“What’s your problem?” Beth demanded.
“You,” I said, jerking open the driver’s door. A cold blast flooded the cab. “Get out.” I reached across and grabbed her arm. I pulled her roughly across the console and out my door. She was light and surprised, otherwise I might not have been able to get her. Every muscle in my body screamed in pain. I slammed the door shut and pushed her against the side of the Suburban.
“You’re nuts!” she shrieked, trying to back away from me. I hemmed her in with both my arms.
“You’ve been lying to me since the first time I saw you,” I shouted above the wind.
“No!” she shouted back, trying to duck under my arms. I slammed my fist into the side of the truck, just beside her head. It got her attention.
“You lied about not talking to Leo. You lied about Camelback Falls. You lied about that night in Guadalupe.”
“I lied to save my life!”
“Dave…” It was Lindsey. She came around the back of the truck, having climbed out the other side.
Beth glanced at Lindsey. “He’s just putting on a show for you because I offered to suck his cock,” she said. Then, back to me: “Calm down, big fella.”
“No more bullshit, Beth,” I said, leaning in to her face. She turned away.
I said, “You told us you watched a deputy take cocaine out of a patrol car.”
“I did,” she yelled. The wind pushed her hair straight back from her forehead. I could see intricate canals of worry wrinkles running horizontally in her pale skin.
“The car that was driven by Matson and Bullock.”
“Yes!”
“Where were you sitting?” I demanded.
“In the squad car! They put me there.”
“Where was the car?”
She hesitated. Two patches of dark crescents emerged under her eyes. Finally, “It was parked right there, where I could see…”
“That’s bullshit, Beth! You were in Nixon’s patrol car, and that was parked out on the street, not in the alley where you could see Matson and Bullock’s car. You didn’t see Peralta take the coke.”
Beth shouted, “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m telling the truth. I saw it. I was there.”
“I was there, too, Beth.”
She stared at me, a wild look on her face. The wind was so cold, my eyes felt like they were drying out. An ancient car full of Indians slowed to see if we needed help. Lindsey waved them on.
“No!” Beth shouted.
“Yes. I was a young deputy. Before I left to teach. I’m the one who handcuffed you. I stuck you in a patrol car where you couldn’t have seen anything.”
She thumped me hard on the chest, and crumpled backward onto the side of the truck. “You bastard,” she sobbed. “You tricked me, you son of a bitch.”
“You didn’t see any of that, did you, Beth.” I persisted. I grabbed her and shook her. She felt like a rag doll in my arms. “Tell me the damned truth!”
I pushed her away. She bent over, hands on her knees, breathing heavily and sobbing. I signaled to Lindsey, and opened the driver’s door.
“What are you doing?” Beth screamed.
“Leaving you,” I said. “You’re no good to me as a witness. I’ll tell the tribal police you need a ride.”
I closed the door. Lindsey climbed in the passenger side. I slid the Suburban into drive. Lindsey said quietly, “Cocksuck your way back to Denver, baby.”