“It was only by incredible diplomacy on Bill’s part that we didn’t all end up watching the damn thing right then and there.” Francis shifted position slightly so that the side of his face rested comfortably against his wife’s shoulder. “Fortunately, he opened the present from Carlos first. I think Bill was intrigued with the concept of using modeling clay to hold the wrapping paper in place. He liked the knife, though.”
“He already has about six of those utility tool things,” Estelle said.
“Eight. He told Carlos that he has one lost in every room of his house. Anyway, he was able to use one of the thirty-nine blades to open the other packages, and Carlos liked that.” He shifted a leg. “Your feet are like ice,querida.”
“All the blood’s in my head. My brain’s going around in circles.”
Francis puffed another hot breath against her shoulder. “Maybe if you tell me about it, it’ll put us both to sleep.”
“Ay,” Estelle murmured. She wondered if Perry Kenderman was lying in bed too, eyes bloodshot, staring upward at the invisible barrier of his bedroom ceiling. “I’ve had better days, Oso.”
“Nasty crash?”
“Very.”
Francis made no response, and she reached across with her right hand and gathered a fistful of hair, tugging it just enough to rock his head gently. “One of the village cops made a bad mistake, querido. ”
Francis switched to Spanish, the words soft and graceful. “Me puedes decir el como y el porque?” Estelle smiled. Can you tell me the how and the why of it? She had heard her mother, Teresa Reyes, say the same thing countless times to one or the other of the children during moments when something in their universe tangled.
“The only thing we know right now is el que, querido. We know what happened. I was coming out of Kealey’s and heard what I thought was a high-speed chase between a car and a motorcycle. Then I saw a motorcycle crash at the intersection of Bustos and Twelfth. A village police car entered the intersection at almost the same instant, for all intents and purposes in hot pursuit.”
“What’s the mistake?”
“Officer Kenderman says that’s not the way it happened. Except for one little aspect, though, that’s exactly what happened.”
Francis puffed hot air against her shoulder, then said, “I’m lost.”
“Kenderman’s version doesn’t match what happened, Oso. I know what I heard, and I know what I saw. He says he only started the chase a couple of blocks north of where the bike crashed. I know that’s not true.”
“You have other witnesses?”
“Yes. We talked to two ladies who live right at the intersection of Twelfth and Highland Court. They saw exactly what I heard. Maria Rubay was outside emptying the garbage and saw the whole thing. Ethel Corning lives on the other side of Highland and happened to glance out her window. She said she heard the garbage can lid, saw Maria, and then saw the rest.”
“Ethel Corning?”
“Bobby’s second-grade teacher.”
“She of the cancerous pancreas.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Estelle whispered. “Bobby and I talked to her. She seemed so frail and wasted, but she never mentioned that she was ill.”
“That she is. Don’t linger in getting a signed deposition from her.”
“A sharp mind, still. She described the incident exactly the way Maria Rubay did.”
“And despite all this, Kenderman still maintains that he wasn’t chasing the bike all over town? I guess I’m not surprised. He’s trying to save his sorry ass. He doesn’t know that you heard the whole thing?”
“No.”
“I mean, you didn’t tell him?”
“Nope. And for another thing, Kenderman lied to me about knowing who the victim was. The normal thing to do would be to rush to her side to see if he could administer some kind of first aid. He didn’t do that. He knew who the victim was, and he panicked.”
“That’s even more support that the three witnesses are right,” Francis said. “The cop and the kid on the bike are having a fun time drag racing, and now the cop knows he’s in deep, deep caca.”
“It wasn’t fun they were having,” Estelle said. “The girl’s mother says that Kenderman and her daughter were arguing earlier in the evening.”
“Huh.” His hand moved down so that his index finger tapped the center of her chest. “So was he chasing after her just to talk to her again, and she’s doing her best to ignore him, or,” and he tapped a second finger, “was she running from him, out of fear?” He tapped with his ring finger. “Or, it could have just been a normal chase. Some traffic infraction, and she refuses to stop when he turns on the lights. Off they go.”
“There’s no such thing as a normal chase, Oso. You chase a bike, especially a kid, and someone’s going to get hurt. We don’t do it, and Chief Mitchell doesn’t allow it. Nor did Chief Martinez before him. Kenderman would know that. Besides, he never turned on his red lights.”
“He may have just forgotten them.”
“Not likely, querido.” She fell silent. She could tell that Francis was patiently waiting. “He followed her into the intersection so closely, you can’t believe it,” she said finally. “Right on her tail. It was almost as if he was trying to force her into a crash. Or even hit her.”
“Maybe he was.”
“And he lied to me besides.”
“Well,” Francis said and fell silent. His fingers resumed their gentle tapping. “Then you need to pick through the pieces until you find one that fits, as Padrino is fond of saying.” His fingers slid upward and traced the line of her lower jaw. “And you’re sure it was his car all the time.”
“Reasonably. It was a start-to-finish thing. I didn’t hear one car chasing, then that one leave off to be replaced by another.”
“Is that possible, though?”
When she didn’t respond, he stroked her cheek. “You asleep yet?”
“Uh uh.” She squeezed his hand and pushed herself to a sitting position.
“What’s Kenderman likely to do when he knows he’s caught up in a lie?”
Estelle sighed and swung her legs off the side of the bed. “I don’t know, querido. First I need to make sure I’m right about what happened. Then…” she stood up and flipped the bedding back up to cover the warm spot where she’d been lying. She bent over, found her husband’s face in the dark, and kissed him hard. “Then I can start on the porque.”
Chapter Seven
Bustos Avenue was a flat, lonely macadam desert. For the second time in six hours, Estelle Reyes-Guzman stood by her unmarked car in front of Kealey’s Kleaners. The gas station across the street was dark. In the distance, she could hear the bass mutter of a tractor-trailer on the interstate. Above her head, the streetlight transformer fizzed and hummed.
She waited, leaning against the open door of her car, cell phone in hand.
“Okay, I’m here,” Deputy Jackie Taber’s soft voice announced. “The Parkers’ house is just across the street.” The deputy was driving Kenderman’s patrol car. Eight blocks and the triangular wedge of Pershing Park separated Taber from the spot where Estelle’s unit was parked in front of Kealey’s-six tenths of a mile on the odometer. More than three thousand feet-ten football fields. Estelle closed her eyes, listening.
Two miles to the south, another tractor-trailer rode its Jake brake down the interstate exit ramp, a deep, guttural flutter of compressed exhaust that carried effortlessly on the still air.
“Wait a second,” Estelle said. She listened until the sound of the truck faded. “Okay. Keep the phone open. The street’s clear.”