gave a quick scan of the surrounding. “See anything?” he yelled in my direction.
“A black pickup just stormed out of the Sinclair station!”
We both ran toward the gas station across the road. The pickup was heading east on Colorado Blvd. Lightfoot grabbed the mic attached to his collar. As he walked toward the gas station, “HPD, this is Lightfoot! We’ve had a shooting at Porky’s! Black pickup heading east on Colorado! May be armed. Suspect only. Not sure he’s the shooter. Use caution!”
Only three vehicles were at the pumps, their drivers standing next to their trucks puzzled by the sudden activity.
“Get info from those guys,” Lightfoot said. “I’ll check inside.”
I waved the three drivers toward me as I stood on the apron of the station. Two men. One woman.
“What’d you see? Quick! A woman’s been shot.”
“Heard a pop,” one of the men said. “Didn’t see where it came from.”
“Me, too. Just a pop. Not loud at all. There was a guy in the black pickup…” he waved his arm toward Colorado Blvd. “He just jumped in and took off.”
“Make?”
“Ford. F250. Four-wheel-drive,” the first man said.
“License plate?”
All three shook their head.
“Description?”
The woman jumped in. “Maybe 6 feet, give or take an inch. 175 pounds. Dark hair. Short. Sunglasses. Those yellow kind hunters wear. No beard. No moustache. Big neck. Like an athlete.” She closed her eyes, trying to reconstruct more memories. “No scars, that I saw. Medium complexion, like someone who spends time in the sun, but not a sunbather. Know what I mean?”
She opened her eyes and shrugged. “That’s all I have.”
“Great. That’s great. Stick around.” Walking fast, Chief Lightfoot crossed the concrete, gave me a questioning look. I nodded, “Lots of info.” I filled him in, the three nodded that I had it right. “I’m going back inside. See what we got.”
“Be there in a minute.” He reached for his notepad and began jotting down names and phone numbers. They knew him, calling him by name. Clearly the chief also knew the three, using their names as he wrote. I could hear chatter on his police radio. By the tone, I gathered no one had caught sight of the black Ford.
The dining area was quiet. Someone had covered Clarise with a white tablecloth, but the red stain was seeping through the material. Sal and the two cowboys were standing in a group. The kitchen staff was behind a counter and the remaining customers had returned to their tables, sitting in stunned silence.
I joined Sal. “Anyone see anything?”
The big man shook his head. “All happened too fast.”
“Wound?”
“Through and through.” He walked to the counter that was in line with Clarise’s body and pointed at a hole in the edge of the thick wood top. “Went through her like she wasn’t even there.” Bending down to look inside the hole, “Maybe three inches in.” He stood, turned toward the window. “Glass, Clarise and Oak before it was spent. High powered. Won’t know any more until someone digs that slug out of there.”
Lightfoot came through the door and joined us, shaking his head. “Lost him. Don’t know how. There’s only so many places to hide in this town. Only so many roads to take.” He turned to Sal, “Thanks for covering for me in here.”
Sal just nodded, then showed the chief the hole in the counter’s edge. Lightfoot bent and peered in.
“Serious ammo,” he said. “You boys got some enemies I don’t know about?”
I slipped onto one of the stools next to the counter. “That wasn’t meant for anyone other than Clarise.”
Both Sal and the chief stared at me in silence.
“She was the target, not any of us or the other folks in here. That shot caught her directly in the heart. No multiple shots like a shooter would do if he missed on his first attempt. At that range, almost anyone could have taken you, Sal or me out. We were sitting in the damn window, for God’s sake.”
“Why would anyone want to kill Clarise?” Lightfoot asked.
“Beats the hell out of me. This is your town.”
Lightfoot tipped his Stetson back and scratched his head. “Ex-boyfriend, maybe. She kept mostly to herself. Never had any complaints against her. She dropped in on the local bars occasionally, but not a big drinker, far as I know. Worked here six days and some evenings, but most people hereabouts are pretty decent folks.”
“Has she lived in Holly long?”
“Grew up here, if I recollect. Folks were ranchers. When they died, left her the spread, but she sold it. Too much work, she would say. Went up to Denver a few years back to find work, but came back. Said she missed the small town atmosphere.”
“Any family?” Sal asked getting a quick shake of the head from Lightfoot. “Friends, then.”
“A few.”
The local doctor arrived in a dusty blue Chevy pickup. He was followed by a heavyset woman, gray hair and sharp beady eyes.
Lightfoot said, “Well, gotta help out the doc.” As he walked away, he stopped, turned back to us. “Your Chief Forte said you work for him on occasion. Mind giving me a hand on this one?’
Sal and I nodded.
“Can’t pay you, but I’d be happy to put you up at my place for a day or two.”
“Appreciate that, Chief.”
Lightfoot, the doctor and doughy woman crossed the dining area to Clarise’s body. The woman pulled the tablecloth down to her waist and the three entered into a somber discussion.
A little after 8 p.m.
Lightfoot’s ranch sat in the middle of a dusty 100 acres. The smell of parched dirt still hung in the air and the sun was closing in on night. It hadn’t cooled much, still hovering in the middle 80-degree range.
The Chief’s house was a rambling, freshly painted ranch. A long covered porch with a floor of planked pine held a few white-painted wood lounger chairs and a couple of rough-cut tables. A grill was parked at one end, a light coat of rust on its black steel barrel top and well-worn BBQ utensils hanging from a few hooks on its side. Three rib eyes sizzled under the hood, the smell of steak and Mesquite smoke drifting across the porch.
Lightfoot banged through the wood screen door carrying three long-necks in one hand and a platter topped with metal plates in the other. He dropped it all on the table in front of Sal and me.
“Got nothing green. Hope you don’t mind,” he said, keeping one of the Buds for himself and taking a long pull.
Sal
