The Guilty - Jason Pinter [68]
"I love bunk," I said. "Explain the bunk."
"In 1949, a probate officer investigated the claim of a man
named Joe Hines. While interviewing him, the officer learned
that Hines had been involved in the Lincoln County wars.
Hines claimed to have known Billy the Kid. He said Pat
Garrett never shot the Kid, and that Bonney was actually
alive and well and living in Hamilton, Texas, under the name
of Ollie P. 'Brushy Bill' Roberts. Out of curiosity, the officer
went down to Hamilton and found Roberts. After being confronted with the witness, Roberts confessed to being the Kid.
Roberts then fought to reclaim his 'lost' identity, saying he
wished to die with the pardon Texas Governor Lew Wallace
had reneged on over eighty years ago."
Agnes stopped.
"And?" I said.
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"And Brushy Bill Roberts was quickly discredited and
died the next year. End of story."
"Wow," I said. "That's a pretty abrupt ending."
"I don't deal in charlatans, Mr. Parker. They're not a legitimate part of history and aren't worth wasting my time or
yours with. Brushy Bill is worth no more consideration than
the boogeyman or Freddy Krueger. Now will there be anything
else, Mr. Parker? I haven't even touched my scone yet."
I leaned forward, put on my most soothing voice. Which,
considering my girlfriend had just left me on the side of the
street, was probably as soothing as sandpaper on dry skin.
"Let's just say," I said, "that I wanted to know more about
Brushy Bill for entertainment's sake. You know, so I could
win my next game of Trivial Pursuit."
She let out an audible sigh. Her eyes showed tremendous
skepticism. Then they softened. She reached into her desk and
pulled out a battered leather address book. She flipped
through it, paused at a name, then scribbled something on a
Post-it note which she then handed to me. Written on the note
was the name Professor Largo Vance, retired. A phone
number with a 212 area code was written next to it.
"Professor Vance lives in the city," Agnes said. "He was
previously professor emeritus at Columbia, but was expelled
due to scandal."
"What kind of scandal?" I asked.
"Of the grave-robbing kind."
"Oh. That kind of scandal."
"If you want to chase ghosts and waste time, do yourself
a favor and speak to Vance, he's a master of both. And I hope
for your sake you're not allergic to cats."
"Not that I know of," I said, standing up. I offered my hand.
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Jason Pinter
Agnes took it reluctantly. "Thanks for your help. Hopefully
this will all lead to something."
"Piece of advice, Henry. If you go chasing false light,
you'll end up in darkness. Don't bother."
I gave a courteous nod and left her office.
I wanted to stop at home and change, then call Professor
Vance and meet with him as soon as possible. If there was any
more to this story, I wanted to alert Wallace and Jack and
hopefully make tomorrow's national edition.
I hailed a cab and headed home, plunging my head into the
leather seat rest. I took a deep breath and could feel my body
swimming away. The more I pulled on this thread the more
spool there seemed to be. There had to be a core, some place
where the full story was revealed. There was an emptiness. I
was so used to calling Amanda, to actively ignore her was
torture. I thought about what Jack said in the bar that day. For
one terrifying moment, I wondered if what happened yesterday was fated to happen at some point. If people like Jack and
I were meant to be alone. If loneliness would inevitably hunt
us down.
I was still thinking about this when I paid the cabdriver and
trudged upstairs. I unlocked the door, flicked on the light
switch, half hoping (and possibly expecting) to see Amanda
waiting for me. I checked my phone again just in case. I
hadn't missed anything. The emptiness was overwhelming.
I tossed my bag down and went into the kitchen. My
stomach growled for food. I poured a drink of cranberry juice
and seltzer, set the glass down on the counter and reached into
my pocket for Largo Vance's phone number. And that's when