Statute of Limitations

Chapter Thirty-one

With both hands raised to shoulder level, Bill Gastner backed away from his front door.

“I’ll go peacefully,” he said.

“It may come to that, Padrino,” Estelle replied, and she stepped into the dark warmth of the former sheriff’s home as he moved to one side. The heat was turned up unusually high, contrary to Gastner’s habit of liking his house about the same ambient temperature as a cave. “Did you see the Sunday paper this morning?”

“No…but by the tone of your voice, and the fact that you’re back to visit my humble abode, I imagine that you did. And probably our good sheriff, too.”

“Ah, yes,” she said. She looked him up and down affectionately. Other than being dressed as if he might be called to go out in a blizzard, with heavy corduroy trousers, Wellington boots, and weighty flannel shirt, he appeared ruddy-cheeked and healthy. “How are you doing? You look great.”

“Oh, I’m fine. My noggin still hurts, but then again, it hurt earlier today, too. And still will at dinner tonight.” He flashed a bright smile and closed the door deliberately, pushing it against the jamb until the latch clicked. “But the newspaper? Chalk it up to senility,” he said, and turned to gesture down the hallway. “Come on in. I was just in the process of doing nothing and thinking great thoughts.” He paused halfway down the foyer. “You in a hurry? Are we going somewhere?”

“I wish that we were.”

“Well,” Gastner said philosophically, “I know exactly how dead-end streets feel.” His eyebrows lifted as he accepted the newspaper clipping from Estelle. He smoothed it out on the counter, and took his time finding his glasses and settling them on his nose. After a minute, he tapped the copy. “I was afraid he’d take that.” He straightened up, leaving the clipping on the counter. “Willis-that kid from the newspaper? He called me at the hospital. I’ll give him this-he’s resourceful.”

Gastner regarded the ceiling, hand stroking his chin. “As I remember, it was late…some odd hour when I wasn’t expecting to have to think. How he got past the hospital switchboard, I didn’t think to ask. Reporters have their own bag of tricks, I suppose….He proved that at the motel, didn’t he? I didn’t bring his Joseph scam up again, and maybe that’s what he was fishing for-to see if we were going to do anything about that.”

He shrugged. “What the hell. Anyway, he asked me something about Janet Tripp, and I recall mumbling something about this particular crime hitting us hard, since she was the fiancée of one of the deputies.” He grimaced with embarrassment. “I remember thinking that I shouldn’t have said that in the first place, but that maybe I could claim that as off the record, for a number of reasons. But I don’t remember if I actually said so or not.” He regarded the clipping again. “Obviously, I said something.”

“It probably wouldn’t have made any difference,” Estelle said.

“Maybe not. Now the other…” He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m a little more paranoid than before. I don’t turn my back on dark corners anymore, sweetheart. I can tell you that. I must be a fast study. It only takes one wallop on the head to make me pay attention.” He thrust his hands in his trouser pockets. “That reporter caught me at an odd, fuzzy moment, I guess. Maybe I thought the bastard who bent that rebar over my head would like to try again.”

He stepped over to the coffee maker, which was obviously loaded and primed. He glanced into the basket to remind himself of what he’d already done, then flipped the power switch.

“It’s an ego thing, I think. Psychologists would have a field day explaining why my common sense and usual good-natured restraint slipped so badly. But the second time somebody tries to crack my skull, I’ll be ready. That’s a little childish, I admit. But that was my thinking. And if nothing else, him making a second try might give you something else to go on.”

“I’ll pass on that, sir,” Estelle said. “We don’t need that kind of help. Your head, or anybody else’s. You know what you’d say if you were in my shoes. Or Bobby’s.”

He toyed with the newspaper clipping absently, folding it this way and that without reading it again. “Bobby was a little pissed, eh? I assume that in part is the reason for this second delightful visit.” He grinned and beetled his brows. “‘Tell ’im he ain’t sheriff no more,’” he said, sounding remarkably like Robert Torrez. “Did he say something like that?”

“Pretty close, Padrino.”

“Angry, huh?”

“Briefly. But this too shall pass, as my mother likes to say. Maybe it was good for him. It gave him something else to think about. Between you and Leona Spears, he hasn’t had much time to dwell on his blood clots.”

“Oh, my God. Don’t put me in company with the Crazy Lady,” he said, clutching his chest dramatically. “I would have liked to have seen Bobby’s face when he heard about that.”

“I assume then that you heard?”

“Oh, sure. In fact, I could rub Roberto’s face in it a little by telling him that I saw it coming quite a while ago. Not long after we lost Kevin, in fact. Somebody realized that maybe Leona might fit right in, working with the rest of the nut cases. Our sheriff got a little bent, did he?” He laughed again.

“Apoplético might be an accurate description, Padrino. BP maybe 300 over 250.”

“I bet. And he’s back at his desk? That’s dumb.”

“Yes. Just for a while, though. Gayle’s staying close. I think that right now he’s with Mike. There’s a memorial service for Janet planned for Wednesday at two. At the VFW. Bobby is helping set that up.”

“I had forgotten that.”

“Forgotten that?”

“That Janet was in the service. Army, wasn’t it.” It was a statement, not a question. Estelle nodded, watching Gastner’s face. His eyes had that distant look as he focused on memories here and there, associations that connected who knew how many souls, names, and dates. “I need to stop by and see how he’s doing. Both of ’em, in fact.”

“You should, sir. I know that Bobby doesn’t like standing in the corner, feeling useless.”

“Can’t fault him for that. Did someone get ahold of Janet’s sister, by the way?”

“Mike did. I have her name and address as well.”

“Is she able to come for the service?”

“I think so.”

“A fountain of information you are.” Gastner laughed at the unadorned answer, and then his face sobered. “Too many goddamn funerals,” he said. “Rosary for Eduardo is at four tomorrow afternoon. I think Mass is Tuesday morning at All Saints.”

“Ten o’clock,” Estelle said. “Mamá wanted to go.”

“You’re going to take her?”

“I think so. I’d like to see what faces show up.”

“Ah,” Gastner said, nodding. “Mind if I tag along?”

“Of course not, sir. Essie will appreciate it.”

“Maybe so. And speaking of Essie,” Gastner said, “I’ve been thinking. We need to talk to her, sooner rather than later.” He leaned forward on the stool, with one hand on the counter, looking as if he was about to put his head between his knees. He twisted as he bent, backbone letting out a symphony of satisfying cracks. “We don’t know what they talked about, you know.”

“They?”

“Essie and Eduardo. In the wee quiet when they couldn’t sleep. In unguarded moments. You know, Eduardo was just as willing to turn a nasty investigation over to us as not. He didn’t worry about turf, and I don’t think that was a weakness. But you know, not everyone saw it that way, fair or not.” Gastner reached out and picked up the clipping again, scanning through the story. “I’m curious what he would have said about all this.”

“Which part?”

“All of it, sweetheart. I wonder what he knew about Janet Tripp-beyond that she was Mike’s flame. And I wonder…” He looked up from the newspaper. “I just wonder, is all. Eduardo knew this town, Estelle. Make no mistake about that. He wasn’t an aggressive cop, and he didn’t put himself in people’s faces. He was more apt to let someone off with a gentle warning than a ticket. He considered it a successful day when all the teenagers were home by nine o’clock. But he knew the town. He knew the people. And in that sense, it’s probably a good thing that some of our beloved hot rods like Tom Pasquale and Mike Sisneros broke in with him. I’m not sure I’d have had the patience.”

“Not likely, sir.”

“Well,” and he waved a hand in self-deprecation. “It was different. I roamed the county like some old dog who couldn’t fall asleep. I know every rancher, every back road and trail. But the village was Eduardo’s turf. He lived with ’em every day. Saw ’em in church, talked with ’em at the service clubs, all that stuff. Everybody in town was his neighbor, in some way.”

“Maybe he didn’t talk with Essie much about his day.”

“Maybe so. Maybe not.” Gastner ducked his head in agreement. “Maybe Janet Tripp was just a name to him, nothing else. You know, I’ve been racking my brain about her, and my file is damn near empty. I can remember vaguely that she was in the army, but hell, I don’t remember if she lived here before that, or after, or what. I remember that her folks were in town for a little while, and then moved-I don’t know to where. I’m not sure when.” He got up and fetched a cup from the cupboard above the coffee maker. “Want some?”

“No thanks, sir. Bobby says the village files are a mess.”

He nodded and closed the cupboard door, then filled the cup slowly. “Yes, they are. But there’s good stuff there for the finding. You think that there’s some connection between Janet’s murder and the attack on me.” He paused and spooned in three heaping teaspoons of sugar. “I would have liked the opportunity to talk with Eduardo about that. ’Cause we sure as hell don’t have anything else.” He turned to regard Estelle. “Do we.”

“You want to talk with Essie?”

“Yep.” Gastner settled onto the stool. “That’d be a good thing to do, something constructive to do in an otherwise totally frustrating case, sweetheart. We need to take those files apart, piece by piece. We have only one name so far-Janet Tripp.” He shrugged. “Hell, it’s kinda ironic, in a way. Little place like this, and nobody knows nothin’. Unless you’re withholding secrets.”

“I wish I were,” Estelle said.

“It’s like one of those thousand-piece jigsaw puzzles,” Gastner said, thumping his hands onto the counter a couple of feet apart to form a frame. “You have this huge, yawning hole in the middle and you can’t find a single piece to get things going. Then one drifts into place, and before you know it, you’ve got this neat island that grows and grows.” He grinned. “You’ve probably heard me say all this before.”

“It bears repeating,” Estelle said, and Gastner laughed.

“God, that’s what I love about you,” he said. “You help the mantle of senility rest so gently.” He patted his belly. “I get goddamn poetic when I’m hungry. Do you have time right now to go over and have a chat with Essie? I think it would be worth our while. Tomorrow’s going to be tough on her, with the Rosary service and all.” He frowned and glanced sideways at Estelle. “Listen to me. I sound like I’m still working.”

“You are, sir,” Estelle said. She tapped her right temple. “And you’re right. We need connections, Padrino.”

“Don’t hold your breath on my account,” Gastner said. “And here I am, rattling along, and I never asked you why you came over, other than to chew me out about this thing.” He nodded at the clipping.

“I wanted to talk with Essie,” Estelle said. “And I wanted you along. Nobody is going to be able to prod her memory any better than you.”

“And you’re one step ahead of me, as usual. I’m flattered you asked me along, but like I said, don’t hold your breath. Essie might remember yesterday, but I’m having more and more trouble remembering where the next meal is coming from.”

“What makes me doubt that, sir? Do you want lunch before we go?” She glanced at the wall clock and saw that it was after two. “Late lunch? Something to hold you until dinnertime?”

“Nah,” Gastner said halfheartedly. “I eat, and then I’m going to want to take a nap. Hunger keeps me sharp. Let me take this mug of coffee along. That’ll be enough.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course not.” He waved her toward the front door.

As they drove through Posadas, up Grande to Bustos, then west to Sixth, and then south toward the modest, flat-roofed adobe Martinez home, Estelle found herself scrutinizing every passing car or truck, every pedestrian, even every loose dog.

“I don’t think he’s still in town,” Gastner said, as if he could read her mind. They saw the fleet of vehicles parked along Sixth Street, and Estelle slowed the county car. “And I don’t know why I say that,” he added. “You ever had a feeling like that?”

“Por supuesto, Padrino. That’s what I’m living with at the moment.”

“I just don’t know what to do about it.” He surveyed the Martinez’s front yard, now more of a parking lot since there was no sidewalk to define where the street ended and the brown grass began. “Quite a crowd.”

“When you have eleven grown children and their families all under the same roof, that’s a crowd,” Estelle said. “I called her earlier and asked if we could meet with her for a few minutes. I didn’t know if she’d be willing at this point, or not. She’s got enough to think about. But she agreed.”

“I think you’ll find that Essie Martinez has a steel rod in her spine,” Gastner said. “She always reminded me of one of those Schmoos from the cartoons. But that’s only until you talk with her. She’s got a tough streak. Of course, with eleven children, I guess she’d have to.”

They parked behind a Volkswagen Jetta with Wisconsin plates, and by the time they had gotten out of the car and were walking across the gravel toward the front door, Essie Martinez had appeared from inside, purse in hand, obviously on her way somewhere. Behind her, Estelle could see a number of people, and for a moment the chief’s widow turned to speak with someone in the shadows. She nodded emphatically and held up a hand, cutting off the conversation.

“Is this a bad time?” Estelle said. She extended a hand, and Essie took it and squeezed hard, in no hurry to let go. Still holding on to Estelle, she reached out and took Gastner by the elbow. With an escort on both sides, she walked toward the county car, biting her lower lip and obviously close to tears. Estelle realized with a start that Essie had been waiting for their arrival, and was making a clean break.

“Caramba,” Essie said when they reached the car. “You came just in time. Such a houseful!”

“Here,” Gastner said, taking the car’s door handle. “You sit in front.”

“No…my goodness. You’ll never fit back there,” she said, then saw all the equipment in the front. “Maybe not here, either. Look at this. How do you squeeze in there?”

“Like a cork,” Gastner said. He held the back door for Essie.

“I think that’s why Eduardo always drove his Buick,” she said as she settled onto the hard bench seat. “Do you two mind this, after all? I suppose we could find a corner somewhere in the house, but I need to get out for a little bit. I really do. Love ’em all, but por Dios, when they’re all hovering…” She reached out and tugged tentatively at the wire screen that separated the front seat from the back. “The smell of the beer was getting to me. I never liked that stuff, you know.”

“Mrs. Martinez,” Estelle said, “would my office be all right with you?”

“Just wherever you want to talk, that’s fine with me,” Essie said. “I don’t know how I can be of any help to you, but we’ll see.” She reached out and again touched the cage behind Estelle’s head. “Eduardo thought highly of you, you know. Both you and that husband of yours.” Estelle glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Mrs. Martinez tuck her hands in her lap. Other than a little redness in her eyes, her expression was serene as she watched the village roll by.

As they turned into the Public Safety Building’s parking lot, Estelle saw Jackie Taber and Linda Real standing on the back step.

“You know, years ago,” Essie said, “it would have been un-think-a-ble,” and she drew out the word, her accent heavy and thoughtful on each syllable, “for a woman to be a police officer. And now look.” She waited until Estelle had parked and Gastner pulled himself out of the car to open her door. “What do you think of that, Bill?” she said.

“I think times change, Essie,” the former sheriff said.

“They sure do,” Essie Martinez said. “That’s what Eduardo always used to say. ‘The times change.’” She shook her head sadly. “And the things that happen these days. I can’t imagine what goes through people’s minds, can you?”

“No, ma’am, I can’t,” Gastner said. “That’s why we need all the help we can get.”

“Even from old widow ladies,” Essie said. She managed a brave smile.