Arnett swiveled his head just enough to see us, but otherwise remained motionless as we entered. A burly, powerful man used to hard labor dawn to dusk, Mark Arnett was likely forty years old or so but looked fifty-five, his broad face baked into lines and wrinkles by the sun reflecting off the roofs on which he worked.
With exaggerated care, he swung his boot down to the floor and rose from the chair. At six-one, he had me by two inches, but I outweighed him by fifty pounds-all pork.
“You made it,” he said, his implication clear that the twelve or so minutes he had to wait had been too long. He eyed Estelle with interest. “And who’s this?” He gave her hand a perfunctory, single pump as I introduced them. “You don’t look like your average cop.” His smile was tight. It wasn’t a question, and sure enough-Estelle Reyes’ only response was the hint of a smile of her own.
“Thanks for coming in.” I took the offered hand. “I know this isn’t the easiest thing.”
“Goddamn right.” He slumped back down in the chair, and I took the one to his left at the end of the table. It would have been easy, in one of those mini-moments of control, to assign Estelle to a seat, but I made no motions or suggestions, curious about the little things in human behavior. She selected the chair to Mark Arnett’s right where she’d have a side view of his face, able to watch the flushes work on his neck, or the expressions touch the side of his mouth. To look at her, he’d have to twist in his chair…or he could just ignore her.
“Okay, Mo is screwing up,” he said. “Goddamn kids. He took his mother’s car, the little shit.” He rapped the table sharply with the heavy class ring on his right hand. “He knows that’s not going to fly.”
“Has he ever done this before?”
“Hell, no. He knows that if he takes the car or any other damn thing with a motor, his ass is grass.”
“Some troubles in the past?”
“Nah. Not really. For one thing, he’s skippin’ school, and that gets my goat. The last thing I want is him drivin’ around town with a carload of his buddies. You know how they are. Tomorrow is Friday, and that’s party time-even if they haven’t done a goddamn thing to deserve it.”
“I suppose.” I regarded him long enough that he dropped his gaze and studied the class ring. “So tell me…when Mo was over at Larry Zipoli’s place, or off with him and the rest of the kids on one of those skiing trips, how did you feel about that?”
Mark shifted in his seat, and the damn ring rapped again, this time a nervous little drumroll. “Look, Larry Zip is one of those guys who lives and breathes his boat, his beer, his football. You know, he’s just one of those guys. Kind of reminds me of that fat neighbor in the Sunday funnies…the one who’s always sittin’ in his recliner with a brew in his hands. Now, I’ve heard that he gives it to the kids sometimes. You know, a can now and then. I guess that’s no big deal.” He glanced up at me to see if I agreed that it was no big deal. “But there’s other things I wish Mo would do with his time.”
“Who does he hang out with mostly?”
“Oh, I don’t know. The Pasquale kid, some. He used to be pretty tight with Jason Packard, but they don’t see so much of each other any more.”
“Friendships come and go pretty easily,” I said, and Arnett nodded.
He leaned forward, both elbows on the table, hands raised. “Look, is all this somehow related to that thing that happened to Larry? Is that what you’re gettin’ at?”
That thing. “We’re talking with everyone who spent time with Zipoli in the past few days or weeks, Mark. Somebody out there saw something, heard something. Even a rumor at this point would be welcome. Mo was riding his bike with the other two boys-Tom and Jason-on the same day that Larry was killed. Maybe just hours before. So.” I shrugged. “And our curiosity grows when Mo takes off, when he goes missing without leaving word with his folks.” I leaned against the table. “Look, I’m a parent too, Mark. If my kid took off with the family car and I didn’t know where the hell he went, I’d be upset too.”
“Shit,” Arnett muttered, and twisted around to look at Estelle. He looked her up and down and then turned back to me. “Can you tell me exactly what happened with Larry?”
I shrugged and replied, “It’s pretty simple. He was sitting in the county road grader, and someone put a rifle bullet through the windshield.” I touched my left eyebrow. “It keyholed and hit him right there. He never had a chance to move from his seat.”
“Jesus. Who the hell would do a thing like that?”
“That’s a good question. If one of those kids is in danger, for instance…”
“Why would they be?”
“We don’t know. We don’t know who saw what.”
He bit his lip. I imagine that his thoughts just then were agonizing. “What do you know about the weapon used?”
“Rifle, thirty caliber. The bullet is a 170-grain flat point.”
He cut right to the chase. “How the hell did you recover it?”
“During autopsy.”
“Come on, now. It had to have been fired from a hell of a distance not to blow right on through his skull,” he said. “What’s Bobby say?”
“Deputy Torrez tells me that in all likelihood the shot was taken from about fifty paces.”
“That close? Shit. A thirty caliber high-powered rifle would have blown his skull all to hell, and then just kept on going.”
“Seems likely, doesn’t it?”
“That’s all you know?”
I smiled gently. “I know that we don’t know where Mo is right now, Mark.”
“He’s probably home by now, if he knows what’s good for him. But look, you’re implying that he had something to do with all this? Is that what you’re saying?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” I said. “I want to talk with him. That’s all. If he saw something, that’s one thing. I’d hate to think that he was in danger somehow. Do you mind if we follow you over to the house?” I didn’t tell him that his little bastard was the center of interest for a BOLO.
“Hell no, I don’t mind.” He rose quickly. “Right now?”
“That would be good.” I held out a hand toward Estelle. “Do you have any questions for Mr. Arnett at this point?”
“No, sir. We’ve talked to the neighbors and some of the other youngsters, so the sooner we can hear what Mo has to say, the better.” Maybe Mark Arnett felt a little better thinking that his son wasn’t flying solo.
“What’s Raught say?” Mark asked. “Hell, right door-to-door like that, he’s got to know what’s goin’ on.”
“One would think,” I said, cutting off that avenue.
“Odd duck, that guy.”
I didn’t pursue that comment, but held the door for Arnett as we left the conference room. “We’ll be along in just a minute, Mark.”
“You want to talk with the wife again? I can stop by the church and pick her up.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary, but suit yourself.”
He nodded and made for the front door. I leaned on the dispatch counter. “Find Bob Torrez and have him meet me at the Arnetts’.”
Barnes looked blank for an instant. “Bobby doesn’t come on until four, sir.”
I glanced up at the white board on the wall behind the dispatcher, where all the little magnetic roundels on the calendar, one for each deputy, showed how desperately shorthanded we were. Perhaps T.C. didn’t think that I paid attention to the duty schedule when I made it up each month.
“Have him meet me at Mark Arnett’s ASAP,” I said gently. “And then call the sheriff and ask him to swing by as well.”
“I think Sheriff Salcido went to Las Cruces, sir.”
“All right. Have him reach me as soon as he comes back, then.” The sheriff hadn’t told me that he was heading out of town, but then again, he didn’t need to. In fact, one of the things I liked about Eduardo was that he let me work without reins. I didn’t have to explain to the sheriff where I was or what I was doing every moment of the day. I extended the same courtesy to him.