“Not that I saw or heard. He got out and stumbled around toward the back of his car. About by the left rear wheel. I got out at the same time and told him to stop, or turn around, or some such. I don’t remember exactly what. He looked like he might cooperate. It appeared that when he saw the lights of the undersheriff’s vehicle as it pulled off the highway into the lane, he bolted.”
“Torrez’s red lights were on at that time? He had turned them back on?”
“Yes.”
“And the kid just ran off into the boonies.”
“Yep.”
“And you didn’t chase him?”
“Nope. Bob followed him for a ways, but didn’t find him.”
Schroeder shook his head in wonder, still gazing at me. “And it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing you’d bother organizing a search party for, either.”
“Hardly. The kid’s over eighteen. If he wants to camp out, that’s his choice. It wasn’t a felony that was involved, after all.”
Schroeder smiled briefly. “No, certainly not. So he ran from you, maybe hid somewhere until you guys left, and then made his way home.”
“That would be my guess. When I met two or three hours later with his father and then went into their house in Regal, the kid was there, conked out on the living-room sofa.”
“Where did you see the father? That’s Sosimo, right? The undersheriff’s uncle?”
I nodded. “He was walking down one of the dirt lanes in Regal, headed home. He was intoxicated. That would have been about two AM”
“He was intoxicated to the point he didn’t recognize you?”
“No, he knew who I was. Once he got a good look. I told him we wanted to talk with Matthew.”
“Did he invite you to his house?”
“No. I offered him a ride home, and he accepted. I asked him if I could check to see if Matthew was there. He agreed.”
“Matthew wasn’t awake when you entered the house?”
“No. He was sleeping on the couch in the living room. I put handcuffs on him, and that’s when he woke up.”
“He didn’t struggle?”
“No. He was pissed, though, and looked like he might resist if the opportunity presented itself. I made some comment about Bob carrying him out to the car if he didn’t cooperate.”
Schroeder smiled. “And the threat worked.”
“Yes. We got to the car and he called me every name in the book when he found out that Bob wasn’t there. Other than that, he behaved himself for a few miles, then started working on the back window with his feet.”
“You told him to stop?”
“Yes. And he did, for a while. I called dispatch and told them I was headed in. We were about ten miles from Posadas at the time.” I stopped and frowned, remembering. “I also told Sutherland to let Torrez know that I had the kid in custody.”
“And Matthew would have heard you say that.”
“Sure. And almost immediately after that, he let fly at the window again. It broke and it looked like the kid was going to get his legs out the window, so I pulled over and stopped the car. Another vehicle had come up behind me, and it turned out to be a Border Patrol unit. They saw the kid’s feet out the window and stopped as well.”
“Red lights on?”
“Theirs were. Mine weren’t. I pulled into a little two-track. My unit was perpendicular to the highway.”
“So Matthew Baca might have thought that the undersheriff had joined you.”
“That’s possible, I suppose. In the glare of headlights, he couldn’t have seen the markings on the unit.”
“Did the Border Patrol agents identify themselves?”
“Yes. Casually. We talked, and Scott Gutierrez introduced me to a new officer. Taylor Bergmann. We talked for a few minutes. The kid would have heard the whole thing.”
“The topic of conversation was the chase earlier, and then your subsequent apprehension of Baca?”
“Yes.”
“And during that whole time, Bob Torrez never arrived at the scene?”
“No. He’d been off duty for a couple of hours. As far as I know, he was at home.”
Schroeder frowned and regarded the notes on his pad. “Who made the decision to transfer the kid to the Border Patrol unit?”
“As I recall, Agent Gutierrez offered. He said that they were headed to Posadas anyway. I accepted, since it made sense not to have the kid lying in a pile of broken glass for another ten miles.”
“Do you recall what the officers said to Baca at the time of the transfer? How was that done?”
“Gutierrez had mentioned that a couple of ankle ties would help. And then he said something about how their vehicle was brand-new and if the kid scratched it, they’d take him out into a field somewhere.”
Schroeder winced. “They were kidding, of course.”
“Of course. It’s the kind of thing you say in jest, to make a point.”
“What was the kid’s reaction?”
“Nothing. He never said a word. He didn’t move.”
“When you actually started the transfer, were all three of you-Gutierrez, Bergmann, and yourself-in the immediate vicinity of your vehicle?”
I leaned back in the chair, closing my eyes, trying to remember. “I was the closest, right at the left rear fender, by the back door. I think that Gutierrez was walking back toward his vehicle to make sure…I don’t know. To make sure that the seat was clear, I suppose. And I remember him fishing in his back pocket for a couple of nylon ties. I don’t recall exactly where Bergmann was, but he was behind me, somewhere. Within a step or two, I suppose.”
“And then?”
“And then the kid swung his legs out of the car. I reached for him, at least I think that I did. He dove forward and slammed into me.”
“Did he knock you down?”
“No. In fact, I’d describe it as him bouncing off of me. He stumbled backward, losing his balance.”
“His hands were still cuffed behind him?”
“Yes.”
“And so basically he was stumbling backward, toward the highway, in the process of falling.”
“Yes. With his hands cuffed, he had no way to catch himself.”
Schroeder fell silent, the clasp of the ballpoint pen pressed into his right cheek. “According to the skid marks, the driver didn’t apply his brakes until after the impact.”
I nodded but said nothing.
“And the skid marks show that he wasn’t in the westbound lane. The Border Patrol unit’s emergency lights were fully visible. Did the truck driver say why he didn’t pull over to give you folks some room?”
“No. I assume he was tired and just not paying attention.”
“There wasn’t any oncoming traffic?”
“No.”
“If his truck had been fully in the opposite lane, would it have been possible for him to avoid hitting Baca?”
“I don’t know the answer to that.”
Schroeder’s eyes narrowed a little. “Give it your best guess, Bill.”
“The lane is, what, about twelve feet wide or so? Matthew was in the process of falling backward from a point off the shoulder of the road. A collision wouldn’t have been likely, unless the kid continued to scramble out across the pavement after falling.”
“So the truck could have missed him?”
“The driver would certainly have had more opportunity to try,” I said. “Who knows what would have happened.”
Schroeder pursed his lips and frowned. “Are you planning to charge the driver of the delivery truck?”
“No.”
“Why not? The Border Patrol’s unit was parked at the side of the road, with its emergency lights operational. The trucker should have been able to see figures moving around. A prudent operator, with no oncoming traffic in sight, no double yellows, would have naturally moved into the opposite lane.”
“Maybe, maybe, maybe,” I said. “But my car was parked on a dirt road that headed off the right-of-way. My car was perpendicular to the highway with its back bumper toward the pavement. It would have partially blocked me from the trucker’s view, and certainly the driver wouldn’t have seen Matthew until he fell backward, right in front of the truck.”
“Which wouldn’t have happened had he pulled into the opposite lane,” Schroeder added.