“Sounds like a plan.
Okay, you two… keep on it, run with it, and keep me apprised every step of the way.
Do you understand that? I'll talk to the twenty-second guys.”
After the perfunctory yes, sirs, bowing, and scraping, Lucas and Meredyth emerged. Meredyth was wearing a lime-green suit that made her look more youthful and beautiful than ever, he thought. “What is our next move?” Lucas asked.
“Randy's got something for us,” she said, “on the goblets.”
“Oh, yeah? What'd he find out?”
The goblets were returned to him.”
“Returned to him?” Lucas was amazed, nonplussed.
“Whoever gave him the goblets thought he was Detective Pardee. “He joked, “Who could possibly make such a mistake?”
“In any case, there were trace elements of sedatives, nothing particularly potent, but alongside the brandy, enough to induce sleep.
And fingerprints?
“Just as you predicted, wiped completely clean.”
“And the paperwork, the bill from the lab?”
She fetched it from her purse. “It's all yours. Do with it what you like.”
He grimaced.
“Don't be silly. I'm just teasing. Randy's already put it into the electronic maze. No one will ever know.”
“So, where do we go from here?” Stonecoat asked.
“I'm going to see Covey. I've already arranged it with him. He's anxious for company.”
He darkened his gaze. “I'll bet he is. You weren't going to go see him alone this morning, without me, were you?”
“He sounded real nice over the phone,” she said defensively.
“I'll bet he did.”
“Come on, Lucas. He's incarcerated.”
“Exactly where is he being held?”
'The new state pen at Hempstead. It's an hour's drive west.”
“Hempstead, really? I thought he'd be in Huntsville. Damn, I was planning to introduce you to my folks out at the res.”
“Huntsville's become too overcrowded. They opened a new state facility in Hempstead, much to the displeasure of the locals there.”
“You driving?”
“I know the way.”
“Let's go see Mr. Covey, then.”
“I got to thinking over what you said about Covey and Felipe, and it makes sense to see what we can shake loose from the man.”
“Damn it, you were planning to go see him without me, weren't you?”
“I wasn't going to wait around all morning for you, no.” She frowned and relented somewhat, adding, “Just where've you been, anyway? I telephoned your place this morning, but there was no answer.”
Apparently, he had slept through the ringing phone, or else she had called while he was out having his neck wounds cosmetically covered at the barber's. “Let's just say I was out…”
“Lucas, you wearing makeup? You don't have a secret life I don't know about, do you? What're those marks on your throat?” she asked.
“God, you can be so nosy.” He grimaced and swore again. He'd paid the barber well, but apparently it was for naught.
“I thought we were just getting to the point where we could be open and honest with one another, partner,” she complained.
“I'll tell you about it on the way to Hempstead.
“Deal”.
As they were about to leave, Sergeant Kelton stopped Stonecoat in his tracks. “We got some settling up to do, mister.”
“Sergeant,” began Dr. Sanger.
“Ma'am, this is between Officer Stonecoat and me, ma'am.”
“It's Doctor, Sergeant,” she countered, “and at the moment, Officer Stonecoat and I are working on special assignment for Captain Lawrence. If you've got a beef, take it up with Lawrence.”
He just stared at her, chewing on his next move. Then he stepped aside and watched them, his intent narrow eyes never leaving them as they disappeared out the door.
Damn it, thought Kelton, this means I gotta find someone else to hold the keys to the Cold Room today. I wonder if Lawrence has a clue to the workload that goes by the wayside when he does shit like this. I wonder if Commander Bryce has any idea what goes on. Wonder if I should call Bryce on such petty matters. Maybe he'd give it some thought over a cup of coffee.
But the coffee didn't help Kelton's disposition any. Soon after, he stalked off to see if he could shake anything loose from Captain Lawrence as to what gives with letting the Indian run in and out as freely as if he were a full-blown detective. Besides, he didn't like things going on in the precinct he knew nothing about.
For one, it wasn't fair-not if he was responsible for the duty logs.
Hempstead in Waller County was a picture-perfect, quiet little town with white picket fences, red mailboxes, lovely farms, schools and churches, not a one of which was in ill repair or need of painting. It was as if the town provided the paint. There were no overturned trash cans, discarded sofas, abandoned bikes, or a scrap of paper out of place, and this without a single warning sign about littering. The grass was greener, the sky bluer, the paint on the homes newer than any place Lucas Stonecoat had ever seen. There were no broken-down hovels, no ramshackle shacks, no ancient automobile relics or appliances on people's lawns or porches. It was as if those who'd dared these transgressions in the past were immediately run out of town. The main roads were narrow and the lines freshly painted.
Only the state penitentiary on the outskirts of town detracted from the Disney appearance of the place.
“You'd never know the place was once called Six-shooter Junction, would you?” she asked.
“No, but I've heard that it once was. That it was a wild and woolly place for decades after the Civil War.”
The rolling hills south of Hempstead were settled as early as 1821, but today only scattered historical markers, many hidden by time, told the story. In 1857 it became the terminus for the Houston amp; Texas Central Railroad, an early small-gauge train line that tooted across much of Waller County before expanding north to Bryan-College Station. During the Civil War, the railroad made Hempstead a major supply and troop depot for Confederate brigades, and at the cessation of hostilities, Confederate soldiers made their long walk home from Hempstead. Hempstead had also been the geographical turning point in Texas's war for independence from Mexico. Sam Houston's retreating forces camped and regrouped here from March 31 to April 14, 1836, before beginning their final aggressive march on San Jacinto and ultimate victory over Santa Ana and the Mexican army.
Hempstead had obviously awakened to its past, all the historical houses, buildings, and the old railroad station having been refurbished and freshly decked out, some now open to the public, some soon to be.
As they found Junction T-6 at US 290, they saw the old railroad hotel, the Hempstead Inn, originally built in 1901, now fully restored and open for business and serving lunch and dinner. The old place beckoned as they passed by.
The only blot on the entire area was the dull red-bricked, looming fortress and guard towers of the newly constructed penitentiary, which came into sight on the horizon after acres upon acres of fenced-in land that the state had bought up as a kind of buffer zone between Hempstead and its new neighbor.
It was to the gates of the medieval-looking yet modern brick facility that they drove. They were stopped at the guard station, where a display of their credentials got them waved through.
On the inside, they waited impatiently, anxiously for John “Jack” T. Covey, former Houston cop now serving time for abduction, lewd and lascivious acts with a minor, pornography, and child abuse. The man had been close to retirement, a life-crisis period for all cops, Meredyth told Lucas in a feeble attempt to explain his reckless lifestyle when he was apprehended. A good pension and clean record, all lost, everything having blown up in his face due to his sexual addiction and proclivities, or so it went. Lucas wasn't so sure that justice had been served in the case, finding Covey's partner's death, atop all else, rather a strange coincidence, both men conveniently out of the way, perhaps so that someone, somewhere could sleep better at night.