The Homeplace: A Mystery Read Online Free Page B

room.
    “Please come to the door, sir.” Paco glanced at Marty. “It’s about your son.”
    The voice was louder. “I haven’t seen him since Tuesday. If he’s in trouble again, I don’t know anythin’ about it.”
    “Sir, we need to talk to you.”
    Springs creaked on the other side of the door. “Okay. Give me a minute.”
    Paco slipped his hand to his duty pistol and unsnapped the holster. He looked at Marty. The old deputy’s counsel replayed in the younger man’s head. The best thing you can do is go home to your wife and kids when your shift is over. Don’t assume anything. Marty’s hand hovered over his gun.
    The door swung in. Jimmy’s daddy filled the space. Tufts of dark, coarse hair fringed the collar of his stained T-shirt, and work-hardened muscles bulged from the sleeves. His eyes were red rimmed, and he squinted even in the shadowy light of the hallway. “What about my boy?”
    “Your son’s name is Jimmy?” Paco’s arm relaxed.
    “Yeah.”
    “Can we come in?”
    Over the man’s shoulder, Marty could see a box of Frosted Flakes and a Coors longneck on a table in front of a flickering TV.
    The man shook his head. “We’ll talk right here.”
    Paco took in a deep breath. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this. Your son’s been killed.”
    The father’s hand slid down the edge of the door and grabbed the doorknob. He squeezed until his knuckles turned white. He looked at Paco and then turned to Marty. “Who shot him?”
    Marty’s lungs seized. And his heart paused. Who shot him? People cried when they heard the news. They asked “How?” Some screamed out and wanted to know “Why?” Not “Who shot him?” How did he know ?
    Riley swung the door open, waved with his fingers for them to follow, and turned into his rented room. He dropped his bulk onto a threadbare couch and looked up at the lawmen. “What do I do now?” He shook his head. “How much does a funeral cost? I don’t think I can afford it.”
    Paco ignored the questions. “Do you need to contact the boy’s mother?”
    Riley fumbled for a pack of Marlboros on a side table. He tapped the pack on the arm of the couch, pulled one out with his lips, and lit it. “She’s dead. Just me and him. Now just me.” Smoke flowed from his nostrils.
    “When was the last time you saw your son?”
    “Tuesday. I left on a run to Syracuse.”
    Kansas. Marty filled in the state. The town was a hundred miles from Brandon. Two or three of the big oil drillers had yards there.
    Jimmy’s father continued. “Truck blew a head gasket on the way. They towed me in and I sat and played with myself until they got the parts to fix it. Dropped my load Friday mornin’ and came back here. Jimmy wasn’t around.”
    “Any idea where he’d be?” Paco was good at this. He’d keep the man talking. Marty had to listen.
    “School. Ball practice. That’s the only place he ever is, when he’s not sniffin’ after that little Mexican girl. I told him to get a job to make some money. He don’t listen to me.”
    “Do you know the girl’s name?”
    “Somethin’ stupid.” He exhaled a puff of smoke. “Dolly, I think. Only some Mexican would name a kid somethin’ like that.”
    Marty’s guts puckered. Paco was one of the best men he knew, and Marty couldn’t let himself look at his friend.
    Paco moved on to another question. “Sir, Jimmy had a basketball game last night. Did you go?”
    The man shook his head. “Don’t have time for such foolishness.”
    “Where were you last night?”
    “Hey, what’s this about?”
    “We just need to know, sir.”
    “Sat downstairs with a couple of fellas that live here. We shared a six-pack and shot the shit. You can ask ’em.”
    He thought drinking beer with his buddies was more important than his son’s game? Marty couldn’t feel sorry for the man. He wanted to, but he couldn’t.
    Riley ground out his cigarette on the table, dropped the butt down the open mouth of an empty beer bottle,