Texas Outlaw (Rory Yates #2) - James Patterson Page 0,47

small metal platform that runs around the edges of the structure. It’s about eight feet from corner to corner but the path around is only a few feet wide. A metal mesh railing runs around the outside, giving me some minor sense of safety, but in the center of the derrick the platform is wide open, a straight drop to the ground, where the drilling machinery would go if they were using the derrick to bore into the earth.

I feel unsteady on my feet. Eighty feet might not seem that high from the ground, but once I’m up here, the whole world looks different. I can see for what seems like miles: the ranch house, the tank yard, and fields and fields of pump jacks. Everything looks small, like someone built miniature replicas for a model train display.

Standing this high, looking around, I get a strange feeling. I don’t think McCormack built this scaffolding for decoration. Nor do I think they put it up so Gareth could have the ultimate tree stand, as Harris described it.

I get the odd feeling they erected it for security. From here, a sharpshooter like Gareth would have a clear shot along a huge stretch of fence line. The ranch house is probably around a thousand yards away, which I’ve seen for myself is well within Gareth’s range. The tank yard is farther away, probably two thousand yards, but someone like Gareth could conceivably make a shot from that distance.

And the tower is located along the ribbon of vegetation that runs clear through McCormack’s property, making it accessible. Or escapable.

The question is why they might have fortified their property. Has Gareth really positioned the tower according to his military-trained brain? Or is there a verified threat?

Oil is valuable, but it’s not a commodity that thieves can easily steal.

I visually retrace the road that Ariana and I drove in on yesterday. If Gareth had been here instead of on the range, he could have easily put us in his crosshairs. He could have put a bullet through my brain before I even heard the shot.

From this vantage point, I look over the crime scene. I grab binoculars from an outside pocket of my evidence kit, and through them, I clearly see the body of Skip Barnes, as well as Ariana and Harris searching the scene for evidence.

I’m anxious to climb down from the unshaded metal emitting heat like a cast-iron radiator. But I kneel and then lie prone, as a sniper would, on top of the hot platform. Whoever it was—Gareth or maybe one of his men—would have been hidden mostly from view by the metal mesh railing.

That’s where something else catches my eye. A long strand of dark hair hangs from the metal mesh, as if it became snagged when someone was in this very position.

I rise to my knees and take out another evidence bag, then insert the hair inside. I hold it up in the light, looking at the strand, now curled inside the plastic.

The strand looks like the long hair Gareth McCormack keeps tied back in a ponytail.

Chapter 52

IT’S AFTER DARK when I pull up in front of Tom and Jessica’s house. The light in the garage is on, and I see Tom tinkering with his Mustang.

“You okay?” I say as I approach.

He nods, but he looks upset. Tom picks up an open can of Texas Lager from the workbench and offers me a fresh one. The radio is tuned to a classic country station, and an old Ronnie Milsap song is playing.

“Get your article sent off to the Associated Press?” I ask, cracking my beer.

He nods again, leans against the fender. His hands are dirty with car grease.

“I don’t know how you get used to it,” he says. “I feel like I’ve had a heck of a long day, but I only had to write about it. You have to figure out who did it.”

“It’s not an easy job,” I say, “but someone’s got to do it. Just like your job.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll admit to having had my share of conflicts with the press, but people need to be informed.”

Jessica comes out in a nightgown and puts an arm around Tom. “You ready to come in?” she says.

He finishes the last of his beer and pulls down the garage door. The lawn chairs from the other night are still sitting out, and I tell them I’m going to relax for a few minutes and finish