Part 14 (1/2)
”They never are,” Louisa said.
”Let's see,” Leaphorn said. ”Six sections at six hundred forty acres per section would be almost four thousand acres. With dry country grazing land close to worthless, I doubt if the price would matter to Denton.”
Louisa laughed. ”Not for raising cattle anyway. The BLM was calculating you could graze eight units per square mile on it. I guess that's eight cows per section.”
”Cow plus its calf,” Leaphorn said.
”So I guess that you guess that Mr. Denton isn't buying it for grazing calves. He thinks he can find the old Golden Calf gold mine up there. Am I right about that?”
”Almost,” Leaphorn said. ”I think he found the Golden Calf a long time ago.”
”Did something you found out today tell you that? Come on home and tell me about it.”
”I will,” Leaphorn said. ”But now I've got to go see Wiley Denton and let him know I'm calling off any sort of arrangement he thinks we might have.”
Louisa took a moment to think about this.
”Joe,” she said. ”I think you should be very careful with this Denton. Don't you think he must be kind of crazy?”
”I have been thinking that for quite a while,” Leaphorn said.
25.
Leaphorn's next call was to Wiley Denton's unlisted number. Mrs. Mendoza answered. Yes, Mr. Denton was now home.
”You finding anything useful?” Denton asked. ”And how about giving me some sort of idea how much you're charging me?”
”I'll be out to your place in about thirty minutes,” Leaphorn said. ”I have something I want to show you.”
”Well, how much are you going to charge me?”
”Absolutely nothing,” Leaphorn said, and hung up.
George Billie was standing by the garage door as Leaphorn stopped at the entry gate. The entry gate slid open, smooth and silent.
”He said to bring you right in,” Billie said after Leaphorn parked his car. Billie held the door open and led Leaphorn down the long carpeted hallway to the office. Denton was sitting behind his desk, staring at Leaphorn, his expression blank.
”I guess we're even on the 'hanging up the telephone on one another' business,” Denton said. ”But at least you didn't call me a son of a b.i.t.c.h.”
”No,” Leaphorn said. ”But I'm going to call you a liar.”
Denton's only reaction to that was to continue the stare and, finally, to scratch his ear.
”Maybe I'll make that a d.a.m.ned liar,” Leaphorn said.
”I guess I've done a little of that,” Denton said. ”This oil-leasing business sometimes requires it. But now you're going to tell me what you found. And how badly you're going to rip me off when you bill me for your services.”
”I found this,” Leaphorn said. He took the envelope from his s.h.i.+rt pocket, extracted the lens, held it out toward Denton on his finger.
Denton stared at it, frowned. Said, ”What is-” Then he leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, his face a mask of tense muscles. ”A lens,” he said. ”Is that from Linda's gla.s.ses?”
”I don't know,” Leaphorn said, and held it out. ”Do you think it is?”
Denton let out a long-held breath, opened his eyes, leaned forward, and held out his hand. Leaphorn put the lens on his palm. Denton picked it up with finger and thumb, very gently, studied it, held it up to the light, and looked through it for a long moment. Then he laid it carefully on the desk blotter.
”She had beautiful eyes,” he said. ”Blue as the sky. Most beautiful eyes I ever saw.”
Leaphorn said nothing. Denton's own eyes were watering, and then he was crying. He didn't wipe the tears away. No more tension in his face now, but he looked terribly old.
”Where'd you find her?” he asked.
”I didn't find her,” Leaphorn said. ”I found the lens under the front seat of the car McKay was driving the day you killed him.”
”Just that?”
”That's all, and a few long blonde hairs caught in the pa.s.senger-side front-seat headrest. Peggy McKay has black hair.”
”That b.a.s.t.a.r.d,” Denton said. ”That sick son of a b.i.t.c.h.” He rubbed the back of his hand across his face, got up, and walked to the window. He looked out for a moment, then back at Leaphorn. ”She had her hair fixed real pretty when she left that morning for that lunch party she was going to. Or said she was going to.”
”And she was wearing her gla.s.ses?”
”She always did,” Denton said, returning his gaze out the window. ”I wanted to get her fitted with some of those contact lenses you wear right on your eyes, but she said she never could read well with them on. And she was reading all the time.”
”I hear that's common,” Leaphorn said.
”She was far-sighted,” Denton said in a choked voice. ”Said she just needed longer arms.” He forced what sounded a little like a chuckle. ”But she said the ones she had were long enough to wrap around me.”
”It sounds like you're certain that lens is from Linda's gla.s.ses.”
”Yeah. What else,” Denton said, still looking at whatever attracted him outside. ”It's the same oval shape. One of those merged-in trifocal grinds.”
”Let's go back to where we started,” Leaphorn said. ”Get back to that day you asked me if I would look for your wife. See if I could find what happened to her, anyway. And I said I would if you wouldn't lie to me. You've been lying to me, so I'm quitting. But I'd still like some straight answers out of you.”
Denton had turned away from the window. ”Lying about what?” The bright backlighting from the window made it impossible for Leaphorn to read his expression, but the tone was hostile.
”About the maps, for starters. McKay wasn't trying to sell you a location in the Zuni Mountains. His was on Mesa de los Lobos. Then there's the circ.u.mstances of how you shot him. He wasn't just leaving when that happened. He was-”
”What makes you think that?”
”McKay was a sort of fancy dresser. He wouldn't have been walking out of here without his expensive leather jacket, which was hanging on that chair over there with no bullet hole in it, and no blood.”
Denton walked over and sat behind his desk, studying Leaphorn. He shrugged. ”So what?” he said. ”Whether he was leaving, or just getting ready to leave.”
”Then there's the gun. Big, clumsy long-barrel thirty-eight revolver. He wouldn't have been carrying a gun like that in the pocket of his jacket. It wouldn't fit anyway. h.e.l.l of a job to get it in your pants pocket. Or out of them.”