Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [classic children's novels txt] 📗

the general store on one side, and a hundred yards from the nearest house on the other. Space was something they were not short of in Wheeler, Texas.

We parked out front next to the sheriff’s pickup and went inside. It was a big room with a high ceiling and a wooden floor. There were a couple of desks, one of them by a tall window at the back. That was the only one that was occupied. The sheriff stood as we came in and walked toward us with slow, deliberate steps. Space and time were both abundant here.

He held out his hand and smiled.

“Detectives Stone and Dehan? Sheriff Ted Weiss, at your service, ma’am.” This last was directed at Dehan. “Come on in and make yourselves at home. I have some coffee brewing, if you’d like some.”

We told him we were fine, and he drew up a couple of chairs to his desk. There was a file open where he’d been sitting. It wasn’t thick, just a couple of pages. We all sat, and he leaned back and regarded me with just a hint of that irony that Texans reserve especially for New Yorkers.

“You’re looking for someone and you think we found him?”

“Them, perhaps. Like I said on the phone, we got a hit on IAFIS. Ten years ago, you arrested a man in Shamrock…”

“Michael O’Hannafin. More Irish than the Irish. I was just refreshing my memory. I’ve been sheriff here for fifteen years. I remember the man. He was a loudmouth. He got drunk and wanted to show everybody how tough he was. He said he was on his way to Mexico, but he talked like a New Yorker. I didn’t ask him a lot of questions. To be honest I wasn’t interested. I figured if he was going on his way, that was good enough for me.”

I nodded. “Sure. Was he traveling alone?”

“Nope. He had a young Mexican girl with him. Sweet kid. She was polite and pretty, couldn’t have been more than twenty. I couldn’t figure out what a girl like that was doing with an old thug like him.” He shrugged. “Takes all sorts, I guess.”

I scratched my chin. “She made no effort to talk to you alone, no plea for help…?” I shook my head, shrugged. “Nothing of that sort?”

He frowned. “Well, no… You telling me she was abducted?”

“I don’t know. We aren’t sure yet. But it’s possible.”

“Shoot.”

“How long were they in town, Sheriff?”

“They arrived that morning. They booked in to the Sleep Inn on 66, and then they went to Big Vern’s for a steak dinner. Vern does his own brand beer. It’s good beer and it looks like your friend Michael took a liking to it.”

“He got drunk?”

He studied my face for a moment, with his fingers laced across his belly. “Shamrock is a quiet town, Detective. By eleven just about everything is closed and folks go home. We like it that way. This Michael didn’t. He’d had a few beers too many, and he was making a noise about how this wasn’t no Irish town. The Irish knew how to drink, that kind of stuff. The staff asked him to keep it down, and he became abusive.” He looked down at his fingers and raised an eyebrow at them. “Vern’s is a family restaurant. I can recommend the steak. You won’t find any better anywhere. It’s a real friendly, family place.” He looked up and held my eye. “I know it’s a different world out east. But here we don’t like swearing, especially in front of ladies. We got different values.”

Dehan smiled and said, “Somebody told him to watch his mouth?”

He nodded. “Couple of boys took him outside, and things could have got ugly. Luckily I was in the area, and when Vern called, I swung by and brought him up here to sleep it off.”

“What about Maria?”

“The girl? She went back to their room. She was awful upset, kept apologizing and crying her eyes out. Broke my heart to see it.”

Dehan asked, “And next day?”

“He was pleasant enough. Apologized. Didn’t seem all that sincere, but at least it was gracious. We took his prints, but when he said he was fixin’ to leave town and move down to Mexico with his wife, I didn’t see the point in taking things any further.” He frowned again and looked at me and Dehan curiously. “What I don’t understand, Detectives, is, if she was abducted, when he was cooling off in the cell overnight, why didn’t she ask us for help? Or simply take off? Why did she wait for him?”

“That,” I said, “is a very good question.

We stood and he stood with us. He said, “You going to be staying long?”

I smiled. “Just a couple of days. I promise to be in bed by eleven.” I hesitated. “Have you any record of what he was driving?”

He picked up a file from his desk. “Your captain phoned as a courtesy. Nice lady. We had a laugh. She asked me to give you any help I could. Well, we’d do that anyway. I copied the file for you. Anything we know is in there.” He handed it to me. “Red 1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1 V8, bigger’n Texas.”

Dehan sighed. “Of course he was.”

The sheriff gave his head a little tweak. “Nice car, nice girl, shame about the dork.”

He stepped outside with us into the bright morning sunshine. “You got a few motels along the famous route 66—it passes through Shamrock. You got a couple of hotels too. If I can be of any help, just let me know.” He smiled at Dehan. “People round here are pretty friendly, as long as you don’t tell them they ain’t Irish enough.”

We climbed in the Jag and headed south on 83 through flat semi-desert. The land was