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Authors: Barbara Graham
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wanted to talk to him, he said that he was afraid he’d screwed up something and it couldn’t be fixed.” Santhe’s curiosity became visible. “He didn’t say what he did.”
Tony thought “screwed up” pretty well summed up the drinking and surfing episode culminating with a corpse in a tree. “I need to talk with him.”
Santhe stepped aside. “He’s upstairs. First room on the left.”
Tony and Wade trudged up the stairs. Tony felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on his shoulders. He was certain Logan had done a wrong thing. He was not certain what all the man was legally guilty of doing. At minimum, it was probably reckless endangerment and having an improper rider or some other well-hidden violation. What were the chances he’d intentionally driven down one of the few roads with low branches overhead? There were yellow warning signs clearly indicating the unusually low vertical clearance, but maybe he forgot the height of the man. Or maybe he knew exactly. Accidental or intentional? Dumb or criminal?
Tony knocked on the door and waited. He heard the sounds of someone coming to the door. When the door opened, a tired-looking man in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, stood quietly staring at the space between himself and Wade.
“Sheriff?”
“Can we talk?”
“Sure, sure.” Logan backed into the room and waved them inside.
Tony gave the room a quick glance. Messy but not too bad. The bed wasn’t made, and there was a stack of clean laundry on a straight-backed chair. “You want to tell us what happened the other night?”
“I, uh . . .” The words stopped. He might have decided confession would be good for the soul but really bad for the rest of him. “No.”
Tony traced a line on the floor with his toe. “No?” He shook his head. “Why not?”
“I, uh . . .” A shoulder twitched once and went still. “Dunno.”
“Dunno what happened or why you don’t want to tell me?” The man had the lost, stunned appearance of an accident victim himself. “Are you all right?”
“I, uh . . . Dunno.” Logan blinked rapidly, then stopped. “I don’t feel too good.”
Thinking their suspect looked like he was about to lose his lunch, Tony stepped back and glanced down the stairs. He really didn’t want another person throwing up on him or his shirt. “Why don’t we go outside and sit in the fresh air.”
Logan led the way downstairs, practically running until he burst outside onto the porch. Santhe barely stepped out of his way in time. When Logan threw up in one of her flower pots, her expression lost its pleasantness. “You
will
clean that up.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Logan bobbed his head. “I’ll do that in just a minute.”
Santhe glared at Tony. “See that he does.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Tony’s own head was bobbing as she stepped back into her house and slammed the screen door behind her. Evidently their truce did not extend to allowing someone to be ill on her premises.
Logan whispered. “She’s nice. But. She don’t care much for a mess.” He struggled to his feet, ambled over to the spigot, and turned the knob. He let it run until it cooled a bit, and ran it over his face, hands, and hair before he filled a watering can and carefully washed the geraniums. When he finished, he sat on the step, his hands clasped together, and started talking to Tony.
“Curry said he’d seen something on the television about car surfing and asked if I’d ever thought about trying it.” Logan couldn’t seem to stop his head from moving ever so slightly from side to side. “I never heard of such a thing.”
“Did you try it or just do the driving?” Wade leaned against the column supporting the porch overhang.
“Oh, I tried it. Curry drove just a little way down the road before I fell off.” He lifted the sleeve of his t-shirt exposing a large area covered with myriad small scabs. “I lost a fair amount of skin pretty fast.”
“And then?” Tony wanted to
Tony thought “screwed up” pretty well summed up the drinking and surfing episode culminating with a corpse in a tree. “I need to talk with him.”
Santhe stepped aside. “He’s upstairs. First room on the left.”
Tony and Wade trudged up the stairs. Tony felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on his shoulders. He was certain Logan had done a wrong thing. He was not certain what all the man was legally guilty of doing. At minimum, it was probably reckless endangerment and having an improper rider or some other well-hidden violation. What were the chances he’d intentionally driven down one of the few roads with low branches overhead? There were yellow warning signs clearly indicating the unusually low vertical clearance, but maybe he forgot the height of the man. Or maybe he knew exactly. Accidental or intentional? Dumb or criminal?
Tony knocked on the door and waited. He heard the sounds of someone coming to the door. When the door opened, a tired-looking man in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, stood quietly staring at the space between himself and Wade.
“Sheriff?”
“Can we talk?”
“Sure, sure.” Logan backed into the room and waved them inside.
Tony gave the room a quick glance. Messy but not too bad. The bed wasn’t made, and there was a stack of clean laundry on a straight-backed chair. “You want to tell us what happened the other night?”
“I, uh . . .” The words stopped. He might have decided confession would be good for the soul but really bad for the rest of him. “No.”
Tony traced a line on the floor with his toe. “No?” He shook his head. “Why not?”
“I, uh . . .” A shoulder twitched once and went still. “Dunno.”
“Dunno what happened or why you don’t want to tell me?” The man had the lost, stunned appearance of an accident victim himself. “Are you all right?”
“I, uh . . . Dunno.” Logan blinked rapidly, then stopped. “I don’t feel too good.”
Thinking their suspect looked like he was about to lose his lunch, Tony stepped back and glanced down the stairs. He really didn’t want another person throwing up on him or his shirt. “Why don’t we go outside and sit in the fresh air.”
Logan led the way downstairs, practically running until he burst outside onto the porch. Santhe barely stepped out of his way in time. When Logan threw up in one of her flower pots, her expression lost its pleasantness. “You
will
clean that up.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Logan bobbed his head. “I’ll do that in just a minute.”
Santhe glared at Tony. “See that he does.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Tony’s own head was bobbing as she stepped back into her house and slammed the screen door behind her. Evidently their truce did not extend to allowing someone to be ill on her premises.
Logan whispered. “She’s nice. But. She don’t care much for a mess.” He struggled to his feet, ambled over to the spigot, and turned the knob. He let it run until it cooled a bit, and ran it over his face, hands, and hair before he filled a watering can and carefully washed the geraniums. When he finished, he sat on the step, his hands clasped together, and started talking to Tony.
“Curry said he’d seen something on the television about car surfing and asked if I’d ever thought about trying it.” Logan couldn’t seem to stop his head from moving ever so slightly from side to side. “I never heard of such a thing.”
“Did you try it or just do the driving?” Wade leaned against the column supporting the porch overhang.
“Oh, I tried it. Curry drove just a little way down the road before I fell off.” He lifted the sleeve of his t-shirt exposing a large area covered with myriad small scabs. “I lost a fair amount of skin pretty fast.”
“And then?” Tony wanted to
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