“Yes, he was,” Estelle agreed.
“He never threw his weight around, you know what I mean?”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Estelle said.
“He could’ve,” Stacy reflected, and Estelle wondered what incident he was remembering. His face brightened. “Big chief in a small town. But he didn’t.”
“No.”
“Do you know when the funeral is going to be?”
She shook her head. “No, Stacy, I don’t. That’s something that the family will have to decide.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” he said philosophically. “I’d like to go, you know? No special reason. But I’d like to. He cut me some slack a few times when he didn’t need to.”
Estelle nodded, and felt a pang of regret. On several occasions, she had lost her patience with Eduardo Martinez, and more than once had thought-even if she had never voiced it-that Eduardo was content as long as his school zones were enforced. With a kid like Stacy Cunningham, Eduardo had managed a delicate balance that most cops wouldn’t take the time for, keeping the leash just long enough that the kid had survived his howling teens without serious damage to himself or anyone else.
“Your husband’s already left,” Stacy said as Estelle stepped around the coil of yellow extension cord.
“I hope so. That’s what I should be doing, is leaving.”
Cunningham grinned, showing faultless pearly whites that lit up his face. “We got ’em all, don’t we?” He saw the puzzled look on Estelle’s face. “I mean, I was here last night when they brought in Sheriff Torrez, but I guess he went to Albuquerque. And Mr. G is down there in 112.”
“Ah,” Estelle said. “Mr. G?”
“Sheriff Gastner. He’s another cool old guy. I was talkin’ to him a little while ago. I don’t think he was supposed to be up, but he decided to cruise the hall for a little bit. We talked for a while. Can’t believe somebody socked him in the head like that.”
“There’s all kinds, Stacy,” Estelle said, wondering how much information Stacy gleaned from his informal conversations.
“He’s cool, though.”
Apparently the two categories were “cool” and “uncool,” Estelle thought. She noticed that current Sheriff Robert Torrez hadn’t yet been categorized.
“I’ll get out of your way,” she said. “Good talking to you, Stacy.”
“You take care,” he said. As she continued down the hall, the soft swooshing of the polisher resumed.
The nurse’s station at first looked abandoned, but a head appeared as Estelle reached the Plexiglas window. The young nurse, homely and overweight with heavy features and too much makeup, was in the process of picking up the contents of a folder that had spilled on the floor.
“I’m just stopping in to see Mr. Gastner for a bit,” Estelle said, reading the girl’s nametag. “I know it’s a bad time, but it’s important.”
“We’re going to need to tie him down,” Tabitha Escudero said gruffly, tapping the folder back into compliance. She evidently knew who Estelle was, not surprised in the least that, at two in the morning, Bill Gastner would have visitors. Tabitha’s expression hardened just a bit into that look of control that the medical staff assumed when a civilian was tampering with the hospital’s due process. “But if he’s finally asleep, I hope you won’t wake him.”
“Absolutely not, Tabitha. Thanks. I’ll just peek in.”
The nurse fluttered her fingers in dismissal, turning toward a box stuffed with more folders.
The door of 112 was ajar a finger’s width, and Estelle nudged it open far enough to see the bed. Gastner lay with the unpunctured arm up on his pillow, hand resting on the top of his head. As the door moved, she saw him turn just enough to be able to see her.
“Hey,” he said, and jerked his arm down in that reflex motion to pull the sheet higher up. “What the hell are you doing nosing around at this time of the goddamn night?”
“Trying to think, sir,” she said.
“Well, that’s not a bad thing. Any success?”
“Trying is the operative word.”
“So who the hell did you arrest for giving me this headache?”
“Nobody yet.”
“Ideas?”
“I was hoping you’d have a list of grudges,” she said. She rested her hand on his, tapping the back of it with her fingertips.
“We need to get out of here and go to work,” he said.
“I was party to one of those escapades a few years ago, as you’ll remember. I don’t think I want to do it again.”
“Escapades, hell,” Gastner said. “There’s no profit in any of this if the hospital can’t keep me here until my insurance pays all it can pay, you know. It’s all just a scam.”
“Yes, sir. The scam the last time, as I remember, was whether to do a heart bypass on you, or let you stumble out of here so you could go chase bad guys until you fell on your face.”
“And as I remember, it worked out pretty well,” Gastner said cheerfully. “Not so good for the bad guys, but good enough for me.” His fingers drifted down to where his pajamas covered the thick scar from the bypass. “They had the chance to carve on me eventually. But…,” and he pushed himself up in bed a little, dragging the tubes and wires with him, “I don’t want to talk about me at whatever it is in the morning. And you don’t either.”
“Some interesting things, sir.” She turned and pulled one of the white chairs closer, then hesitated. “Mind if I use your bathroom?”
“Why would I mind that?” Gastner said, and waved toward the small cubicle. In a moment, Estelle returned, tucking in her blouse.
She draped the heavy Kevlar vest over the back of the chair and sat down. “That feels better.”
“Put it back on when you leave,” Gastner said.
“You sound like Eddie,” Estelle replied, and held up a hand to stop his rejoinder. “I know, I know.”
“They never made one of those things that works with someone my shape,” Gastner said.
“Me neither.”
He laughed hard, and then grimaced, holding the top of his skull. “Don’t do that.” He rubbed his head, fingers straying down toward the bandage. “Son of a bitch sure hit me hard enough.”
“He used that piece of rebar that you had in the corner of the yard, sir. The one for the roses? He used it, and then put it back.”
“No shit? That was goddamn thoughtful of the son-of-a-bitch.”
“We think he swung, and when he hit you with it, the tip of the rebar also hit the door jamb. It took a deep gouge out of the wood.” Estelle used her right index finger to represent the length of rebar, and the palm of her left as the jamb. “If that hadn’t absorbed some of the energy, you’d really have a headache.”
“Or not,” Gastner muttered. “Did somebody tell you that Eduardo died?”
“Yes, sir. Francis called me.”
“Makes me feel positively mortal,” Gastner said. “How’s Bobby, as long as we’re checking the list of the lame and useless.”
“He’s okay. He’ll be home later today. His sister’s driving up to Albuquerque to pick up him and Gayle.”
“He’s chafing, I imagine.”
“That’s putting it mildly, sir.” She leaned an elbow on the side of his bed, and it felt comfortable enough that she could have closed her eyes and dozed off. “There’s a window of opportunity during which Mike could have shot Janet before driving over to Lordsburg.”
“He didn’t do it.”
“No, I don’t think he did. But the timing is right. And there’s one other thing. He owns a couple of.22 pistols. One of them is missing. He can’t account for it.”
“Stolen, then?”
“Maybe.”
“Why maybe?”
“For one thing, it was in the dresser drawer of his apartment, which is usually locked. He told Eddie that Janet knew it was there, too. What’s interesting to me is that the gun was gone, but the plastic case that it comes in? That was still there.”
“Huh. I’m not sure that means much. A thief can grab the gun and stick it under the waistband of his pants. Tough to do that with a bulky plastic case. Mike thought the gun was there until when? When you guys checked his apartment?”