Headlights(51)

“We’re here because a property you own, off I-25 South, was the site of a recent murder,” I say.

“Oh. The motel.”

“Yes. You know what happened there?”

“Yeah, they told me.”

“Interesting your legal teams haven’t shored up your affairs in response to it. Seems like there could be some liability issues, this happening on your property.”

He laughs, takes another disgusted bite of his sandwich. “Believe me, they were on it, but I pulled them from it. Waste of time.”

“What’s a better use?”

“Pressuring politicians to do their fuckin’ jobs so people’s fuckin’ kids don’t get killed.”

“Your lawyers were fine reallocating their efforts?”

“I pay them, they do what I tell them to. And I own the property, but it’s on a forty-year lease to that couple who run it. I’ve never even set foot out there. You can talk to my account manager.”

Tillman says, “Where were you the night of November sixteenth?”

“Fuck you.”

Oliver Wright looks at Tillman now with such rage I think he might try to kill him. Tillman knew the dates. I know he did. He’s trying to get a reaction out of Wright. It’s a little reckless. I set my hand on my gun.

Wright’s eyes catch the movement, and he glares at me. He turns back to Tillman and says, “Do your fuckin’ homework if you’re gonna come here. You people are a goddamned joke.”

After a moment, Tillman says, “That wasn’t an answer.”

I start to say something when Wright drops his sandwich and levels Tillman with a cold cruel look that is probably the reason he’s gotten as far as he has in life. His eyes cut to me, and he says, “You should fire this asshole, save everyone a lotta trouble.” To Tillman he says, “That’s the night my daughter was murdered. And the same fuckin’ day, a year later, that my wife died. All her pills from all the doctors. I was in the same place I am every year. And you people being so fucking terrible at your jobs is the reason this town needs gates and guards and cameras that fucking work. ’Cause the cops and the feds don’t do shit.” He picks up the sandwich, throws it back down. Turns and looks out at the field.

After a minute, Oliver says, “That’s where it happened.” I follow the line of his eyes, see Tillman do the same. At the end of the field is a closed-down gas station. “That’s the last place I saw my girl. The last time I ever heard her voice. She wanted to go shopping for some dress for a school dance, I wasn’t even really listening. Wasn’t really listening, and it ended up being the last conversation I ever got to have with her.

“Every day I sit here for my lunch, and I stare out at this field, and I think that if I want it bad enough, if I wish fuckin’ hard enough, she’ll appear back here, just as she was when she left. If I sit here long enough, I’ll have my little girl back. And my wife. And on that one day each year, I go and sit on that side of the field, and I wait.”

A bird calls somewhere above. Machinery whirs in the background, men yelling to each other, all the sounds of work and day.

When I speak, I keep my voice even. I say, “Why did you buy that plot of land? The one with the motel?”

Oliver Wright looks back at me, and I can’t read his expression at all. I wonder if he’s even really here. A shadow moves through the field, closer and closer to us.

“I built and own a third of this town. You ask me why each and every piece of land, answer nine times out of ten is that it was a good site for development or investment. I don’t do the research, I don’t draw up the proposals, I got guys who do that, and then I give a yes or no.”

Tillman clears his throat, and Wright gives him an incredulous look, as though the idea of him speaking again is the most preposterous one he can think of.

“Nine times out of ten,” Tillman says, and Wright stares at him. His assistant is walking toward us now, speaking in the Bluetooth, holding the clipboard tight to his body as he run-walks over the gravel. “What about the tenth time?” Tillman asks.

“What?”

“The tenth time in those scenarios. What makes you pick your specific plots then?”

Wright stands from the table, giving Tillman one last furious glance.

“Tenth time, it’s ’cause I fuckin’ want to.”





15



I drop Tillman off back at the office, and Josie’s standing there waiting for us when we arrive. Tillman steps out of my car and jogs over to her, picks her up, and twirls her in a kiss. He sets her down, closes himself into the driver’s seat, and leans out to look up at the sky. Josie says something to him, then turns to me. Holds up her hand telling me to wait. She pulls a duffel bag from the trunk and my old cowboy hat, carries them both over to me.

“Here,” she says, handing me the bag through my window. “Some of your old stuff.”

She steps in closer and says, “Daniel, please just talk to me. You need to excuse yourself from this. You know you do.”

I take the bag from her, and the hat, and toss them in the back seat.

“I don’t think you know what I need,” I say.

She stares at me, shakes her head, and walks back to her car. Slams herself inside.