Death on the High Lonesome by Frank Hayes Read Free Book Online

don’t you tell me why you might have killed someone.”
    For the next few minutes, Wilbur Anderson explained that he was an independent trucker working generally out of Albuquerque, where he lived.
    â€œI do long hauls or short, whatever I can to keep that truck on the road. Don’t make any money if it’s sitting in the driveway. Anyway, I got a shot at a white glove job. That’s usually electronics or something real technical, usually government work. I don’t care, but they’re usually small loads, sometimes like this one from White Sands, highly classified. It’s real good money. When you get a crack at that kind of freight, you don’t want to pass that up. You know, one can lead to another. That’s a good list to get your name on—didn’t want to miss the opportunity. But I’ll be honest with you, Sheriff. I was really beat. I’d just come off a quick turnaround from a run to Fresno. But I didn’t mean to do no harm.”
    â€œOkay, Mr. Anderson. Just tell me what happened.”
    â€œI had left the weigh station, was really rolling because thatmile-grade uphill was ahead of me. Just crested the top, started the descent. That’s a long way to the bottom. You know where I’m talking about?”
    Virgil nodded.
    â€œWell, I started downshifting. A lot of forward gears in that truck. Even though I wasn’t packing a heavy load, I try to be real careful. Don’t want to burn out the brakes. Brake jobs are expensive. It was real dark. I remember: no moon, just black. Think it was about two in the a.m. Nothing else on the road. Gets kinda lonely, especially on long runs at night. Anyway, I was downshifting, like I said. Got a call on the CB. Reached over—that’s when it happened. Barely saw, thought it was a muley. Felt the thud, saw it fly off to the side outta the corner of my eye into the dark. Honest to God, Sheriff, I don’t want to hit anything alive. I done it. More than a few times. Makes me sick in the pit of my stomach. Hate hearing that thump. Thought for sure it was a muley. You gotta understand, one second it was there, then gone. Happened so fast. Took me a quarter mile to bring the truck to the side. I know some truckers don’t. They just keep right on, let the kangaroo catcher do its job and keep right on. I never been able to do that. I got a gun in the cab for just that reason. Used it a couple of times. It’s registered. Don’t want to see anything suffer. If Smokey’s near, I call him, let him do the job. It’s not that I want to. Anyway, I went back. So dark, took a light. Nothing. No deer, no muley, nothing. Walked a good half mile, couldn’t find any sign. I was beginning to think I imagined it all. After about a half hour of looking, I finally give up, got back on the road. Went on to Houston. It was when I was heading back when a CBer told me somebody had been hit during the night. I swear, Sheriff, I looked and looked. Never meant for anything to happen.”
    Virgil looked at Wilbur Anderson. He had the gut feelingthat he was looking at an honest man. Wilbur was no killer. Just someone who had been caught between the crosshairs of fate and coincidence.
    â€œThink you can rest easy, Mr. Anderson. This wasn’t your fault. The medical examiner cleared you. They’ll be no charges. Just leave a phone number with Rosita. She’ll make a copy of your driver’s license for our records in case we need to follow up. She’ll also take a statement from you and have you sign it. Then you can get on your way. I really appreciate you coming in—you made my job a lot easier.”
    Virgil saw relief come into Wilbur Anderson’s eyes. “By the way,” Virgil said, “if you’d like to stop at Margie’s place around the corner for lunch before you get on home, just tell her to put it on my tab.”
    He was standing outside the door enjoying the