Blind Tiger by Sandra Brown

“Like the ambush.”

“And like a ‘hell of a blaze.’”

Bill looked at him with raised brows. “Hiram’s place?”

“Hennessy was in the IRA. They’re famous for blowing things up. They make explosive devices out of tin cans. That fire at the Johnsons’ place might not have been sparked by lightning.”

“Christ, Thatcher. Do you have any idea of the shit you’re wading into here? Bernie Croft isn’t a man you trifle with.”

“No, Bill, you can’t trifle. You gotta hit him with more than a slap on the hand. You gotta kick him in the balls and then cut them off.”

Bill lapsed into thought, tugging at the corner of his mustache. “We’d have a hell of a time proving that Bernie ordered that ambush or the fire. He’s got loyal toadies. They would never give him up.”

“They’d hang first?”

“I would.”

Thatcher looked at him, stunned.

“You think I’m a coward? I guess I am,” he said ruefully. “But it’s not my skin I’m concerned about. Daisy’s life is the bargaining chip Bernie holds over me. That’s why I don’t buck him, Thatcher. He doesn’t even have to carry out his veiled threats. It’s the fear that he will that keeps me—everybody—from crossing him beyond a certain point.”

Thatcher turned his head forward and stared through the grimy windshield. “Maybe he carries out more threats than you know of. I told you this would sound like beating around the bush—”

“And time’s winding down.”

“Who told us about Pointer’s Gap?”

“What’s that got to do with—”

“Who, Bill?” The answer being obvious, Thatcher continued without pause. “Why did Croft drop that out-of-the-way place into the conversation? Like he just happened to think of it while explaining Driscoll’s lust for Norma Blanchard?”

“Which we already knew about.”

“Yes, but Croft didn’t know we knew. He made certain we did.”

“Bernie has been Gabe’s advocate. Why would he plant in our minds the notion that Gabe could have assaulted Norma?”

“He did more than that,” Thatcher said. “He beat us over the head with it. Makes me wonder why.”





Fifty-Seven



When Thatcher and Bill returned to the sheriff’s department, it was still a beehive of activity. As soon as Bill came through the door, a dozen written messages were handed to him. He scanned the notes, then delegated various tasks to his deputies and staff.

Scotty approached and said under his breath, “The governor himself called this time.”

“If he calls back, put him off. Tell him—”

“And the Texas Rangers are here.”

Bill snorted. “Well, that was to be expected. Actually, I’m glad to have them. How many?”

“Two.”

“Where are they?”

“Having a meal over at the café. Said they’d be back in thirty minutes.”

“How long ago was that?”

Scotty checked the wall clock. “Twenty-seven minutes ago.”

Bill turned to Thatcher. “Do you want to wait to confront Driscoll until we have more time?”

“Do you?”

By way of an answer, Bill said to Scotty, “When the Rangers come back, tell them we’re trying to squeeze a confession out of a prisoner, and ask them to cool their heels a while longer.”

“The governor?”

“Suggest he have a drink.” Bill pushed open the door leading into the cell block. Thatcher followed him and closed the door behind them.

Driscoll was fit to be tied. “Where is my lawyer? What the hell is going on out there? It sounds like a carnival. I’ve been yelling for someone to get in here, but I’ve been ignored.” Glaring at Thatcher, his voice went shrill. “And why is he still wearing a badge when he should be in here instead of me?”

In contrasting calmness, Bill said, “Because he’s not a murder suspect, Gabe.”

“I did not attack Norma. I would never have done that.”

“No, we don’t think you did. The patients on your rural route vouched for your whereabouts during the time frame when she was assaulted.”

“Then why am I still locked up?”

“Because you killed Mila. Didn’t you?”

“No.” He gave an obstinate shake of his head.

“Did you plan it with Norma, or did you act alone?”

“I did not kill my wife.”

Disregarding the denial, Bill said, “I think Mrs. Driscoll’s body was in the car with you when you went to Lefty’s. Eleanor Wise just missed you loading it because you had parked around back.”

Up till then, Thatcher had let Bill do all the talking. Now, he said, “I can’t figure the murder weapon.”

“Good point,” Gabe said tightly. “Sheriff, are you listening? What did you use, Hutton?”

Unfazed, Thatcher said, “No obvious weapon was found inside the house. Either you used something commonplace that wouldn’t be considered a weapon, or you took the weapon with you and tossed it somewhere along the way to Lefty’s, or you buried it with Mrs. Driscoll’s body at Pointer’s Gap.”