“Efrin Garcia?” Estelle asked.
“Himself. Only help I got who knows one color from another.”
“His mural in the auditorium proves that.”
“Oh, isn’t that something? So…” He bent down and swept some imaginary dust from his knees.
“Is there somewhere we can talk for a few minutes?”
“Sure.” He looked around and pointed toward a door in the rear of the planetarium. “Let’s use Bunny’s office. I don’t think she’s here until later today.”
They padded back across the thick indigo carpeting of the planetarium and entered a small, heavily insulated office crowded with six computer monitors and a bank of blinking hard drives under the bench-like desk along one wall. Pogue gestured toward the chair behind the desk, and took one of the padded straight chairs for himself. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back.
“So.”
“Mr. Pogue, thanks for taking the time to talk with me.”
“It’s Charlie. And given the way things have been going, I’m not sure this meeting is voluntary, is it?” He smiled, but the expression was from the nose down. His slate gray eyes remained sober and watchful.
“Mr. and Mrs. Thompson apparently hadn’t had the opportunity to discuss with any of you folks their plans for the property next door. For the Boyd ranch.”
“That’s fair to say. At least they didn’t talk to me. Not that I would be high on their list.”
“Had you met with either of them?”
“No.” A trace of crow’s-feet deepened at the corner of Pogue’s eyes. “As I said, I wouldn’t be the one they’d meet with anyway. I’m not that high on the totem pole. Above my pay grade, as they say.”
“I understand that on occasion you prairie-dog-hunt over there.”
“As did a lot of people. But not so much anymore.”
Estelle fell silent, her pen poised over the notebook page. “You hunt by yourself?”
“Most of the time.” He grinned, but again without much humor. “Where are we headed with this? Don’t tell me prairie dogs are now an endangered species. Or worse yet, considered a game animal.”
Estelle paused, letting her fingers leaf through the pages of the small notebook as if she might be searching for something. “At the moment, we’re just in the process of discovery, Mr. Pogue. We need to find out who was where…and when. It appears that Mr. Thompson was not alone when he was killed in the fall. Some other issues involved with both incidents have drawn our attention as well.”
“Both?”
“The vandalism and assault at the newspaper office, as well as the Thompson fatality.”
He nodded slowly, eyes narrowed. “I heard about that drive-by thing. Are we going to have to put up with gang activity now?”
“We hope not—not that it makes any difference to the two victims.”
“They’re doin’ all right? I didn’t know that young reporter, but I’m sure everybody in town knows Pam Gardiner.”
“Sure enough, in a community this tightly knit.”
“I see what you’re gettin’ at now. Everybody talks, sure. And what I’ve heard is all in the ‘what the hell’s goin’ on’ category. This is the first time that I’ve heard that Thompson’s accident was anything other than that…a slip and a fall. You’re saying that you think that somebody might have been with him at the time.” He glanced at his watch, a clear hint that he was eager to return to his project.
“When was the last time you were hunting in the area?”
“I don’t hunt on the Thompsons’ land anymore. I haven’t since the posted signs went up last month. I favor that big playa over north of the BLM’s holdings. You’re thinking it was a hunter involved?”
“We don’t know. You were hunting on the playa recently?”
“Sure.”
“When might the last time have been?”
Pogue remained silent for a few heartbeats, but his gaze was touched with amusement. “What, I need an alibi now?”
“I can’t imagine that you do.” The image of Charlie Pogue launching his pudgy, short body into the air for a flying taekwondo kick prompted her own smile. “Did any of the kids go with you? Efrin? Quentin? Rolando? Rafael? Any of the girls?”
“Efrin went with me.”
“When was this?”
Charlie frowned and looked down at his feet. His head waggled as he counted days. “Could look in my doggy book, but right off the top of my head, I’d say it would have been early last Thursday.”
“Both had the day off?”
“No. We just went. Got out there just after seven.”
“Good tally?”
He snorted. “You know. Sometimes there’s competition. That morning we had a Swainson’s hawk doing his thing, so the dogs were a bit leery. Got a few, though. Enough to make the ravens happy.”
“What was Efrin shooting? Did he use your rifle?”
“No, he had one he borrowed from somebody. From Rolando, I think he said.” Pogue looked off toward the northern horizon. “He made one shot that just impressed the hell out of me. Nearly two hundred yards, with a dang little twenty-two. That kid’s got eyesight I’d still like to have, that’s for sure. The hawk’s got nothin’ on him.”
He glanced at his watch again. “I need to get back at it. Anything else you need from me? I can’t imagine you’re all that interested in prairie dogs, Sheriff.”
“Charlie, thanks for taking the time. I appreciate it.”
“Tell Bobby not to be such a stranger next time you see him,” Pogue said. “I used to see him out and around, but not so much since he became the proud papa.”
“Give him time. A couple more years and he’ll be taking Gabe out hunting, showing him all the prime spots.”
“I would think there’s enough country for everybody, but things are changing.” Pogue laughed ruefully. “It’s a whole different country than it was a few years ago, my friend. Lots of people, lots of laws, lots of posting…we aren’t New Jersey yet, but we’re sure workin’ at it. I’ve heard the rumors, of course, but I don’t know for sure what the developers were planning for that country north of here. But one thing’s for sure. If not them, then it’ll be someone else.
“If Miles Waddell was smart, he’d latch on to that property, just to protect all this.” His hand swept an arc across the NightZone mesa top. “I mean, that useless range land is nickel-dime compared to what he’s got invested in this place.”
“And Miles Waddell is smart, Charlie.”
“He is that.” He nodded agreement. “Good show tonight, by the way. Come join us.”
“Thank you. I might just do that.” Estelle walked back through the planetarium auditorium with him, just in time to see Efrin Garcia emerge through the access door under the one of the projectors. He swept a hand up, pushed his curly black hair away from his eyes, and offered Estelle a wide smile, then said to Charlie, “Blue’s done, Charlie.”
“Then it’s onward. Yellow’s next, then white, orange, brown…the whole damn rainbow.” He glanced at Estelle. “Damn good thing that the kid isn’t color blind, eh?”
“A very good thing. Thanks again, sir.”
“You bet. Visit anytime.”
Miles Waddell is smart, Estelle thought as she walked back to her car. Of all the people with the most to gain by blocking Kyle Thompson’s development plans, Miles Waddell headed the list. She reached her car, opened it, and let the door swing wide for a few minutes to exhaust the super-heated air trapped inside. But Miles Waddell is smart, she reminded herself. Even if he had designs on the acreage to the north, he wouldn’t jeopardize his mesa-top development by striking out in a moment of thoughtless impulse.
And Lydia Thompson? Estelle slid into the Charger, started it, and turned the air conditioning to its highest setting. Wive
s and husbands headed the list of perpetrators of domestic violence. That’s what the cold, hard statistics said. But there had been no hint that the familiar domestic pattern of violence or conflict fitted the Thompsons. On top of that, Lydia was no towering giant. Unless she could sprout wings, her husband would have had to have been bent over or even kneeling for her to place that kick.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Her phone played its classical chord, and Estelle waited until she had completed the left turn onto Twelfth Street before sliding the gadget from the center console pocket.
“Guzman.”
“Hey. Where you at?”
“About to pull into my driveway, Bobby. I’ve got a convention.” Bill Gastner’s fancy red conversion van, complete with the oversized side door and hydraulic chair lift, was snugged close to the curb. Estelle’s Honda Pilot, currently serving Francisco, Angie, and the baby, was parked in the garage, the garage door left gaping open. Estelle swung the Charger into the driveway.
“Did you get a chance to talk with Waddell?” Torrez asked.
“Yes. And Charlie Pogue.”
“What’d Pogue tell you?”
“That he hunts prairie dogs just about as often as you do. And on occasion he’s been known to take along a kid or two. Some of the kids who work up on the mesa with him.”
Torrez greeted that news with silence.
“Most recently he and Efrin went out, over on the BLM land.”
“Huh. Efrin?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t know he hunted. ”
“With a loaner gun, Charlie says. Efrin borrowed a twenty-two from Rolando Ortega. Made a spectacular two hundred-yard shot, Charlie says.”
“Got lucky. Look, I spent some time with Marvin Petes.”
“All right, good.” Petes taught mathematics at the high school, and headed the taekwondo classes hosted in the basement of the Baptist Church twice a week—on Saturday morning for the peewees, and Saturday evening for the young adults.
“I ain’t much on coincidence,” Torrez said. “And now we got a quartet.”
Estelle glanced toward the front door, where Francisco had appeared, William Thomas snuggled in his arms. Estelle held up a hand, begging for a few minutes.
“Who are we talking about?”
“Quentin assists Petes with the morning kiddy class, and most of the time works the night adult class too. Efrin Garcia just finished up earnin’ his first yellow, Rolando Ortega is tryin’ for his first blue belt, and Rafael Gonzales…” Estelle heard notebook pages rumpling. “Gonzales is a beginner. A white belt.”
“Interesting.”
“Our own little gang of four.”
“There are certainly worse things for them to be spending their time doing.” Estelle knew what the sheriff was thinking, and also knew how stubborn he was once he thought he had picked up a trail. “How many are in the class, total?”
“Nineteen.”
“That’s a lot for a village this size.”
“Yup. I know most of ’em. You do too.”
“That’s another nineteen who are off the streets on a Saturday night, Bobby. That’s a good thing.”
“Yep. My numbnuts nephew is first-degree black, and he’s proud as hell about that.”
She recalled the thump of the flat of the sheriff’s fist against his nephew’s chest. “Quentin grows another inch and puts on a few pounds, you’re going to have to be careful about smacking him around.”
Torrez actually laughed. “You think?”
“Yes, I do. And by the way, Miles said that he’s going to talk with Quentin about working up on the mesa. Just not on the locomotive or the tram. At least until he proves himself.”
“He’s got a ways to go to do that,” Torrez said. “Maybe he’ll start takin’ some of that mystical learning that comes with the black belt to heart. You stuck at home tonight?”
Estelle chuckled at Torrez’s sudden change of subject. “It’s looking that way. I plan to spend an evening being a doting grandmother.” She watched as her son ambled toward her, arms locked around the swaddled William Thomas.
“I’ll try not to interrupt, but we know how that goes.” Torrez’s sudden flash of warmhearted concern amused Estelle even further.
“Yes, we do. Keep me posted.”
She switched off and smiled as her son reached out and opened the Charger’s heavy door.
“I hope you don’t mind some noise,” Francisco said. “We were going to do dinner here, since this is where the piano is.” He took a step back. “Oh, and Pa says he’ll be home in about thirty minutes.” He regarded his mother with interest as she unwound from the tight confines of the sedan. “Long day?”
“So far, so long,” she said. With the car door closed, she reached out and collected her grandson, fingering just enough of the blanket back so that she could see his tiny face, relaxed in deep slumber.
“Are you going back out?”
“I’m going to try hard not to,” she laughed. “But as the sheriff just said, ‘we know how that goes.’ Right now we’re facing something of a brick wall. It’s going to take time to chip it away.”
“Angie is the chef tonight, so you can relax over dinner. Then we’ll play a couple of tunes for you, and if you’re lucky, it’ll put you right to sleep.” He reached out and ever so gently stroked a thumb across the fatigue lines under Estelle’s right eye. “A perfect pour today, by the way.” Seeing the puzzled look, he added, “The cement. We have a footer now.”
“Ah.”
“The big news is that we’re picking up Carlos and Tasha on the way back from Hawaii. By that time, the contractor will have the floor supports installed, and Carlos wants to look things over before construction goes any further.”
Estelle felt the anxiety of the day slipping away, and she nuzzled the infant. “So many of life’s surprises ahead for you,” she whispered. “That’s wonderful,” she said to Francisco.
“And Padrino had some news, but I’ll let him tell you all about it.” He escorted Estelle toward the house, and even before they reached the front door, she smelled the fragrance. “Angie was in the mood for pot roast,” her son explained. “I worked at the piano all day, and she cooked.”
“But she’s the one with the concert coming up.”
“A little pre-concert break is a good thing. Keeps us sharp.”
The aroma made Estelle’s stomach growl. Perhaps his olfactory powers were still undeveloped, because William Thomas’s little button nose didn’t twitch.
“Wasn’t sure you’d show up,” Bill Gastner greeted. He ignored his walker and made his way across the living room free-style, stopping near the end of the piano to accept a hug.
“I wasn’t sure either, Padrino.”
“Any closer?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head, still fascinated by the tiny face so content to snooze. “It’s worrisome.”
“And there’s no point in that,” the old man said. “Come sit down, relax, enjoy, let the kids serve you.”
She held William Thomas out toward Gastner. “I need to shed some hardware first.”
He held out a stop-hand. “I don’t do babies,” he said. “Maestro, come fetch your son.”
Infant safely transferred, Estelle stopped by the kitchen where Angie was making potatoes gorgeous, and Estelle was again struck how dramatically beautiful her daughter-in-law was, aproned and paring knife-wielding, her lustrous black hair tied back in a loose ponytail.
“I seem to spend most of my time out among the crazies,” Estelle said as she hugged Angie. “It is so nice to come home to you guys.”
“We appreciate the haven, believe me.” Angie smiled and nodded at her handiwork. “Potato florets, the perfect stress relief.”
“Give me a few minutes, and I’ll
join you.” A “few minutes” turned into half an hour as she first shed her hardware and pants suit, then let the hot shower beat on her until the water heater couldn’t keep up. A run of the fingers through her short hair sufficed, and she emerged from the bathroom swathed in a huge towel to find her husband in their bedroom, shedding his scrubs.
“Ah…you’re going to have to wait a few minutes, Oso. I was piggy and used the hot water.”
He held out a hand and she moved across to him. She reached up and ruffled his salt-and-pepper curly hair, sweeping it away from his ears. Then, with a hand lightly gripping each ear, she pulled his head down and stroked his lips with her own. His hands rested lightly on her hips.
“You smell as if your day has been less than pleasant.” Her towel slipped, but she made no effort to retrieve it. Francis laughed as she wrinkled her nose.
“You, on the other hand,” he said, “smell like rosemary and a bunch of other nice things. And we’ve got a feast coming up, by the aroma of things from that end of the house.” Neither one of them showed any eagerness to change position.
“You and Alan finished with the Thompson autopsy?”
“Oh, sí. No surprises, but a confirmation of the bruise on his back. A really hard blow, enough to present some deep tissue hemorrhaging. COD was for sure the cracked skull, though.”
“And Pam?”
“Safely in Presbyterian, and she elected to go ahead with the surgery. That’s scheduled for first thing tomorrow morning.”
“That’s scary stuff.”
“You bet. But she chose not to try to sidestep it. Doing nothing about it would be like living with a time bomb in her brain.”
“I should have stopped by to see her earlier today.”
“She knows that you’re working on her behalf.”
“Spinning our wheels on her behalf, maybe. An update on Rik?”
“He’s sore but fine. Discharged and told to take it easy. ”
“Good.”
“Now let’s enjoy dinner and other things, before the phone rings again.”
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