Statute of Limitations

Chapter Three

The van was parked with its tires cocked against the concrete curb. If the occupants of Room 110 had pushed aside the lightproof plastic curtain, their view outside would have been of the van’s blunt, rusted, and dented face. Estelle pulled the county car in behind and perpendicular to the vehicle, stopping just far enough away that she could both read the tattered license plate and watch the yellow door of Room 110.

“That old boat has seen some miles,” Gastner said. He leaned back in the seat and cocked his head, looking at the ski-laden Toyota. “Oklahoma skiers,” he said. Two spaces farther down, the white utility truck was parked facing out, its doors clearly marked with magnetic signs. “And a Deming plumber.”

Estelle nodded as she reached down to turn the radio up a bit, never taking her eyes off the van. The back windows were plastered with an array of stickers, most from national parks. The registration sticker on the license plate was valid. She keyed the mike.

“PCS, three ten.”

“Three ten, go ahead.”

“Ten twenty-eight New Mexico four niner seven, Baker Edward Charlie.”

Dispatcher Brent Sutherland responded before the computer had a chance to search the NCIC brain. “Three ten, four niner seven, Baker Edward Charlie should appear on a 1972 Ford Econoline van, color green, registered to Paula Ann Hart.” He spelled the last name. “Fourteen thirty-seven Mesa Park, Las Cruces. Negative twenty-nine.”

“Ten four. Thanks.”

“Three ten, be advised that the occupants of that vehicle were the subjects of a complaint earlier this evening.”

“Ten twenty-one,” Estelle said, requesting a change from radio to phone. She hung up the mike. She turned and raised an eyebrow at Gastner, who shrugged.

“Who the hell knows,” he said. Estelle had her phone in hand when it rang.

“Guzman.”

“Estelle,” Sutherland said, “you might want to talk with Jackie Taber about that van. She responded to a complaint at…just a sec.” Estelle could picture Brent leaning forward to read the log. “At the Prairie Rest B-and-B over on North Tenth. Apparently the young couple driving that van stopped there looking for a room. They claimed that they didn’t have any money.”

“What was the complaint?” Estelle asked. Asking for a room was hardly grounds for a complaint.

“Ah, nothing really specific. Mrs. Melvin-that’s Rachel Melvin, the owner? She called here and said that there was something suspicious about the couple…couldn’t put her finger on what it was. She wanted the police to check them out. I logged that call at 18:04.”

“They were up front about not being able to pay for the room?”

“Jackie didn’t say anything to me about that when she called in.”

“But they left the premises of the B-and-B when requested to do so by the owner?”

“I guess so. You might want to talk with Jackie, though. She talked to them a few minutes later over at Pershing Park. It looked like maybe they were going to camp there.”

“Okay. Thanks, Brent. And by the way, did you log the caller’s name for the 911 involving Chief Martinez?”

“No, ma’am. He hung up on me. He reported a man down at the Posadas Inn, then just hung up.”

“But the caller was a man. You’re sure of that?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We’ll be out of service for a few minutes with the owners of that van, Brent. Bill Gastner’s with me, and the sheriff went over to the hospital with the ambulance.”

“Right.” Sutherland sounded relieved. Estelle was reasonably sure that Bob Torrez hadn’t informed dispatch of his intentions. She clicked off the cell phone and glanced up as a sweep of headlights flashed in the rearview mirror. A white, older model Ford Bronco nosed in and stopped. “Let’s see what Jackie has to say,” Estelle said.

She got out of the car and joined Deputy Jackie Taber on the walkway in front of one of the service rooms, where the narrow overhang would provide some protection from the weather.

“Nice night,” Jackie said by way of greeting. She was a large young woman, square through the shoulders and thick through the waist. “Good evening, sir,” she said, as Bill Gastner ambled up to join them.

“Well, it was,” Gastner said.

“I’m really sorry about Chief Martinez,” Jackie said. “It doesn’t look good for him.”

“Nope,” Gastner said, and let it go at that. Estelle glanced at her old friend. Gastner and Martinez had been friends for decades, and with the village-county consolidation of public safety services, the two colleagues had met a dozen times in the past month.

“Brent tells me that you had occasion to talk with the owners of this van earlier,” Estelle said, and the deputy nodded.

“That’s why I shagged down here,” Jackie said. “I’ll go back and help the guys sweep in a minute, but I wanted to tell you-” she nodded in the direction of the old van “-they stopped at the B-and-B over on Tenth,” she said. “They told the owner that they didn’t have any money, but asked if they could stay the night. I guess Mrs. Melvin didn’t like the looks of them.”

“Rachel Melvin doesn’t like the looks of anybody who’s younger than sixty,” Gastner observed.

“That’s true, sir,” Jackie said, and a smile ghosted across her round face. “When we talked, she didn’t want to open the front door far enough for me to step inside, either. She said that the young couple inquired about a room and told her right up front that they were short of money. She said that they both came to the door, and that surprised her, since the girl was obviously pregnant and quite a ways along.”

“And that’s it?” Estelle asked.

“Mrs. Melvin said that she told them they should check in Lordsburg. That she didn’t have a room available.”

Gastner chuckled. “Lordsburg? She didn’t recommend that they come down here to the motel?”

“She didn’t say, sir. But it doesn’t sound like it.”

“No room at the inn,” he said. “How goddamn biblical.”

Estelle looked at the former sheriff with amusement, then at the deputy. “You talked with them?” she asked the deputy.

“I talked with Mrs. Melvin first, and established that nothing had happened that would constitute probable cause for a stop. They asked for a room, told her they didn’t have any money, and went on their way when she refused. Mrs. Melvin admitted that they were perfectly polite and not the least bit pushy. She only grudgingly admitted that, by the way.”

“Why bother calling the SO, then?” Estelle asked, knowing the answer even before Bill Gastner voiced it.

“Because she’s an old biddy,” he said. “And she wouldn’t recommend this motel because Adrian owns it. Part that and part that her sister owns the one she’s talking about in Lordsburg.”

“Maybe so,” Jackie said. “But I saw the van a few minutes later, parked on Pershing, over behind the park. I’m sure that they saw me approach.” Jackie pushed her Stetson back a bit. “Since Mrs. Melvin had told me that the woman was pregnant, it seemed prudent to make sure that they weren’t in need of medical attention, so I stopped to talk with them. They’re a young couple from Las Cruces.”

She slipped a small notebook from her blouse pocket and thumbed pages. “Todd Willis and Stacie Hart.” She closed the notebook. “And she’s eight months pregnant. Or nine.”

“They’re married?” Gastner asked.

“No, sir. They said not. Maybe living together.”

“Bound for?”

“Apparently headed for Tucson to visit Miss Hart’s relatives. The van belongs to her sister, who’s letting them use it for a while. Their own vehicle broke down. License and registration bears that out.”

“Huh,” Gastner said. “So we’re only two hours from Las Cruces, even driving in that old heap. And Tucson is just four hours farther down the pike. Why did they leave Cruces so late in the day that they’d need a motel in the first place? Especially if they were short in the funds department?”

“I didn’t ask them that, sir.”

“Maybe the girl just became uncomfortable,” Estelle said.

“Maybe so. Who knows why people do the damn things that they do.”

“When you talked to them, Jackie, did either of them get out of the van?”

“No, ma’am. I approached them and we spoke through the driver’s side window.”

“Did Miss Hart appear in distress of any kind?”

“She looked bedraggled,” Jackie said. “They both did. She’s huge, though, and she kept shifting on the seat as if she couldn’t find a comfortable position.”

“Ay,” Estelle said. They heard the scuffing of a door opening and Estelle stepped away from the side of the building and looked down the sidewalk toward Room 110. A young man in jeans and sweatshirt stood framed in the doorway, one hand on the jamb, one on the knob. He saw Estelle and gave her a questioning look. “Let’s find out,” she said.

“Hello,” the young man said as the three approached. He held the door open further. “Come on in out of the rain.”

“Thank you,” Estelle said. “I’m Posadas County Undersheriff Estelle Guzman, sir. This is Deputy Jackie Taber and Bill Gastner.”

“Todd Willis.” He turned and nodded toward the bathroom. “My fiancée is in the bathroom.”

“Is Ms. Hart all right?”

“She’s fine. We’re tired, is all. She’ll be out in a minute.”

“Mr. Willis, I’m interested in two things. First, did you call 911 this evening?”

A flush crept up his pale cheeks. Estelle watched as he appeared to debate with himself about what to say. He was a good-looking kid, despite the stringy, long hair and Ohio Wesleyan sweatshirt that had needed laundering a week before.

“Yes,” he said quickly, as if he had realized that he’d waited too long to reply.

“What did you see, Mr. Willis? Why the 911 call?” Estelle glanced around the generic room. A large nylon overnight bag rested on the dresser, beside what appeared to be a bulky camera case.

“We were just starting to unload from the van, outside there where we’re parked? I was at the back door, and happened to glance back that way”-he waved in the direction of the motel office-“and saw three men talking. At least that’s what it looked like. One of them appeared to collapse against the wall of the motel and then fell. The other two men drove away and left him there.”

“Drove away in what?”

“A late-model car of some kind. I’m not sure what model. Maybe an Olds or a Buick. Something like that. Full-sized.”

“Did you go over to check on the stricken man?”

Willis hesitated again. “No. I thought that the best thing I could do was call 911 and let the professionals do it.”

The bathroom door opened and an enormously pregnant young woman emerged wearing a thick plaid bathrobe and fluffy slippers. Her thin, swarthy face accentuated the dark hollows under her eyes.

“Hi,” she said, and moved to the bed, sitting down gently on the corner with one hand under her belly.

“Ms. Hart?” Estelle said, and introduced herself again. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. I’m just tired.” Stacie Hart smiled wanly. “And we’re kind of upset about what happened down the way. Is the man going to be all right?”

“We don’t know,” Estelle said. “But we’re interested in what you saw.”

“I was inside already. I didn’t see what happened.”

“Did both of you go into the motel office when you checked in?”

Stacie nodded. “Would you close the door, please?” she said to her fiancé, and Willis did so. “Yes…I went in with Todd.”

“When was the first time that you became aware of any of the three men on down the way?”

“As we were turning around. I mean after we checked in,” Willis said. “We went back out to the van, and we were turning around to drive down here. One of the three men was just walking down the parking lot toward the lobby as we did that. A great big guy with a ponytail. I had parked kinda close to the doors, and when I was pulling out, he took a step back and turned sideways, I guess thinking that maybe I needed the room to maneuver.” Willis paused and looked at his fiancée. “He was a big guy, like I said. And he looked fit. Not fat or anything.”

“He never said anything? Any gestures?”

“No. He just waited a second or two for me to move the van out of the way.”

“And then what?”

“Then we drove down to our parking spot, outside here. I glanced back toward the office when we were getting out of the van to come inside our room, and another of the men was walking toward the motel entrance. He was reaching out with one hand, kind of like he was running the flat of his hand along the wall, like maybe for balance. I didn’t know if he was drunk, or what.”

“Where were the other two men at that time?”

“I didn’t see them. I mean, I didn’t look. We were busy getting our stuff from the van into the room.”

“But you saw the man collapse?”

“That was a minute or so later. I went back out to get some stuff and close the van’s back door, and the three of them were down by the two cars.”

“Talking, arguing?”

“I couldn’t tell. If I had to guess, I’d say just talking. I locked up the van, and when I turned around again, I saw the one older man sag against the wall, then fall to his hands and knees.”

“What did the other two men do?” Estelle asked.

“Nothing, I guess.”

“Did you see them touch the man at any time?”

Willis shook his head. “It just looked like they were talking, and like maybe the man who collapsed was walking away, around the front of the car.”

“What prompted your call, then?”

“Well, I saw the old guy collapse, but then the other two just drove away and left him there. That’s when I called 911.”

“How long after the man collapsed was it before the other two drove away?” Estelle asked.

“Right away. I mean, right then. They didn’t go over to him, or anything. They just got in the car and left. Just like that.”

“And you didn’t walk down to see if you could help?”

Willis took a deep breath and glanced at Stacie. “No.”

Bill Gastner grunted something to himself and thrust his hands deeper in his pockets. He glowered at the young man over the top of his glasses. Estelle didn’t interrupt as the old man’s unblinking gaze dissected Todd Willis for a long, uncomfortable moment. “Why not?” Gastner finally asked. “Wouldn’t that be the logical thing to do?”

“I thought…I thought the best thing was to call emergency,” Willis said lamely. “I don’t know CPR or anything like that.”

“Shit,” Gastner said with disgust and turned half away, his interest apparently attracted to the print of a Dutch windmill that hung over the blond oak desk.

“This is just your second stop this evening here in town?” Estelle asked gently. Willis nodded quickly as if relieved to be talking to her, rather than her elderly companion. He glanced at Deputy Taber for confirmation.

“We talked to Deputy Taber earlier,” he said. “Over at the park.”

“Were you thinking of staying there for the night? In the park, I mean?”

“No,” he said quickly. “We just stopped there to look at the map.”

“Ah. You’re lost?”

He smiled and ducked his head. “No. We’re not lost. Not the map, actually. We were looking through our notes and stuff. Looking through the Posadas directory.”

“For?”

“Well,” and he hesitated. “To see where else we might be able to stay.”

“I’m surprised that the B-and-B didn’t have a vacancy this time of year,” Estelle said. “Where else have you tried?”

“We stopped at the B and B,” Willis said, “but the owner…well, she…” He finished with a vague waffle of his hand.

“No, I meant stopped at places other than in Posadas,” Estelle said. She had been watching Stacie Hart as they talked. The girl had remained silent, all her energy consumed by the effort to keep her spine vertical. “Did you stop in Deming on your way over from Cruces?”

“Actually, what difference does it make where we stopped?” Todd said, a little petulance creeping into his voice. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I don’t suppose it makes any difference at all,” Estelle said. “I’m just trying to form an accurate picture in my mind of what happened here tonight.”

Willis sat down on the bed beside Stacie, and her hand slipped over to intertwine with his.

“Deming has a good many motels and such,” Estelle said. “I was wondering if you had tried any of them.”

“We stopped at three places,” Willis said. “Two motels and one B and B sort of place.”

“Deming’s only an hour or so out of Cruces,” Gastner said.

“Well, yes, it is,” Willis agreed.

“And these places that you tried…they all refused you?” Estelle asked.

Willis didn’t answer, but shrugged evasively.

“That’s interesting,” Estelle said. She looked around the room again at the couple’s possessions. “You’re headed for Tucson?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You have enough money for gas?”

“I think so.”

Estelle regarded Willis for a long moment, and he blushed as if correctly reading the skepticism in her gaze.

“I mean, we were planning on just driving to Tucson, right? It’s not that far. We weren’t planning to stop. But then Stacie got to feeling…well, uncomfortable, and we thought we’d try to find a place to stop, and continue on tomorrow.” He tried an engaging grin. “Got money for gas, or motel. Not both.”

“I see,” Estelle said. “Well, Mr. Patel is a most gracious person.” Her eyes roamed the room, taking in the neat travel bag, the leather camera case, and the cell phone that rested on top of Stacie Hart’s beaded handbag. Through the open bathroom door, she could see a spread of bath accoutrements, including a curling iron that was plugged in beside the mirror.

“Are you planning to pay your bill here when you check out? Is that the deal?”

The room fell silent, and Estelle let the silence hang.