“And maybe just as well,” Gastner said, pushing himself out of his chair.
“A small world,” Essie said. “Eduardo thought the world of the boy, you know. Of Mike. That boy is nothing at all like his father. But I worried a little when I heard that they were going together… Mike and Janet. Do you think Mike knew about his father and the girl?”
“I don’t know,” Estelle said. “Kids are sometimes pretty good at keeping secrets from their parents-it works the other way around, too.”
Chapter Thirty-five
Estelle’s first effort to reach Monica Tripp resulted in a busy signal, and even while she was reacting with a grimace of irritation, the cell phone on her belt chirped.
“We’re at Mike’s apartment,” Sheriff Torrez said without greeting. “Are you finished up?” He didn’t bother to elaborate.
“I just tried to reach Monica Tripp, with no success. I’m going to drop Padrino off so he can pick up his truck,” Estelle replied. “He claims he has work to do.” She glanced across the office at Bill Gastner, who shrugged in apology. “We left Essie’s a few minutes ago. What she remembers jibes with the reports. I think it boils down to something pretty simple-she didn’t want to embarrass Eduardo. Or at least tarnish his memory. So wait for me. I’ll tell you about it when I get there. We may be barking up the wrong tree, Bobby.”
“Yeah, well,” the sheriff said, obviously not awash in sympathy. “Swing this way, then. And keep the old man with you.”
“I’ll tell him you said that,” Estelle laughed.
“See you in a couple of minutes,” Torrez said, and there wasn’t any responsive note of humor in his tone. “You on the way?”
“Yes, sir.” The phone connection broke without further comment from Torrez, and Estelle snapped her own unit closed. “Bobby wants you over at Mike’s,” she said to Gastner, whose shaggy eyebrows lifted in surprise.
“Moi?”
“A ti.”
“What’d I do?”
“I have no idea, sir. It sounds like he’s talking to Mike right now. So we’ll see. Can the State live without you for a few more minutes?”
Gastner laughed. “Oh, I’m sure. They can live without me for months and years at a time, no doubt.”
A moment or two later, just beyond Posadas Hardware and Lumber, they swung onto the broken macadam side street that eventually wound behind the high school’s athletic field. Before they reached the school property, they saw two county units pulled into the Mesa View Apartments parking lot, on the far side of the building, out of sight of Mike Sisneros’s red Mustang-and the apartment window above it with the commanding view.
“He looks terrible,” Gastner said, nodding in the sheriff’s direction as Torrez slid down from the driver’s seat of the Expedition, moving slowly as if the slightest jar when his boots touched the pavement would send shock waves up through his system.
“Agreed,” Estelle said. “The more people who tell him that, though, the more stubborn he gets.”
“You know,” Gastner said as he pulled himself up and out of Estelle’s sedan, “when he married Gayle, I was willing to bet that she’d be able to reform him in about a month. No dice. Not even in five years. Not a dent.”
“It’s when Gayle turns grumpy that I’m going to start worrying,” Estelle replied.
“Hey.” Bob Torrez’s standard greeting was augmented by an expression that Estelle couldn’t differentiate as a smile or a grimace. If he had overheard Gastner’s comment, or hers, he gave no indication. Moving slowly to the front of Estelle’s Crown Victoria, he settled his left hip ever so gingerly on the front fender. He glanced at Estelle, and she saw his gaze fix for a brief instant at the base of her throat, where the black margin of the vest showed.
With one hand braced on the fender, Torrez turned and nodded at Gastner, pointing with his free hand at the tangle of gray chest hair that peeked out around the top button of the older man’s plaid shirt. “Vest,” he said.
At the same time, Eddie Mitchell slammed the back door of the Expedition and appeared holding a large, well-used vest that he extended toward Gastner. “This was still in the equipment room,” he, said. “It has your name on it.”
“And I’m sure it still fits,” Gastner said agreeably. He took the vest and laid it on the hood of Estelle’s car, then shucked his own jacket. With practiced ease, he slipped the vest over his head, pulled it down so that it covered at least a portion of his belly, and slapped the Velcro stays in place. “So,” he said, patting the center of the vest’s reinforcement pocket. He slipped the jacket back on. “What’s up? Where’s Mike?”
“We don’t know,” Mitchell said. “That’s what’s up. That’s his car, but no Mike.”
“Not upstairs in his apartment?”
“Nope.” Torrez said. “Eddie went up and rapped on the door. No answer, and the door’s locked.” His dark brown eyes were locked on the shadow where the interior foyer opened to the sidewalk. “I don’t like it much. He could just be sittin’ inside.”
Or worse, Estelle thought. “Or he might be out for a Sunday stroll, Bobby.” She touched the phone that hung on her belt, but Torrez had evidently reached his own decision. “We found out why Janet didn’t want to spend Christmas with Mike’s mother and stepfather.”
“No shit?”
“It looks like years ago, Eduardo cut a deal with Hank Sisneros, back in 1990. The chief caught Hank and young Janet together, half sloshed. And maybe doing more than just drinking. The girl was fourteen at the time.”
“Essie said this?”
“She remembers it well. Apparently Eduardo cut Hank a deal. Hank offered to leave town, and the chief didn’t pursue the charges. Hank must have been persuasive.”
“Christ,” Torrez muttered. He moved slightly, shifting his weight from a trouble spot on his hip. “Hank Sisneros.” He said the name and fell silent, staring at the pavement. “That’s one person who wouldn’t want an old piece of paperwork to go public.”
“But Chief Martinez didn’t make a report,” Estelle said.
“Hank wouldn’t know that, would he?” Torrez said. “And he probably doesn’t know that the statute of limitations puts him in the clear, the dumb shit. It’s just like I said.” He turned to glare at Bill Gastner. “The two old guys would remember, and that’s what he’s afraid of.”
“One of ’em, anyway,” Gastner said. “I didn’t.”
“And he don’t know that,” Torrez persisted. “Only thing we don’t know is how Mike figures in all this. I can see that daddy wouldn’t want the son to find out who’s been bangin’ the kid’s fiancée.” He jerked his head toward the apartment building. “We were waiting on you.” He patted his jacket pocket. “We have the paperwork to go in upstairs.”
Pushing himself off the car, the sheriff reached out and locked a hand on Gastner’s left shoulder. So rarely did Robert Torrez ever reach out physically to anyone that the gesture startled Estelle. “Until I know where he’s at,” Torrez said. “Until we know what the hell is going on, I want somebody with you.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Gastner said affably. “And I don’t think Mike Sisneros is a threat to anyone.” He paused and cocked his head, looking askance at the sheriff.
“It’s beginnin’ to sound like it ain’t Mike that we got to worry about,” Torrez said. “And as far as threats go…well,” and he let the rest of the sentence hang as he removed his big paw from Gastner’s shoulder. “We don’t know, do we? Mike’s car is here, and he ain’t. We don’t know where the hell he is. He ain’t in Lordsburg with his mom, and if he’s in town…well, we ain’t found him yet. And we’ve been lookin’, too. He might be sittin’ up there,” and he nodded at the stairway, “holdin’ a shotgun on the door. Or maybe he’s already used it on himself. No way to know.”
“Who talked to him last?” Estelle asked. “I had breakfast with him this morning, about nine or so. Did anybody see him after that?”