“I guess I don’t have much choice, do I?”
Chapter Fifty-one
“Do you believe him?” Undersheriff Robert Torrez waited by my front doorstep while I thought through my answer. There were too many angles still to be explored, but my intuition had made up its mind.
I’d had all afternoon and evening to think about Scott Gutierrez, his sister Connie French, and their stepfather, James Walsh. I knew what my gut feelings were, but I didn’t want to bulldoze over the soon-to-be-sheriff’s investigation. He had his men placed where he wanted them, and he’d proceed with his investigation at his own speed.
He didn’t need me barking at his heels for the next few hours. If he was good enough to lead the charge up through the rocks without knowing if a high-powered rifle was trained his way, then he could manage the wrap-up, too.
In fact, all Robert Torrez really needed from me was to make sure that I voted the next day.
The undersheriff had driven to my home on Guadalupe late that evening. I hadn’t crossed paths with him all Monday afternoon. I didn’t want to leave messages for him at dispatch, interrupting his day just so that I could tell him, “Hey, I think this,” or “Listen, I think that.”
Even if I were completely wrong, even if I were hoodwinked by sincere-sounding answers from behind the convenient mask of Scott Gutierrez’s bandages, neither he nor his sister were going anywhere. Deputy Jackie Taber was keeping Connie French company in Las Cruces, along with assistance from the Las Cruces Police Department. At four that afternoon, Deputy Tony Abeyta had relieved Howard Bishop outside the Posadas ICU. It had been at that point that I stopped hovering and went home.
I held the door open and gestured for the undersheriff to step inside. “Come on in, Roberto.” He did so, and as he stepped past me, I said, “And for the record, yes, I do. I believe him. I think he was genuinely concerned for her welfare.” I closed the door. “The last thing he’d do is push her backward off some rocks. It would serve no purpose.”
Torrez took off his Stetson and rolled the brim in his hands, frowning at it. “Unless she was threatening to blow the whistle on him. If the license thing was his scam all along, then we’ve got a problem. That’s our sticking point.”
I shrugged and held up my hands. “Did you make any progress with the Del Rio authorities?”
“Nothing yet, but they arranged a court order putting a lock on all of Walsh’s papers-everything at his home or at his dealership. We’re going to do some sifting and see what we can come up with.”
“I think Scott was just in a bind, Robert. He couldn’t just arrest Walsh, because he’d have automatically implicated his sister. And he may have had no proof against the man. He didn’t want to do that, if he could get away with it. I didn’t ask him flat-out, but my guess is that Scott was looking for some way to put Walsh out of business, at least as far as Connie was concerned, without going to the law.”
Estelle and Francisco appeared in the hallway, and the little kid craned his neck to look up at the six-foot-four Torrez. “We had hamburgers for dinner. You shoulda been here,” he said without preamble.
“It would have been better than what I had, that’s for sure,” Torrez replied, and then he turned back to me. “Some interesting tidbits from Neil Sommers.”
“That’s Connie’s current boyfriend,” I said for Estelle’s benefit. Francisco, seeing that the conversation wasn’t going to linger on hamburgers and such, darted back toward the living room.
“Sommers wasn’t invited on the trip,” Torrez said. “He agreed to go along, but Connie refused, saying that it wasn’t so much a hunting trip as a chance for her and her brother and Walsh to sit down and talk over some important family business.”
“So he stayed home,” I said.
“That’s right. He asked if he could join up with them today sometime, and Connie said no to that, too. He said that he got the impression that she was in some kind of trouble with her stepfather.”
“You got a signed deposition to that effect?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did he go down to Cruces after that?”
“He said he was going to drive down this afternoon. I don’t know if he went or not, but the officers down there have orders that there are to be no visitors, period. Not until she’s conscious and has had a chance a talk to one of us.”
“I assume that you stopped by and talked with Scott?” I asked.
“Yes. I just came from the hospital.”
“Do you believe him?”
A trace of a smile ghosted Torrez’s face. “Let me put it this way, sir. I’d like to. First, let’s see what we find out down in Del Rio. That may take a day or three. By then, maybe Connie will come around. We’ll see what she says.”
“Fair enough.”
“By the way, Judge Hobart turned Dale Torrance loose on five thousand dollars’ bond. Herb and the kid went over to Lawton to pick up the livestock. Miles Waddell is royally pissed.”
“At what?”
“He thinks that Dale should be in jail.”
“Maybe he’s right. But I’ve given up trying to second-guess the judge.”
“Gayle said Waddell called the Sheriff’s Office and chewed on her ear for ten minutes. He wanted to know what kind of game of favorites we were playing.”
I laughed. “Get used to that, Roberto. After tomorrow, that becomes a way of life for you. You’ll spend about a third of each day handling crank calls from idiots.”
“And relatives,” he said. “Same thing. You should have gone to the Baca funeral. That was quite something.”
“I bet. And no thank you.”
He regarded his hat some more. “I may send one of the deputies down to Del Rio tomorrow, if the lieutenant thinks it’s worthwhile.”
“Good idea. Make sure he votes first.”
Torrez laughed. “Two or three times, sir.”
“We don’t have to stand here in the foyer, by the way,” I said. “You could come in and relax for a while.”
“I can’t,” Torrez said. “I’ve got a stack of things that need doing.”
“There’s always tomorrow,” I said.
“Well, no there’s not, sir. Tomorrow’s already booked.”
“Is there anything in particular that I can do for you?” I tried to sound sincere, I really did.
He reached for the door. I didn’t like the way his forehead was wrinkling. That meant he was thinking, and might actually come up with something. He opened the door and paused. “Don’t forget to vote.”
“Two or three times,” I said, and clapped him on the back. “But for who?”
“I’ll let you know first thing in the morning,” he said.
Chapter Fifty-two
At 7:04 AM the next day I pushed the big red button at the bottom of the voting machine’s display. The machine chimed to let me know that I’d made the right choices. I pushed back the curtain, turned, and caught a blast of white light square in the face.
Frank Dayan grinned sheepishly and wound his camera for another take.
“Jesus, Frank,” I said, and rubbed my eyes. “There has to be a better way to waste film.”
“Posterity,” he said. “This is a big moment.”
“Just enormous,” I grumbled, and stepped to one side so that I wouldn’t block traffic. In this case, “traffic” was a tiny, white-haired woman who smiled brightly at me. I tipped my hat and moved Frank out of her way. She’d arrived at the fire station on Bustos just as the election clerk had handed me the little admission stub with the number 6 written on it.
Dayan followed me outside.
“Have you established the connection between James Walsh and Scott Gutierrez yet?”
“No, Frank, we haven’t.” I breathed in the wonderful air. And then, as an afterthought, I said, “At least Sheriff Torrez hasn’t. Investigation is continuing, as we’re fond of saying.”
“Is Connie French still in a coma?”
“As far as I know.”
“I’m guessing that some of the answers lie with her, is that right?”