The Territory A Novel - By Tricia Fields Page 0,36

the eye. The tattooist obviously thought it a bad idea.

She rubbed at the words, turning her wrist an ugly red, and wondered if Brock had killed Red Goff. It was eight o’clock in the morning, she had just gotten home off third shift, but her mind was restless. It bothered her about the bullet through Red’s forehead. It was true what she had told the cop. Brock had been strictly knives, but he told her once that if he ever used a gun, it would be straight through the forehead. No jacking around with the heart. Too much room for error. His theory was, if you got rid of the brain, you got rid of the witness.

These were her thoughts Tuesday morning after work, sipping her breakfast, tequila hot and straight, thinking about her next move. Artemis obviously was not the end of the line for her. Every day left her skin itching like she wanted to crawl out of it; she felt like a snake must feel before it sheds. Living in a rat-hole trailer in the middle of the desert, a dead body on her couch, her brother who knows where. How much worse could it get? she wondered. Kenny had been the one constant in a life spent moving.

Then, like a mirage, a body appeared, stirring up the dust, not from the road but from the open desert behind Red’s place. A dark figure growing taller with each step. She knew immediately it was Kenny. He had a lanky way of moving. His outline against the sky sloped on one side, and she could tell he carried a duffel bag on one shoulder. He stopped at one point, maybe half a mile from her, and she figured he had spotted her sitting at the table. She smiled but stayed still.

He finally closed the distance, smooth and quiet, and stood smiling before her. “Hey, sis.”

Pegasus stood and wrapped her brother in a long hug and realized how terribly lonely she had grown since moving to the desert.

* * *

Chief Gray arrived downtown a little before eight Wednesday morning and drove her jeep around the courthouse toward the Artemis Police Department. She was about to pull into her reserved space when she noticed an unfamiliar car in front of Manny’s, a six-room motel half a block away from the police station. The car was a low-slung Buick. A pair of fuzzy purple dice and half a dozen Mardis Gras beads hung from the rearview mirror. Josie’s stomach lurched. She parked and walked down the block toward the front end of the car. The dashboard was filled with fast-food wrappers, and a deck of tarot cards lay on the front seat. There was little doubt whom the car belonged to. She walked to the back of the car and found Indiana license plates and a bumper sticker with big red lips shaped as if ready for a kiss. The caption read, GO AHEAD—MAKE MY DAY.

Once she was back at her desk, Josie ran the plate number and found the car was registered to Beverly Gray, DOB 9/9/1956, green eyes, auburn hair, five feet four inches, 120 pounds. Josie kicked the metal trash can across the room, and papers went flying. She stood from her desk and saw Lou Hagerty standing at the office door.

“That what they call pitching a fit?” Lou asked.

“What do you need, Lou?” Josie asked, failing to keep the irritation out of her voice.

“Sheriff called. Said he’s got a match on your Trauma Center shooter.”

* * *

The Arroyo County Jail was located east of town, just a few miles from Highway 67 in a five-year-old complex with ten holding cells and twenty beds. When Macon Drench founded Artemis, his intention had been to keep jails out of his city. He envisioned a town ruled by vigilante justice: a place where the people of Artemis took care of their own, where crime was not allowed. It was a lofty idea that didn’t work. After the courthouse was built, three cells were installed in the basement, but the escalating violence along the border had made a secure and updated facility a necessity. After 9/11, money from Homeland Security was used to outfit a first-rate jail that Sheriff Martínez ran with great care, and only half the manpower he needed.

Constructed of brick and concrete block, the jail opened into a secure lobby with a visitation room and conference room for law officers through a locked door to the left, as