No Witness

by Warren C Easley

  “My brother has a hard head,” he answered with a slight chuckle. “He’ll be released this afternoon.”

  “We need to talk about security,” I said. “Going back to Marlene’s house might—”

  “I’ve got that covered,” Timoteo interjected. “Marlene’s cousin has a basement apartment in Carlton they can stay in until we catch the shooter. The insurance company’s authorized a rental car. I told them to make sure they’re not followed out there.”

  “Excellent,” I said, marveling again at the initiative of my young assistant. “I’ll let Detective Tate know. How did your father take the news?”

  Timoteo sighed heavily into the phone, his voice suddenly unsteady. “He’s like a crazy man, Cal. Olivia’s gone, and last night we almost lost Luis.” He paused, and I imagined him trying to find the words. “He’s furious, but at the same time I think he blames himself for everything. We haven’t told Mamá about Luis. God only knows how she would react.”

  At this juncture, I decided not to tell Timoteo about the shooter’s possible cartel ties. I said, “No. Your father shouldn’t blame himself. We don’t know what’s going on yet. Whatever it is, it’s not his fault.” Zoe’s warning that Olivia’s murder had wounded the entire family reverberated in my head. “Listen, Timoteo,” I went on, “I have a friend who’s offered to help. She’s a psychologist. What if I brought her around tomorrow? Do you think your father would listen to her?”

  He puffed a dismissive breath. “Probably not, but what the hell? It can’t hurt.”

  Archie picked up something in my voice and after I disconnected came over to me with concern showing in his big coppery eyes. I scratched him behind the ears. “We could use a couple of breaks, Big Boy,” I said. “There’s a lot riding on this investigation.”

  He whimpered sympathetically, and I swear his look said, “What else is new?”

  ***

  I got back to the Aerie that afternoon in time for an hour and a half of labor on my wall, which was urgently needed to blow off steam and quell anxiety. I was just finishing up in the twilight when my cell phone sounded. “Hi, Cal, what’s up?” Zoe said, returning my call.

  I gave her an update and explained the situation with the Fuentes family. “I could take you over to their place in the morning, introduce you, then come back to hang out with Gertie while you talk to them.”

  She paused before responding. “Yeah, that might work. It would just be a get-acquainted session.” A nervous laugh. “This isn’t ideal. I don’t know the Latino culture very well.”

  “Of course. For what it’s worth, Timoteo said it couldn’t hurt.”

  “Okay, I’ll give it a try.”

  An awkward pause ensued. It was a Friday night, and I had no plans for the evening, and she probably didn’t, either. Perhaps she was waiting for me to suggest something, just like I was waiting for her. In any case, we disconnected without either one of us making an overture. I felt a sense of relief. I told myself I wasn’t looking for a relationship. Hell, the truth was I was incapable of sustaining one.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Against all odds I slept soundly that night, and when I awoke, the house had a chill to it. My clunking, antique radiator system had underachieved, as usual. I pulled on jeans and a thick sweater and followed Archie down the back staircase to the kitchen, let him out, and flipped on my espresso machine. A thick, utterly still blanket of fog had transformed the valley below into the Sargasso Sea, or at least what I imagined such a body of water might look like. A couple of hillside summits poked through the gray mass like islands, and the newly risen sun cast the whole scene in a soft, golden glow. By the time I drank my first cappuccino, Archie had announced himself at the kitchen door with a single, sharp bark—the one that said “let me in, I’m ready for breakfast.”

  I was in my study reading the headlines on my computer when Detective Tate called. “It’s Saturday morning. You should be out riding your horse,” I greeted her.

  “Don’t I wish. My ICE contact finally got back to me last night. No ICE agents were dispatched that morning to arrest Luis Fuentes.”

  I snapped to attention. “You’re sure of that?”

  “Yes. I trust my source implicitly.”

  “Why would Drake lie to me?”

  “I don’t know, but it suggests Luis was the target of the first hit, not Olivia.”

  “Agreed. Any progress on the shooter?”

  “Not much. Vargas fizzled, but we extracted two slugs from the door of the Prius. Thirty-eights, like the one that killed Olivia. They’re at the state lab to see if we can get a match. We’ve canvassed all the motorcycle rental agencies in the state. The shooter didn’t rent that Kawasaki in Oregon, that’s for sure.”

  “What did Vargas say about what he was doing at the Tequila Cantina?”

  “He said he was just trying to help some young men out. Counseling is the term he uses. Nothing formal or official. Said he used to do work like that at his church but found a pool hall was a better draw. We checked his story. It was true. Apparently, he has a lot of cred with young Latinos.”

  “Did he admit knowing Luis?”

  “He told us, yeah, he’d been there a few times, but he didn’t have any direct contact with him. He said Luis was kind of standoffish.”

  “Did you buy it?”

  She showed a thin smile. “I’m a cop, I don’t buy anything. We asked for a few names to check that out, but he refused to give us any.”

  “Of course he’d refuse. They’re undocumented.”

  “Exactly. Vargas may be dirty, but we’ve got nothing we can hold him on.”

  “Do you happen to know anything about Vargas’s boss, Gavin Whittaker? That name rings a bell.”

  “Not much. Comes from money. His grandfather was a major player in the timber industry in the Northwest. His dad was a state senator back in the day.” She paused. “Why do you ask?”

  “No reason except curiosity.”

  ***

  Timoteo came to the door when Zoe and I arrived at the Fuentes residence that morning. I introduced Zoe, and we followed him into the kitchen, where Carlos was slouched at his usual spot at the table, a half-full cup of coffee in front of him. Dirty dishes stood in the sink and on the counters, and crusted pots with protruding utensils rested on the stove. Carlos had a two-day stubble, and his dark eyes, which could burn like lasers, were now dull, his face vacant. He stood, brushed some crumbs from his shirt, and managed a smile.

  Timoteo saw me glance over at the sink and said with a sheepish look, “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to clean up around here.”

  I said, “This is my good friend, Dr. Bennett. She has skills to help families recover from tragedies like you and your family have suffered. She’s come to see if there’s anything she can do for you.”

  Zoe gave Timoteo an inclusive look before saying to Carlos, “I’m sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine what your family has been going through. These are the hardest things we humans must endure. I studied psychology at a university, and I’m here to offer my help if you’ll accept it.”

  Carlos shot his son a told-you-so look before turning his eyes back to Zoe. “People do not have to go to a university to understand sadness.”

  Zoe smiled with genuine warmth. “You are absolutely right, Mr. Fuentes. But sometimes people in great pain need help to turn understanding into healing.”

  Carlos’s expression remained impassive. Timoteo said with an anxious edge to his voice, “She’s an expert, Papi. She has come to help Mamá, but she must talk to us first. Please, let’s hear what she has to say.”

  With the exception of the low growl of a tractor out in the vineyards, the room fell silent. Finally, Carlos nodded and motioned toward a chair across from him. “Please sit, Dr. Bennett.” To his son he added, “Make a fresh pot of coffee.”

  I made
a quiet exit, drove back to the Aerie, and walked across the field to Gertie’s place, Archie trotting beside me. Napping on the porch rail, Cedric the cat snapped awake and sauntered teasingly around the house as we approached. Archie gave a couple of obligatory barks but otherwise ignored the creature.

  “You’re looking great, Gertie,” I said after she led me into the kitchen. Her silver hair was pulled into a tidy bun, her cheeks had some color, and a mischievous gleam had returned to her eyes.

  A hint of a smile. “Well, I’ve felt better in my life, but then again I’ve felt a helluva lot worse, too.” The smile intensified. “I’m getting spoiled, that’s for sure. That niece of mine can’t do enough for me.”

  I made us some coffee as we chatted, the conversation quickly coming around to the case. “Do you think she’ll be able to help them?” Gertie said when we finally came to Zoe’s involvement with the Fuentes family.

  “I hope so. Carlos Fuentes was at least willing to listen to her.”

  Gertie sipped her coffee and eyed me over the cup. “Zoe’s been through a lot herself, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know.” I waited while she seemed to consider what to say next.

  “She had a miscarriage, and then her first husband died in a climbing accident. Fell five hundred feet on Mt. Rainier. She married again, maybe a decade later, some professor at the University of Washington.” Gertie set her coffee cup down and made a face. “She caught the bastard cheating on her with one of his graduate students.”

  I winced. “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Well, I get the sense she’s at some kind of crossroads, you know, trying to figure out what’s next in her life.”

  I nodded. “She told me she was burned out teaching, that the book she’s writing isn’t what her university’s expecting.”

  Gertie rolled her eyes emphatically. “I know. I told her it’d be a shame if she blew her chance at tenure. Good academic jobs are hard to come by.”

  I shrugged to avoid taking a position. I knew all about being burned out and starting over, how personal it was, and I didn’t want to be drawn into what was starting to feel like a gossip session.

  Gertie read my reticence immediately. “She’ll figure it out.” Then, with a look of obvious pride, she added, “Zoe’s something, isn’t she?”

  I smiled and nodded. “Yes, she is.”

  ***

  “How’d it go?” I asked Zoe when I picked her up at the Fuentes’s house two hours later.

  She shook her head with a wan smile. “Hard to say.”

  “What happened?”

  She hesitated. “I’m bound by confidentiality, but I’ll share what I can. I began with Timoteo and Carlos, figuring there was no way the mother would join us. Actually, it was better that way. I wanted to get a sense of where they are, and I decided to start with Timoteo. I kept it low-key, asking him to tell me about his sister.” She exhaled a sigh. “Olivia was the heart of that family—the youngest, the smartest, the most loving. Timoteo literally glowed as he told me all about her. He’s wounded, but he’s young, and the fact that he’s working with you is giving him a sense of purpose.”

  “I’m lucky to have him.”

  She nodded. “He apologized to me for not having his brother there. How’s Luis seem after the attempt on his life?”

  “He’s a tough kid. He has a girlfriend, an older woman. I think she’s helping him cope. We’re keeping him out of sight for the time being.”

  “Carlos, on the other hand, is in a much different place,” she went on. “He didn’t have anything to add as Timoteo talked about Olivia. It was clear that sitting across from him and asking questions wasn’t going to work. Too much like interrogation.” She chuckled. “So, I got up and asked Timoteo to help me straighten up the kitchen. As we puttered around, I got Carlos to open up just a little.”

  “Brilliant. That kitchen looked like a bomb hit it.”

  “Yeah, well, Carlos is old school, you know. Showing emotion’s a sign of weakness.” She shot me a look that I ignored. “Anyway, he’s consumed with anger and depression, and I sensed that overlaying everything is an almost crippling sense of guilt. I avoided asking him about the guilt, figuring it was too early, that it would shut him down completely.” She paused for a moment. “You mentioned earlier that Carlos feared an old enemy might have reappeared to settle a score. Was Carlos connected with a cartel back in Mexico?”

  “Why do you say that?” I said, keeping my eyes on the road. I should have known she’d figure it out. That’s what you get when you’re dealing with smart, perceptive people.

  She laughed. “Just connecting the dots. So he was fleeing a criminal past?”

  “That’s, uh, confidential. It’s complicated, Zoe, and I’d appreciate you not bringing it up with Carlos, or he’ll think we discussed it. What I can tell you is that he came here to find a better life for his family. The fact that the hit man went after Luis suggests he’s been the target all along, that this has nothing to do with Carlos’s past.”

  “Unless it’s the cruelest of retributions. Don’t these cartel brutes always go after the family?”

  I shrugged, biting my tongue.

  She paused again, and I could feel her gaze on the side of my face as I kept my eyes on the road. “Okay, you can’t talk about this,” she said, finally. “Well, it’s not unusual for a parent to feel guilty about the death of a child, even if they’re blameless. That’s another possibility.”

  I nodded. “Once Carlos gets to know you, maybe he’ll open up.”

  “Well, he didn’t exactly invite me back, but at least the kitchen’s clean. Timoteo said he’d work on him and let me know. As I was leaving, I asked if I could introduce myself to Elena. Timoteo took my offer back to her, but she refused to come out. The situation in that household’s tenuous at best, Cal.”

  “I know,” was all I could say.

  ***

  After dropping Zoe off, I returned to the Aerie feeling restless and agitated. Archie met me at the gate and trotted along next to the car as I coasted to a stop in front of the garage. A thatch of dark grayish clouds to the south warned of rain. Archie lobbied once again for a jog, but I figured the chances of getting caught in a downpour were too great. When I came back downstairs with my work boots on and picked up my leather gloves, he whimpered a couple of times. “We’re staying close, Big Boy,” I told him. “You know you hate getting caught in the rain even worse than I do.”

  I’d learned in my research that each successive course in a well-constructed dry-stack wall needs to be narrower than the last. The resulting inward taper on either side, albeit slight, assures stability as the wall height increases. It was becoming clear, however, that the taper requirement coupled with my decision to attempt a circular wall demanded a skill level I wasn’t sure I possessed. After an hour of maddening starts and stops and a string of well-chosen expletives, I tore the entire course off and started over. I was complaining to my foreman when my cell phone rang.

  “Cal,” Timoteo said in a voice that instantly alarmed me, “we, um, we’ve got a problem. Can you meet my father and me in Lafayette?”

  “What is it?”

  “I’d rather not say on the phone. Please. It’s urgent.” He rattled off the address.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Ten minutes later I pulled in behind the Fuentes’s Honda and an old Ford pickup that had replaced the truck Olivia died in. They were parked on 14th Street, just off Monroe in Lafeyette. Carlos and Timoteo both sat in the Honda. Timoteo got out when he saw me, his face tight with tension.

  “What’s the problem?”

  He pointed toward the Honda. “We can talk in the car.”

  After I got in, Carlos turned to me from the front seat. “Plácido Ballesteros is dead.”

  I sat forward. “What?
”

  His dark eyes registered a mixture of fear and apprehension. “I went to his house after Dr. Bennett left and found him dead in his living room. Murdered.” He grimaced and made a quick sign of the cross. “It was an ugly sight.”

  I sucked a breath and exhaled. “You’re sure he’s dead?”

  “Yes. There was no breath in him.”

  I looked at Timoteo, who’d gotten in the driver’s seat. “Were you with your father when he found the body?”

  “No. I met him here after he called me. When he told me what happened, I called you immediately.”

  “Good. Listen, Timoteo, I want you to take the truck, go home, and don’t talk to anyone about this. Got it?”

  He looked at me in disbelief. “But I want to hear what—”

  “Go, Timoteo. You don’t need to be involved, and talking to Carlos in front of you would waive his attorney-client privilege.”

  A chastised look. “Okay.” He got out of the car and left in the truck. I turned back to Carlos. “You’d already talked to Plácido about the key. Why did you go back again?”

  He took a piece of paper from his coat pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to me. “Luis sent me this by email.”

  A young Latino man stared back at me from what looked like a sketch done by a police artist. I looked up and snapped, “Who is this?”

  “Plácido,” Carlos said. “Luis drew it. It is the man he saw in the bar, the man who tipped off the killer as he left. I knew it was Plácido the moment I saw it.”

  I stared at the sketch for a few moments. It was deftly rendered in exquisite detail. I looked up. “So, you received this drawing and decided to go see him. Why?”

  Carlos opened his big, gnarled hands and gave me an incredulous look. “To talk to him. To find out who the killer is.”

  “And you found him dead. Did you take a weapon with you?”

  He opened his hands again. “Only these.”

  “How did you enter his house?”

  “The front door was not locked. I knocked first and then opened the door to call to him. That’s when I saw his body.”