in.
‘Dispatch here, John Q. We got someone on the line wants to talk to you.’
‘Yeah?’ he said. ‘Who is it?’
‘He says his name is Bowen and he’s calling from Fannin County.’
Quarrie waited for the operator to put the call through with his knee resting against the lip of the desk.
‘Sir, I’m sorry to bother you.’ The voice sounded a little emotional. ‘My name’s Isaac Bowen. My dad was Icarus Bowen, though everybody called him Ike.’ He broke off for a moment then he said. ‘The deputy from Fannin County told me it was you that found his body.’
‘That’s right,’ Quarrie said. ‘I was passing when your father’s gardener called the sheriff. It’s their deal though; you need to be speaking to them.’
‘Yes sir, I know that and I have done. The thing of it is DeputyCollins said you told him my daddy was murdered but they think he killed himself.’
Back at the ranch Quarrie found Pious working on one of the trucks. ‘Bud,’ he said, ‘does Mrs Feeley have any plans right now for the plane?’
Standing tall Pious wiped his hands on a rag and glanced from the barn to the hangar up on the plateau where the ranch house was built. ‘Not that she told me.’
‘I need for you to fly me to Fannin County. You figure you could do that? Department’s paying for the gas.’
‘Sure.’ Pious jerked a thumb at the truck. ‘I’d rather be flying that plane than working on this piece of shit. Just give me a minute to make the checks.’
Thirty minutes later they were in the cockpit of a ’63 Piper Cherokee – a model that had been brought out to compete with the Cessna. A two hundred and thirty-five horsepower unit with a pair of tip tanks holding seventeen gallons a piece. Pious said they did that to enhance the load capacity, and along with the existing tanks that made a total of eighty-four gallons. Quarrie wasn’t up on the pay load or any kind of avionics, but when they were kids Pious had been able to fix just about any ailment on any engine that was placed in front of him. A couple of years after he started working the ranch, Pick Feeley had been so impressed he paid for him to get his pilot’s license.
Seated at the controls Pious glanced across the cockpit, a pair of mirror-lens Ray-Bans pressed high on the bridge of his nose.
‘So,’ he said, ‘tell me if I got this right. The sheriff is saying suicide and you reckon homicide. Is that about how it is?’
Quarrie nodded.
‘You sure he’s wrong and you’re right? I mean, I know how you like to think you ain’t ever been wrong, but I’ve known you twenty-two years, John Q, and you been wrong a bunch.’
‘Pious, do I tell you how to fix this plane?’
‘Nope.’
‘Do I tell you how to take off or land?’
‘Wouldn’t pay you any mind if you did.’
‘So, I’ve seen enough gunshot wounds to know when it’s a suicide and when it ain’t, and people don’t shoot themselves with a gun held two inches away from their head.’
Pious eased the sunglasses a little lower. ‘And that’s how it was with this guy?’
‘That’s how it was with this guy.’ Quarrie stared through the spinning prop. ‘Somebody took a twenty-two automatic from his gun cabinet and stood alongside him as he sat at his desk. After he was dead they sat him a little more upright and put the gun in his hand. I know that not just from the powder burns but the way blood settled after he was dead.’
Pious put the plane down a few miles south of the lake. On the phone Isaac had told Quarrie that a farmer named Palmer had an alfalfa field that had been sheared right back to the dirt. Quarrie knew Pious could land on that and he settled the Piper on its wheels before rolling to a stop just ahead of a ragged-looking barn where most of the paint was peeled off.
Quarrie got down and Pious got down and they could see Isaac Bowen in dress uniform leaning on the fence next to an old boy in a pair of denim overalls. Quarrie wore a Carhartt
‘Dispatch here, John Q. We got someone on the line wants to talk to you.’
‘Yeah?’ he said. ‘Who is it?’
‘He says his name is Bowen and he’s calling from Fannin County.’
Quarrie waited for the operator to put the call through with his knee resting against the lip of the desk.
‘Sir, I’m sorry to bother you.’ The voice sounded a little emotional. ‘My name’s Isaac Bowen. My dad was Icarus Bowen, though everybody called him Ike.’ He broke off for a moment then he said. ‘The deputy from Fannin County told me it was you that found his body.’
‘That’s right,’ Quarrie said. ‘I was passing when your father’s gardener called the sheriff. It’s their deal though; you need to be speaking to them.’
‘Yes sir, I know that and I have done. The thing of it is DeputyCollins said you told him my daddy was murdered but they think he killed himself.’
Back at the ranch Quarrie found Pious working on one of the trucks. ‘Bud,’ he said, ‘does Mrs Feeley have any plans right now for the plane?’
Standing tall Pious wiped his hands on a rag and glanced from the barn to the hangar up on the plateau where the ranch house was built. ‘Not that she told me.’
‘I need for you to fly me to Fannin County. You figure you could do that? Department’s paying for the gas.’
‘Sure.’ Pious jerked a thumb at the truck. ‘I’d rather be flying that plane than working on this piece of shit. Just give me a minute to make the checks.’
Thirty minutes later they were in the cockpit of a ’63 Piper Cherokee – a model that had been brought out to compete with the Cessna. A two hundred and thirty-five horsepower unit with a pair of tip tanks holding seventeen gallons a piece. Pious said they did that to enhance the load capacity, and along with the existing tanks that made a total of eighty-four gallons. Quarrie wasn’t up on the pay load or any kind of avionics, but when they were kids Pious had been able to fix just about any ailment on any engine that was placed in front of him. A couple of years after he started working the ranch, Pick Feeley had been so impressed he paid for him to get his pilot’s license.
Seated at the controls Pious glanced across the cockpit, a pair of mirror-lens Ray-Bans pressed high on the bridge of his nose.
‘So,’ he said, ‘tell me if I got this right. The sheriff is saying suicide and you reckon homicide. Is that about how it is?’
Quarrie nodded.
‘You sure he’s wrong and you’re right? I mean, I know how you like to think you ain’t ever been wrong, but I’ve known you twenty-two years, John Q, and you been wrong a bunch.’
‘Pious, do I tell you how to fix this plane?’
‘Nope.’
‘Do I tell you how to take off or land?’
‘Wouldn’t pay you any mind if you did.’
‘So, I’ve seen enough gunshot wounds to know when it’s a suicide and when it ain’t, and people don’t shoot themselves with a gun held two inches away from their head.’
Pious eased the sunglasses a little lower. ‘And that’s how it was with this guy?’
‘That’s how it was with this guy.’ Quarrie stared through the spinning prop. ‘Somebody took a twenty-two automatic from his gun cabinet and stood alongside him as he sat at his desk. After he was dead they sat him a little more upright and put the gun in his hand. I know that not just from the powder burns but the way blood settled after he was dead.’
Pious put the plane down a few miles south of the lake. On the phone Isaac had told Quarrie that a farmer named Palmer had an alfalfa field that had been sheared right back to the dirt. Quarrie knew Pious could land on that and he settled the Piper on its wheels before rolling to a stop just ahead of a ragged-looking barn where most of the paint was peeled off.
Quarrie got down and Pious got down and they could see Isaac Bowen in dress uniform leaning on the fence next to an old boy in a pair of denim overalls. Quarrie wore a Carhartt
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