“With the hat pin.”
“That’s right. She had it with her. When she knew she was in serious trouble, what’s she do? She tries to use it. Her attacker wrenched it out of her hand and stabbed her with it. A lucky shot.”
Gastner grimaced. “This someone really wanted her dead.”
“You bet.”
“Why?”
“The only thing that comes to mind is that he didn’t want a witness. A witness to whatever he did. Whatever that was,” Estelle murmured. “Whatever happened to Kevin Zeigler happened somewhere else, then. There’s no sign of a struggle in the house, or in the yard, or in the truck.”
“So that narrows it,” Gastner said. “What did she see? She saw the truck. And she saw that Zeigler wasn’t driving it.”
Estelle frowned and shook her head.
“That’s something all by itself,” Gastner added. “It was important to the killer that the truck not be left at the scene, wherever the hell that is. And equally important to him that he not be seen parking it back at Zeigler’s.”
“Risky.”
“Murder is risky business, sweetheart. But it’s a quiet neighborhood. Slip in, park, slip out. Who’s the wiser? He didn’t know that Carmen was home.”
“Freddy could just as easily have seen him, too, sir.”
“Sure enough, he could have. But he wasn’t home. Maybe lucky for him.”
Estelle fell silent, her head resting in her hand. After a moment, she turned and looked out the window again, focusing on nothing in particular. Gastner let her ponder uninterrupted for another half cup of coffee.
“Everything is being done for Carmen that can be done,” he said quietly.
“Oh, I know that, Padrino.” She turned away from the window in resignation. “Maybe Bobby will find something in Kevin’s office. Nobody says that he had any enemies, but obviously he had at least one.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t live his lifestyle without making some enemies-that’s just the way it is.”
“Hate crime, you mean?” she asked, and Gastner shrugged. “It’s too calculated, sir. If we had found Zeigler’s battered body in some parking lot, then I’d lean that way. Not this time, though.” She pounded the table lightly with both fists, just a faint drum roll of frustration. “See, Padrino? I’m sure about what didn’t happen. That doesn’t get us anywhere.”
“Sure it does,” he said, digging out his wallet. He slid a twenty-dollar bill under his saucer. “It tells you which road not to take. There’s a poem about that somewhere, isn’t there?”
She glanced at her watch. “Let’s plan Friday evening with Sofia. Is that a good time for you?”
“Sure.” He grinned as he pushed himself out of the booth. “You’re going to be there?”
“Yes,” Estelle said with certainty. “I’m going to be there. And I’m going to my son’s open house at school tomorrow night just like a regular parent, and I’m going to enjoy Aunt Sofia’s visit, and we’re going to Las Cruces on Saturday to buy a piano.”
Gastner chuckled. “Don’t make too many best-laid plans, sweetheart. You know how these things work.”
“Yes, I do,” she said, taking Gastner’s arm affectionately. “That doesn’t mean I can’t daydream a little.”
Chapter Twenty-two
A yellow crime-scene tape crossed the outside double doors of the county offices, and Estelle used her own keys to let herself in. Sheriff Robert Torrez was sitting on the edge of Penny Barnes’ desk, munching on a convenience-store burrito.
“I sent ’em all home,” he said when he saw Estelle. “We needed some peace and quiet.” Sure enough, the county offices that ringed the commission chambers, including the wing that housed the county clerk’s and assessor’s domains, stood dark and vacant. County government had been jarred to a halt.
“And by the way,” he added, “Arnie Gray called. He wants to schedule a meeting with the county commissioners as soon as we can. As soon as we know something.”
“I can imagine he’s feeling a little uneasy right about now,” Estelle said. “He’s just going to have to be patient.” She looked into Zeigler’s office and could see Eddie Mitchell inside, kneeling in front of one of the manager’s map cabinets. “Any luck?”
Torrez shook his head, regarding the last bite of burrito before popping it into his mouth. “One thing. The blood spatter on the lamp shade? Number one, it was blood. Number two, it’s type O. And number three, Zeigler’s family doctor says that his blood type is AB positive.” Estelle caught the intentional emphasis on “family doctor” and knew that Torrez was referring to her husband. “So, you were right. Odds are good that it wasn’t our county manager who busted into the house and bashed in the girl’s skull.” Estelle couldn’t tell whether Torrez was pleased or sorry to have reached that conclusion. He chucked the burrito wrapper in the trash can beside Penny’s desk. “What’d Bill have to say?”
“That he talked with Crowley after we did. No luck.”
Torrez nodded, not surprised. “Marens?”
She recounted her conversation with Doris Marens, and Torrez listened impassively. “I think someone brought Zeigler’s truck home,” she said.
“What sense does that make?”
“To make sure that it wasn’t found somewhere else. Somewhere that might be incriminating.”
“What’s wrong with the county building parking lot?”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with it, Bobby. Maybe too many eyes. I just don’t know.”
“Huh,” the sheriff said. “Did you call Frank yet?”
“I was going to.”
“What are you going to tell him?”
“As little as I can get away with,” Estelle said. “That Carmen Acosta is an assault victim from an unknown intruder. That she was airlifted to Albuquerque, where she’s listed in whatever condition she’s in at the moment.”
“And about Zeigler?”
“‘In the meantime, the Sheriff’s Department is investigating the apparent disappearance of County Manager Kevin Zeigler, whose truck was recovered at his residence next door to the Acostas’. Sheriff Torrez declined to comment further.’”
“Damn right, he ‘declined to comment.’” He took a deep breath. “You know the kind of speculation that’s going to be goin’ around.”
“That can’t be helped, Bobby. By now, everyone in town knows that Zeigler is missing. A little publicity might help. Maybe someone saw something, heard something…”
“You never know.” He turned and gazed into Zeigler’s office, at the same time bending down the little finger on his left hand with his right. “This is the kind of thing that we’ve found in this mess. If the administrator of Posadas General Hospital was irritated with Zeigler for ordering a rewrite of the bid specs for the new roof, he might have wanted to kill him.” He bent down his ring finger. “If what’s-his-face out at the landfill didn’t want an outside company takin’ over the county dump, he might have figured on killing Zeigler.”
A third finger followed. “If the County Highway Department was bent out of shape about Zeigler’s refusal to buy another twin-screw dump truck this year, Ralph Johnson might have wanted to kill him.” He turned to force a half smile at Estelle. “That’s the sort of thing we’re finding.” He held his entire left hand. “Zeigler was tryin’ to talk me into accepting compact-sized SUVs for the next round of patrol vehicles. I might have killed him for that.”
He dropped his hands in disgust. “What a bunch of shit. Maybe he was tryin’ to cut Bill Gastner’s pension, and Wild Bill bumped him off.”