Free Blanco County 04 - Guilt Trip by Ben Rehder

looked at Marlin, seeing if he had any more questions. Marlin shook his head.
    “One other thing I think I should share,” Pritchard said. “I’ve gotta be kind of vague about this because of attorney-client privilege, so forgive me—but Vance had…well…he wasn’t very responsible when it came to his finances.”
    “Money problems?”
    Pritchard nodded slightly.
    “How bad?”
    “Bad enough.”
    “To the point of filing bankruptcy, something like that?”
    Pritchard hesitated. “I really don’t feel comfortable going into that much detail.”
    “All right, then, Mr. Pritchard. Anything else?”
    “That’s about it.”
    “Thanks for coming in. You’ve been a big help.”
    “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep me updated. It won’t be much of a raffle without a car.”
    After Pritchard left, Garza and Marlin sat back down. The sheriff blew out a long sigh. “I’m gonna be pissed off if we’re wasting our time while Scofield’s out chasing skirts.”
    Marlin had to grin. He and Garza had worked together and been friends long enough that they could be blunt with each other. Garza, after eight years as a deputy, had been the sheriff of Blanco County for nearly three years now—arguably the best man ever to hold the job. He had earned the respect of every law-enforcement officer in the county, Marlin included. The sheriff commonly involved Marlin in all types of investigations, from homicides to burglaries to drug-related crimes. It was funny: When working those types of cases, Marlin found that people were often surprised to learn that game wardens were in fact real police officers, commissioned with the power to enforce any state law, not just hunting and fishing regulations.
    “What do you think?” Garza continued. “Maybe he’s off on a bender?”
    Marlin had to figure it was a possibility, because he’d run into similar situations—emergency calls that didn’t turn out to be emergencies at all. The previous summer, a drowning had been reported on the Blanco River. A boy, fourteen years old. The search began, with divers and the whole bit, and it turned out the kid had decided to swim across the river and walk home. He had been angry at his friends and wanted to put a scare into them. But this case had something different.
    “Still doesn’t explain the vehicle in the river,” Marlin said. “Unless he wants us to think something happened to him.” He had seen that scenario, too—a man faking his own death. It happened with alarming frequency around the country. Some desperado, usually facing felony charges, would decide it was the best option and try to stage the most convincing scene he could. But they were nearly always sloppy, and you could spot the fix from halfway across the county.
    “Guy’d be a real dumb-ass, wouldn’t he? Taking off in the Corvette? And wanting us to think he’d drowned?”
    “Maybe he thought we’d think the car was stolen.”
    Garza drummed his fingers on the table. “I guess Scofield could be off somewhere in the Vette, and somebody else borrowed or stole his SUV. Maybe they ended up in the river but climbed out and made it home okay.”
    “Or whoever was driving it might not even know the SUV’s in the water. Remember the high water last fall? Rodney Bauer drove his wife’s car partway into the water, then decided not to chance it?”
    “Yeah, what was the deal on that?”
    “Plugs got wet and the car died. He just left it there, figuring he’d come back for it later. But the water rose even higher and the car ended up downstream about forty yards.”
    Garza shook his head. “I don’t know. You think that happened here?”
    “No, my money’s on door number one. Scofield drowned.”
    “And the Corvette?”
    “Sitting somewhere else, maybe at a friend’s house. And Pritchard just doesn’t know it.”
    Garza rose from his chair. “I’ve already got an APB on Scofield and a BOLO on the Corvette. I’m gonna get a warrant for his house, but