Mara’s voice remained steady.
“I am not asking you to like him.”
“I am asking whether you lied about what he said.”
Creel did not turn.
After a long silence:
“I wrote what Vane’s surveyor gave me.”
Anna stepped forward.
“What surveyor?”
Creel looked at her.
Then seemed to realize he had spoken too much.
Brigg approached slowly.
“No warrant.”
Creel laughed bitterly.
“Then stop saying that.”
“Fine.”
Brigg stopped.
“Keep talking voluntarily.”
Creel stared.
Then sat on a hitching rail.
Something in him seemed to collapse.
“Silas hired a man named Owen Price.”
Anna knew the name.
A survey contractor from New Mexico.
Died in 1885.
Another dead witness.
Creel continued.
“Price said the original marker had shifted after storm runoff.”
“Thomas said impossible.”
“Elias measured.”
“What did my father find?”
Creel looked at Anna.
“That Price was wrong.”
Her throat tightened.
“Then why did you approve the correction?”
Creel looked toward the ground.
“Because Elias died.”
Silence.
Anna felt the words like pressure.
“What?”
Creel swallowed.
“Not because I killed him.”
“No one said—”
“I didn't.”
His voice sharpened.
“It was an accident.”
“His wagon axle broke.”
“He went into the ravine.”
“I had nothing to do with it.”
Anna stared.
She believed him.
Mostly because the panic sounded like a man who had spent six years fearing the accusation.
“After he died,” Creel continued, “Price came back.”
“With Vane.”
“They had Elias’s preliminary field sheet.”
“It had his signature.”
Anna’s stomach tightened.
“Real?”
“Yes.”
“On what?”
“A measurement sheet.”
“Not a patent attestation.”
Creel closed his eyes.
There it was.
“What did you do?”
Anna asked.
“I attached it.”
“To the correction?”
“Yes.”
“You made his measurement signature into support for the opposite conclusion.”
Creel’s voice cracked.
“Yes.”
Reverend Locke crossed himself.
Mara remained still.
“How much?”
she asked.
Creel looked at her.
“What?”
“How much did Silas pay you?”
Anna almost objected.
Then stopped.
Creel laughed bitterly.
“Five hundred.”
Brigg whistled softly.
Five hundred dollars in 1881.
Enough to change a life.
Or ruin one.
Creel continued:
“My wife was sick.”
Anna closed her eyes.
Of course.
Always a reason.