“My God. Freddy wasn’t with him, then?”
“It appears that Freddy was out on his four-wheeler at the time.” Lying dead at the bottom of an arroyo, Estelle amended to herself. She straightened up and extended her hand. “Thanks for taking the time. Linda Real will be by in a few minutes. I know it’s an awkward time for you, but it needs to be done.”
“You got it. I mean, anything at all that I can do to help. The parents know?”
“Oh, yes.”
Underwood hesitated. “Did someone talk with Casey Prescott?”
“I’m not sure if Mr. or Mrs. Romero called her or not. I’m headed out that way right now.”
“They were close, you know.”
“That’s what I understand.”
“Cute couple. You’ve talked with the boss? He’s working this morning.”
“My next stop,” the undersheriff said. “Coach, thanks. Linda will be by in a few minutes.” On the way out of the building, she called dispatch to request Linda Real’s expertise at the school, then stopped by Superintendent Glenn Archer’s office. She could see him through the open door of his inner office, leaning back in his massive swivel chair, Hush Puppies up on the corner of his desk.
“Well, now,” he called with pleasure, and waved her inside. “What brings you here, stranger?”
The superintendent’s benign, pleasant visage turned sober as she related a condensed version of the events on Friday, leaving out any mention of the discovery of the handgun. “That’s the story I heard,” he said. Archer turned to his computer monitor and rapped the keys for a moment, then gazed sadly at what appeared on the screen. With only 260 students K-12, Archer took pride in knowing every youngster in his school’s charge. Pulling Freddy Romero’s class schedule served as a reminder, apparently.
“Mrs. Bates informed me about Butch’s escapades with the snake,” he said. “And one of the students told me late yesterday afternoon that Freddy had been killed.” He turned and regarded Estelle. “How are Tata and George?”
“Well…” and she let it go at that.
“Of course. I’ll make sure I swing by there today.” He gazed at the computer for another moment. “I talked to Freddy earlier in the week about that jaguar skull he found. He was as excited as I’ve ever seen him. You know,” and he leaned back in his chair, “he was one of those youngsters who spent a lot of time and energy convincing us that he wasn’t interested in much that we had to offer.” He flashed a rueful smile. “But he liked Nate Underwood, and he’s done wonderful work in advanced shop. Have you seen that table he built?” Estelle shook her head. “Then you should go over and look at it. He’ll have it in the fall student arts and crafts show in November.” He realized what he’d said, and looked pained. “Well, it would have been in the show.”
“He said that he found the skull up above Borracho Springs.”
“That’s my understanding. That’s what he told me.”
“Did he say specifically where, sir?”
“Ah, no. I do know that’s a hell of a climb up there, and it sort of surprised me. That four-wheeler of his was like an extension of that young man, you know. I can’t imagine him parking that thing and then hiking for hours up in those rocks.”
“Puzzling.” Estelle stood and extended her hand to Archer. She held his firm, warm grip as he rose. “Butch is still in Albuquerque at University Hospital, sir. All this catches the folks in a real nightmare. They need to attend to Freddy, but they’ll want to return to the city as soon as they can for Butch’s sake.”
“He’s in a bad way, then.”
“Very serious, Dr. Archer. Very. He’s lost the sight in his right eye, and last I talked with the physicians, they weren’t sure of possible brain damage.”
“My God.”
“If there’s anything you can arrange for them, it would be appreciated. Even someone to drive them…they’re distraught and exhausted. I hate to think of them on the interstate.”
“Let me get right on that. Oh…and by the way, while I have you here. David Veltri emailed me a while ago, asking if it was all right to use my name as a reference for your department. He’s applying, I suppose you already know that.”
“Yes, sir. I was working on his application yesterday.”
“He’d be a good one. I’m behind him a hundred and ten percent.”
“He has strong references, that’s for sure.” She accepted another handshake from Archer as he escorted her to the door.
“I’ll see what I can do for the Romeros. Maybe Jim Bergin can fly them up. The service clubs are usually more than eager to help with something like that.”
Estelle nodded. “Anything at all. They need a hand right now.” Archer walked her to the foyer, and Estelle saw Linda Real’s red Honda pull to the curb in the bus zone.
“You can run, but you can’t hide,” Archer quipped.
“She’s going to do a profile of the skull,” Estelle replied. “I need to go out and tell Mr. Underwood that she’s here.”
“Oh, you don’t need to drag him away from practice,” the superintendent said, and hauled out his own impressive, clanking ring of keys. “He’s out on the field. Let me get you all started.”
Lugging a large camera bag, Linda greeted them with her usual sunny smile. “Superintendent Archer,” she said. “Estelle, Sergeant Mears wanted you to give him a call when you’re clear. What do you have for me here?”
“Mr. Archer is going to take you down to Nate Underwood’s room so you can do a profile of the jaguar skull,” Estelle said.
“Cool beans. Everything?”
“Absolutely. Over, under, around, and through. Three-sixty.” She tapped her own right orbit with an index finger. “And special attention to any damage or signs of injury.”
“Ten four.” Linda flashed Dr. Archer a brilliant smile. “I’m with ya, sir.”
Estelle waited until she was in her vehicle before dialing Sgt. Tom Mears’ cell. He picked up on the fifth ring.
“Did I catch you in the middle of something?” she asked.
“Hey,” Mears replied. “No, I’m just cleaning up my mess here. Look, Bobby and I ran a preliminary, and we’re both completely certain that the Smith and Wesson 4026 that Romero had in his possession fired the bullet into the cat’s brain.”
“Ay.”
“Interesting stuff. I’m packaging things to send off to the FBI, but right now, that’s the way it looks. Absolutely characteristic. Be nice if we had the fired shell casing to do a primer indent and breech-face match, but even without it, I’m sure of a match. So is Bobby. You’ll want to take a look at what we have when you get back.”
“That may be an hour or two. I have another stop I need to make this afternoon.”
“It’ll be interesting to know if Freddy found anything else out there,” Mears said.
“First we need to know where the ‘out there’ is.”
Chapter Fourteen
Just beyond Moore, Estelle turned onto the Prescott ranch road, a two-track deeply cut in spots with a steep plunge across Salinas Arroyo. Once up and out of the arroyo, the road wound across a mile of open prairie dotted with complacent cattle who stood in ragged groups, waiting for a pickup truck to arrive with feed supplements. Two windmills each pumped a trickle of water into battered stock tanks.
The undersheriff drove slowly, letting the bouquet of the prairie waft through the truck. As the fat tires disturbed the stands of bunch grass, grasshoppers clattered off, some flying only far enough to thump onto the hood or windshield.
The road to Gus Prescott’s ranch passed through country that was hardly conducive to an active social life. The ranch wasn’t the sort of place where people casually stopped by for a chat. Perhaps, Estelle thought, that was the sort of solitude that Gus Prescott didn’t handle so well. She knew that he spent long hours at the Broken Spur Saloon eighteen miles down the highway.
Casey Prescott, the youngest daughter, drove herself to school each day in an older model Volkswagen rather than parking out by the state highway bus stop.