Jules persuaded himself to say calmly and casually, “In the glove compartment with the two manifests?”
“Right,” the ox said, grinning now, because he knew that Jules Temple knew they’d ripped him off for the $500. And there was nothing he could do about it. Shelby loved this.
But he’d overplayed it again, just as he had with Bobbie Ann Doggett. As Fin Finnegan might say, he’d taken his performance clear over the top. But even if Shelby had had a clearer head he might not have been clever enough to manipulate Jules Temple.
“If I need to talk to you again, Shelby, I hope you don’t mind if I call you?”
“Anytime, Mister Temple,” said Shelby. “Anytime.”
Then Jules hung up. The blood had drained from his face. He got up and began to pace. He went into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. His hands were actually trembling, and that was not like him.
That imbecile said that both manifests were in the glove box, but the day after the so-called truck theft, he’d told Jules that one manifest was on the seat in the cab and one was in the glove box. Now he’d forgotten about that lie.
It could be an honest mistake. Shelby Pate was obviously hung over and more dimwitted than usual. Maybe it was an honest mistake, but Jules didn’t think so. There was something about the way he’d said “Guthion.”
Jules believed that Shelby Pate had read that manifest, and if he’d read it, he might still have it. Or at least he knew where he’d tossed it and he’d go find it, now that the cops had given those fools information that could put Jules Temple in prison!
But would Pate and Durazo risk jail themselves? They’d dumped the waste. They’d faked the truck theft. A moment’s thought provided the answer. They could tell the authorities that they had no idea that the waste was anything more than what the manifest said it was: waste flammable liquid. They could cut a deal with the police, if it came to it. Jules knew he was about to be blackmailed.
While Shelby Pate tried to pull himself together by drinking hot coffee, Jules Temple, for the very first time in his life, began to contemplate an act of violence. He began to contemplate murder.
It was Nell Salter who got the next phone call of the morning, and she was surprised that it was from Fin.
“I got some news for you,” he said.
“Was your pasta a success?”
“What pasta?”
“Last night. Pasta?”
“Oh, that. No, it’s about our case. The guy that got killed in the hot truck was wearing a shoe that was stolen along with a couple thousand other shoes at North Island when our two truckers picked up the hazardous waste.”
“What?”
“His cold foot was in a hot shoe!”
“Were you drinking again last night?”
“Yeah, but I’m sober now. The truckers and the dead guy apparently pulled a grand theft at North Island, then drove to T.J., then faked the theft of the truck. So this means they also dumped the waste!”
“Can we start from the beginning?”
“Not now, I gotta meet somebody. Are you willing to work on Saturday?”
“Of course not.”
“But we might get lucky and make you a case for intentional dumping of hazardous waste resulting in deaths. I don’t think you make a case like that every day, do you?”
The fact was, she’d never made a case like that, not for a dumping that caused death. Nell said, “Okay, where do I meet you?”
“At the front gate of North Island.”
“Why there?”
“It’s convenient for all three of us.”
“Three?”
“We’ll be driving down to Green Earth to have a talk with our two truckers, or we’ll stake out their homes if they don’t work on Saturday. We’ll find those boys.”
“Who’s the we?”
“An investigator from the navy’s gonna join us. She wants their shoes back.”
After hanging up, Nell thought, she?
“You were right!” Fin said after he got Bobbie on the phone later that morning. “It took me awhile to get him, but the CHP officer that found the foot described your shoe to a T!”
“Out-standing!” Bobbie said.
“Don’t go turbo on me,” Fin said. “We gotta do a few things. One thing we should do is wait till Monday when we’re all getting paid for police work.”
“What if those two dudes’re working today? What if they dump another load a waste like they did the first one? Do you think they care about human life?”
“Just like every woman I ever met,” Fin said. “A guilt maker.”
“I think it’s our duty to take those guys down as soon as possible. If you don’t, I will!”
“Whoa!” he said. “Chill out, Bobbie. I’ll meet you at the main gate of North Island at two o’clock. The D.A.’s investigator I told you about, she’s gonna be there.”
“Oh, then you’d already planned to do the right thing?”
“I mighta known. You’ve got a black belt in guilt-tripping.”
* * *
At 11:30 that morning, Abel Durazo crawled lazily out of bed and fried himself some chorizo and scrambled eggs. He drank three cups of coffee and watched TV cartoons along with four of the kids belonging to the Guatemalan couple who rented him his room. He could’ve afforded better than a rented room, but he never squandered money. Abel sent $400 a month to his mother in Tijuana. She in turn wrote to him twice a week and prayed that someday they’d have enough so that he could return home and be with the rest of the family forever.
Before noon, Abel received a phone call from Shelby Pate, who said, “Kin you talk now, dude?”
Abel was puzzled and said, “We got problem?”
“We got a pot a gold waitin, dude, is what we got!”
“Yes,” Abel said. “Een Tijuana.”
“That ain’t nothin!” said the ox. “I’m talkin about big money. Robo bucks. Humongous dinero!”
“You steel drunk, Buey?”
“A little bit, but I managed to get an hour’s sleep. Let’s meet and talk somewheres before we go to T.J.”
“Okay, where?”
Shelby said, “Meet me where we got our truck stole.”
“What?”
“At Angel’s, you dumb Mexican!” Shelby said.
Abel giggled and said, “Okay, Buey, we meet at Angel’s, but we don’ stay too long. Maybe somebody steal my car!”
This time it was Shelby’s turn to giggle. He said, “Meet me there at, say, three o’clock.”
“Okay, Buey,” Abel said, and hung up just in time to catch a Porky Pig cartoon. He liked the old cartoons best, especially Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck.
* * *
Naturally, Bobbie arrived first, and she made sure that her bike was still safely locked up from the day before. She was wearing a raspberry, flannel-lined fleece stadium jacket that she got on sale for $29, along with Bill Blass jeans. The most expensive item on her body, next to her Colt.45 automatic, was her Gloria Vanderbilt lace-up booties that set her back $35. Bobbie had tried to dress for action in the event that the arrest of Shelby Pate and Abel Durazo got rough. Bobbie had been wildly excited all day and had gone jogging twice trying to calm herself.
Nell Salter arrived next, looked for a place to park her five-year-old Audi sedan, then decided to make a U-turn and wait at the curb for Fin’s Corvette. While she was waiting she saw a young blonde in a raspberry jacket chatting with the navy sentry.
Fin parked on the side street, locked his Vette, and while walking toward Nell’s Audi, spotted Bobbie with the sentry.
“Bobbie!” he shouted, and she waved, then trotted toward Nell’s car.
Nell was casually attired, but had invested more than Bobbie had. She wore a lavender silk blouse with rolled sleeves, pleated black stirrup pants, and black leather pumps. She had a black sweater vest in the car in case they worked into the evening.