Estelle lifted a page in her notebook. “Mr. Woodruff, is the white over gold 1993 Ford half-ton extended cab pickup that’s registered to your daughter her only vehicle?”
“Sure. She’d live in that thing if she could, I think.”
“In the past few days or weeks, has she had occasion to drive any other vehicle?” Woodruff looked puzzled and Estelle added softly, “To your knowledge?”
“No. Of course not. I mean, as far as I know, no. She drives that truck everywhere.”
“Who is your daughter seeing right now, Karl?” I asked.
He frowned and bit the corner of his lip. “You know, for quite a while there she was hitched up pretty steady with Brett Prescott. He’s a nice enough kid.”
“Gus Prescott’s boy?”
Woodruff nodded and said with considerable chagrin, “That was Gus’s new truck that Tammy backed into Friday night at the bar. She told me that she’d had some sort of tiff with Brett. She doesn’t talk much to her mother and me about who she sees. Bill, you went through the same thing with your girls, I imagine.”
“Sure.” I hadn’t, but what the hell.
“The latest thing I heard was that she went to the fire department’s Valentine’s Day dance with…” he hesitated. “Someone came in the store and mentioned how nice a couple they made. Who the heck was it.” He frowned hard and stared at the dark pine flooring. The lightbulb finally lit and he said, “Torrance. One of the Torrance boys.”
“Pat Torrance, maybe?” Estelle offered.
“I think so, yes.”
Herb Torrance raised beef, sheep, emus, and nine kids on his ranch west of Posadas. Patrick was somewhere in the middle of the nine in age.
“You don’t know if Tammy has been seeing the Torrance boy regularly, then?” I asked, and Woodruff shook his head. I folded my hands and tapped the tips of my thumbs together while I gazed across the desk at Estelle.
“I really wish I knew what was going on,” Karl Woodruff said miserably. “I just can’t believe that Tammy would be involved…”
“Karl,” I said, getting up and walking around the desk, “it’s probably nothing. We’ll talk with Tammy and find that out, I’m sure. A hundred to one that it’s just a fluke, some crazy coincidence.” I patted him on the shoulder. “We don’t even know what kind of vehicle was stopped, or for that matter even if there is a connection between that incident and the shooting.”
Woodruff looked hopeful and pushed himself to his feet. “Bill,” he said, “will you call me the minute…the second…that you know anything? I’ll be at the store all day, until nine tonight. And everyday. Just call, all right? As soon as you hear from Tammy, as soon as you have the chance to talk with her?”
“You bet, Karl.”
We ushered him out of the office and I closed the door. “What do you think?”
“I think…” Estelle started to say, then stopped. She tapped her notebook. “I think we’ve got several sets of questions, sir. If Tammy Woodruff is the one whom Linda Real recognized, then that’s one scenario.” She cupped her hands and moved them to one side, as if all those questions were floating in a puddle of water. “And one set of questions-like what vehicle was she driving, and why. And did she know the killer? And why hasn’t she come forward to talk to us?” Estelle paused to take a breath and cupped her hands again.
“If Tammy is not the person Linda saw, and is not the person Linda thinks we all know, then how did Tammy’s prints get on the wrench? And what was the wrench doing out there? And when was it dropped? And does that incident have anything at all to do with the shooting?”
“And who was with her,” I added. “Who was the person Linda saw?”
“Just so, sir,” Estelle said. “Who’s with Linda now?”
“Howard.”
She nodded. “If you’re going back to the hospital, I’d like to spend some time trying to track Miss Woodruff down. You know, it’s interesting…”
“What’s that?”
“You remember our conversation with Victor Sanchez?”
“Dimly. I was depending on your note-taking skills.”
Estelle smiled and flipped back through several pages in her notes. “I think it’s interesting that Senor Sanchez mentioned that Pat Torrance was in the bar, drinking himself sick. It’s not unusual that Pat was there, certainly, since his family’s ranch is just up County Road 14 a bit. But it’s interesting that, if Tammy Woodruff was out in that desolate corner of the county, near an establishment that she frequents, near a saloon where her maybe boyfriend is chugging the brew…it’s interesting that either she never stopped at the Broken Spur, or that she did stop but Victor didn’t see her.”
“What’s really remarkable,” I said, “is that you understand what you just said, Estelle.” I ran a hand through my hair and slumped against the side of the desk. “Now listen. I don’t want you out in that corner of the county by yourself, you understand me?”
“I wasn’t planning…”
“Yes you were. If you didn’t find Tammy right away, you were going out to the Torrance ranch to find young Patrick. I don’t want you doing that by yourself.”
“That’s a logical next step, sir.”
“Sure, it is. And when you take that next step, make damn sure you have someone else with you.”
Estelle picked up her briefcase. “I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, sir.”
“So you say. Remember one simple thing.” I saw her eyebrow lift in that characteristic expression of attention. “You say Tammy isn’t at her apartment. If she was out on State Highway Fifty-six and witnessed a murder, she may very well be cactus fertilizer right now.”
Chapter 19
Deputy Howard Bishop saw me as I rounded the corner by the nurses’ station. He started down the hall toward me at a brisk walk, unusual for a man to whom exercise was a nice nap in a shady hammock.
“Her mother’s here,” he said.
I stopped in my tracks. “It’s about time. How long has she been here?”
Bishop glanced at his watch. “About half an hour. She’s calmed down some.”
“I can imagine that she’d be upset.”
“It was quite a show there for a while,” Bishop mused.
“No show, I’m sure, Howard,” I said. A twitch in his expression said there was something else, but he settled for a shrug and accompanied me back up the hall to intensive care.
Helen Murchison stopped me just as I began to push the swinging doors into the ward.
“Sheriff,” she said. She kept her voice low but it was pure steel. “Now you listen to me.” She drew me to one side. Over her shoulder I could see the ghost of a smile crinkle the corners of Deputy Bishop’s eyes. I’m sure Helen and I made quite a pair, squared off the way we were-she a matronly block of efficiency, dark eyebrows glowering over those wonderful blue, piercing eyes, long thin lips compressed with anger. And there I was, a tired old bulldog with too many hours on the clock.
“This can’t go on,” she said.
“What can’t?”
“The young lady’s mother has arrived,” she said with finality. “And she has been questioning every step we take. She insists that Ms. Real be transferred to the city. She questions every medication and every dosage.” Helen stopped and inhaled deeply, the air hissing past her clenched teeth. “And not ten minutes ago she told me that if Linda loses the sight in her left eye, it will be our fault.” She looked at me, her fierce blue eyes scanning my face. “I suggested that she wait in the ICU waiting room, and she practically struck me.”
“Does she actually know the extent of Linda’s injuries?”
“I tried to tell her, but it’s impossible to get a word in edgewise. The woman is…”
“Distraught,” I said. “Let me talk to her.”
“I would appreciate that.”
I nodded and pushed open the ICU doors. Linda was awake, and this time she managed to shift the position of her head slightly. She brought me into focus and blinked several times. Mrs. Real stood on the other side of the bed. She was nearly as wide as she was tall, her round face framed by jet black hair teased into a wild conflagration. I nodded at her.