“Come, come,” Maria said, and took Estelle by the elbow. With Sheriff Torrez following, they walked across the kitchen, out the back door, and stood on the concrete stoop. “There’s los botes.” She nodded at the twin garbage cans. “And this is the fence. That’s Highland Court.” She stepped off the stoop and walked the eight short strides to the cedar fence and rested both hands on it, then pointed to the east, toward the intersection. “And that’s Twelfth.” She walked to the two trash cans. “Now, when I’m standing here,” and she planted herself in front of one of the cans, “I can see right through the gaps in this old fence. And what am I looking at?” She pointed east. “Right across Twelfth and on down Highland.”
“And where were the bike and the police car?”
“Like I said, coming right at me. Coming right down Highland Court, headlights bobbing, motors roaring.” She turned and raised her eyebrows at Estelle.
“So it appeared to you that the police car was in pursuit of the motorcycle.?”
“Certainly was. Flyin’ low, both of them.”
“And you’re absolutely certain that the police car was following the bike on Highland, westbound?” When Maria Rubay looked puzzled, Estelle quickly added, “You’re certain that the police car didn’t appear out of some other street to cut off the bike. The officer wasn’t on Highland Court on this side of the intersection, for example?”
“No,” Maria said patiently. “Most certainly not. One behind the other. Vaaarrooom. Vaaarrooom. If either of the drivers had lost control, they’d have crashed right into my house.”
“And what then? After you saw them race through the intersection and turn southbound on Twelfth, what did you do?”
“Then I went into the house to listen to the prez.” She rubbed her arms. “And this is a chilly breeze.”
“Did you put the garbage in the cans before or after you saw the chase?”
“Before. I crammed on the lid, put the board on top to keep the skunks out, and was about to turn to go back in the house when here they come.” She clasped her hands together. “Like I said, I heard them first and naturally enough glanced that way. Swoosh, whoosh, there they all go.” She shrugged. “Then I went back in the house.”
“Immediately?”
“And that means…what, did I stand around outside? No, I went right back in the house.” She grimaced and reached for the back door. “I heard the sirens later.” She held the door for Estelle and Torrez. “Just minutes later. And then a bit ago, I heard voices outside, snuck a peek, and saw the convocation. I should have left the porch light on for you, but it’s on a timer, and I didn’t even think. I heard the doorbell, but by then I was back to my project, and just ignored it.”
“That’s all right.”
“Nobody ignores the darn telephone, though, right?” Maria smiled conspiratorially.
“Usually not, no.”
Back inside the brightness of the kitchen, Maria looked sympathetic. “I’m not sure I told you what you want to hear, but that’s the way it happened. At least as far as I’m concerned.”
Estelle held the small tape recorder to her lips, forehead furrowed in thought. “Did you hear any other vehicles?”
“Around that same time? None that I noticed. There might have been another one on Highland, way on down the street. It seems to me that I saw some lights. But I don’t know. Maybe just someone backing out of a driveway, you know. I didn’t pay attention.”
The undersheriff switched off the recorder and slipped it into her pocket.
“You guys want a snack of some sort?”
Torrez shook his head. “Many thanks, Maria. A deputy may be coming around with a deposition for you to sign in a day or two.”
“Just whatever,” she said cheerfully. “Bring Miss Gayle over.”
“We’ll do that.”
Leaving Maria Rubay to her welter of photos and cropping, Estelle followed Robert Torrez down the long sidewalk to Twelfth Street. With hardly a glance up or down the street, Torrez crossed and then waited at Estelle’s unmarked car as she ambled toward him, head down and lost in thought.
“Score one for you,” he said when she reached the car. “And you were right about something else, too.”
“What’s that?”
“Maria called the bike rider ‘he,’ just like you said.”
“Whoopee,” Estelle said. She let out a sigh. “I’d just as soon be wrong about the whole mess, Bobby.” Torrez made no reply. Estelle turned and gazed across the intersection. “Your cousin sounded sure of herself.”
“Maria is sure of herself. Always has been. Even when she’s wrong.”
“I don’t think she is, this time. But if we talk to ten witnesses, we’ll hear ten versions,” Estelle said. “I’d like to talk to…what did you say her name was? Mrs. Corning?”
“Yep.”
“She’s not a relative?” Estelle managed a smile.
“Nope. And actually, it’s Miss Corning. She was my second-grade teacher.”
“Ah,” Estelle said. “Second grade. She’s something of an institution, then.”
Torrez hunched his shoulders. “I guess. Second grade was my three favorite years.”
“Then Miss Corning is something of a saint, too,” Estelle said, and glanced at her watch. “She’s awake, so let’s see if she answers her door. Then we can hear version number three.”
The sheriff’s broad face was impassive, but Estelle saw a little tick of his eyebrows and found herself wishing that she could read Robert Torrez’s mind.
“What?” she asked.
“I was just wondering how all this would have turned out if you hadn’t stopped at the dry cleaners.”
“Scary thought.”
Chapter Six
Somewhere in the house, something ticked-a single, quiet little snick that might have been the thermostat trying to light the wall furnace, or the cooling coffeepot in the kitchen, or maybe even little Carlos, briefly awake and confirming that he could still snap his fingers the way his older brother had taught him.
Estelle lay flat on her back and stared up into the darkness. The luminous dial of the clock on the nightstand soundlessly flashed 2:52. An hour’s sleep, maybe two and then her mind had churned the rest of her system awake.
“You want to get up and jog around the block?” Her husband’s voice was hardly more than the softest exhalation, gentle and warm against her left ear. He was lying on his right side, and she wasn’t sure when he had awakened.
“I’d be too tired to find my way back home,” she whispered. She felt a finger trace the outer margin of her ear. “What time did Padrino finally leave?”
“He played one more game after you called. A little after nine, maybe.”
She sighed. “I wanted to see his face when he opened the gifts from los hijos. I’m sorry I missed that.”
A brief chuckle popped warm air against her ear. “He deserved an Academy Award.” Estelle smiled at the thought. Bill Gastner, the retired lawman, had been given a western video sometime in the distant past by one of his own children, no doubt with the thought that the video would prompt the start of a collection. As far as she knew, the video had been gathering dust alone, sitting on top of a VCR whose guts, she was sure, showed no sign of wear.
Undaunted, her eldest son Francisco had been adamant in his choice of a birthday gift for Padrino. Francisco’s agile little mind was convinced that everyone needed to own a personal copy of the same wonderful video that so enchanted him.
Estelle tried to picture Bill Gastner sitting through the loud, flashy attacks by the various dinosaurs that somehow had evolved a sophisticated yearning for bloody revenge on mankind. She knew that by the time the third whatever-saurus had galloped across the screen in full digital wonder, the old man’s eyes would start to droop. Francisco remained convinced that Padrino would watch the dinosaur tape until he knew it by heart.