Double Prey

Chapter Thirty-five

Her cell phone saved any further explanation, and she pushed off the stool to answer it.

“Guzman.”

“Hey, Estelle,” Tom Mears said. “Catch you at a bad time?”

“No…let me get outside.” She turned to the girl. “Macie, thanks. I appreciate your help.”

After the dark of the saloon, the sunshine was bright enough to make her flinch, and she turned her back against it. “What do you have, Tom?”

“For one thing, some people with long memories,” the sergeant said. “I’m standing in front of the last known address for Eddie Johns. It’s a little two-bedroom furnished rental over on East Pellor Street. The folks who live here now say they’ve been in the house for four years. The landlord says that Johns lived in the place for almost two years before that, and was a good tenant. Even painted the place and put in new kitchen tile.”

“And then?”

“And then he skipped. Just walked away from it.”

“Moved out?”

“Nope. Just walked. Went out the door one day, and didn’t come back. The landlord doesn’t know what happened.”

“What about all his personal effects?”

“According to the landlord, there wasn’t much. A nice stereo, flat-screen TV, some simple furniture. The usual kitchen stuff, some clothes. He waited to hear for two months, then cleaned everything out and put it all in one of those little storage units? Another month went by, and he rented the place out again. At the end of the year, he gave all the stuff to a hospital auxiliary thrift shop. He kept the stereo and flat screen as payment.”

“Thoughtful. Did he try to track Johns down?”

“Nope. ‘I ain’t no private detective,’ he told me. Said it wasn’t any of his business what happened. He said Johns paid his rent in cash all the time, which the landlord appreciated.”

“Plus I’m sure he’s enjoying the TV and the stereo,” Estelle observed. “Any luck with his vehicle? Waddell says that the last one he remembers was a Ford truck.”

“Last known registration expired October, 2007. The Pellor address was the only one the MVD showed. The registration should appear on a 2004 Ford three-quarter ton crew cab, color black. License Adam Charlie Baker niner seven one. You want the VIN?”

“Sure.” She jotted the lengthy string of digits and letters in her notebook as the sergeant recited them.

“It’s south of the border somewhere by now, enjoying a new life on those beautiful dirt roads, no doubt.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Look, I’m going to nose around a few other places and talk to some folks. I found out who his insurance agent is, and I’m going to visit with her here in about an hour. Maybe she can give me a line on where Johns was doing his banking. On a truck like that, I’d expect that maybe he was making payments. The bank might be interested in what happened.”

“But if it was free and clear, that would explain why no one from the bank ever nosed around, looking for their truck,” Estelle added.

“Yep. This guy’s a ghost. That’s the impression I’m getting.”

“He is now, anyway. In a way, it’s sort of sad, Tom. No one seems to have cared about him enough to miss him when he took a dive. You’ll be back this afternoon sometime?”

“I’ll work at it. I’d really like to find his dentist, Estelle. We have Waddell’s word that these remains might belong to Eddie Johns, and now we have a couple of fingerprints from the ammo. None of that is one hundred percent, though.”

“That would be a priority, Tom. The Cruces PD is cooperating?”

“You bet.”

“By the way, it turns out that Miles Waddell was at the Broken Spur when Freddy Romero rode by on his ATV. Mary and her daughter saw the boy, and she says that Waddell did too. He happened to look out the bathroom window when he heard the four-wheeler.”

The phone remained silent as Tom Mears digested that. “He was able to positively ID the rider as Freddy?”

“I haven’t talked to him yet about that. But Mary did. She had a clear, close-up view. Freddy waved at her.”

“Odd that Waddell didn’t bother to mention that little fact when we talked to him out at the cave.”

“Slipped his mind,” Estelle said dryly.

“Yeah. Sure enough. You gotta wonder how many other things have slipped his mind. But that’s something, then. I filled in the sheriff, by the way. He’s pulling in some resources from the state police and the federales. He wants to know what Eddie Johns was up to down south, especially after what Waddell said about Mexican money being interested in the astronomy project.”

“Seems a likely connection, doesn’t it. And on the other hand, probably not.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No, I don’t. I agree with Bill Gastner. No Mexican hit man is going to pop Johns up here in a small cave, and then try to conceal the job. A dark alley in El Paso or Juarez works much better. Far more efficient.”

“You’re going to corner Waddell again this morning?”

“We’ll see. I have some other contacts that I want to check out first.”

“And that be…” Estelle could hear the amusement in his voice.

“Macie Trujillo says that Gus Prescott was in the saloon on the afternoon when Freddy Romero rode by. Both he and Waddell…and Herb Torrance. And some folks from the gas company. And a big extended Mexican family worried about car problems. And, and, and. That’s a large pool of potential witnesses. And it turns out there I was, a quarter of a mile down the highway.”

Mears sighed wearily. “And so it goes. Do you have the old man working with you this morning?”

“I haven’t seen Bill since last night, but I was thinking about waking him up to go with me out to the Prescotts. I want to hear Gus’ take on all this, and Padrino knows him better than I do.”

She knew that there was no worry about waking up Bill Gastner. He might take a quick nap after a heavy breakfast, perhaps, but nothing more than that. The undersheriff started the car, checked in briefly with dispatch, and then pushed the auto dial for Padrino’s cell phone. Ten rings later, she switched it off and pulled out onto the highway behind a northbound white van with Mexican plates. She had seen the same vehicle on other occasions, and this time counted ten heads inside. The men were headed for the auto auctions in Denver as drivers, and in a day or so, their tandem rigs would be daisy-chained on the interstate, one older model car or truck pulling a second, headed to markets in Mexico.

The van stayed a bit below the speed limit, and Estelle watched it take the various humps and bumps in the pavement. The left rear tire mushroomed out, too soft for the load.

“PCS, three-ten will be stopping Chihuahua tag Victor Echo Charlie seven, mile marker eight on State 56, Borracho Springs. Safety check, no violation.”

“Ten four, three ten. It’s going to be a while for the Mexican license check.”

“Negative on that. I know the vehicle.” She waited a moment until the driver had an obvious choice for a safe spot to pull over, then reached down and flipped the switch for the grill lights. The van wobbled slightly as the red light display behind him startled the driver. Just ahead of them, at the Borracho Springs turn-out, Estelle saw a late model pick-up truck parked, a fair collection of radio and computer antennae sprouting from the roof, and the shield of the livestock inspector on the door. The van driver may well have thought he was the target of a squeeze play between officers, but he stopped the van carefully, four-way flashers blinking.

As Estelle approached on the right side of the vehicle, she saw a head or two straighten up inside. Half the passengers had been dozing, and they now turned to watch her approach. The passenger window wound down, the young man’s hands in view.

“Good morning, sir,” Estelle said in Spanish. She stepped just far enough forward to see the driver, a middle-aged man with a thin mustache and bright smile who kept both hands on the steering wheel. “Sir, I stopped you because it looks like your left rear tire is going flat.”

The driver looked heavenward, and tapped the gear lever with his hand as if making sure it was in Park. “May I get out, sheriff?” he asked in flawless English.

“Of course, sir.”

He turned and looked back at his passengers. “Stay in the van,” he ordered in Spanish, and then climbed out. Walking back to the rear of the vehicle, he knelt beside the offending tire, now so soft that the sidewall was buckled.

“Ay, ” he said, and reached out to touch the tire as if it were somehow suffering. “I was hoping it would last until Posadas, but I don’t think so.”

“You have a spare, señor?”

“But of course.”

“It would be best if you used it. You’re running heavy, señor.”

“And that’s if…” he said with a wry nod. He pushed himself upright and walked to the back doors. The spare was covered with a well-worn boot, and he thumped it tentatively. “Not good,” he said. “So…the tire is flat, the spare is flat, and here we are.”

“I have a can of Fix-Flat,” Estelle said. “Let’s see if that’s enough to get you into town.”

As she walked back toward her vehicle, she saw that Bill Gastner had gotten out of his truck and was ambling down the shoulder of the highway toward them, hands in his pockets, enjoying the sunshine. He reached out to shake hands with the van driver, and they waited together until Estelle returned with the aerosol can of tire magic. She shook it briefly and handed it to the Mexican.

“Ah,” he said. “This would be good. We hope it will be good.”

Estelle glanced inside the van and saw that nine sets of eyes were regarding her with varying degrees of interest. The Fix-Flat hissed, and the tire slowly inflated a bit. The Mexican adjusted the nozzle and spritzed some more. “I think that’s the best we can expect,” he said, and disconnected the can.

“Keep it,” Estelle said as he started to hand it to her. “You have twenty-two miles to go.”

He waggled his eyebrows and grimaced in consternation. “Then I should not waste time,” he said.

“Good luck, Bernardo,” Gastner said.

The Mexican looked at Estelle. “We are free to go, agente? ”

“Of course, sir. You folks have a good day.”

“Many, many thanks. You’ve been very kind.” He patted the flank of the van as he made his way back to the driver’s door. Bill Gastner settled comfortably against the fender of Estelle’s Crown Victoria as they watched the Mexican van accelerate away. He folded his arms across his considerable paunch and regarded Estelle with amusement.

“You’ve been in the lion’s den,” he said. “I saw your car at the saloon when I drove by. Did you find out anything I should know?”

“First of all, Victor is in Las Cruces and Junior went to Posadas, so I was able to talk with the two girls. Interesting.”

Gastner waited while Estelle joined him in leaning against the fender. An enormous RV rumbled down the highway southbound, and the driver lifted two fingers from the wheel in salute. Gastner returned the salute. “And how interesting was it?”

“Well,” Estelle said, “for one thing, Macie said that Miles Waddell watched Freddy Romero zoom by the Broken Spur on his four-wheeler-at the same time that I was just down the road and caught a glimpse of the ATV. They said that Freddy rode along the highway shoulder, then swerved across the saloon’s parking lot. Mary was standing outside by the back door, taking a cigarette break when she saw him. And when Waddell came out of the restroom, he joked that the boy looked as if he was going to skid right into the side of the building.”

“Huh.”

“Gus Prescott was in the saloon at the time, along with Herb Torrance. They both left shortly after the boy rode by.”

“And you’re assuming… “

“I’m trying not to assume anything, Padrino. But I have this allergy to coincidence.”

Gastner uncrossed his arms and drummed his fingers on the sedan’s fender. “Either the shooter was out near the cave when Freddy arrived, or he followed the kid out there. If he followed him out there, he had to see him go by at one time or another.”

“That’s what I’m thinking, sir.”

“You’re assuming that no one saw him over at Borracho.”

“They could have. I don’t know. But I don’t have any indication that someone did, Padrino. ”

“Huh.” His heavy eyebrows furrowed and he rapped the fender again. “The girl knew, right?”

“Casey? I’m sure she did. She was with him the first time, and they had an argument about both his driving and his spelunking. She helped him pack the skull so it wouldn’t be damaged. She had to know that Freddy wouldn’t be able to resist more exploration.”

“Odd that she didn’t want to go with him.”

“His driving, for one thing, Padrino. On a four-wheeler, he’s close to being a lunatic…well, sadly, was close to it. She didn’t share his enthusiasm for going airborne.”

“Casey reminds me of her older sister in that respect. Christine is about as levelheaded and mature as it’s possible to get.”

Estelle nodded. “Both of them are. Freddy was a polar opposite, which was part of the attraction, I suppose.”

“You gotta wonder…”

“Sir?”

“Now I’m a parent, and so are you. I can’t imagine Gus being too thrilled about young Freddy squiring his daughter around.”

“No, sir. That would be an understatement…and for several reasons.”

Gastner grinned. “You want to go up there now? He might be home on a Monday morning.”

“I would.”

“He’ll be delighted to see you, I’m sure.” Gastner’s light sarcasm wasn’t lost on her.

“Well, it’s hard to live in New Mexico, right up against the border of Mexico, and not run into us Mexicans,” she laughed. “But we get along all right. You might think of something to ask that I miss.”

“Oh, sure.” Gastner laughed and nodded toward his state truck. “I’ll follow you in.”