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“Me too, Hunter, me too.”
Truman was right, and Ronald had no more completed the exhibit and checked his laser pointer, when Judge Pelham announced an end to the day’s proceedings.
***
Hunter stopped on the way to her room and bought a two-piece meal of Church’s Chicken. She watched the local evening news, and when Pepper Easton’s face filled the screen, Hunter flipped a chicken bone at it. The little missile splatted the screen and dropped to the floor, leaving a greasy smudge in the middle of Pepper’s perfect reporter face. Hunter smiled as Pepper continued with her fast-breaking story. Hunter turned the television off after the news and read for the next several hours. She went to bed at ten-thirty and slept soundly for the first time in a long while.
The next morning in court Ronald droned on and on about the diagrams and exhibits. Hunter yawned, tried to cover it with her hand, and Truman saw her. It was contagious, and he yawned. Judge Pelham glanced at Truman and he, too yawned. Several spectators followed suit.
Truman whispered, “You’ve caused an epidemic.”
Hunter bent her head to hide the grin. “If I hadn’t slept so well last night, I’d be snoring right now. What’s Ronnie doing?”
“I think he’s waiting for someone. I noticed the bereaved widow isn’t here this morning, so I guess he’s stalling, waiting for her to show. If that’s it, he’ll put her on the stand as soon as she gets here.”
Ronald returned to the first exhibit when Judge Pelham glanced at his watch and tapped his gavel before Ronald could speak. “Court will adjourn for an early lunch. It is eleven AM, please return at twelve noon.” He rose and left and the others followed suit.
“Let’s take my car,” Truman said. “I know a place that serves Mexican food, buffet-style.”
“Do they know you’re coming?” asked Hunter.
Truman dug in his pocket for the keys, “Nah, we need to surprise them or they lock the doors.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen you eat.”
“Har-har,” he said as they reached Truman’s convertible, with the top up. Hunter slid in the passenger seat and Truman adjusted himself behind the wheel. A text came in for him and he read it and smiled, “Ah-ha, the Sheriff’s office in Marfa.”
“I hope they got him.”
Truman nodded as he punched the number on his cell phone and hit Speaker so Hunter could hear the conversation. “Hello, this is Truman Fortis.” Truman drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Yes, Mr. Fortis. Will you hold for a moment while I patch you through to Sheriff Rockman? He’s at the scene.”
“Sure, no problem.” There were a few moments of silence, then a few clicks and beeps before Rockman’s voice came through the speaker.
“Mr. Fortis, this is Sheriff Rockman.”
“Hello Sheriff, do you have our vagabond pilot in custody?”
There was a moment of silence. “I sent the deputies out for him, and they saw the smoke a couple miles before they got here.”
Truman stiffened, and Hunter felt goosebumps creep up her arms.
Rockman continued, “They found him inside the rubble. One arm wasn’t burned and we made a positive ID from a tattoo.”
Truman gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. “So, he burned to death. Was it arson, or have you been able to tell?”
“Not positively, but the smell of accelerants is everywhere, and the burn patterns on the adobe bricks indicate it probably was. But that’s not what killed him.”
Hunter looked at Truman, who asked, “What did?”
“We found a bullet hole in his skull.”
“God-o-mighty,” Hunter said, looking at the floorboard, shaking her head. She asked, “Is the bullet still inside?”
Rockman hesitated a half-beat at hearing Hunter’s voice, then said, “No, Hunter. It was through and through, front to back. Not much deformation in the back, so I’m guessing ball ammo of some kind. At least a nine millimeter or maybe a little larger.”
“So now you’ve got a murder investigation.”
