Ardat Mayhar The Conjure

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in good shape it'll be easier to sell."
He mooched around the yard, watering the grass and checking Mae's flowers, though she wouldn't see
them bloom here next year, if he had any luck selling out. He was staring sadly at the workshop he'd built
years before but had never had the time to use, when Philips pulled up in the driveway and came over.
"You need me, Sheriff Cole? he asked.
Cole looked around. In the daytime, there was nobody at home in this neighborhood except those too
old to work, but this was his own house, and it, too, might be bugged in some mysterious way.
"Let's go for a walk, Deputy, he said, heading toward the sidewalk. I've got somethin I need for you
to do..."
CHAPTER XXV. Fishing in Deep Waters
Washington thought hard about his interview with the sheriff as he drove back to his office. As soon as he
finished with the stack of paperwork waiting for him, he leaned back in his chair, which had been
comfortably broken in by his predecessor over the decades of his service, and thought long and hard.
He knew he hadn't been entirely straightforward with Cole. Over his own years of sitting in this chair, he
had run across a lot of sticky trails that led to Nate Farmer and, beyond him, to a shadowy figure who
looked more and more like the last of the Monteverdes.
There were other bad hats in town, of course, but they were small potatoes compared with Carlos.
Wash had compiled a considerable dossier on the man, using federal facilities when he could and even
Interpol, once, when he had done a favor for the police in Dallas and they offered him the chance.
He was certain there were Colombian connections, and there had been a mention from Interpol of a
Libyan connection, as well. That might explain the possibility of something dangerous and valuable having
been in that shipment.
He scooted his chair on its rollers and fetched up against the filing cabinet at the back corner of his tiny
office. Here he kept things unconnected with ongoing cases, yet which he felt would be convenient to
have at hand. He took out that file and stared at it, turning the pages of printout.
Then he took the bundle into the file room and photocopied the entire thing. Ransom Cole might be able
to use this, and together they might stand a chance of nailing someone bigger than a tadpole like Harland
Fielding.
Cole's caution as they talked together had impressed him, so he told nobody that he was copying the
file. He'd wrap it in with the bunch of reports that was ready to go, and he'd deliver it himself to Myra, as
he drove home.
Before he sealed the parcel, he wrote a note on a file card and inserted it into the dossier. That should
set the sheriff's gears in motion, he thought.
The next morning, he had been out to inspect the scene of a robbery when his radio in the official car
sputtered, and his dispatcher said, Chief Shipp, could you swing by the courthouse on your way back to
the office? Somebody there wants to check some things out with you."
Wash gave a deep sigh. Matters were about to move, he felt sure. He wasn't at all surprised when Myra
waved him down outside the courthouse and said, Sheriff Cole asked if you'd drive over to the high
school and meet him there. He has a problem that's come up and thinks you might be able to handle it.
She took the file he handed to her through the window and waved him on his way.
He passed the sheriff's marked car, which was parked beside the street two blocks from the high
school. Pulling up ahead of it, he gestured for Cole to join him, which he did without wasting time.
"Run up toward the river, Cole said. I need to get our ducks in a row, here."
Wash turned toward the park that flanked the river some blocks ahead, and when he came to the first
entrance he turned in and stopped, facing the coffee-colored water. The place was deserted at this time
of day, and the two of them got out of the car and went down to the path along the edge of the stream.
The mutter of water amid and over rocks and around thick growths of cat-tails might cover their
conversation, he thought, as they sat on a drift-log.
"I've got several things on my plate, Cole said. First off, I've had a boy checking into computer files all
over the place, and we've got some pretty solid stuff on Carlos Monteverde."
Wash grunted. I kind of thought he might be mixed up in our last mess, back in the summer. What
else?"
"I been thinking about the way that fellow Parker came in here like he was God A'mighty and pushed
folks around. While I had this boy workin', I got him to look into Parker's business. He looked
sideways at Wash and winked. Tax business, you know."
Shipp almost swallowed his tongue. Now how did a redneck like Ranse Cole ever think of hacking into
bank and government records? His estimation of the man's intelligence went up several notches, though
he knew what had been done was completely illegal. Still, when you dealt with crooks, sometimes you
had to get your hands dirty.
Cole grinned like a possum and went on, We found some interestin stuff. I think a good case could be
made for auditing his income taxes say back to 1987. That's when things started to look suspicious. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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