asked.
“You look familiar,” Rhodes said.
Rapinski grinned. “You prob’ly seen me on TV.”
“You have a TV show?”
“Nope, but I been on the news.”
Rhodes looked at Hack again.
“He’s a bounty hunter,” Hack said.
“Fugitive recovery agent,” Rapinski said. His already big chest swelled a little.
“Same thing,” Hack said.
“Depends on how you look at it, I guess,” Rapinski said. “I’ve caught a few high-profile fugitives in your state.”
Rhodes didn’t remember seeing Rapinski on the news, but he nodded anyway.
“ID?” Rhodes asked.
Rapinski got his wallet from his back pocket and showed Rhodes his license.
“You know what the law says about bounty hunters, I guess,” Rhodes said.
Rapinski put away his wallet and pulled back the denim jacket to reveal a Glock in a shoulder holster.
“I’m licensed to carry in this state,” he said. “All legal and everything.”
“And…” Rhodes said.
“And I don’t plan to make any arrests here. I know better than that. I’m not a peace officer. That’s why I’m here talking to you. I might have to call you in if I locate my principal.”
“Who might that be?”
“It might be the Zodiac Killer,” Rapinski said. He chuckled at his little joke.
Rhodes didn’t chuckle. “Let me rephrase that. Who are you looking for?”
“Name’s Gary Baty. Jumped bond a month or so ago in Arkansas. I traced him to Houston, and I think he might be around here now.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Confidential sources.”
Rhodes let that pass. “What was he accused of?”
“Bank robbery. He was wearing an ankle monitor, but he took it off and then took off himself.”
Rhodes thought it over. He thought he might know the man. It seemed unlikely, but it was a possibility.
“Where did it happen?” Rhodes asked.
“The bail jump? Up in Arkansas. The bank robbery was in Little Rock. That’s where Baty lived. Would’ve been smarter to go somewhere else besides the state next door. Like South America.”
“Probably so,” Rhodes said. “Let’s you and me take a ride.”
“Where to?”
“Funeral home.”
“I’ll follow you,” Rapinski said. “I don’t like riding in cop cars. No offense.”
“None taken,” Rhodes said.
* * *
Rhodes parked in back of the former mansion, and Rapinski parked beside him. It was no surprise to Rhodes that the bounty hunter drove a black Hummer.
“What you got to show me?” Rapinski asked, stepping out of the Hummer. Anyone smaller would have had to climb down with a ladder. Rapinski had no problem at all.
“Just a client,” Rhodes said. “Not mine. The funeral home’s.”
They went inside. Rhodes led Rapinski to Ballinger’s office, the one where he met the public. The funeral director sat at a desk the size of a library table. Its smooth glass top was uncluttered. It held only a small notebook and a desk calendar.
Rapinski had to take off his hat to get through the door, revealing a head shaved as clean as an egg.
“Hoss Rapinski, this is Clyde Ballinger,” Rhodes said.
Ballinger stood up and came around the desk. The two men shook hands, and Ballinger said, “I’ve seen you on the news.”
Rapinski looked at Rhodes and grinned.
“Rapinski might know the man who was brought in last night,” Rhodes said.
“You really think so?” Ballinger asked.
“I don’t have a clue,” Rapinski said. “The sheriff’s the one brought me here.”
“Well,” Ballinger said, “let’s take a look.”
He led the men to the room where the dead man lay in an open bottom-of-the-line coffin. Rapinski held his hat in front of him with both hands.
“Here he is,” Ballinger said.
“You do nice work,” Rapinski said after giving the body a quick glance.
“Thanks,” Ballinger said, “but I don’t do that anymore. I have two very capable assistants, both licensed embalmers.”
“Well, he looks real natural,” Rapinski said, paying what many people believed to
“You look familiar,” Rhodes said.
Rapinski grinned. “You prob’ly seen me on TV.”
“You have a TV show?”
“Nope, but I been on the news.”
Rhodes looked at Hack again.
“He’s a bounty hunter,” Hack said.
“Fugitive recovery agent,” Rapinski said. His already big chest swelled a little.
“Same thing,” Hack said.
“Depends on how you look at it, I guess,” Rapinski said. “I’ve caught a few high-profile fugitives in your state.”
Rhodes didn’t remember seeing Rapinski on the news, but he nodded anyway.
“ID?” Rhodes asked.
Rapinski got his wallet from his back pocket and showed Rhodes his license.
“You know what the law says about bounty hunters, I guess,” Rhodes said.
Rapinski put away his wallet and pulled back the denim jacket to reveal a Glock in a shoulder holster.
“I’m licensed to carry in this state,” he said. “All legal and everything.”
“And…” Rhodes said.
“And I don’t plan to make any arrests here. I know better than that. I’m not a peace officer. That’s why I’m here talking to you. I might have to call you in if I locate my principal.”
“Who might that be?”
“It might be the Zodiac Killer,” Rapinski said. He chuckled at his little joke.
Rhodes didn’t chuckle. “Let me rephrase that. Who are you looking for?”
“Name’s Gary Baty. Jumped bond a month or so ago in Arkansas. I traced him to Houston, and I think he might be around here now.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Confidential sources.”
Rhodes let that pass. “What was he accused of?”
“Bank robbery. He was wearing an ankle monitor, but he took it off and then took off himself.”
Rhodes thought it over. He thought he might know the man. It seemed unlikely, but it was a possibility.
“Where did it happen?” Rhodes asked.
“The bail jump? Up in Arkansas. The bank robbery was in Little Rock. That’s where Baty lived. Would’ve been smarter to go somewhere else besides the state next door. Like South America.”
“Probably so,” Rhodes said. “Let’s you and me take a ride.”
“Where to?”
“Funeral home.”
“I’ll follow you,” Rapinski said. “I don’t like riding in cop cars. No offense.”
“None taken,” Rhodes said.
* * *
Rhodes parked in back of the former mansion, and Rapinski parked beside him. It was no surprise to Rhodes that the bounty hunter drove a black Hummer.
“What you got to show me?” Rapinski asked, stepping out of the Hummer. Anyone smaller would have had to climb down with a ladder. Rapinski had no problem at all.
“Just a client,” Rhodes said. “Not mine. The funeral home’s.”
They went inside. Rhodes led Rapinski to Ballinger’s office, the one where he met the public. The funeral director sat at a desk the size of a library table. Its smooth glass top was uncluttered. It held only a small notebook and a desk calendar.
Rapinski had to take off his hat to get through the door, revealing a head shaved as clean as an egg.
“Hoss Rapinski, this is Clyde Ballinger,” Rhodes said.
Ballinger stood up and came around the desk. The two men shook hands, and Ballinger said, “I’ve seen you on the news.”
Rapinski looked at Rhodes and grinned.
“Rapinski might know the man who was brought in last night,” Rhodes said.
“You really think so?” Ballinger asked.
“I don’t have a clue,” Rapinski said. “The sheriff’s the one brought me here.”
“Well,” Ballinger said, “let’s take a look.”
He led the men to the room where the dead man lay in an open bottom-of-the-line coffin. Rapinski held his hat in front of him with both hands.
“Here he is,” Ballinger said.
“You do nice work,” Rapinski said after giving the body a quick glance.
“Thanks,” Ballinger said, “but I don’t do that anymore. I have two very capable assistants, both licensed embalmers.”
“Well, he looks real natural,” Rapinski said, paying what many people believed to
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