell to lay out the truth.”
They went back through the house to the front, watched the medics load the gurney into the emergency unit and strap it down. Detectives Kathleen Ray and Dallas Garza had arrived. Both were shooting pictures of the many tire marks, those that their own units had driven around trying to leave the suspect ones clear. Two officers were still searching the house, and taking pictures in Nevin’s room. Kathleen smiled as she took shots of the pony’s hoofmarks cutting over the tire prints they thought were DeWayne’s and Nevin’s, pony prints that went right into the house then out again.
Max went into the bedroom carrying the uniform Charlie had brought him. Mindy was crying again, she escaped outdoors, avoiding sympathetic looks for a few minutes. The cats followed her; Joe Grey, Pan, and Kit sat on the fence nuzzled by the pony, who in turn was hugged by Mindy, the child bawling into his buckskin neck. The pony was her comfort, but she wanted to hold Grandpa tight, too. The medics had three times chased her away. When Ryan came outside and put her arm around the child, Mindy cried against her, cried all the harder.
Joe could see Max in Nevin’s bedroom hastily changing into the uniform. “To impress the hospital staff,” Charlie had said. Hospital social workers, if they started asking questions, could be surly about Zeb’s living arrangements when he was sent home, an injured old man living alone trying to take care of a little child. They would be asking questions like, Where is her mother? Where is her father? Why doesn’t the child live with them? How can an old man who needs a nurse himself care for a child? Can he cook? How would he get her to school?
It would be easier for a chief in full uniform to subdue the complaints of those with an overblown sense of authority. Easier to drill into them that he had complete jurisdiction over Mindy. And, Joe thought, Max did have jurisdiction or might soon have it if Nevin had robbed and killed Jon Jaarel and if Thelma had contributed her car, making her an accomplice.
A breeze stirred Ryan’s dark curly hair, tangling it with Mindy’s brown hair and with the pony’s black mane. “Your grandpa will get good care. Do you want to go to the hospital with us? You can be in his room with him at least part of the time. They’ll wheel him away for X-rays and whatever else is needed, and bring him back to you.”
Mindy nodded, very serious. She was filled with questions she didn’t ask, the one big question she daren’t ask.
“It’s more than a shallow scalp wound,” Ryan said, “but they don’t think it’s too deep. They won’t know more until they’ve done the tests. Head wounds often look worse than they are, and they always bleed a lot.”
Mindy hugged Ryan, pressing her face hard against her. “If he has to stay in the hospital I’m going to stay with him, I’m not leaving him alone.” She studied Ryan’s green eyes. “Can I do that?”
“I don’t know, we won’t know if he’ll need to stay until the doctors are done. If he must stay, and they’ll let you stay, I’ll be there with you.” Ryan pulled on her jacket. “Here comes Clyde.”
The cats slipped down from the fence as the medics’ van pulled away. When Clyde’s Jaguar eased up, Kit and Pan jumped in the backseat with Mindy. Clyde idled the engine waiting for Joe. In the front seat Ryan leaned out her window. “You coming? What’s the matter with you?”
Joe Grey stared back at her for only a moment then beat it for Charlie’s SUV. She was going home, followed by Officers McFarland and Crowley to help her clear their house and the barn area. Joe wanted a look, too. The Harpers’ was the closest ranch to the Luthers’, in this open part of the hills. It wasn’t likely, but if Nevin was hurt bad enough, he might think it a good place to lay up for a few hours, gather his strength until he felt like moving on; it probably wouldn’t occur to him that he could weaken and get worse, that he might need a doctor.
They were halfway to the Harpers’ place when Charlie’s phone rang. She turned on the speaker. “Billy?”
Their young stable hand’s voice was soft, as if someone might be listening. “There’s an old gray car, maybe a Suzuki, parked back in the woods. Its lights woke me and then went dark. I can just pick out a shine of moonlight on the fenders.”