Casey cleared her throat and said, "Your investigation of Elijandro Torres's death. How it was conducted."
Gage ridged his brow and considered her for a minute before pursing his lips to choke back a snicker and saying, "No, miss, that's not your business."
"I'd like to see the police report," Casey said. "And the coroner's."
Gage stood up and pointed the bayonet at the door. "People in this town pay me to keep them safe, miss. I got work to do."
"Your records are public information."
"And you can submit your request in writing," Gage said, waggling the bayonet at the door.
Casey got up and the chief followed her all the way out through the reception area, standing in the doorway with his arms folded across the broad expanse of his chest.
Casey had her cell phone going before she even got onto the highway, but hadn't gone a mile on 45 before she saw flashing lights in her rearview mirror.
"I've got to go," she said to Stacy, "just get that request going. I want these people to have that fax in their hands before I get back to the office, and call Jessica Teal at the coroner's. Tell her I need a copy of Elijandro's autopsy."
Casey pulled over and watched in her side mirror as Gage emerged from the police cruiser and fixed the big hat on his head. He wore mirrored sunglasses. At the back corner of the car he stopped, raised up a booted foot, and heel-kicked the taillight, rocking her car.
"Christ," Casey said, shaking her head as the chief ambled alongside her. She rolled down her window and gripped the wheel, her palms slick now with sweat in spite of the blowing AC.
Gage pointed at a green rectangular sign fifty yards up the road.
"You see that?" he asked.
It read wilmer city limit.
"Yes," Casey said through clenched teeth.
"Good," Gage said. "I noticed you got a brake light out. I'm gonna let you go this time. We're awful friendly here in Wilmer. Just a quiet little place in the corner of the county. I aim to keep it as such. You have a good day now, miss."
The chief tipped his hat and walked away.
CHAPTER 19
WHEN SHE GOT BACK TO HER OFFICE, CASEY FOUND JOSe sitting behind her desk.
"Hi," he said.
"Where the hell have you been?" she asked. "What are you doing at my desk? You look like a thug."
Jose rubbed at the stubble on his cheek and stood up. His baggy jeans sagged toward the floor, barely clinging to his hips by a thick leather belt. His flannel shirt had no sleeves, exposing bronze cannonball arms wrapped in barbed-wire tattoos.
"Nice to see you, too," he said, yanking the bandana off his head, rounding the desk, and reaching for the door.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Wait."
He did. They sat down and she told him about Isodora's court appearance, the ICE lawyer, and Gage, leaving out the part about the taillight. As she explained, his face relaxed.
"You should have let me do that," he said.
"I tried you."
"I was doing a favor for a friend on the force," he said, looking down at his street garb as an explanation. "I had to leave everything in the truck. Not the kind of people you want to get hold of your cell phone."
"I should have waited, but Jesus," she said, "they held her baby hostage. An all-time low, even for the US government. It's all tied up in Chase's accident, which I'm starting to feel pretty certain wasn't an accident."
"Gage isn't the type of guy who'd react well to your questions whether he's hiding something or not."
"Cop talk?"
"I'm not defending him," Jose said, massaging his thick arm. "I'm not saying Chase didn't kill the man and Gage didn't cover it up. Hey, I think the Cubans got Kennedy. I'm just saying, he's not the type to pander to a woman lawyer who tangles up the justice system to spare a couple of muchachas from a beating."
"But he'd relate to you," she said skeptically.
"He'd react differently," Jose said. "Let me at least try to talk to him and get a feel for it."
"Fine."
"You're not mad," he said.
"Maybe at myself," she said with a sigh. "You're right. I shouldn't have gone down there. All I did was give him a chance to cover everything up."
"He'll have to give you the police report. Meantime, let me play good cop and see if I can get something out of him," Jose said, rising from his chair and reaching for the door.
"Jose," she said, "this guy's an asshole."
He turned and winked at her. "I've never met one of those."
He left and closed the door. She stared, listening to the sound of the big diesel engine whirring to life, until her intercom beeped and Stacy told her she had a call from Jessica Teal, her contact in the coroner's office.
"We didn't do an autopsy," Jessica said without a greeting.
"You had to have," Casey said, "it was in Dallas County."
"Not always," Jessica said. "It's up to the police. We can't do an autopsy on everyone who dies. If they determine the cause of death is accidental and a doctor signs the death certificate, that's it. We wouldn't see it."
"Didn't you hear about it?" Casey asked.
"I did, but I assumed it must have been pretty obvious if the police were calling it an accident without us, a high-profile thing like that. Everyone here figured they were trying to minimize the impact on the senator. Bad enough the guy was an illegal, after the senator's tirades about them. Press has been amazingly quiet on that, though. Either they bought the story about the guy not being a regular around the ranch or the senator called in some serious markers."
"Can we dig him up?" Casey asked.
Jessica was silent for a moment before she asked, "Do you have a reason?"
"The wife thinks it wasn't an accident," Casey said.
"I didn't see anything about a wife in the news," Jessica said.
"She's an illegal, too," Casey said. "They're putting her on a plane in about an hour. It's a long story, but the ICE got rid of her faster than a Colombian drug dealer."
"What's ICE?"
"Immigration and Customs Enforcement. It's part of Homeland Security."
"So we're safe now that this Mexican widow will be back on the other side of the border," Jessica said.
"Your tax dollars at work."
"We'll need the wife to exhume the body. That and a court order."
"Is there a form or something for the wife?" Casey asked.
"I can get you one."
Casey looked at her watch and said, "Can you fax it right now?"
"Sure."
Casey hung up. She told Stacy to get the fax to her as soon as it came in and dialed Jose.
"If you had to get to the airport at this time of day in less than an hour, what would you do?" she asked him.
"Book a later flight."
"If you had to."
"I'd call my buddy who I just dipped down into the barrio for and have him send a couple motorcycle cops to meet you at the on-ramp."
"Can you?"
"For you?" he said. "You only have to ask once. I practically feel a rash coming on."
"God."
"I'll have them there before you hit the ramp at Stemmons," Jose said. "Keep your phone on."
"How will they know it's me?" she asked.
"They're not gonna miss that fancy ride. Get going."
She ducked into the other room and watched Stacy pulling the coroner's fax from the machine, grabbed it, and dashed out to her Mercedes.
CHAPTER 20
TEUCH CRACKED AN EYE. THROUGH THE COVER OF HIS LASHES he watched a man in a white lab coat clip an X-ray up onto the large light box before stepping back to address a semicircle of younger people, also in lab coats. They crowded around him like the chicks of a hen. Teuch thought he saw the name stephen on a brass nameplate pinned to his coat.
"Dr. Noton," one of the chicks asked, "is there any damage to the premotor area?"
Teuch's eyes flickered, causing him to lose focus for a moment.
"We cauterized only the prefrontal," the doctor called Noton said.
"Have you ever seen damage to that area that didn't scramble the personality?"