I frowned. “That’s not what I meant, but I just answered my own question. I know that anyone will sell anything, given the right price, legal or not. Who’d want one, though? And that’s pretty simple, too. What one document makes the whole of the United States fair game? A driver’s license. That’s what cops ask to see. We don’t ask to see a Social Security card. We don’t ask for a credit card. We ask for a driver’s license.”
Estelle nodded. “If I’m a trucker living in Mexico and I want to tap the big money north of the border, I need a license,” she said. “A commercial driver’s license would be my ticket. No green card complications, no tests to take, none of that nuisance. Nothing. And the money on this side of the border is a whole lot better.”
I pinched my thumb and index finger together, holding up the imaginary license. “With a valid driver’s license, this country is mine. I can travel where I want, work wherever. A fake Social Security number does the rest, if the employer is playing by the rules and paying over the counter. Otherwise, even that doesn’t matter. I’d be willing to bet that a third of the workers in Posadas County don’t have W-4 forms filed on ’em.” I gestured at Estelle.
“Hell, here’s a young lady who could just as easily be a current resident of Michoacan, Mexico, as Michigan or Minnesota. Estelle, you walked through a couple of international airports on your trip down here, and how many times were you asked for identification?”
“Never, sir.”
“Exactly my point,” I said. “Once you get yourself past customs, get in the county, cops don’t check papers. And if you were stopped, they’d want to see a driver’s license. Even those of us with half a brain know that cops have profiles. Avoid the profile and avoid the confrontation. Just because someone has black hair, black eyes, and talks with an accent doesn’t mean they need a green card.”
“There’s a catch, though,” Torrez mused.
“Sure there’s a catch,” I said. “If the driver’s stupid and gets himself a ticket, even a routine ticket for driving his rig thirty-seven in a thirty zone, then the fake number on his license goes into the computer. Somewhere down the line, some bells and whistles are going to go off.”
“But not at the time of the actual traffic stop,” Torrez added. “If the driver’s careful, he could use the fake license for a long time.”
“Hell, a lifetime. And if he does get in hot water, he goes back to Mexico for a while. If the ticket was in New Mexico, hell-drive into Texas or Arizona for a while. No big deal.” I grinned. “Our interstate cooperation is legendary, as we all know.”
“You want some fresh coffee?” Torrez asked, sounding more as if he were searching for a way to wind me down from my soapbox than anything else.
“Hell, yes. It’s been almost two hours since I ate last. I’ve got some empty corners down there. You want anything, sweetheart?”
“No thanks. I’m fine,” Estelle said. Minnesota hadn’t changed any of her habits. I waited until Robert returned with coffee for himself and me. “So…do you want to know what your sister said?”
“She wouldn’t do it,” he said with conviction.
“No, she wouldn’t. Estelle and I agree with you on that. And if she knew it was happening in her office, she’d blow the whistle.”
“That means if Matt got his license from this office, he got it from Connie French.”
“If,” I said.
“Nowhere else makes sense,” Torrez said with a shake of the head. “Not for Matt. He didn’t have two cents to his name most of the time. He’s not going to go to some city somewhere and shell out a bunch of money just so he can try to buy a beer now and then.”
“But he knew Connie,” I said.
“And that tells me why Scott Gutierrez would be so interested,” the undersheriff said. “If he was tipped off that his sister was up to something like this, he’d have some hard choices to make.”
“And covering up for his sister might be one of them.”
“Or not.” Estelle shrugged. “There’s this other obvious possibility. I don’t know Scott that well. I never had occasion to work with him. All of this might be a case of sister doing a favor for brother.” The small room fell silent, and Estelle didn’t bother to elaborate.
“You mean Scott Gutierrez is lining up the customers?” I said after a minute. “I’d hate to think that.”
“Why not?” Estelle said. “He’s in the perfect position. He knows the country, he knows the people on both sides of the border, he’s got contacts. He’d know when there’s pressure on, too. When to back away.”
I turned to Robert. “And on the other hand, everything that Scott Gutierrez has done the past few days is consistent with an officer digging around, looking and listening, trying to find some answers for himself. There’s every possibility that Connie is involved. If Scott found out about that, he may be trying to pin down who’s working with her.”
“It’s every bit as logical that he might be protecting himself,” Estelle said. The room fell silent again. Robert Torrez sat on the edge of the desk, regarding the computer screen.
“What direction do you want to go with this?” I asked.
He reached over and pressed enough keys that the computer sighed into darkness. “I guess I’d like to talk with Neil Sommers first thing in the morning.”
“Connie’s boyfriend of the moment,” I said for Estelle’s benefit. “What’s he going to tell you?”
“I have no idea,” Torrez said, and he actually grinned. “Well, I do have an idea or two nagging at me, and he’s given me some pretty good deals on stuff for my truck over the years. Maybe I’ll get lucky.”
I glanced at Estelle, and saw that she was watching Robert’s face. Her expression almost made me a believer in telepathy. I wasn’t so blessed. “Ideas like what, for instance?”
“For one thing,” he said, “Scott’s stepfather is visiting for a few days.”
“So Scott said.”
“They’re all going hunting. In fact, they went this afternoon. This is the last week for the area that includes the San Cristobals.”
“And how does this involve Neil Sommers?”
“He didn’t go along, sir. They left this morning, and he didn’t go with them. I happened to see him coming out of the grocery store this afternoon. I didn’t stop to talk.”
“People walk out of grocery stores all the time, Roberto. Maybe they forgot the hot dogs or beer.”
“Maybe. He was home later in the day, too. He lives just a few doors down from me. I’m just curious, is all. I wouldn’t think a young couple would miss an opportunity for some time around a campfire. I’d just like to know, is all.”
“Have at it,” I said, shaking my head.
“You always talk about little pieces of the puzzle, sir,” Torrez added.
“I know I do. That doesn’t mean I know what I’m talking about.” I stood up and put on my hat. “Let me know what you find out. I need to take our hostage back to her family.” I smiled at Estelle. “Robert, if you need me, I’ll be at the house, repairing all the holes in my walls and sweeping up the shattered glass.”
Chapter Forty-one
There were no holes in the walls or busted glass in my home. In fact, the scene at Guadalupe was downright peaceful-until I’d hung up my coat and hat and started toward the living room. A cacophony of falling objects, screams, giggles, and other odd noises rolled out of the kids’ bedroom. I stopped in my tracks.
“They’re playing Idiot Blocks,” Buddy said. He and Francis were sitting calmly in the living room, each with a glass near at hand.
“This I’ve got to see,” I said. The bedroom door stood half open, and the three kids-two small and one large-were camped on the floor with the braided rug thrown back. They were surrounded by a welter of wooden blocks of all sizes and shapes, some as large as a shoe box. Off in the corner, I recognized the old battered cardboard box that served as a storage bin on the upper shelf in my garage.