“So he gets ’em out,” I supplied.
“He does. You know, Crystalita wasn’t very big. More child than a big woman. And the little girl, well, you know. She’s like a little rag doll. So Larry’s got one under each arm and there it goes. The water rips that truck right off the abutment, and they go under the bridge. How he saved them, nobody knows. A state trooper comes along and stops, and he finds Larry crouched on the concrete abutment just under the roadway, the water right at his knees. He’s still got the two girls, one under each arm, trying to move against the water. They found the truck a quarter mile downstream the next day. Just a ball of useless metal.”
“Tony Pino’s sister,” I said. “And her daughter. Zipoli saved ’em both.”
“That’s right. Saved them both, jefito. There’s all kinds of newspaper clippings about it, you know.”
“I would think so.” The rush of publicity would have been intense, but would fade with time just as quickly. And eighteen years was damn near long enough for a new generation who would never have heard of the rescue. The whole frantic, panic-filled night, with the roar of rampaging water and the bellowing of the storm, would become unimaginable, the stuff of old legends.
I had arrived in Posadas county the year after, and might have heard mention of the rescue, might have heard someone say, “Yeah, hell of a storm. Some guy rescued a couple girls down by María that night. Quite a deal.”
Quite a deal, indeed. Larry Zipoli had taken a job with the county shortly thereafter, even before the grateful Tony Pino had become highway superintendent. Years floated by, and even when the man had grown into an irresponsible lush, Tony Pino hadn’t been able to lift a hand against his behavior…behavior maybe even sparked by that impossible night. Larry Zipoli had certainly been a true hero, but his nightmares afterward-after he’d had time to think about it-might have been epic.
Larry and Marilyn had been married at the time, their youngest daughter maybe six years old. “Interesting that Marilyn didn’t mention the episode to me,” I said.
“That was a long, long time ago,” Eduardo said, his voice soft like a good storyteller wrapping up a fable. “Maybe she doesn’t like to think about what might have happened.”
“Like her husband staying sober and fit after the incident, finding satisfaction leading the Fire Department’s Search and Rescue Squad,” I said without much sympathy.
“Or swept down the arroyo,” Eduardo added, just in case I might not have thought of that by myself.
“So Pino sees his debt to Larry Zipoli as beyond settling. Is that what we’re supposed to think?”
“That could be, Jefito.”
“Well, the debt’s settled now. I’m sure Tony feels badly for Marilyn, but there’s not much he can do for her. Where does Pino’s sister live now, by the way?”
“Well, that’s the sad thing. She got married to a fellow in Lordsburg. And this time it was a snowstorm over by Show Low. A semi jack-knifed on the interstate and burned, and that was that. She and her husband and the two kids. Along with a couple from Indiana. That was about five years after the night in María. Just a real sad thing, Jefito.”
I suppose that Tony Pino had his reasons to be uneasy when I walked out of his office with Larry Zipoli’s records. Why people feel they have to do what they do is always a challenge to figure out, but it was obvious to me that Tony didn’t want Zipoli’s reputation smeared-nothing to overshadow that daring, selfless episode.
“Marilyn had filed for divorce, Eduardo.”
“Ay. I didn’t know that.”
“Zipoli was providing alcohol to some of the local youngsters. Most of the time on the trips to Elephant Butte. Driving the boat under the influence apparently wasn’t uncommon.”
“And the park police never caught him, I guess?”
“Apparently not. It’s a big lake, and not very many of them. He was lucky.”
“And we never caught him either,” Eduardo said philosophically. “Why didn’t she just take the boat keys away from him?”
“One of life’s great mysteries, Eduardo. Sometimes wives can’t be that assertive.”
He fell silent again. “So what now, Jefito?”
“I wish to hell I knew. There’s an interesting connection that I want to check, but I don’t hold out any great hopes. You know Mike Zamora?”
“Sure.”
“He was the one who brought out the new hydraulic hose to Zipoli at the road grader. It’s also interesting that Mike’s brother Louis hangs out at the Zipolis from time to time, working on the ski boat. That’s where I’ll go with it tomorrow. Talk to some of the kids, see what little tidbits I can shake out.”
“It’s a small town, Jefito.”
“Well, maybe I can make that work for us. These little connections make me nervous, Eduardo. It’s likely that Mike Zamora is one of the last people who saw Larry Zipoli alive.”
The sheriff made a little humming noise. “That family has lived here for a long time, Jefito. The Zamoras.”
“That makes a difference?”
Eduardo chuckled. “It’s just the way it is, you know. They’ve been here a long time, lots of things happen.”
“That’s an interesting motive, Eduardo. Lots of things happen. I can hear the defense attorney telling a jury that.”
“They’ll hear some pretty strange things.” He sighed. “I don’t know. It’s frustrating. You’ll let me know what you find out?”
“Of course. How’d your day go?”
“Well, interesting, I guess.” He fell silent for a moment. “I got this bee in my bonnet about that place, you know.”
“What, out on Highland?”
“Sure. I got some little questions, and it isn’t clear how to find out the answers, you know. You either got the killer driving around, looking for a specific target, or you don’t…you got a chance thing. If he’s looking for Larry Zipoli, how does he know where to find him? I mean, Zipoli works all over the county with that grader. How are you going to know, unless you have the county jobs schedule. I got to wonder.”
“Someone like Mike Zamora would know, obviously.”
“Hijole, I hate to think that. I tell you what…let me go talk with Mike come morning. Just sit down with him and see what he has to say. That okay with you?”
Eduardo Salcido hardly needed to ask my permission, but I could see the advantages. I made Mike Zamora’s boss nervous, Eduardo didn’t.
“Is there anything you want me to tell Tony when I’m out there?” the sheriff added.
“Not a damn thing,” I said. Eduardo Salcido’s roots were lifelong in the community, and like crabgrass, there was no way of knowing just where the tendrils went. “We need to know everything that Mike Zamora saw and said when he talked with Larry Zipoli out at the work site. If Zipoli seemed worried about anything-apprehensive, watchful, that sort of thing.”
“I don’t think he ever saw it coming,” the sheriff said.
“Not until the last seconds,” I replied. “That’s what we have to wonder. Did he know why the trigger was being pulled.”
For a few minutes after I hung up the phone, I wondered what it was that Sheriff Eduardo Salcido had actually wanted…other than trying to figure out what rocks I was turning over when he wasn’t looking. But that was something I admired about Eduardo. He could accept almost anything with a philosophical shrug of the shoulders. I could imagine him arresting his own grandmother-were the wonderful woman still alive-and saying as he snapped the cuffs closed, “Well, abuela, I sure hate to do this.”