Marge smiled. The way Edna said “detective friends” made it sound like they had come to Ponceville for a play date with Brubeck. “Yes, we are. Nice to meet you.”
Edna looked at Oliver. “Well, you’re a handsome young man. Are you married? I got a daughter. Divorced but her kids are grown.”
Oliver said, “Thank you, but I’m currently seeing someone.”
She gave him a once-over. “You look like you can juggle more than one at a time. Don’t he, Marcus. Back me up on this.”
“Edna, enough out of you. They got business to do. Go get Sheriff T out here so they can make their plane in time.”
“When are you leaving, handsome?”
“This evening,” Oliver answered.
Edna’s face fell. “Well, that stinks!”
“Where’s T, Edna?”
“He hasn’t come back yet.” To Oliver she said, “You can’t stay another day?”
“Not at the present time.”
“So you’ll come back.”
Marcus said, “He’s not coming back, Edna. They’re working on a very important murder case down south.”
“Those rich people, right? The ones that Rondo worked for. You should be talking to me. I’ve been here longer than anyone. Back me up on this, Marcus.”
“I back you up.”
“What can you tell us about Rondo Martin?” Oliver brought out his notebook.
“He wasn’t as good-looking as you, handsome.”
“Few men are.”
Edna smiled. “He dated my daughter, Shareen, for a couple of months. It didn’t work out. Shareen is a talker. Rondo wasn’t much of a talker-no man is-but he wasn’t much of a listener, either. I think they were both in it for…well, you know why. I don’t have to get specific.”
“I can figure it out,” Marge said. “Was it just a casual thing or did Shareen have hopes of something more?”
“Nah, just casual.” A pause. “Rondo was a loner, didn’t talk much to anyone. Back me up on this, Marcus.”
“I hardly knew the man.”
“Just what I’m talking about. He did his job but wasn’t friendly. Even when he got a little tipsy, his lips were mostly sealed.”
Marge asked, “Did he ever slip up?”
Edna said, “Once he talked about his family.”
“Yeah, I was there,” Marcus said. “It was around Christmas. Man, it was cold and dry and just all around bone chilling. Bars did lots of business.”
Edna said, “It wasn’t good what he had to say about his folks.”
Marcus said. “Yeah, he was bitchin’ about his father…what a mean son of a gun he was. The old man used to whack him until one day he whacked back. I remember it because it was an odd thing to bring up around the holidays.”
“Yeah, he had some bad memories,” Edna said.
“Anything else?” Oliver asked.
Both of them shook their heads. Edna’s beret slid to one side.
“Where was Martin from?” Marge asked.
Edna said, “Missouri, I think. Back me up, Marcus.”
Merry said, “I thought it was Iowa.”
At that moment, T the sheriff walked in. He was around five six, 140 pounds, with a seamed face and milky blue eyes. His lips were so thin that they faded into his face. He gave a surprisingly strong handshake-not exactly bone crushing but strong enough to let Oliver know he could take care of himself. He wore a khaki uniform and a Smokey the Bear hat, which he doffed, displaying a crew cut and ears that stuck out of the sides of his face. “Tim England. Sorry I took so long. We had a little problem down in the ciudads…something about stolen money. Turns out the boy just didn’t remember where he hid his stash. Probably drunk when he did it.”
“That’s where all the migrants live,” Edna said. “We call it the ciudads. That means cities in Spanish.” She turned to the sheriff. “Hey, T, maybe you can solve a mystery for us. Where was Rondo Martin from? Missouri or Iowa?”
“First he told me Kansas, but then later he said he was from New York. He said he thought he’d fit in better if he was from the Midwest. He told me his old man was a farmer in upstate.”
“Was it true?” Marge asked.
“Who knows?” T shrugged. “I always felt the man was hiding something, but never could find out what. He didn’t have any kind of arrest record. He had a good work history.”
Marge asked, “Where did he do his law enforcement training?”
“I don’t reckon I know that. He came to us from Bakersfield Police Department…worked there for a few years. His record was clean-no absentee problem, no record of undue force or brutality, no IA investigations. The day watch commander said he was always on time, took his notes, but didn’t talk much. A good, clean cop was how he put it.”
“Why’d he leave the force?” Oliver asked.
T thought a moment. “He said something about wanting a small town. He was tired of the big city.”
“Bakersfield’s a big city?”
“It isn’t L.A., but it’s going on four hundred thousand. That’s a lot of people. He certainly got small here in Ponceville.”
Marge said, “Then why did he leave Ponceville to do private security in L.A.?”
“Don’t really know, ma’am. I think Rondo was a restless sort. It takes a certain type of person to live here if you’re not a farmer. You don’t got a lot of choices-it’s either the bars or the churches.
Rondo couldn’t make up his mind. Sometimes he’d show up at church, sometimes he’d show up at the tavern. He didn’t fit in anywhere.”
“Back me up on this, T. I remember Shareen saying he spent some time at the ciudads.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “That’s where the whores are.”
“Cut it out, Edna.” T rolled his eyes. “But she’s got a point. If you’re lonely and don’t feel like praying, going to certain places is an alternative.”
“Where are these ciudads?” Oliver asked.
“They surround the farms,” T said. “There are four of ’em-north, south, east, and west.”
Marge said, “Would Shareen know who Martin visited in the ciudads?”
“Maybe,” Edna said.
“Could you call up your daughter and ask her?”
“Now?”
“Yes, now, Edna,” T said. “They have work to do.”
“Well, all right then.” She called up her daughter and five minutes later she hung up the phone.
“Shareen thinks he spent a lot of time in the north district. Who lives there, T? Lots of Gonzales, right? And the Ricardos and the Mendez, the Alvarez and the Luzons. I think they’re all related.”
“They are.” T regarded the detectives. “I never ask my men what they do on their off hours. Isn’t my business. Do either of you speak Spanish?”
Marge and Oliver shook their heads no.
“Then no use going down there. You won’t understand a thing they say.” T’s cell phone started ringing. “Excuse me.”
He took the call and when he hung up, he said, “Another problem at the ciudads. South district. Wanna come and see what I deal with? You can follow me in your car.”
“I drove them here,” Marcus said. “I gotta get back to work.”
“Could we ride with you?” Oliver asked.
“Sure, but it’ll take about an hour. What time is your plane out?”
“We’ve got time,” Marge said.
“Sure,” Edna said. “Enough time to see whores but not my daughter.”
“Now stop that, Edna. This isn’t a dating service. Let them do their job.” T picked up his hat. “Boy oh boy. That’s four calls in four hours. That’s what happens when it gets sweltering out there. The natives get restless.”
TWENTY-TWO
THERE HAD BEEN a lot of remodeling since Decker worked Foothill Substation some fifteen years ago, but it still smelled and sounded familiar. Detective Mallory Quince-a petite brunette in her thirties-played with the keyboard until Alejandro’s face flashed on the computer screen. “Oh him… the meth maker. He almost burned down an apartment building. That was a close call.”