"Capron, Bill - Color Blind Detective - Dead White Wulff" - читать интересную книгу автора (Capron Bill)

I could hear clothes being pulled on. "I'm going right now, Diane. I'll learn about the death tomorrow morning, and I'll be on an airplane back by noon. Kiss me good-bye?"

There was a smacking, then she asked, "Was it worth it, Jack?"

I could hear hatred in his voice, "Of course it was worth it. What were you going to do, go on making love to that old fart until he died. Anyway, we're rich, and the devil is dead." Another smack of lips, then he said, "No, Diane, I have to go now. Noooooo ... Okay."

Twenty minutes later he was out the door. A good-looking man of thirty or so, tall, lean, dark hair, large nose, but it matched a wide mouth. She wasn't more than ten minutes behind him. She locked the door behind her.

I waited ten minutes, just in case either of them forgot something and returned. I pushed open an unlocked window and entered the one room cabin. I turned on the light. In the center was a pot-bellied stove, still warm. The bed was against the windowless north wall, it still smelled of sex. There was a small dinette table in an efficient kitchen area. I opened the door to a fairly modern bathroom set on the northwest corner of the structure. The southwest corner, behind the picture window overlooking Merwyn Reservoir where the Lewis River entered it, was an elaborate fly tying table. In the vise was an incomplete, totally unusable, royal wulff. On the wall was a foam bar about three feet long with more royal wulff's, each with a date beneath it, each a little worse than the one before. Dan Cobin was using the wulffs to track the progress of his disease, to make real his failing functions. The fly from three months earlier had been removed from the foam. I knew where it was now. In a drawer was a Smith & Wessen .38, and the smell of cordite.

There was a picture of his new wife, Diane, pinned to the wall, and just below it a picture of the dead man with a pretty woman, both about forty at the time. A young boy stood between them, a young boy who believed fly fishermen catch the best women.
* * * *
I started the long ride home. As soon as I got into cellphone range, I called my fishing friend again. I had some more questions, and he knew the answers. Cobin hadn't talked with his son in ten years, or, more likely it was the other way around. They just never got along, and Cobin wasn't such an easy guy to get along with anyway, unfriendly, irascible, any word you wanted to describe it. But father and son parted on more than a general disagreement. Seems the boy, Jack, saw the light, environmentally that is. He was against cutting trees, his father made his fortune from it. He was against hunting and guns, his father, when he couldn't use a rod, used a rifle. About all they shared was a love for fishing. So, for about a year they fought, then Jack joined Earth First and the old man blew up. They hadn't talked since. Though my friend had known Cobin forty years, he didn't know about the cabin. My guess was no one else did either.

After I hung up, I dialed Windy Jackson's number. She picked up on the fourth ring, sleep clogged her voice. I told her it was me, and she asked why I was calling, not without some irritability of her own.

I said, "Look Windy, tomorrow you're going to find out that Cobin's son is flying in." She made a comment, and I answered, "I don't know where from. He's going to fly in and meet with your sergeant. When he leaves, you're going to follow him, on your own. Don't tell Willis, just take off. Call me on my cellphone." I read her my number. "I'll find a way to intercept you."

"Why should I do that?" she asked.

"Because you trust me," I heard a sharp intake of breath, "and because I don't want that ass Willis getting the collar."

"That's not right," she argued.

"Windy, I'm looking for justice, and you're just going to have to take it on my terms." I hung up.

I picked up the phone and said hello.

"Hi, it's me, Windy. The son got in at noon, and spent an hour with Willis, then the wife picked him up outside the station. I've been behind them ever since, and from here they seem a bit chummy. We're heading north on five. I'm at the fairgrounds."

"Chummy, Officer Jackson? What would they be doing if they were friendly?"

"You don't want to know," was all she said.

"I'm parked at the AM/PM in Woodland just right after the exit. She'll be getting off there. I'll be standing by the road. Just slow down. If she doesn't get off, call me again."

She pulled over in a little dark gray Miata and I shoe horned myself into the front seat. "You must only date short guys," I said.

She chuckled, "I usually let them drive. It's less intimidating."

"You don't seem to intimidate so easily."

An outright laugh, "I meant them, less intimidating to them."

I commented, "Doesn't look like she's taking him home." She gave me a confused look. "Home was the right turn, but we're going straight to the cabin."

"What cabin?"

So I caught her up-to-date as she kept Diane's SUV in sight. Her face made plain her feelings, and I could tell she wasn't all that grateful.