“No, sir.”
“The bass boat of my dreams. Every bell and whistle known to man.”
“If only we had a lake,” Gastner said dryly.
“Elephant Butte is only a couple hours away,” Frieberg said. “And I pull it behind my camper, too. We’ve been everywhere.”
“And the we is…” Estelle asked.
“Well, I mean I’ve been everywhere. Anyway, I insured the boat with George’s agency. He found a company that didn’t charge an arm and a leg, and I appreciated that.”
“When was this, sir?”
“Oh, it’s been a year now. And then,” he grimaced, “a wheel came off my trailer. Can you believe that? That was in April. Fortunately, I wasn’t going very fast when it happened…and in fact, it was on one of those gravel access roads to the Butte. I guess I should be thankful for that. But it was one of those magic moments when everything that could go wrong, did. When the bearing froze and the wheel came off, the hitch failed. I didn’t have the safety chains properly connected. Perhaps you can imagine what happens when a wheel departs and then a heavy boat goes wandering off by itself.” He grimaced good naturedly, pulling the corners of his mouth back and showing perfect teeth.
“So you made an insurance claim?”
“Exactly. A substantial claim. By the time the rocks in the bar ditch were finished with both boat and motor, it wasn’t a pretty sight.”
“And this claim was in, what, May sometime?”
“Yes. I can find the exact date if you need it.”
“Mr. Enriquez paid you?”
“Ah, yes. With a personal check.”
“What was your reaction to that?”
“I know that’s not the way things work, Mrs. Guzman. Before I saw the check, I had no reason to believe that George Enriquez had taken me for a ride, in company with everyone else.”
“You had a policy in hand?”
Frieberg looked uncomfortable. “No. But I didn’t actually lose anything, either. He paid me, and paid me in full. Promptly, too.”
Estelle studied the man’s flat, bland face. “So tell me,” she said quietly. “Why Monday morning? Why did you go to see him then?”
“I…” Frieberg bit off his first thought and closed his eyes.
“You knew that you didn’t have a legitimate policy with Enriquez long before this. Five months before. And by your own admission, you knew about Mr. Enriquez’s dealings and that the grand jury convened on Tuesday. What prompted the visit Monday morning?”
“Actually, it was the jury business, Undersheriff,” Frieberg said carefully. “When Enriquez paid me for the boat, I was grateful, and…” he shrugged. “Maybe a little suspicious. But I kept paying the monthly premiums. Why, I don’t know, except…”
“You got what you paid for,” Gastner muttered.
“Exactly, Bill. I paid a premium, really pretty modest, and the first time I have a claim-and it was a significant one-he paid promptly. I admit it. If I knew that George was playing the market a bit, so what? I was benefiting, so I went along. But then I started to think, when I began hearing about the grand jury, that this was going to explode into something ugly. I procrastinated, I admit it. I knew George’s office was closed for the week, but driving by on Monday morning I saw his car in the lot. So I stopped.”
“What time was that?” Estelle asked.
“Oh, shortly after eight, I think. I went in and told him that I would need to look elsewhere for my insurance.”
Gastner chuckled, shook his head, and turned away, studiously examining the glass of the front door.
“It’s true,” Frieberg said with a flash of irritation.
“And what did Mr. Enriquez say in response to that?” Estelle asked.
“He wrote me a check for six hundred and twelve dollars…six months’ worth of premiums.”
“You still have that check?”
“Well, my bank does, I suppose.”
“And that’s all?” Estelle asked. “You complained, he cheerfully refunded half a year’s premiums, and that was it?”
“Well, in essence. We exchanged some words, of course, but I don’t know how well you knew George Enriquez. It was hard to stay mad at him for very long.”
“You hadn’t really lost anything, had you?” Gastner asked.
“No. And I think that’s to George’s credit, too. I hope that comes out. I hope that what I’ve been able to tell you is some help.”
“Well, sir, we actually didn’t come over to talk about your boat insurance,” Estelle said. “And I don’t think that’s why you went to see George Enriquez on Monday morning, either.”
Frieberg cocked his head quizzically. “I don’t understand.”
“Let’s talk about tonight.”
“Tonight?” He looked around the foyer as if a wet dog had been allowed to slip inside the funeral home along with the three visitors.
“About nine-thirty, give or take?”
“I don’t understand. I’ve been working here most of the evening. Now wait a minute. What’s going on?” His eyes shifted to Deputy Abeyta, the only uniformed officer present. For the first time, he appeared to realize that there were three police officers confronting him, not just two acquaintances.
“Mr. Frieberg, did you allow someone to borrow your vehicle this evening?”
“Of course not.”
“Temporary tag seven forty-one, two eighty-six, expires ten twenty-eight this month, a silver 2003 Dodge Caravan,” Gastner said, looking at Frieberg over the top of his glasses. “That’s yours?”
“Yes, that’s mine. What’s your interest in my car, Bill? I thought you were working for the state now.”
“I am,” Gastner said. “And your car doesn’t interest me in the least. Where your car was just might.”
“What are you two talking about?”
“Mr. Frieberg,” Estelle said patiently, “earlier this evening, your van was reported at the pharmacy, after hours.”
The mortician pushed up his glasses and then thrust his hands in his back pockets. “I don’t see…”
“You just said that you hadn’t been out all evening.”
“I wasn’t.”
“But your vehicle was? It drives itself?”
He pulled his hands free and held them up, palms outward. “Hold it, hold it.” He smiled engagingly. “I was out for a bit. All right? It slipped my mind.” He took off his glasses and held them out toward Estelle. He pointed at the soft rubber cushions attached to the nose piece. “These have been driving me crazy, but I keep forgetting to get them fixed when I visit the optometrist in Deming. I knew that Guy had some in his store, so I buzzed down.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Like to drive me crazy. You know, something like that starts to bug you, and pretty soon you can’t think of anything else.”
“Guy?” Estelle asked.
“Guy Trombley. At the drugstore. What, someone thought I was robbing the place, or what?”
Estelle held up the small aluminum clipboard that she carried and slipped two documents free. “Mr. Frieberg, I have a warrant to search the premises here and at your home, as well as to search your vehicle.”
“You’re joking,” Frieberg stammered and then promptly choked on inhaled saliva. Estelle waited until his coughing had subsided and he’d wiped his eyes. “I mean…you can look around here all you want, but,” he dabbed his eyes again, “I have the right to know what’s going on,” he finally managed.
“Yes, sir, you do. Earlier this evening, your vehicle was seen parked at the Posadas Pharmacy and Clinic. You were seen leaving the pharmacy with several cartons that we know contained contraband pharmaceuticals obtained from a supplier in Mexico. I have an inventory of those pharmaceuticals from Mr. Herrera.”
Owen Frieberg stared at her incredulously, his eyes still watering from the bout of coughing. He cleared his throat. “You’re kidding.”
Estelle’s left eyebrow drifted upward a fraction. “No, sir, I’m not. We know about Acambaro. We know about the Christmas and Cinco de Mayo trips. Mr. Frieberg,” Estelle said gently, “you can either cooperate with us as well and maybe save yourself some grief, or we’ll plow through this thing one step at a time. It’s your choice.”