Chapter 14 #3
Ray Gene gave a tight chuckle. “Should I get a lawyer or something?”
“That’s entirely up to you,” Cutter said.
Sergeant McAllen moved closer to Ray Gene, staring daggers at Cutter. They called her Ma for a reason. Bryant was her officer.
Sue Bryant, who’d been leaning against the fender of her husband’s truck, stood up and glared at Cutter like she wanted to carve out his liver. Even the dog looked at him with a jaundiced eye.
“My husband stopped to help,” Sue said. “He probably saved that wounded guard’s life.
Are you suggesting he was involved in the robbery?
You think he had something to do with gunning down those poor men?
That is some unadulterated horseshit and you know it!
You feckless son of a bitch! Get your ass off my—”
Ray Gene put an arm around his wife. “It’s okay, sweetie. Wayne’s just doing his job. I’d be asking the same questions if I was in his shoes.”
Cutter took off his hat. “Sue,” he said.
“I am sorry if I gave you the impression that I think Ray Gene is guilty of anything other than being a good cop. I tend to get mission-focused during a manhunt, which means I sometimes stomp over people’s feelings without thinking.
My wife is always warning me to be more careful. ”
Sue Bryant sniffed, still fuming. “Okay, then,” she said.
“Whoever it was broke into your house,” Cutter said, “they covered their faces and eventually ran. That suggests to me you’re not all working together. Why do you think they chose to come here?”
“They were looking for something,” Ray Gene said.
Sue laughed out loud at that. “A couple of those diamonds would sure replace our Colorado money.”
“Don’t even joke,” Ray Gene said.
“Where was Foster when you rolled up on the crime scene?” Cutter asked. “I mean, where was he exactly in relation to the truck?”
“He’d crawled into the grass, maybe ten feet from the passenger door,” Ray Gene said. “Hiding.”
“Tell me one more time what he said to you.”
“You mean did he mention any diamonds?” Ray Gene said. “Nope. It was all moaning and crying. He’d taken a bad hit from a shotgun. Lost a lot of blood by the time I got there. Frankly I’m surprised he made it to the hospital.”
“But you did talk to him?”
“The other two were obviously dead,” Bryant said. “It was an easy decision to focus on stopping Foster’s bleeding.”
“Any words?” Cutter said. “Along with the moaning and crying, I mean.”
“Cursing,” Ray Gene said. “A shit ton of cursing.”
“Understandable.” Cutter took the aluminum clipboard from Johnson and flipped to Bryant’s report.
“The driver … Curtis Watts … stopped and then opened his door without being under direct threat—at which point they executed him as he sat behind the wheel. Then Foster bailed out on the passenger side and got a shot off with his shotgun before they got him.”
“Hard to say what order it all went down,” Ray Gene said. “But that’s the way it looked to me.”
“Me too,” Cutter said. “And it matches what Foster’s telling us from his hospital bed, but you were first eyes on the scene, so I wanted to get your take on the matter.”
“Of course.”
“You the one who found the lockpicks on Goddard? The guard in the back.”
“I am,” Ray Gene said. “Found them when I checked for a pulse—though that was clearly a useless endeavor.” He shook his head, as if trying to clear away the image.
“Anyway, most of the tools were in what was left of his shirt pocket, but some of the shims were on the floor of the truck beside him. I don’t know if he had them out, or if they fell out after the shotgun damage. ”
Cutter turned the clipboard around and showed Ray Gene one of the sixty-five crime scene photos taken by Deputy Garza. “These the picks you mean?”
“Those are the ones,” Bryant said.
“See how this one is bent?” Cutter traced the image with the tip of a calloused index finger. “That’s a tension wrench. The one there by Goddard’s elbow is called a rake. Those are the two things he’d have needed to pick that strongbox.”
“If you say so,” Ray Gene said. “You think Goddard opened it.”
“Foster said Goddard was studying to be a locksmith. It is puzzling, though.” Cutter looked him in the eye for a long moment.
“Anyway, how about we go check out those tracks by your windmill? Johnson, you mind grabbing the Polaroid out of my El Camino?” He turned to Bryant while they waited for the kid to get the camera.
“Let me ask you something. Do you think Foster might have been involved? Your gut.”
“Good Lord above!” Sue Bryant fumed. “The man took a shotgun blast to the neck! By your logic, he’s gotta be guilty of something because he survived? No wonder your wife says you should watch yourself, Wayne. What the hell’s the matter with you?”
Cutter ignored the jibe, locked in on Ray Gene’s face, waiting for an answer to his question.
“I suppose he could be,” the city officer said. “I didn’t get that impression, though.”
“Alright then.” Cutter gestured to the rear of the house with an open hand. “Let’s go see what the tracks have to tell us.”