Wild Penance

33

I stopped by the library in Taos and asked the reference librarian to help me out with some information. I handed her the business card on which I had written the name I had copied from my book. She was able to get me what I needed in a matter of minutes. After that, I reported in for the meeting at the BLM.

“We’re going to work closely with the sheriff’s office and the Forest Service these next few days,” Roy said, “to try to manage the influx of people wanting to see the Penitente processions. There will be folks trying to camp and drive where they shouldn’t up in the areas around the High Road and out in Arroyo Seco. We’re going to put extra night details in both areas.” The Boss used a laser pointer and a map to flesh out the assignments for everyone. “Jamaica, I’m going to have to put Art out in Seco. You’ll have Reed working with you up in your area, though, so I want you to stay in close range of him, and vice versa. The weather forecast says we’ve got a big system coming in that could produce a lot of snow. And you all know how these early spring snows in high country can be-they’re usually the heaviest ones we get. Everyone gear up for that, and that means chains for your rigs, parkas, whatever you need to survive in case you get stranded.”

After the meeting, I headed for my cubicle to use the phone. As I listened to the ring on the other end of the line, I took the memory card that I had found a week ago in the illegal camp where Redhead had thrown me and inserted it into the reader device. I plugged the reader into the port on the computer.

“Deputy Padilla.” He fired it off fast.

“Jerry. This is Jamaica Wild.”

“Well, hello there. No more car chases, I hope. How you doing? You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks. Hey, I have a favor I want to ask of you.”

“You do? Well, now, tell me this: am I going to want to do it?”

I was opening the images from the file on the memory card reader drive. The pictures had been taken at night, and several of them were almost completely black.

Padilla continued, “What I mean is: is this something I need to brace myself for? Seems like whenever you’re involved, things gets pretty complicated.”

“What? Oh, no. No, I-sorry-I was looking at something else and lost concentration. No, I need you to do something for me, Jerry. It’s not complicated. And I’m going to give you a little information in return.”

“Well, that sounds a little better. What do you need?”

“I want you to try to find Santiago Suazo.”

“Hah!” he snorted. “You and half of all Taoseños! What’s he done to you?”

“Nothing, really. At least I don’t think so. It’s his wife. She believes some harm has come to him. I guess she tried calling your office to file a missing persons report, and then she phoned here to the BLM and asked to see me.”

“Yeah, I saw that she had called in, but, see, we have to play by the rules. We can’t file an MEP until someone has been missing three days, unless it’s a child or someone in need of medical attention or infirm in some way. Besides, you know it’s only a matter of time before something bad is gonna happen to that little bastard, anyway. You can bet he’s got a bull’s-eye on his butt no matter what he’s wearing.”

“Yeah, I know. I know. But Mrs. Suazo told me some interesting things. I think he might have gotten in way over his head this time.”

“Well, let’s see,” he said, “what sort of things would that be? Maybe I might get concerned about all this if I knew what we were even talking about, Jamaica. But I don’t know why we’re even talking about Santiago Suazo. Instead, I’m more concerned about you. Did you find someplace else to stay?”

“Suazo told his wife he was going to take her home to her people in east Texas. He found homes for their dogs and gave them away, sold or gave away everything they could, and helped her pack up the rest of their things. He had been flashing around a lot of money lately, like maybe he had just scored at something major, Jerry. Mrs. Suazo said she saw two big rolls of bills. Anyway, he left Tuesday at midday to run into town to get gas in the truck so they would be ready to leave-and to meet someone to pick up some money he was still owed. And he never came back.”

“Way I hear it, Jamaica, that guy disappears for days like that a lot.”

“I guess this time it sounds like it’s different, Jerry. It did to Mrs. Suazo, and it did to me, too. She thinks someone has done him in.”

“Well, see, there’s just about a five-mile-long line of people who’d be suspects for that. You hear what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, Jerry, I hear you. But there’s more. Suazo was involved in the theft of those Penitente icons. That had to be where he was getting all the money from. His wife showed me a shed on their property. It’s full of bultos and retablos.”

Padilla whistled into the phone. “Well, that might be, but I don’t have any authority to go look through Suazo’s shed without-”

“Do you have the reports on those stolen icons? Couldn’t you have someone go out and compare the descriptions of the stolen property with-”

“But that’s just it, Jamaica. There are no reports. You know the Penitentes. They aren’t going to talk about what’s going on with them to the law.”

“But isn’t there some kind of team investigation or something?”

“Team investigation? Who told you that? Salazar? It’s just another one of those concurrent jurisdiction things where we got a phone call from the sheriff of Rio Arriba County and a fax from the sheriff’s office in Santa Fe County, and everyone’s hearing the same rumors, but nobody’s got nothing. That’s your team investigation.”

“Well, if you send someone out to Suazo’s place, I know his wife will show you what’s there; you won’t need to get a warrant. I told her I was going to call you and talk to you about it. I’m pretty sure some of the stuff in those rumors is in his shed.”

“Okay, I’ll go out there myself.”

“And, would you just keep a lookout for Suazo? Like I said, his wife said he was going into town to collect some money and then to get gas in the truck. Maybe you could ask around at the gas stations-”

“Speaking of trucks, I haven’t had any luck looking for your shot-up Ford Ranger. You don’t think that could have been Suazo driving it, do you?”

“It wasn’t his truck. And it doesn’t jibe with his wife’s story. She said Suazo disappeared midday on Tuesday, the day before the Ranger tried to run me off the cliff.”

“Well, let’s see then… do you think Suazo is tied in to the incident at the gorge bridge?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s the thing, see? We’re over a week out from that, and we still don’t have any idea who did it or why. The trail is getting cold, and we don’t have a single lead. Nine times out of ten when I have a murder, I know who did it within a day or two. This one has us all stumped.”

“Well, Suazo could be a lead of some kind if you can find him.”

“Okay, Jamaica. I’ll get on it. I’ll let you know if I find anything. In the meantime, you keep yourself safe.”

I turned my attention to the photo files on the computer’s desktop. Twelve images had been dark or blurred and were impossible to make out. But six more showed the same scene over and over again, each with a different icon centered in the picture. Someone had photographed Los Hermanos as they performed some important ceremony in front of the Boscaje morada, their large crucifix at the head of the procession, then the carreta de la muerte-the large wooden cart with its life-size carved wooden skeleton figure of death holding an ax nailed to its seat-and el hermano mayor holding La Arca! I scanned the images carefully, looking at the men’s faces. One of them I recognized immediately. I was sure it was him, the big man standing there behind the elder with the ark. He looked the same, even in that old-fashioned long, black coat. The dark hair, the dark eyes… it was him. There was my angel.