Death at the Black Bull Read Online Free Page B

couple of Dumpsters, a lot of broken glass, and not much else. The sun bounced off the shards of glass all over the lot and even on the hillsides that marked the boundary of the flatland on which the building stood. Obviously, Buddy had only been one in a long string to come out and howl at the moon. Some had obviously climbed to the top of the ridge in back during their lunar sojourn—maybe not alone and maybe leaning on each other—looking for a little privacy.
    Jimmy noticed for the first time there was a snakelike cut between the sloping hills. He walked toward it. Where it disappeared around one of the slopes, he saw a tire track. Probably, he thought, somebody too drunk to walk tried getting to the top with their four-wheel drive. He reckoned the hardpan at the beginning of the climb wouldn’t show a tread but the softer sand midway up would. The upward swath, he realized, was wide enough for a vehicle, but why anyone would chance it just for a little sweet-talking when there were a lot more accessible places was beyond him. Barren desert for miles, it led nowhere. It would be a miserable place to get stuck. He continued the climb, sweat freely running down his back. The rough path snaked for a quarter mile or so, then started a gradual straight-up climb onto the ridge.
    There was no more sign of tire tread, but the ground was so hard and baked that was not surprising. The sun beat down on him, evaporating the sweat before it got a chance to mark his shirt. He walked along the top of the ridge, looking down on the barren landscape that stretched to the horizon. Cottonwoods, cholla, and tumbleweed filled the flatland and in the deep draws that creviced the earth.
    Then a brighter flash of reflected light caught his eye. He scrambled along the ridge in order to be able to look into the crevasse. The reflected light hit his eyes at such a sharp angle that he had to shield them with both hands when he finally stood over the draw. There, down fifty feet below him, he saw what he realized had brought him to this place. It was Buddy Hinton’s truck.

4

    â€œS o, you’re sure that’s Buddy’s truck.”
    â€œYessir, Virgil. I checked. Went down there myself. A 150, blue with the white stripe down the sides just like Buddy drives.”
    â€œYou went down there?” Virgil looked down over the edge of the ravine as he spoke. “Jimmy, you could have broken your neck. What were you thinking? Should have waited till somebody got here. Hell, if that had happened, I’d have been shorthanded.”
    â€œI had to check,” Jimmy said. “See if Buddy was down there. He coulda been lying there hurt for two days. I just couldn’t wait.”
    â€œI know, Jimmy. Woulda done the same thing myself. It’s just that I don’t want to lose one of my top men.”
    A sideways glance told Virgil his pat on the back had been received.
    â€œGood detective work,” Virgil said, “but you know there’s a lot of 150s around here. How do we know for sure this is Buddy’s? I bet there’s more than a couple with those white stripes.”
    â€œIt definitely is,” Jimmy said proudly. “When I came back up, I ran the plates.”
    â€œFollow-up,” Virgil said, smiling. “That’s what it’s all about.” He looked out over the wide expanse. Shadows were lengthening. He knew the truck would probably have to sit there until the next morning. It was already past six.
    â€œWhat are we gonna do, Virgil?”
    â€œThere’s not much we can do. It’s getting late.”
    â€œI know, but what about Buddy?”
    â€œWell, we know he’s not down there. From what you described I don’t think he ever was. So we just have to keep on looking.”
    â€œWhaddya think happened to him?”
    Virgil looked down at the truck one last time then stepped back from the rim.
    â€œI don’t think it looks too good for