Part 26 (2/2)
”Yeah, worked here for a year or so.”
”We thought he worked on a ranch somewhere.”
”I don't know what he did before Hattie brought him over.”
”Who's Hattie?” I asked.
”My girlfriend. Herb was one of her tenants and he needed a job.” He paused to spit on the ground. ”Worst mistake I ever made.”
”Your girlfriend owns some apartments or something?”
”She manages a building over on Myers Way. She gets some flaky characters in there. I about gave Herb that car just so he'd leave.”
Bingo. I tried not to look too excited. ”The, the, uh, Ford LTD?”
”Yeah.”
”So, did he buy it from you, or . . .”
”I sold it to him cheap. He wanted to move on and I wanted to help him.”
”But the car was still in your name.”
”I've already been through all this with that cop.” He started looking elsewhere.
I didn't want him getting away. ”Uh, Kyle took this picture on a ranch near Antioch.” Abe stood still. ”Herb's working there, only he's using another name. He's calling himself Brandon Nichols.”
Abe cursed. He looked scared. ”I don't need to hear no more.”
”But . . . did the cop tell you the car was ditched in the river? I mean, it looks like somebody tried to hide it.”
Abe waved me off, shook his head, backed away. ”I don't want to hear no more. Now that's it. We're through talking and you guys can just get out of here.”
Kyle pleaded, ”We're afraid Herb might be up to something and we were hoping you could-”
”GETOUTTAHERE!”
Casper and Frito went crazy, leaping against the fence of their pen. He headed their way with an obvious intention. I got back in the car and Kyle followed my lead. We got out of there.
I DROVE BACK into Missoula while Kyle flipped and folded and rattled the map. ”Myers Way, Myers Way . . .” he mumbled, trying to find it.
”So let me think: Brett said he couldn't find the owner or the thief. But he talked to Abe . . .”
”But Abe isn't the owner. He doesn't want to be the owner.”
”Right, he wants to be through with Herb and the car.”
”So it's Herb Brett can't find.”
”Because Herb's Brandon.”
”And the car was never stolen because Abe sold it to Herb.”
”Unless someone stole it from Herb.”
”But Herb Johnson never reported it stolen.”
”No, he just ditched it in the river.” I got a hunch. ”Which could make sense if Herb is trying to break all ties with his past and become somebody else. Remember when I said it wouldn't surprise me if Brandon wasn't the owner?”
Kyle looked up from his map to exclaim, ”It sure scared Abe when you told him Herb had a different name.”
”Yeah, like Herb Johnson might not be Herb Johnson.”
”Which also means Brandon Nichols might not be Brandon Nichols.”
”So . . . Myers Way . . .”
Kyle went back to the map. ”Okay, turn right. We need to double back.”
WE FOUND MYERS WAY, a residential street lined with well-used cars and low-cost fixer-uppers. The yards were small, many were unmowed, many populated by mongrel dogs and rusting tricycles. Aging McDonald's cups and hamburger wrappers lay fading along the street curb, and graffiti marred the sidewalks. We found four apartment buildings occupying the four corners of an intersection. We could see more multi-units farther down the street. This could be a long day.
Kyle knocked on the first manager's door. He'd never heard of anyone named Hattie.
I went across the street and knocked on another door. A young mother with an infant in her arms and a toddler in tow sent me two doors down. The manager of this building didn't know a Hattie.
By now Kyle had checked the third apartment building. No Hattie.
I went to the fourth.
”Hattie Phelps?” said the manager, a young bachelor with a cluttered computer desk in his living room.
”I don't have a last name, but she's the girlfriend of Abe Carlson.”
”Yeah, sure, I know her. She manages the Crestview Apartments.” He stepped outside to direct me. ”Two blocks down, on the left.”
The Crestview Apartments were not high-rent property. The building was a sagging, wood-frame structure that instantly made you wonder how close the nearest fire station was. From the street I could count ten apartments, six below and four above. The wooden stairway leading to the second floor was a lawsuit waiting to happen. A leaky hose bib was feeding a permanent puddle in the small courtyard. Kyle and I went to Hattie's door together, fully expecting another pit bull to answer our knock.
It turned out Hattie was a very pleasant woman, a plump little lady in a loud flowered dress who owned a cat but no dog. All we had to do was mention Abe Carlson's name and she started talking right there on her landing.
”Abe's a nice man, he really is. You just have to get to know him.”
”Well, he can sure control Casper and Frito.”
She laughed a loud, cackly laugh. ”So you met the dogs! Oh, my word!” She then proceeded to tell us how many people had been frightened by Casper and Frito and where Abe got the dogs and how they didn't seem to mind when she came around but she would never take her cat over there. We let her talk, we laughed at her wisecracks, we told her whatever we could about ourselves when we got the chance. She could have carried on most of the conversation without our even being there.
”Well anyway, what brings you two gentlemen clear over here?”
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