Dad`s death, the ex-deputy was curled up in a deer blind in Blanco, shot between the eyes. Inconvenient.
The last thing in Carlon's files was a photo of my father's body covered with a blanket, his hand sticking out the side like it was reaching for a beer, while a grimfaced deputy held up his hand to block the camera, a little too slow.
I resealed the envelope. Then I stared at the neon beer signs over the bar until I realized Carlon was talking
to me.
" - this personal vengeance theory," he was saying, "just some ex-con with a score to settle. That's bullshit. Christ, if Halcomb was acting alone, how come he turned up with a bullet between his eyes once the Feds start looking for him?"
I ate a piece of cheesecake. Suddenly it tasted like lead.
"You've been doing your homework, McAffrey. You stay up last night reading these?"
Carlon shrugged. "I'm just saying. There had to be a cover-up here."
"Maybe that's the journalist in you talking."
"My ass. Your dad was murdered and nobody ever did time for it. Not even a fucking trial. I'm just trying to help."
Years of good living had softened Carlon's face a little, but you could still see the hard edge in his smile. His eyes were cold and blue. There was energy there, self-confidence, a harsh kind of humor. Nothing that might pass for compassion. He was still the same college kid who pushed cows down hills for fun and laughed shamelessly at racial jokes and broken limbs. He came through for his friends. He probably meant what he said about helping. But if you couldn't use it for fun or profit it meant very little to Carlon McAffrey.
"Halcomb had his own motive," I reminded him.
"Assuming he's the one who did the shooting, he wouldn't have needed anyone pulling his strings."
Carlon shook his head. "My money's on the mob. My sources at the SAPD tell me I'm right."
"I heard that from the SAPD too. Doesn't exactly inspire my confidence?
"Your dad died right after he brought Guy White in for trafficking, Tres. Don't tell me that was coincidence."
"Why should the mob target a retiring sheriff? That would be pointless. The charges against White had already been thrown out."
Carlon wiped a piece of sauerkraut off his cheek. He was looking over my shoulder now, toward the booths on the east wall of the restaurant.
"Good question," he said. "Go ask him."
"Who?"
Carlon pointed with the bottom of his beer bottle.
"Guy White, man."
The booth Carlon was pointing at had two men in it. The one with his back toward me was a skinny, middle-aged Anglo whose mother dressed him funny. His slacks rode up at the ankles, his beige suit coat was too big around the shoulders, and his thinning brown hair was uncombed. He had finished his meal and was now tapping a quarter slice of pickle absently on his plate.
The man sitting across from him was much older, much more carefully dressed. I'd never seen Guy White in person, but if this was him the only thing white about him was the name. His skin was carefully bronzed, his suit light blue, his hair and eyes as rich and dark as mole sauce. He had to be the best - looking man over sixty I'd ever seen. Mr. White was about halfway through with a club sandwich and appeared to be in no hurry to finish the rest. He was chatting with the waitress, smiling a Colgate smile at her, gesturing every so often toward his associate across the table. The waitress laughed politely.
Mr. White's poorly dressed friend did not.
"He comes in here twice a week to be seen," Carlon told me. "Clean-nosed celebrity these days--bailed the symphony out of bankruptcy, goes to the Alamodome for all the games, supports the arts, gets his picture taken with Manuel Flores at charity garden shows. Gone downright respectable. If something new came up in your dad's case, something that screwed White's public image to hell, that'd make a nice story."
I shook my head. "You expect me to walk over there right now and confront him?"
"Where's that old college try? The Tres Navarre I knew would go up to an ROTC captain during live ammunition practice and tell him his girlfriend - "
"This is a little different, Carlon."
"You want me to do it?"
He started to get up. I pushed on his shoulder just enough to sit him back down on his stool.
"What then?" Carlon said. "You asked me for the files. You