"You've told me yourself that Frankie had some connection to Clyde Philips. I suspect the killer did, too. All I want from your son is for him to give us the names of some of Clyde's other pals. Was there anyone besides Frankie involved in the incident where your son wasn't arrested?"
Ramos shook his head. "No, it was just the two of them. They were driving back to Frankie's place and Clyde missed a turn. They went into a ditch. No damage. According to what I was told, Clyde wasn't all that drunk. It wasn't that big a deal. At least that's what Eddy said."
"Eddy?" Joanna repeated. "You mean Eddy Sandoval?"
"Come on, Sheriff Brady," Ruben Ramos said. "Don't climb Eddy's frame about all this. He and I go back a long way. He knew about some of the problems Alicia and I have had with Frankie. He was just trying to help out."
Joanna wasn't impressed. "Look, Chief, if I've got a deputy looking the other way at drunk-driving offenses, then my department has a serious problem, one I need to address. But for right now, catching a killer takes precedence over everything else. Just tell me what happened."
Ruben Ramos sighed. "It was June," he said. "Right after school got out. Frankie had just graduated. Not top in his class. Not even in the top half, but he did graduate. And I told him-I told all my kids-that as long as they were going to school, they had a place to stay. And the other three all took me at my word. They all graduated from college. One of 'em is even working on a doctorate at San Jose State. But Frankie wasn't having any of it. He said he didn't want to go to college, and he sure as hell wasn't athletic enough to get himself a scholarship the way my other son did. So I told him fine, do it your way. But I also told him that once he was out of high school, he was out of the house, too. I thought that as soon as he had to cut it in the big, cruel world, maybe he'd come to his senses and get his education same as I did."
Ramos paused, shook his head, then continued. "So Frankie graduates and he gets himself this little nothing job working for a roofing contractor. I told him the morning after graduation that he had two weeks to find a place to live. And he did, too. Next thing I knew, he was living in this wreck of a mobile home over in Pomerene. The place is a dump, but it was the best he could afford. He told me Clyde Philips owned the place and he was letting Frankie work off part of the rent by doing odd jobs around his gun shop-cleaning, sweeping, that kind of thing. The good thing about it was Frankie could work there at nights or on weekends when he wasn't doing his regular job.
"Alicia and I were real happy about that-more power to him. He was making his own way, maybe learning some-thing useful. I was happy about it right up until Eddy Sandoval called me because he'd found Clyde and Frankie in that ditch, with Frankie drunker'n a skunk. Eddy called me as a favor and asked me what I wanted him to do about it. I told him if he could see his way clear to let it slide, I'd really appreciate it."
"Then what happened?" Joanna asked.
"I talked to Frankie about it. I tried to explain to him what a stupid thing that was for him to pull. I told him a Minor-in-Possession conviction would screw up his insurance premiums and all that other stuff for years to come. He just sat there with that damned nose ring on his face, staring at me like I didn't know what the hell I was talking about, like I was some kind of moron. That's the problem with kids-they always think they know so much more than their parents do.
"I just gave up after that. I told him if it happened again, he was on his own. I wouldn't lift a finger to help him. And that's that," Ruben finished. "The long and the short of it. I've barely seen him since then. Neither has his mother."
For a time, Joanna didn't know how to respond. Despite Ruben's protestations of having washed his hands of responsibility for his son, he was obviously still very concerned. He had volunteered the story of Frankie's MIP thinking that was behind Joanna's midnight visit. She agreed the man had every reason to be worried about his son, but not for any of the reasons he thought. Compared to the specter of AIDS, dodging a moving violation was trivial. And what was worrying Joanna right then was what other things Frankie might have done for Clyde Philips besides sweeping in order to work off his rent. Was he only a part-time janitor, or was there a sexual relationship as well?
"Tell me about your son," she said at last.
Ruben shrugged his shoulders. "What else do you want to know?"
"What's he like?"
In the dim light of the bowling alley parking lot, Joanna saw the pained expression that flitted across Ruben Ramos' broad features. "I wanted Frankie to grow up," he said hopelessly. "All I wanted was for him to be a man. People used to tell me how sweet he was. I didn't want him to be sweet. I didn't want my son to be a sissy, but he is."
"What about Clyde Philips?" she asked. "What did you know about him?"
"Nothing much," Ruben replied. "He owned a gun shop and he's dead. I hear he liked to party-at least he used to "a while hack. I've been told that in the last little while he had let tip on the drinking. I figured liver damage probably got to him. That's what happens to guys who hit the sauce real heavy. And the night of the wreck, Frankie claimed Clyde hadn't had all that much to drink."
"Clyde Philips didn't have liver damage," Joanna said quietly. "He had AIDS. The medical examiner called me with the autopsy results just an hour or so ago."
For a moment Ruben Ramos didn't make the connection. "You mean AIDS-the disease queers get?" he asked.
Joanna nodded. "Homosexuals, needle-using drug addicts, prostitutes." She paused, not wanting to ask the next question, but knowing she had no choice. "Is there a chance Clyde Philips and your son were lovers?"
For a second there was no reaction at all, followed by a one-word explosion. "No!" Then, after another long, heart-breaking pause, Ruben nodded. "Probably," he said in a whisper. "I wondered about that-suspected it but I didn't want to believe it. I guess I thought if I ignored it long enough, it would go away. I always thought it was my fault Frankie turned out the way he did. I wondered if it was something I said or did to him when he was little. I tried to help him, really I did."
"Chief Ramos, I-"
"He was arrested one other time," Ruben went on. "Besides that MIP thing over in Pomerene. One other time that I didn't mention. Because I was ashamed to-ashamed that a son of mine would turn out that way and do such a thing."
"What kind of thing?" Joanna asked.
"He was arrested in downtown Tucson," Ruben Ramos said. "For soliciting an act of prostitution. With a male undercover cop. I got him out of that scrape, too. But I warned him if he ever did it again, I'd kill him myself." Chief Ramos took a deep breath. "What do you want me to do?"
"I need to talk to Frankie," Joanna said. "As I told you earlier, we have reason to think that the Philips murder is linked to several others-two here and one near Phoenix. At least one of those cases includes weapons that may have been taken from Clyde's gun shop. That means the killer might be a customer of Clyde's or else an acquaintance. So far, all the paperwork is missing from the shop, right along with the guns. If Frankie worked there, he might be able to help fill in some of the blanks."
Ruben straightened his shoulders. "All right, then," he said. "Let's go talk to him. We'll wake him up. Do you want to take both cars?"
"Sure," Joanna said. "That's probably a good idea. You lead; I'll follow."
At that time of night there was very little traffic. To reach Pomerene, they had to drive from the bowling alley parking lot on the far west side of the town, through Benson, and all the way out to the other side of town. In the process, they didn't meet a single vehicle. Even the Benson patrolman Joanna had spoken to earlier seemed to have disappeared entirely.
Once in Pomerene, they drove past Rimrock, the street where Clyde Philips had lived. A quarter of a mile beyond that, Ruben Ramos' Crown Victoria turned left onto a track that was more alley than it was street. The track led back through fender-high weeds and grass until it stopped in front of a deteriorating mobile home. There were no lights on, nor were there any vehicles parked in front of it.