“He doesn’t hang out here sometimes?” Estelle asked. Her voice was husky and quiet.
“No. Not when I’m here.”
“Had he been seeing Connie?” I asked.
Melinda’s lips pursed briefly. “They were seeing each other for a while, yes. Well, let me take that back. Seeing each other probably isn’t the way to put it. I remember that a time or two, she asked me about him. About Matt. It was like she was interested…maybe. I couldn’t tell.” She looked heavenward. “I remember thinking that there was a bit of an age thing there, you know? I mean, Connie is thirty something and Matt’s a crazy teenager. I don’t think that would have been going to work too good.” She sighed. “That was just after she broke up with Paul French. They got divorced. And then she started going with Neil Sommers, that guy that works over at Custom Auto Parts. He seems pretty solid.”
“From your perspective,” I asked, “what was Matt’s relationship with your brother?”
“With Bobby? Ohhh…”
“Matt stayed out of his way?”
“He tried to. I think that he liked giving Bobby a hard time-when he could get away with it. My brother could be hard on those kids, and they don’t always take it in the manner in which it’s intended. Bobby’s not Matt’s father, after all.” She flashed an apologetic smile. “I’m sure that Matt thought his cousin was a real hard-nosed son of a bitch. And Uncle Sosimo didn’t make it any easier for Bobby. Matt was kind of wild, and his father didn’t do much to try and control him.”
“Comes a time when that’s tough,” I said. “Let me just ask you flat out. How much do you trust Connie French?”
Melinda looked directly at me. Her eyes were sad but unwavering. “Connie’s a nice person,” she said. “She’s a hard worker, she’s dependable, she’s accurate.”
I smiled. “That’s not what I asked, Melinda. Is she capable of doing something like this?”
“I would hope not.” She saw the expression flicker on my face and quickly added, “I know, I know. That’s not an answer either.”
“But…”
“But that’s the best I can do. Sure, she’s capable of doing it. So am I. I didn’t, though, and I would sincerely hope…sincerely hope…that she didn’t either. She’s another one who hasn’t had a life that was just a bed of roses. I know her brother’s worried about her, too.”
“Scott? When was the last time you saw him?”
“I talked with him just the other day, as a matter of fact.”
“Do you remember the day?”
“It would have been Friday.”
“During regular office hours, that was?”
“Yes. He came in when-” She stopped suddenly and just stared at me. “He came in when Connie was out on her lunch break. We’re supposed to close down from noon to one, but we don’t. So many people need that time to run errands. So we split lunch. But that’s when he came in.”
“What did he want, do you recall?”
“He just asked when Connie worked.”
“And you told him?”
“Yes, I did. I told him that Connie went out to lunch, and she’d be back at one, if he needed to see her. I guess it wasn’t important.”
“Did he ask what days she worked?”
“Yes. Although I can’t imagine that he didn’t already know. I mean, he’s in and around now and then. Why wouldn’t he know something as simple as that?”
“He may just never have paid attention to those details before,” I said.
“He’s a cop,” Melinda said quickly. She reached out and tapped the back of my hand, just enough to make the connection. “I’d be willing to guarantee that he pays attention to all kinds of things.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
By the time we left the Motor Vehicles Division field office, the sun had dipped below the boot of the San Cristobal Mountains. The air was still. The last vestige of clouds formed a thin lenticular wisp about thirty thousand feet over Regal Pass. In another hour, we’d be able to stand in my backyard, away from all the streetlights, and see every star in the heavens. And they wouldn’t give me any answers, either.
I drew in a deep breath of the nippy fall air and stood on the sidewalk with my hands jammed in my pockets as I watched Melinda Torrez lock the MVD’s front door.
“Thanks, Melinda,” I said.
“I don’t know what for,” she replied. “If there’s anything else, let me know. This whole thing makes my skin crawl, I can tell you that. Will you let me know what happens?”
“Without a doubt.” She nodded and slipped into her little truck. Estelle had opened the door of the county car and was about to get in when she saw that I had settled against the front fender. I slouched there, arms folded over my belly, one boot crossed over the other. I don’t know what I was looking at-the scenery was limited to a spread of old adobe buildings renovated to look younger than they were, county gas pumps, and three Sheriff’s Department vehicles parked in a neat row between the two elm trees that marked the front entrance of the Public Safety Building.
My back was to her, but I heard Estelle step around the car. She appeared at my right elbow.
“So what do you think?” I asked.
“Too many possibilities,” she said quietly.
I grinned. “I was afraid you were going to say that.” I turned to look at her. As always, I was struck by how slight she was, even with the extra bulk of the nifty quilted vest that she was wearing. “How well do you know Melinda?”
“I know her pretty well.” Estelle didn’t elaborate, but it would be tough to work for a decade in a tiny department in a tiny village without forming some lasting friendships-and without learning where most of the dark corners were.
“Well?”
“What are the possibilities?”
“It would be easier to imagine what isn’t possible.”
“All right. Start there.”
“For one thing, Melinda is telling us the truth. I can’t conceive of her issuing some wild kid a fake license so that he can go buy booze whenever he wants to.”
“Especially a relative.”
“Especially that. Especially when one of Melinda’s own brothers was killed by a drunk driver. In fact, Melinda was one of the prime movers and shakers when the state was trying to drum up support to outlaw drive-up windows at liquor stores.”
I stared off into the distance again, chewing on my lower lip. Estelle stepped down off the curb. That put us at eye level with each other.
“Now,” Estelle continued, “would Melinda allow someone else to do the dirty work? Did she know about it? No. I don’t think so.”
“Me either,” I said. “Do you know Connie French?”
“I think I’ve met her a few times. I’d be able to pick her out of a crowd, but that’s it.”
“So if she issued the license, she did it on the sly, when Melinda wouldn’t know about it.”
“That makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is that she’d bother. What’s there to gain?”
“Just a favor for a friend,” I said. “People have done worse for less. Maybe she had a crush on the kid. Who the hell knows.”
“You haven’t talked to her yet, then?”
“No. All this reminds me of what downhill skiing must be like. Not much time for side trips.”
Estelle smiled. “Well, speaking of side trips. If Connie French didn’t issue the license, then that opens a whole new series of possibilities.”
“The damn license could have come from anywhere,” I said.
“Exactly. But there is something that tells me the license came from here.” She nodded at the dark building. “From what you told me, Scott Gutierrez has been around most of the weekend, in one way or another.”
“He works in this part of the country. And he has relatives here.”