Marlin agreed that he didn’t-but, thinking it through, he wasn’t sure it meant anything. Some people have strange saving habits, tucking cash away in a Mason jar or, literally, under the mattress. He’d heard about one little old lady in Blanco who lived as if she were one step above the poorhouse. Then the lady died and the heirs discovered she had been a millionaire, hiding huge sums of cash in coffee cans in her attic.
“Did Bert ever say anything about the money-like where he got it? I mean, you’re all sitting around, drinking a few cold ones, somebody’s bound to ask, right?”
Joe nodded his head vigorously. “Damn right, we asked, but he was all tight-lipped about it. One time, he said he made it on one of those dot-com companies, but he wouldn’t never name which one. None of us believed him. Shoot, Bert didn’t know nothing about no stock that wasn’t runnin’ around on four legs.”
Marlin sat in silence for moment, pondering this new information. Joe tipped his beer can and sucked out the last few drops. “Think that’ll help you any?” he asked.
Marlin had no idea. “I don’t know, Joe. I really don’t know.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Marlin headed back to Johnson City, his dashboard clock telling him it was nearly four A.M. Driving through the cool night air, his window down, Marlin contemplated what Joe Biggs had told him.
Okay, so Bert Gammel had been throwing a lot of money around. Big deal. Didn’t necessarily have anything to do with the murder. And if it did, it didn’t rule out Jack Corey. Hell, it might implicate him even more. Corey was already at odds with Gammel. The cash could have pushed him over the edge. On the other hand, if Corey had been after the money, why would he ambush Gammel out at the deer lease? Didn’t make a lot of sense. In fact, why even murder him? It seemed only natural that Corey would have tried breaking into Gammel’s house to find the cash.
Another strange thing: Wylie hadn’t said anything about Gammel’s surplus of cash-or if he had, word hadn’t reached Marlin. The likely answer was that Wylie had been so focused on investigating Corey, he hadn’t done much digging into Gammel’s affairs. Wylie had seemed convinced of Corey’s guilt from the beginning, so he probably hadn’t questioned enough people in Gammel’s circles. The spotlight had been on Corey right from the beginning-because of Lester Higgs’s account of the troubles between Corey and Gammel. Something like that could easily send an overzealous detective off in the wrong direction.
The long and short of it: Marlin wanted to talk to Garza about Joe’s story. Maybe Garza and the deputies already knew about the cash and had followed that trail to a logical conclusion. There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation. Marlin was wide-awake now, so he figured he might as well swing by the sheriff’s office and see what was going on. Maybe Corey had come to his senses by now. Or he could have fallen asleep, allowing Wylie to sneak out. This thing couldn’t go on forever.
Marlin tuned his stereo to an all-news AM station out of Austin.
“… at a press conference earlier this evening outside the sheriff’s office. Blanco County sheriff Bobby Garza cautioned local citizens not to expect a quick resolution to the standoff.”
Marlin recognized Garza’s voice:
“We’re doing everything we can to ensure the safety of the officer involved, but the truth is, this could take some time. It’s a delicate situation and we intend to handle it with the greatest of care.”
The reporter continued:
“At this point, the man involved in the standoff has been identified as Jack Albert Corey, a resident of Johnson City arrested yesterday evening for assaulting the very officer now held hostage. Stay tuned to KNOW for further updates.”
Marlin found Sheriff Bobby Garza sitting in his patrol car, eyes closed, a cup of steaming coffee perched on the dashboard.
Marlin looked through the passenger-side window. “Wake up, cowboy.”
Garza swiveled his head Marlin’s way. “Wake up, my ass. I’ve got a headache that would floor a mule.”
“And eyes like two pissholes in a snowbank.” Marlin said. “You know, I hear four out of five doctors recommend Excedrin for hostage situations.” He climbed inside and nodded toward the squat building forty yards away. “What’s the latest?”
Garza shook his head and took a sip of coffee. “Corey told Darrell to get the hell out about an hour ago.” Darrell Bridges was the dispatcher who had remained inside the sheriff’s office. “That was fine with me,” Garza said, “because by then I had a couple of the phone guys tapping into the lines from outside. So now we can take calls without interrupting nine-one-one service. And we don’t really need the radio at this point. We can still talk car to car.”
“So Corey has the run of the entire office now?”
“Yep, and he’s covered up all the windows so we can’t see inside. Pretty smart move, really. But at least he’s talking to us now.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve got Tatum acting as negotiator. He’s doing a pretty fair job. Taking things one step at a time.” Bill Tatum was one of the deputies-a man Marlin liked and respected. Hopefully, Jack Corey felt the same way. “Corey damn sure isn’t talkin’ about coming out yet, though. All Tatum’s managed to do is twist his arm a little. Corey wants some food in there but we’re refusing it until he gives us something in return.”
“Like what?”
“Well, we know he ain’t gonna give up Wylie, so I asked him for Wylie’s gun belt. I want to take away that extra ammo. Later on, he’ll want something else, and I’ll ask for a bullet out of the gun. You just keep picking away at what they’ve got. I’ve read that sometimes you can get them down to just a bullet or two that way.”
Marlin grinned. “Pretty smart. But why is Tatum negotiating instead of you?”
“For starters, he’s taken a couple of courses on hostage situations. I’ve only taken one. Never thought I’d need it. I mean, how often do we come up against something like this? Shit like this just doesn’t happen out here. It’d be like asking the folks in Kansas to have emergency plans for a hurricane.
“And the other thing; one of the few things I do know-the top cop is never supposed to be the negotiator. Otherwise, Corey would expect immediate answers to his demands. He’d be like, ‘Why can’t you do this for me? You’re the sheriff.’ This way, Tatum can string things along, tell Corey he needs to check with me and get back to him.”
“Not to be ignorant, but what does that accomplish?” Garza stopped for a moment to listen to some radio traffic. One of the deputies at the door wanted a bathroom break.
“You’re supposed to drag these things out as long as you can,” he said. “Supposedly, the longer it lasts, the less chance there is of someone getting hurt. The perp is supposed to come to his senses, so they tell you to stall all you can. Unless someone’s in immediate danger. Then all bets are off.”
The men sat in silence for a moment, and Marlin noticed the scene was eerily quiet. It was amazing, really. The better part of the Blanco County Sheriff’s Department was figuratively handcuffed, held at bay by the whims of the hapless redneck inside.
Marlin spoke up: “What about the DNA test? Can’t the lab speed it up, let us know if Corey’s a match or not?”
“You’d think so, but I guess they got cops all over the state asking for rush jobs. That’s just business as usual. They told me six days.”
Marlin sighed in frustration. “But, Christ, we’ve got a real situation here.”
“You don’t have to tell me. Oh, speaking of test results, did you hear? The blood all over Emmett Slaton’s house wasn’t human.”
Marlin had forgotten-for the last few hours anyway-about the disappearance of the old rancher. “Then what the hell was it?”