“At first,” the sheriff said. Then he got into all that conspiracy
stuff. Talking about the Jews running the government. Or the United
Nations, or both, or some damn thing. The government was all
communists, taking over the world, secret plans for everything. Big
conspiracy against everybody, especially him. Banks controlled the
government, or was it the government controlled the banks? So the
banks were all communists and they were out to destroy America. He
figured the exact reason the bank loaned his father the money was so it
could default him later and give the farm to the Mexicans or the blacks
or some damn thing. He was raving about it, all the time.”
“So what happened?” Webster said.
“Well, of course, the bank did end up defaulting him,” the sheriff
said. The guy wasn’t paying the loan, was he? But they didn’t give
his land to the Mexicans. They sold it on to the same big corporation
owns everything else around here, which is owned by the pension funds,
which probably means it’s owned by you and me, not communists or
Mexicans or anybody else, right?”
“But the boy blamed the conspiracy for his father’s death?” Brogan
asked.
“He sure did,” the sheriff said. “But the truth is it was Beau himself
who did for the old man. I figure old Dutch could have faced just
about anything, except his only boy had turned out to be a complete
lunatic. A cruel, selfish, weird boy. That’s why he swallowed the
damn shotgun, if you want to know the truth.”
“So where did Beau go?” Webster asked.
“Montana,” the sheriff said. That’s what I heard. He was into all
those right-wing groups, you know, the militias. Built himself up to
leader. Said the white man was going to have to stand and fight.”
“And those other guys went with him?” Brogan asked.
The three of them for sure,” the sheriff said. This big guy, I never
saw before. But Little Stevie and Loder and Peter Bell, they were all
in awe of Beau, like little robots. They all went up there together.
They had a little cash, and they stripped the Borken place of anything
they could carry, and they headed north. Figured to buy some cheap
land up there and defend themselves, you know, although against who I
can’t say, because the way I hear it there ain’t nobody up there, and
if there is they’re all white people anyway.”
“What’s in his file?” Webster asked.
The sheriff shook his head.
“Just about nothing,” he said. “Beau’s way too smart to get caught
doing anything bad.”
“But?” McGrath said. “He’s doing stuff without getting caught?”
The sheriff nodded.
That armored car robbery?” he said. “North of the state somewhere? I
heard about that. Didn’t stick to him, did it? I told you, way too
smart.”
“Anything else we should know?” Webster asked.
The sheriff thought for a while and nodded again.
There was a fifth guy,” he said. “Name of Odell Fowler. He’ll turn up
alongside of Beau, for sure. You can bet on that. Loder and Stevie
and Bell get sent out doing mischief, you can be damn sure Borken and
Fowler are sitting there in the shadows pulling their strings.”
“Anything else?” Webster said again.
“Originally there was a sixth guy,” the sheriff said. “Guy named
Packer. Six of them, all thick as thieves. But Packer took up with a
Mexican girl. Couldn’t help himself, I guess, just plain fell in love
with her. Beau told him to stop seeing her. They fell out about it, a
lot of tension going on. One day Packer’s not around any more, and
Beau is all smiling and relaxed. We found Packer out in the scrub,
nailed to a big wooden cross. Crucified. Dead for a couple of
days.”
“And you figure Borken did it?” Brogan asked.
“Couldn’t prove it,” the sheriff replied. “But I’m sure of it. And
I’m sure he talked the others into helping him do it. He’s a born
leader. He can talk anybody into doing anything, I can promise you
that.”
Kendall back to Mojave was fifty miles by car. Mojave to Peterson Air
Force Base in Colorado was another eight hundred and thirty miles by