“I talked with Milton Crowley,” Gastner said. He nodded as Estelle’s eyebrow shot up. “I happened to swing by the county building this morning. I guess it was a few minutes before noon. Bobby said that you guys had gone out there earlier today.”
“Crowley’s an interesting fellow,” Estelle said. “That’s a nice sign he has on the boundary fence.”
“That’s something, isn’t it? But old Milt’s okay. I mean, other than being a complete ass.”
“I’d give a lot to be able to see the videotape of the meeting.”
“That’s what Bobby said. Shrewd idea, too. But you know, I agree with him that a court order won’t accomplish anything, even on the slim chance that Judge Hobart would give you one. It would just feed the flames. Milt would take a stint in the lockup as a badge of courage. Anyway, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to talk with him myself. We get along all right. I got the same answer you did.” He shrugged. “I thought maybe he’d lighten up a little.”
“He doesn’t seem the type, sir. The more we talked, the more he bristled.”
“Yup. He does love an audience.”
“Bobby said you had some interesting stories to tell about him. Something about his garden?”
Gastner laughed. “Yeah, well…” He took a long, thoughtful sip of the coffee. “His wife died a while ago. I guess it’s been seven or eight years now. In the last few months, she was just a bag of hurtin’ bones, Estelle. After a while, she refused any more chemo and radiation. Hell, they couldn’t have paid for it, anyway.”
“How sad.”
“Well, that’s the way it goes, you know. Old Milt, he had himself a nice stand of that funny tobacco. I’d been there a time or two, and knew it was there.” He shrugged. “I didn’t give a shit. I mean, so what? He wasn’t selling it down at the high school or anything. If the marijuana eased things for his wife even a little bit, what the hell. I don’t know if you remember the search we had for those two hunters that got themselves lost on Cat Mesa?” He nodded. “Anyway, that was right behind Milt’s property. I kinda steered folks around his place. I knew damn well what would happen if some straight arrow from the Forest Service or State Police saw Milt’s crop. There’d be a war, for sure.”
“I can imagine. Or even a couple of our own, for that matter.”
“So-I suppose in the great balance beam of life, we could imagine that Milt owes me a favor or two.” He leaned back and looked wistfully at the mammoth taco salad that JanaLynn delivered to Estelle. “And look at this pathetic little thing,” he said to the generous piece of apple pie that she slid onto his place mat. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
The jalapenos were fiery, and Estelle felt herself relax. She hadn’t thought that she was hungry, but now she found herself digging into the spiced chicken and chile concoction as if she hadn’t eaten for a week.
“Anyway,” Gastner said. “I chatted with Milt this morning, and that was that. I just wanted you to know I gave it a whirl, for what it was worth-which turns out to be very, very little.”
“I appreciate that, Padrino.”
“Have you stopped by the county manager’s office in the last couple of hours? The sheriff and your new captain are tearing the place apart. I didn’t dare step too close. They’re apt to put me to work.”
“I bet Penny’s delighted with that mess.”
“Penny needs a good, powerful sedative by now.”
Estelle hesitated, toying with her fork. “I keep imagining Kevin’s face,” she said. “We’ve got people going through his house, his truck…his office. You know how meticulous he is. I imagine his reaction if he suddenly walked into the middle of all of this. As if Penny somehow missed a message that he had to go to Cruces or something-some family emergency. He comes back and walks into the middle of this mess.”
“Considering the alternatives, that would be all right,” Gastner said. “I don’t think it’s going to happen.”
“No, sir. It’s not.”
“You have a bulletin out?”
“Everywhere on the planet. Bishop talked to Zeigler’s mom and dad in San Diego. Nothing there. No word at all. He has a sister in Seattle. Nothing. We just found out that he has an ex-wife…and a son.”
“No shit?”
Estelle nodded. “They’re in Socorro. The boy is in second grade. Surprise, surprise.” She sighed and looked out the window. “And needless to say, Kevin’s roommate is just kind of slowly dissolving.”
“Page seems like a decent-enough sort.”
“He is. He’s not coping with the waiting very well. But then again, neither am I.” She pushed the salad to one side, her enthusiasm for food blunted after half a dozen bites. “Padrino, we know that Kevin stopped by the county maintenance yard early yesterday morning. He had a soft tire on his county truck, and had it aired up. He didn’t change it. But it’s been changed since then. The spare is mounted on the truck, but the flat tire is missing. The jack was on the floor in the passenger side of the cab.”
“Who knows where it might have gone flat,” Gastner said. “Unless somebody comes forward to say they saw Zeigler struggling with it along the road somewhere.”
“No one has. Not yet, anyway. I talked with Doris Marens this morning, and there’s a little piece there. I don’t think that it was Kevin Zeigler who brought the truck back to his house sometime after noon.” She quickly recounted her conversation with Doris Marens, and as she did so, she saw the expression of skepticism settle on the old man’s grizzled face.
“Because he’s driving slower than usual, and because he puts his foot on the brake? Sweetheart-”
“It makes sense to me, Padrino. It makes sense that maybe it wasn’t Kevin. Someone brought the truck back, parked it in the driveway. Now”-and she dug her finger into the soft tablecloth-“if that person didn’t want to be noticed, he’d drive carefully.” She leaned forward and dropped her voice. “If he wasn’t exactly sure where Zeigler lived, he might well slow down several houses early-making sure he pulled into the right place.”
She settled back and watched Gastner toy with the last scrap of pie crust.
“Why would any of that happen?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Estelle replied. “Suppose someone kidnapped Zeigler.” She smiled wryly. “Someone after the county’s millions. They spirit him away someplace, and return the truck?” She shook her head. “No sense.”
“Well, somebody returned it,” Gastner said.
“Yes. Someone did. There are no prints, no fibers, no nothing. Just a hint of tobacco smoke and body odor.”
“What if the whole mess with Zeigler isn’t related to the Acosta girl’s assault, sweetheart? Have you looked that way yet?”
“It is, sir. It is related. The lug wrench says it is. The grease smudge on her bedroom wall says it is. The whole coincidence of the truck’s being there at the time of the assault, and Zeigler’s being missing, says it is. I know it is.”
“Just asking.” Gastner poured the last of the coffee. “So let’s assume someone grabbed Zeigler-for whatever nefarious reason-and returned the truck-for whatever bizarre reason. After he returned the truck, did a buddy pick him up in another vehicle?”
“I don’t know. Doris didn’t see anyone. Or she didn’t notice anyone.”
“If he wasn’t picked up, what did he do, walk? No one saw strangers walking up and down Candelaria about that time?”
“No.”
“Or on a bike?”
“No. Zeigler has four bikes, sir. Well, he and Page have four. All of them were in the house. And that’s the thing.” She leaned forward again. “No one has been inside Zeigler’s house since he left for work Tuesday morning. I’m sure of that.”
“Not even himself?”
She shook her head. “That’s impossible to say. But I don’t think so.”
“You’ve pretty much taken all of the Acostas off the hook?”
“Sure. First of all, the attack on Carmen wasn’t their style. I mean, getting mad at a sister results in some bruises, some yelling and hair flying. Not what we saw. Freddy may be a tubby little bully, but it’s not his style, either. Juanita was at work. And the one thing that makes me certain is”-she held up both hands-“the truck. Something happened that involved that. Someone pushed his way into the Acostas’ home and attacked Carmen. There may be evidence that Carmen managed to hurt the attacker, at least a little bit.”