Beasts of the Earth by James Wade

Author:James Wade
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing
Published: 2022-08-29T19:30:08+00:00

12

LeBlanc sat in the midday sun, and the buzzards made circles high above, and no other living things would come near for the sound of the shot.

When at last he staggered to his feet, LeBlanc could feel his heart pumping into his throat, and he thought then that he might choke. He straightened himself and looked around. There was nothing and no one. He fished the keys from the dead man’s pocket and climbed into the cab of the truck and drove back toward town.

When the flashing lights overtook him just before Main, LeBlanc hoped it was the sheriff but it was not. The deputy frowned and tipped down his glasses over his nose.

“What in the hell is going on, LeBlanc?” the man asked, peering into the backseat and then the bed of the truck. “Linda Harper called the station this morning saying she ain’t seen Roland since yesterday at noon.”

“He’s out in the county at his grandfather’s old place,” LeBlanc said and was unsure how to say more.

“Well. How come you to be driving his truck?”

“He shot himself,” LeBlanc answered and again his words stuck.

The deputy stepped back from the truck and lifted his radio.

“Possible one eight seven at the old Harper farm,” the man spoke into the static. “I have the suspect driving the victim’s truck near mile marker two oh one. Requesting additional unit.”

“Now hold on—” LeBlanc began, but the deputy dropped the radio and drew his gun.

“Hands where I can see them, LeBlanc,” the man yelled.

At the Sheriff’s Office, LeBlanc sat in the small chair in the small room and picked at the crust on his pants. He looked at the mirrored window and in it his tinted reflection, and he looked like his father. He closed his eyes. He could feel them watching, like gossiping gods, an audience to an anthill. At long last the detective entered.

“Harlen LeBlanc”—the detective looked at his notebook, saying the name with a drawn-out cadence as if it had been written just for him, as if he were seeing it for the first time—“I’m Mike Marshall. They brought me down from the district office to visit with you.”

The man looked up and smiled and then went back to his notebook.

“What’s your relationship to Roland Harper,” he asked.

“He lives across the street. He did. He did live across the street.”

“That’s it? You weren’t friends?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think you were friends?” Marshall asked.

LeBlanc shook his head.

“Well, did you ever go to his house, it being right there? Did he ever come to yours?”

“Nossir.”

“Did you call each other on the phone?”

“Nossir.”

“And before today had you ever taken a ride with Mr. Harper?”

“Nossir.”

“You live alone, Mr. LeBlanc?” Marshall asked.

“Yessir.”

“No wife? Ex-wife? Girlfriend?”

“Nossir.”

“A little strange, someone your age, is it not?”

“I prefer it.”

“Nobody to go snooping through your things?” the detective followed up.

“Nobody to disappoint.”

“Why would they be disappointed?”

“Do you know anybody who’s not?”

“Mr. LeBlanc, I understand you were apprehended at the scene of Cassie Harper’s murder. Is that correct?”

“I wasn’t apprehended. I was just there.

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