“Any word on the APB?” Joanna asked.
“Not so far.”
“What’s everyone doing?”
“Until we can get some kind of break on Jeannine’s case, there’s not much more for the detectives to do here. The Double Cs and Debbie are on their way to Sierra Vista. Debbie’s going to be checking on primer paint purchases, and Ernie and Jaime are going to try to check out that Markham woman. We figured we should keep working on that while we can. You do know that Ernie will be out tomorrow-for his procedure?”
“I thought that was scheduled for Friday,” Joanna said.
“There was some kind of change in plans, and they moved it up. I think Ernie is anxious to get it over with,” Frank continued. “But we’ve got two major cases hanging fire. Having him out right now is going to put us in a hell of a bind.”
“We’ll get through it,” Joanna assured him. “We always do.”
She had paid for her food and was making one last trip to the rest room when her phone rang again. “A patrol officer from Tucson PD just spotted that LUV,” Frank reported. “It’s parked near a construction project on the far north side of town, on the northeast corner of the intersection at Campbell and Sunrise. Tucson Dispatch wants to know what you want them to do about it.”
“Have them keep the vehicle under observation until I get there,” Joanna said. “If the guy leaves, have them follow but don’t stop. I already told you that the driver is a potential witness-a person of interest rather than a suspect.”
“I’ll remind them,” Frank said.
“And since we’re dealing with people whose ability to speak English is limited, how soon can you meet me there?” Joanna asked. “I’m going to need backup as well as a translator.”
“Fortunately I was just getting ready to head back to Bisbee from Texas Canyon,” Frank said. “I’ll be there ASAP.”
After being patched through to Tucson PD, Joanna stayed in touch via radio while she drove from one end of Tucson to the other. Not wanting to attract any kind of notice, she traveled without benefit of lights or siren. When she arrived at Sunrise and Campbell, she found a Tucson PD patrol car waiting for her in a restaurant parking lot on the northwest corner of the intersection. Across the street, parked in among a dozen or so equally dilapidated vehicles, was the battered LUV she had seen in the UMC security video.
As she pulled in next to the patrol car, a uniformed officer stepped out of the waiting vehicle and hurried toward her. “I just got another call,” he said. “Do you need me to stay here or…?”
“No,” Joanna said, “it’s fine. One of my officers is on his way and will be here soon. You go ahead.”
The officer left, and Joanna settled in to wait. Across the street a crew of about a dozen men were at work constructing a concrete block wall. It was hard physical labor, and they worked at a steady but unhurried pace. Two men were using wheelbarrows to drag stacks of block from a nearby flatbed trailer over to where other workers were laying the blocks. Another two maintained a steady supply of cement from a mixer. One of the men manhandling a wheelbarrow looked a lot like the guy who had scrambled out of the camper shell in Alberto Amado’s digitally enhanced security video. Joanna recognized one of the guys at the cement mixer as the passenger from the front of the pickup. The driver, however, wasn’t visible.
At the stroke of three, all work stopped. As block layers began gathering and cleaning tools and equipment and putting them away, Joanna reached for her phone. “Where are you, Frank?” she asked, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. “It looks like they’re closing up shop.”
“I just turned off 1-10 onto Kino,” he said. “It’ll take me another fifteen minutes to reach your location.”
“Hurry,” she urged. “Otherwise they’ll all be gone by the time you get here.”
“I understood from Dispatch that someone from Tucson PD was there with you.”
“He was here, but he had to leave,” Joanna said. “He had another call.”
“Just follow them, then,” Frank advised. “Let me know where they end up, and I’ll go there.”
Unwilling to risk losing track of the pickup in afternoon traffic, Joanna was already putting her Crown Victoria in gear. It seemed unlikely that Ephrain Trujillo commuted more than a hundred miles one way from his home in Douglas to a job in Tucson. That meant he was probably staying somewhere in the Tucson area. Joanna didn’t want to delay speaking to him until the following day, when he might not reappear at the job site.
“I’m going to go talk to him,” Joanna said into the phone. “Get here as soon as you can.”
“Wait a minute, Joanna,” Frank said. “For God’s sake. Are you even wearing a vest?”
“What do you think?” she returned, and then she hung up.
The truth was, she wasn’t wearing a vest-hadn’t worn one in weeks because the one she owned no longer fastened around her bulging belly. But these were the guys who had saved Jean-nine’s life, right? Surely they wouldn’t hurt her.
A middle-aged Hispanic man was approaching the pickup with his car key extended when Joanna pulled in behind the LUV, effectively blocking its exit.
“Mr. Trujillo,” she called. “Could I speak to you for a minute?”
He turned to look at her. Two younger men, presumably his passengers, had been walking in the direction of the LUV as well. They stopped and melted back into the construction site. Joanna made no effort to stop them. The driver was the one she wanted. His face, hair, and worn work clothes were all covered with a thin layer of grimy gray dust that made him resemble a ghost. The man’s hardened gaze left Joanna wishing that she weren’t alone.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Hearing his heavily accented but perfect English, Joanna was relieved. While waiting in the car she had struggled to imagine how, without Frank Montoya there to translate, she’d be able to communicate with this man.
“The woman you took to the hospital this morning works for me,” Joanna said hurriedly. “I wanted to say thank you.”
The man’s expression softened slightly. “She is still alive then?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“And she will live?”
“The doctors don’t know, but she wouldn’t have even a chance at living if it hadn’t been for you.”
“I’m glad,” he said, inserting his key in the lock. “I’ll be going then.”
“No,” Joanna objected. “Please. We need to find the people who did this. Did you and your friends see what happened?”
Ephrain Trujillo looked at her and didn’t answer, but his silence spoke volumes. He didn’t trust her, and Joanna understood why. There was a gulf of antipathy between Joanna Brady with her uniform and badge and this hardworking laborer and his most likely illegal friends. For immigrants without green cards, Joanna represented the enemy. People like her were the ones who stood in the way of UDAs coming to the United States, doing work American citizens had no desire to do, earning a living wage, and supporting their families back home in Mexico or Nicaragua or El Salvador. But in order to learn the truth about what had happened to Jeannine Phillips, Joanna had to find a way to bridge that gap.
“I don’t work for the Border Patrol or INS,” Joanna explained. “It makes no difference to me whether or not you and your friends have green cards. I simply need to know what you saw and where it happened.”
“Are you placing me under arrest?”
“No,” Joanna returned. “You’re not under arrest and you won’t be. Neither will your friends, but I do need your help. Please, Mr. Trujillo. Jeannine’s arms and legs are broken. Her face has been smashed. She will most likely lose the sight in one eye. The doctors removed one kidney and her spleen. The people who did this must be caught. You helped her once by saving her life. Please help her again.”
Ephrain sighed. “What do you wish to know?”
“Where did you find her?” Joanna asked. “How did you find her?”