This time Elna Tyler managed a laugh. “Oh, Wesley, Wesley.”
“How long has he been on the road, ma’am?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“I haven’t asked him yet.”
“I see. Well, Officer, I would guess he’s headed for some kind of world record. He’s been pedaling that bicycle, or one like it, for the better part of thirty years.”
“And he just roams?”
“That’s a good way to put it. He loves history. If you’ve talked with him at all, you already know that. But he doesn’t focus on anything in particular.” She laughed. “He just absorbs it all like a big sponge. And I don’t think he ever forgets a thing.”
“He sends you his diaries?”
“He told you about those? Well, he sends them faithfully. I don’t know where he gets the money for the postage, but he always manages. I wish he’d say a little more about his experiences, but he doesn’t. He just talks about the history of wherever he happens to be, or whatever he’s seen. I’ve got cartons and cartons of his papers.”
“When did you last hear from him, Mrs. Tyler?”
“Let me go look.” The receiver thudded and in the background I heard unintelligible voices. In a moment the woman picked up the phone again. “The last thing I have from Wesley was mailed at the Forest Service ranger station in Springerville, Arizona. The postmark says October seventh. I was happy that he was heading south with late fall coming on. You know, once he spent the winter in the Dakotas.”
“That must have been an experience,” I said, mentally picturing Wesley Crocker pushing a bicycle through five feet of snow.
“Not one I’d cherish, I’m sure,” Elna Tyler said. “Now, are you sure there’s nothing I can do? Wesley’s all right?”
“He’s fine. As I said, we called as part of a routine background check.”
“Well, now, I’m relieved. Talking to that other officer made it sound like Wesley had tried to steal the atomic bomb or something.”
I didn’t comment on Thomas Pasquale’s phone technique, but I said, “I’ll tell Wesley to drop you a line, ma’am.”
She laughed. “That’ll be the day. He’ll send me another page of historic trivia, but nothing about himself. I’ve learned not to worry about him anymore, I guess. He’ll go his own way. The rest of us should have such a full life.”
With a promise that I’d keep her posted about any new developments and that I’d let her know when her brother hit the road again, I hung up and glanced at the clock. In another five minutes, the buses would start to roll into the Posadas school parking lot. The patrol cars and the yellow crime scene ribbon would fuel plenty of talk. Among those three or four hundred teenagers, there would be some who knew a little about fifteen-year-old Maria Ibarra.
Maybe one or two would know quite a bit.
9
I entered Principal Glen Archer’s office with relief. The halls behind me were filling rapidly with noisy kids, a vast sea of people-to-be, and Archer’s office was a quiet island. I had met Sergeant Robert Torrez in the lobby and reminded him that I didn’t want Officer Thomas Pasquale out of his sight for ten seconds. I had no illusions that they would find anything under the bleachers beyond what we already had. But daylight was always a different story. We could always hope.
By the time Torrez and Deputy Eddie Mitchell finished combing the bleachers and the rubble under them, we’d be sure.
Archer closed the door and indicated a couple of chairs. “Sit, sit,” he said to Estelle and me. His forehead was furrowed with worry and fatigue. “This has really thrown us for a loop. I just can’t believe it. This is the sort of thing that happens in big cities.” He shook his head. “It still might have been better if we’d just closed for the day.” He glanced at me and didn’t receive any support. “Do you want the counselor in on this?”
“Not just yet,” I said.
“Coffee?”
“No, thanks. Glen, what can you tell us about Maria Ibarra?”
He sat down heavily and rubbed his face. His complexion was pasty from lack of sleep and marbles could have tracked in the dark gutters under his eyes. “Before we get into that, let me ask you something. None of the deputies I spoke with earlier this morning would say whether this is a murder we’re working with, or what. I mean, what exactly happened to this girl, do we know?”
“Not yet. Dr. Guzman is working up a preliminary autopsy. Until he gives us something…” I shrugged. “Right now we’re treating it as a homicide. That’s all that makes sense.”
Glen Archer sighed and shook his head. “I knew who Maria Ibarra was. That’s about it. And that’s a hell of a thing for the principal of a small school to have to say. But that’s the size of it. I understand from Sergeant Torrez that you’re looking for the parents.” He shrugged. “I don’t know how much help we’ll be. I don’t think her situation was too…too…” He waved his hands, groping for the right words. Finally he settled for, “I’m not sure who she was living with. I was going to do some digging, but the sergeant told me to hold off.”
“How many kids do you have attending school now?”
“In this building? About three hundred and eighty, grades seven through twelve. Across the parking lot, K through six is about two seventy. Give or take.”
“What grade was Maria in?”
“We placed her in eighth grade. Being fifteen, maybe she should have gone into ninth, but she was small for her age. And Pat-Patricia Hyde-thought that she wasn’t ready for high school yet. She was very bright, apparently, but she spoke very little English.”
“When did she check in?”
“Late September. Maybe the first week in October. So she’s only been here a week or two, maybe a little longer.”
“And you never met her parents? Or guardians?”
Archer shook his head slowly. “I didn’t see her that day at all. Pat processed her enrollment. Let me call her in here.”
“Just a minute,” I said. “Before you do that, let me ask you a couple other things. We have reason to believe that close to the time that the girl’s body was discovered, two vehicles were parked behind the school. We don’t know yet if there is a connection.”
“There are lots of dark corners on this campus, Sheriff.”
“Yes, there are. How many kids drive their own vehicles to school?”
“You think a student was involved in this?” His forehead furrows deepened. “I guess it makes sense that there would be.”
“I don’t know.” My response was bald and unsympathetic, but it was the truth. “If there was a student involved in the death, and if that student was in one of those two vehicles, then the odds are good that one or both of the vehicles that were parked behind the school last night are out in your parking lot right now.”
Archer looked at me hard for a minute, then turned and pulled a black ring binder off the shelf behind his desk. “God, I hate this,” he said, and took a deep breath. “Here’s a list of parking permits.” He spread the binder open on his desk. “We don’t have a closed campus, as you are well aware. And the school board is as opposed as they can be to barbed wire and tall fences. But any student who drives to school has to have a window sticker.”
He ran his finger down the column of numbers. “Right now, we have two hundred and nineteen students who have been assigned stickers.” He looked up. “Do you want a copy of this?”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t have a description of the vehicles that you think may be involved?”
“Not yet. And as I said, we don’t know for sure.”
“What else can I do to help?”
Estelle shifted in her seat. “We’d like an absentee list for yesterday, and today as well.”
Archer grimaced. “This is Friday, and we’ve got an away game tonight against Sierra Linda. The list is going to be longer than usual, but I’ll be happy to get it for you.”
The football game schedule for the Posadas Jaguars was taped to my refrigerator door. We’d beaten Sierra Linda once in our season opener at home, and I’d shouted myself hoarse from the top of the bleachers. Earlier in the week, during a moment of boredom, I had considered driving the ninety miles to watch the rematch.