“Nope. Just cleared out his stuff—”
“Cleared out? You mean he moved out?”
“Lock, stock, and barrel. Took all his shoe samples. Seemed to be on short notice.”
Thatcher t
wisted the doorknob, but it was locked. He jerked on it harder. When it didn’t give, he backed up a few steps.
“I don’t believe Mrs. May would approve—”
Thatcher kicked in the door. The room was empty. The bed had already been stripped of sheets. Replacement bedding and a bath towel were folded and stacked, awaiting the next boarder.
Thatcher searched every drawer in the bureau, opened the closet, checked under the bed. He flipped back the mattress, but there was nothing beneath it except rusty bed springs.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The landlady was standing in the open doorway, hands on her hips. She looked like a hag during daytime. The nighttime variant was worse.
Nevertheless, Thatcher moved in on her. “Did Landry say where he was going?”
“No, and I didn’t ask,” she said. “Ain’t my business, is it?”
“He’s moved out for good? He’s not coming back?”
“Not your business, neither.”
Thatcher tapped the badge on his lapel. “Sheriff Amos will disagree. Should I send him over to talk to you?”
She folded her housecoat closer around her and jutted out her pointy chin. “He said he was taking over a new sales territory and wouldn’t be back. Paid me for a few extra days because he’d failed to give me notice. Packed up his automobile and headed out. That’s all I know.”
“What time did he leave?”
“I can’t—”
“What time?”
“Four-thirty. Thereabouts. He interrupted me while I was busy setting up the sideboard.” She sniffed. “Which I didn’t appreciate one bit.”
Thatcher stepped back into the hallway and addressed all the boarders who now were watching curiously from their open doorways, as they had the night he’d been taken into custody. Some shrank back. “Anybody know where Chester Landry was going? Did he ever say where he was from?”
“All I ever heard was Dallas,” one said. That was followed with murmurs of agreement.
“He ever mention family?”
No one answered, but one asked, “Wha’d he do?”
Thatcher said, “If anyone hears anything from him, or about him, come get me. Sorry to have woken you up.” He jogged down the stairs and out the front door.
Five minutes later, he stood dripping rainwater in the waiting room of Dr. Perkins’s clinic, explaining to Bill what he’d learned. “Landry had prepared to run even before the ambush.”
“Leading you to believe he may have been instrumental in that?”
“He might have planned it, but he didn’t participate.”
In unison Thatcher and the sheriff turned toward Laurel, who’d spoken from the chair that Patsy Kemp had occupied days before. Laurel looked small and defenseless, with shoulders hunched, hugging her elbows.
She said, “He was at my back door when the shooting started.”