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“Mr. Robicheaux, I seem to get one of two responses from you. You’re either handing out moral observations, or you’re the laconic Spartan who has trouble putting two words together.”
“I guess that’s the way it flushes sometimes,” I said.
“Clete Purcel’s fingerprints are on the twenty-five auto that was found next to Quince Whitley’s body.”
“Whitley fell on top of his gun. Clete removed it from his hand so it wouldn’t discharge and hit somebody in the parking lot. What difference does it make? There were eyewitnesses. Candace Sweeney was there, and so was Nix.”
“Candace Sweeney has an arrest record for possession of heroin.”
“So what? She saw what happened. Why should she lie about it?”
“I don’t think she’s lying. She says after Whitley threw acid at her, she crouched in front of the SUV. She thinks Gribble knocked Whitley down with his guitar case. When she got up, somebody’s headlights were shining in her eyes. She says she started to run and heard Whitley say something, then the headlights went out of her eyes and she saw Clete aim his weapon with both hands and blow Whitley’s brains out. She was close enough to him that blood splattered on her blouse. But she didn’t see a gun in Whitley’s hand.”
“What did Nix see?”
“He was just coming out of the club when he heard the gunshot. He says he heard the gunshot, but he couldn’t see what was happening on the far side of the SUV.”
“One of the paramedics told me Whitley had a holster strapped on his ankle.”
“That doesn’t put the gun in Whitley’s hand. It also won’t make Clete’s prints go away.”
“You ran the twenty-five?”
“It was boosted in a home invasion in New Orleans six years ago.”
How bad could Clete’s luck be? What were the odds of Whitley ending up with a weapon that had been stolen in Clete’s hometown? “I don’t buy this stuff. Clete probably saved two people’s lives. Everything you’ve told me is based on the worst kind of conjecture. Are some of your colleagues trying to put Clete in the cook pot?”
I saw the beat in her eyes before she spoke. “Clete killed a government witness years ago. A lowlife by the name of Starkweather. Some people might see that as a precedent.”
It took a second before I realized what she was telling me. “Whitley was an informant?” I said.
“We need Gribble as a witness, Mr. Robicheaux, unless you want to see Clete jammed up real bad.”
A time comes in every human situation when you finally decide to stop protecting people from others and themselves. A time comes when you simply have to tell the truth and let the dice create their own arithmetic. But in this case, no matter how you cut it, the fallout for Clete was probably going to be treys, boxcars, and snake-eyes.
“I think Gribble may be an escapee from a contract prison in West Texas,” I said, holding my eyes on her. “I think his real name may be Jimmy Dale Greenwood. I think Troyce Nix came to Montana to find him.”
“How long have you had this information?”
“I’m not sure I know any of this with certitude.”
“Take the marbles out of your mouth, Mr. Robicheaux.”
“Call me Dave or call me Detective Robicheaux, but stop patronizing me, please.”
“You and Clete both knew this man was probably an interstate fugitive?”
“I can only speak for myself.”
“Stop lying. Clete knew Gribble’s background but protected him because Gribble saved his life. Is that fair to say? Don’t just stare at me. Answer my question.”
“Sorry, I’m all out of gas.”
“How would you like to go to lockup for aiding and abetting?”
I heard Molly open the screen door and step out on the porch. “How would you like to take yourself to hell and gone down the road?” Molly said.
“It’s all right,” I said.
