Shadow Man (21 page)

Scott Parris pulled himself up to his full height, which—with the gradual compression of his spinal column over the years—was down to an even six feet. He folded muscular arms across a broad chest, glared at the pair of elderly women.

This blatant attempt at intimidation had the expected effect on Louise-Marie LaForte, who cowered behind the Ute woman.

Daisy was another matter. She stared straight back at the tough-looking lawman, went on the offensive. “What’re you doing here?”

The Granite Creek chief of police knitted his brow into a halfhearted scowl. “Seems to me that’s what I should be asking you.”

Hah—got him on the run.
“I asked you first.”

He tried not to grin. “As it happens, I’m out looking for a desperate criminal. And I’m talking about someone who’s a real and present danger to society.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place.” Daisy pointed at the DeSoto residence. “He’s hiding in there.”

Parris glanced at the door. “Who?”

“Pineapple Head DeSoto.”

“Pineapple Head?”

“Soon as you see his ugly, pockmarked face you’ll know why I call him that.” Daisy lowered her voice. “And that primped-up pimp’s up to no good, you can count on that. If you don’t believe me, just ask him to let you talk to Prudence. Or Alonzo. Or that yella-headed white woman. See where
that
gets you!”

The lawman looked at Daisy’s French-Canadian companion. “Do you have any idea what she’s talking about?”

Having already represented herself and the wicked Ute woman as pious soldiers enrolled in the Salvation Army, Louise-Marie was not about to tell another lie. She shook her head.

Parris produced a ferocious scowl, pointed toward the lane. “You two start walking.”

Louise-Marie sprinted off like a famished hen at feeding time.

The Indian woman glared poisoned arrows at the lawman, staunchly stood her ground.

Parris pointed harder. “Go.”

Daisy grumbled something in her native tongue that was extremely rude. Having had this final say, she grudgingly followed her faint-hearted friend.

DeSoto peeked through a crack in the curtains, mumbled a curse of his own.

Ignoring the blare of the TV set, Pokey Joe stood at the store window.
Here comes that good-looking cop, and he’s herding them two old women like they was sheep. I bet they’ve done something real bad
. This was lots better than
As the World Turns.

As they approached the Oldsmobile, Sidewinder loped up to the rear door and whined. Parris patted the old dog on the head. “You won’t be riding home in that.” He allowed some time for this to sink in.

It did.

“Oh,” Louise-Marie said, “I guess you’re going to drive Daisy and the doggy back to her nephew’s ranch.” She smiled sweetly, began to rummage around in her purse for the car key. “I suppose that’s just as well. It’s getting late and I should drive directly home.”

“I don’t think you’ll be needing this.” The chief of police deftly removed the key from her hand. “Not till I see a valid driver’s license.”

“Driver’s license?” The French-Canadian woman did not hide the hurt. “I don’t think I have one of those things with me.”

“Hah!” Daisy said.

It was not clear to whom this comment was directed.

“No driver’s license, eh?” Parris pointed at the rear bumper. “You want to tell me where you got that Mexican plate?”

Louise-Marie beamed with pride. “It’s from my late husband’s collection. He was a big traveler, you see—and whenever he went somewhere, he always brought back a license plate. It was like a keepsake. Why, I suppose I must have hundreds of ’em in the garage.”

The lawman almost wished he had not asked, but this had to be pursued. “When was the last time you had a current Colorado plate on this vehicle?”

Louise-Marie counted fingers, muttered something about Adlai Stevenson, tried to remember the other guy. Finally, she smiled. “It was when General Dwight Eisenhower was elected president. For his second term.”

Parris stared in disbelief. “Really?”

“Sure. That was when we bought the car. It was brand-new then.”

Well, that tears it.
“Get all of the stuff out of your car that you want to take with you.” He opened the trunk on his unit. “You can put it in here.”

Louise-Marie’s visible eye doubled in size. “Do you mean to say—”

“Even without a legal plate, I could write you a ticket and issue you a temporary permit to drive it home. But seeing as how you don’t have a driver’s license, that’s not an option.” With a shrewd glint in his eye, he turned to Daisy. “Of course, if Mrs. Perika has a ticket to get behind the wheel, maybe she’d like to drive this fine Oldsmobile.”

The Ute woman shook her head. “Not me.”

Never one to argue with an authority figure, Louise-Marie began to cart little bits of this and that from the Olds to the policeman’s car.

Parris took his best friend’s aunt aside. “A couple of hours ago, a person driving a car of this description passed through my fair city. When this particular person was pulled over by one of my officers, she made a getaway to evade arrest. And in the process, ran over my officer’s foot.”

Daisy absorbed this with a poker face that Parris could not help but admire.

He continued. “All told, the driver of the Oldsmobile is probably guilty of about six misdemeanors and a couple of felonies.” After a dramatic pause, he said: “Would you care to speculate about who that driver was?”

The Ute woman gave Louise-Marie a worried look. “Not with all those charges hanging over her.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Why, if she got throwed in jail, she’d never live through the first night in a cell. I expect her poor old heart would give out. Or she’d hang herself with her stocking.”

“Then you’re hinting that Louise-Marie was driving the car? That she ran over Officer Knox’s foot?”

Daisy shook her head. “I didn’t hint no such thing.” She assumed a primly virtuous look. “I’d never rat on a friend.”

“You won’t have to,” Parris said. “Officer Knox will be able to identify the driver.” He pulled down the brim of his felt hat. The shadow across his brow gave him a sinister look. “But you don’t need to worry. You and Louise-Marie don’t look at all alike. I’m sure he’ll point to the right suspect.”

“Suspect?”

Parris nodded. “When we put both of you in the lineup.” He cleared his throat. “With a half-dozen other ladies who’re more or less the same age as you two.”

She reached out to straighten his bolo tie. “That’s a nice piece of turquoise.”

He lowered his chin to inspect the ornament. “Yes it is.”

“Someone give you that for a present?”

He felt his face burn. “If memory serves, I believe it was a Christmas gift. From somebody by the name of Daisy.”

“Oh my, is that a fact—somebody with the same name as me?” She clasped a hand to her mouth. “Oh, now I remember—
I
gave you that expensive handmade Zuni tie.”

Manipulative old woman.
“Yes, you did.”

“Well think of that. I must have saved up for a long time. From my pitiful little Social Security checks.”

He took this hit below the belt and came back with a sharp jab. “That was the same Christmas I gave you that three-hundred-dollar AM-FM radio.”

“Oh, I remember that. It burnt up with my trailer.” She sniffed. “I guess it wasn’t fireproof.”

“This bolo tie never does quite hang straight.” He gave it a good yank. “I guess it’s off balance or something.”

Daisy fell into a thoughtful silence before she spoke. “I’d sure hate to see that nervous old white woman have to get in a lineup.”

“You’re a good friend to Louise-Marie,” Parris said. “But I don’t think there’s anything you can do to save her now. If she did the hit-and-run, she’ll have to wear the ball and chain on her ankle. And break rocks with a five-pound sledge.”

The Ute elder edged closer to the lawman. “Maybe we could cut a deal.”

Parris looked down his nose at the woman. “I hope that don’t mean what it sounds like.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t try to bribe you with cash money or anything like that.”

Having expected something at least that naughty, he was disappointed. “What, then?”

“If you’ll let Louise-Marie off, and not get me involved—not that I’ve done anything to break the law—I’ll help you solve a
real
crime.”

He let the doubt show all over his face. “I don’t know—we’d have to be talking about a particularly serious offense. Something even worse than running down one of my officers. And I can’t imagine what that’d be.”

Daisy could. “How about cold-blooded murder.”

“So who got murdered?”

“Well, I hope you haven’t already forgot about that rich man with the funny two-pointed beard. But in case you did, he got ripped limb from limb in a big explosion.”

“Manfred Blinkoe?”

“Unless you know of another dead man whose boat was blown sky-high in Moccasin Lake.”

“How would you come to know anything about the Blinkoe business?” The question was no sooner past his lips than he realized he did not want to hear the answer.

Daisy did not want to tell him. Generally speaking, Scott Parris was a lot more understanding about her “methods” than Charlie Moon was. But it was a good practice never to tell a cop more than you absolutely had to. “I have my ways. That’s all I can say.”

He nodded. “Okay. I guess you’ve got sources to protect.”
Like that little dwarf who lives in Spirit Canyon.
“So tell me—who dynamited Dr. Blinkoe’s houseboat?”

She cast a wary glance toward the DeSoto residence. “I have some suspicions, but I’m not quite ready to say.”

Parris’s face broke into a broad grin. “Great. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Daisy gave him a nasty look. “If you want to know where Pansy Blinkoe’s hiding out, you’d best mind your manners.”

“From this moment, I’m on my best behavior.” He was beginning to enjoy her little game. “But please don’t tell me you think she’s somewhere between Mexico City and Anchorage. Try to be a little more specific.”

“I can tell you
exactly
where she is.”

“Okay. Exactly would be close enough.”

Daisy pointed toward a spot across the road. “She’s right over there.”

The lawman turned to look. “In the church building?”

The elderly woman strained, but could not remember. So she had to ask. “Who was that doofus deputy who worked for Andy Griffith?”

“You mean in that old Mayberry TV show?”

“That’s the one.”

“That was Barney Fife.” Parris smiled fondly at the childhood memory. “Andy, he’d only let ol’ Barney carry one bullet for his gun. And Barney had to keep that cartridge in his pocket.”

“I know all about the bullet and Aunt Bea and cute little Oafie. Now ask me—”

“Opie.”

“Forget about Mayberry. Now ask me again.”

This caused him to pause and reflect. “Ask you what?”

“About Pansy being over there across the road, in the church.”

“Okay. Is Mrs. Pansy Blinkoe hiding out in the church?”

“No, Barney Fife, she’s holed in with that pimp DeSoto.” Having said this, Daisy felt considerably better.

S. Parris, aka B. Fife, groaned.
I should have known.
“So that’s why you were over there harassing an innocent citizen, trying to break his door down with your walking stick?”

“If Pineapple Head DeSoto is innocent, I’m Saint What’s her-name.” Not being able to remember things like names was a constant annoyance. “And he’s probably not even an American citizen. I bet he’s from Panama or Massachusetts or someplace like that!”

Gently, Parris put a hand on her shoulder and did his best imitation of an amiable Carolina drawl. “Aunt Bea, if you would tell me just one thing—”

“My name ain’t Aunt Bea.”

“And you’re not a thing like that sweet little lady. But what I’d like to know is—what makes you think Mrs. Blinkoe is hiding in the DeSoto residence?”

Daisy got that stubborn look.

“Oh, right.” He flashed a disarming grin. “You have your
ways.
”

“Hmmpf,” she said. And meant it.

He tried a shot in the dark. “I’d bet a dollar to a Dr Pepper it was a dream.”

“Then you’d lose your dollar, Mr. Smart Mouth, ’cause it wasn’t no dream. It was a vision that—”
Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. I let him trick me.

“A vision.” Parris slammed fist against palm. “Well, that throws a whole new light on things.” He took some time, as if thinking the thing up one way and down the other. “Okay. Here’s the deal. Three
A.M
. tomorrow, me and a dozen hand-picked officers will throw a cordon around the place. We’ll give DeSoto one minute flat to produce Mrs. Blinkoe. He doesn’t, we go in guns blazing. We’ll shoot every living soul full of holes, then burn his house to the ground.”

Daisy glared at the insolent man. “You used to be a fairly nice person, for a
matukach.
”

“Excuse me, madam—I do not mean to seem overly sensitive. But to my ears, this does not sound like the preamble to a heartfelt compliment.”

“But now you’ve got a mean streak a yard wide. I guess it comes from hanging around with my smart-aleck nephew.”