The Witch On Twisted Oak

by Muller, Susan C.

  Another half hour wasted while they scanned records. If they were going after this guy now, they had to get a move on. It was already Friday afternoon.

  They needed an ID or they couldn’t even consider a warrant, and then they’d have to find a judge to sign it before they could bring him in or search his place. Hard Luck wasn’t likely to authorize overtime without more solid evidence.

  He could almost hear his boss’ nasal voice. “That’s your hard luck. You should have found his name earlier. You can question him on Monday morning.”

  Adam made two more calls, putting things in motion, but it wasn’t gonna happen before quitting time.

  El Jefe straightened the coat of his black suit, adjusted his tie, and reached for the door handle. Before his foot hit the pavement, he jerked back into the car and slumped down.

  The door to RJ’s Gym opened and two cops walked out.

  He’d have known they were cops by their cheap suits, if for no other reason. He was the only person in the history of the world who had ever worn a suit into that gym.

  The shorter cop had to be six-two. Only a fool would think his pretty-boy face and glasses meant he was a pushover. He’d spent enough hours in gyms to know you didn’t get that build by wishing for it. Everything about the guy said he meant business. That reach would make him dangerous in the ring, with rules and regulations. But could he handle himself on the street? It might be fun to find out.

  Then there was the other guy. He’d have recognized Ruben Marquez anywhere. He’d heard Marquez had taken the cop route, but to find him here was a shock.

  The last time he’d set eyes on Marquez he was no more than seventeen and already six-five. He’d obviously kept growing. And kept in shape. That had been on a football field, and had left him with a permanent reminder of the incident.

  El Jefe clamped his jaw shut and ground his teeth. If that SOB screwed up his life one more time he was dog food.

  The two cops pulled away and he counted to twenty before heading inside.

  The gym was empty. As usual. If business didn’t pick up, washing his money through it was going to get tricky. That old fart of a manager didn’t have to do much, but he had to do something.

  “Yo, Harlan, where you at?” he called.

  A toilet flushed and the manager shuffled in. “Right here, Boss.”

  Harlan held out his hand but El Jefe just looked at it. “You wash?”

  Harland glanced down and wiped his hands on the seat of his pants. “Everything okay, Boss?”

  “What’d those two cops want?”

  “Asking about Gordo and Shaw. I showed ‘em their applications and they left.”

  “Did they ask about me?” Harlan hesitated and El Jefe saw the lie forming in his eyes. “Tell me the truth, you old coot, or I’ll take out the last few teeth you have.”

  “They never asked, but one of ‘em saw your photo. Don’t know how. It was behind the door. Then he asked who you were. I said the owner, but that’s all.”

  El Jefe spread his fingers and shoved Harlan in the chest. The old man stumbled back a few steps and would have fallen but he hit a wall. “That’s all, Boss, I promise. I had to tell them your name or it woulda’ looked suspicious.”

  Maybe that’s all the old geezer told them, maybe it wasn’t. Either way, he’d find out.

  Ruben leaned back in his chair and put his feet on his desk. Yep, I called that one right. By four-thirty on Friday, even the police department shut down. Didn’t matter, there wasn’t enough evidence for a warrant today.

  His juvenile record was sealed, and except for a couple of incidents when he was in his twenties, Jacinto was clean. Another small-time businessman, barely scraping by.

  He rubbed a hand across his chin. “I’ll take the photos over to the Watson’s, but I don’t have much faith. Unless they are absolutely positive, we’re S-O-L on this. We’ll have to wait till Monday and question him as gently as a newborn. Just following up on a gym owner who might know something about Gordo and Shaw.”

  Adam shifted in his chair. “Let me know immediately if you get anything. I have plans for the weekend.”

  What the fuck plans did Adam have? They were investigating three murders, not making dinner reservations. But they were always investigating some murder. Just because he didn’t have anything to do this weekend didn’t mean Adam shouldn’t.

  “What kind of plans?” He tried to keep the jealously out of his voice.

  “Jillian’s coming over after the store closes tonight and we’re heading out to the hill country to visit my folks first thing Saturday morning. We’ll be back Sunday evening, but I can cancel if we get any solid leads.”

  Whoa, that sounded serious. So Adam was taking Jillian to meet the parents. Had he ever done that before? Maybe the ex-wife, but everybody was allowed one mistake. “Is she closing the store on a Saturday?”

  “Nah, the new girl is taking over. That’s why we haven’t been out there sooner; she was training her.”

  Ruben logged off his computer and gathered the lineup photos to show Bobby and his parents.

  “Go ahead. Take your trip. Everything’s stalled for now. We’ll hit it hard Monday morning and see if we can wrap it up.”

  Of course, if he got the answer he wanted, Adam’s plans might need to be changed. Jillian could meet his parents any weekend.

  The SOB who ordered a murder twenty feet from his mother’s bedroom needed to go down now.

  Chapter 16

  Wayne Watson shot Ruben a look of exasperation. “We don’t have time for this. Bobby has a tae kwon do meet in Austin and we need to get on the road now if we’re going to make it in time for registration.”

  Ruben had rushed over when he spotted the minivan with the tailgate open and duffle bags inside.

  “Molly disappeared and the kennel closes in half an hour.” A dog leash dangled from one hand. An empty crate sat by the front door.

  “If you’ll look at these photos quickly, I’ll help you search for Molly.”

  Wayne thumbed through the photos and handed them back. “I never really saw the guy. Ask Rita and the kids. I’m going to drive around the block and see if I can find that damn dog.”

  He shot out the door leaving Ruben standing alone.

  “Rita, Bobby, anybody home?” he called.

  Elissa Watson appeared holding a stuffed animal and a pink backpack. “They’re in the back yard. Trying to figure out how Molly keeps getting out.”

  “Can you look at these pictures, honey, and tell me if you see the same man you saw across the street?” Even if she did identify him, no judge would take the word of a six-year-old.

  A childish giggle escaped. “These men look funny,” she said and pointed to the photo of men in their weightlifting poses. She didn’t mention Ruben Jacinto, standing beside them.

  “Where are your mommy and brother?” he asked, relieving her of the photos.

  She scampered away and he followed, taking note of the changes since the Herrera’s moved out. Did Molly use Cindy’s old room? Was that window still nailed shut? He glanced at Elissa with her blue eyes and dimples. Wayne had better keep it that way or learn to sleep with one eye open.

  The Watson’s back yard was spacious, but their fence dilapidated. No wonder Molly kept escaping.

  If Wayne Watson had looked exasperated, Rita Watson looked furious. And Bobby Watson’s air of cool indifference had slipped. He lip trembled and tears threatened.

  Rita put her hands on her hips when she saw him approach. “We can’t help you. If we don’t find that dog soon, we’ll have to miss Bobby’s meet.”

  She tromped through the yard and into the house, Bobby following.

  “Mom,” he wailed. “Why can’t we just leave the dog? She’ll find her way home.”

  Elissa burst into tears. “Nooo, we can’t leave her, she’ll get hungry.”

  Ruben broke in. He didn’t have time for a family fight now. “I promised to help Wayne find the dog after you
look at the photos.”

  She didn’t even glance at the pictures before handing them to Bobby. “I never saw the man. Don’t know what he looked like.”

  Not what she’d told him the first time he’d asked.

  Bobby studied the first photo. “Sure, yes. This looks just like him.” He held up the group photo. Unfortunately, Jacinto’s face was only a blur in that one.

  “I don’t recognize any of these guys.” He passed Ruben the lineup photos.

  There went his slam-dunk case. Now what? He slipped the photos back in his pocket as Wayne parked the car at the curb.

  “Dad,” Bobby yelled. Desperation filled his voice. “Did you find her?”

  Wayne shook his head. “No sign of her.”

  “You folks go on. She’ll be back for supper. I’ll keep her at my house tonight and take her to the kennel tomorrow. I’m going to be here all weekend.” Well, he would be now. He’d planned to go home to his own apartment, but not if he was stuck hunting for a stupid dog.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t like dogs. He simply hadn’t been around them very often. Mamacita and Papa had trouble feeding and housing all their kids. Pets were out of the question. Ramona had begged unsuccessfully. He knew better than to ask.

  Given a choice, he much preferred cats. Their whole attitude of independence and self-sufficiency appealed to him. They could take care of themselves. They only allowed humans to feed them out of pity.

  Molly seemed to be a good dog. She was friendly and affectionate, just a little rowdy. The Watsons obviously didn’t know how to manage her. She needed a firm hand. He could handle this.

  Another restless night spent wandering the house, peering out the windows. Ruben glared at the moon and willed it not to shrink.

  Molly had returned fifteen minutes after the Watson’s left. All he had to do was call her and hold up the leash and she’d come running, wagging her tail.

  Now the Watson’s owed him big time. When he finally rounded up El Jefe, they’d better be willing to come downtown for a lineup.

  If only he knew what kind of car the guy drove, but the cars parked on the street were the same one’s he’d watched every night. If the mastermind behind Yolanda Garza’s murder thought Mamacita posed any danger to him, this was the night he would come calling. And Ruben planned to be waiting.

  Too bad Molly was such a disappointment in the watchdog department. He could have used the extra set of eyes.

  By 5:00 a.m., he felt safe, El Jefe would have come before this, so he fell asleep. At 6:15, Molly woke him, ready for her morning pee. He pulled the covers over his head and ignored her, but she tried again twenty minutes later. No wonder the Watsons had a doggy door.

  He stood in the middle of the yard as Molly searched for the perfect spot and checked to make sure no squirrels or cats had crossed during the night.

  Fall was definitely approaching. The air was cool and had a crisp, lighter feel. Not the humid, wet blanket of late summer.

  He pulled on some jeans and headed to the garage.

  Papa’s workbench was just as he’d left it, five years earlier. Every tool cleaned, oiled and in place. Finding what he needed to rig a pulley system for the birdfeeder was a snap. Constructing something, working with his hands, was therapeutic. All the tension from the night before disappeared. No wonder Adam loved to build things.

  He’d just put the ladder away when his cell phone rang. Shit. He’d left it on the kitchen table. He flew through the back door and grabbed it on the third ring.

  “Marquez,” he gasped, out of breath.

  “Ruben?” The voice was a whisper, but he recognized Tessa Reyna.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Someone’s been in my house.” She spoke softly, but the tremble in her voice was clear.

  “Where are you?” He grabbed his badge and weapon with his free hand.

  “I drove off. I’m at the gas station on the corner.”

  “Wait there. Do not go back to the house. I’m on the way.”

  Ruben recognized her car immediately: a faded blue Hyundai with a dented right rear fender, dirty and mud-splattered even though it hadn’t rained all week. He’d bet his next paycheck she didn’t have more than a quarter tank of gas.

  He understood not being able to afford a better, newer ride. He’d certainly been there. But anyone could wash a car. Put on a coat of polish.

  His car was always clean, with a full tank of gas and a change of clothes in the trunk. A fully charged electric razor stayed in his glove compartment. Just in case.

  She must have also recognized his car. She jumped out and headed toward him before he turned the key off. Her eyes were wide and scared. She was back wearing that damn long skirt again. Her sandals had jewels and her toes were painted blue. Blue?

  “I went to the store and when I came back my door was standing open. I’ve been locking everything, just like you told me.” The words spilled from her.

  “Was he still in there?” Why hadn’t he been more insistent that she leave? He’d had his head up his ass this entire case. And she could have paid the price.

  “I don’t know. I backed out of the drive and took off the minute I saw the door.”

  “Good girl.” He could have kissed her. “Stay here. Do not try to follow me. I’ll call you when it’s safe.”

  “But what about you? Will it be safe for you?”

  That was twice she’d caught him off guard by showing more concern for someone else than for herself. Not something he was used to seeing. He could count on one hand the number of citizens who’d ever worried about his safety when he headed into the dark to find the boogeyman that had frightened them.

  There might just be more to her than he’d realized.

  “The guy is long gone by now. I’m just checking the scene.” Still, he popped his trunk and slipped on his vest. Triple D hadn’t expected any trouble, either.

  Her house was less than two minutes away so he didn’t bother with the siren. One glance at the splintered wood on her back door erased any lingering hope that she’d failed to shut or lock it when she left.

  Despite reassuring Tessa that the intruder had already left, he unholstered his Glock and chambered a round.

  Where the hell was Adam when he needed him? Playing lovey dovey with Jillian. He could do that any weekend. Well, not last weekend, they were on call. And the weekend before they got a tip and made an arrest, closing a major case. Had Adam grumbled about ruined plans?

  Backup was one radio call away, so why was he going in alone? Because he was a fool. The guy was long gone by now and he needed to get this over with so he could clean up the mess he’d left at Mamacita’s before she got home. Otherwise he’d be sleeping on the front porch.

  Holding his weapon at the ready, he slid in the back door and through the laundry room. No one in the kitchen. He opened the pantry door and glanced inside. Clear.

  In the dining room, the trompe l’oeil gardens were so realistic they caught his eye for too long. Pay attention or you’ll get your ass shot off.

  He hugged the wall with his back and edged around the room and into the front hall. The front door was unlocked. Had she forgotten it or had the intruder left that way? He twisted the lock. Now no one could slip in behind him.

  The main room had been torn to pieces. Books were raked off shelves and tables swept clean. Obviously searching for something. The elusive appointment book?

  The guest bedroom sported a large hole in the sheetrock and the sink in the extra bath had been ripped from the wall. He ignored this. Adam had already mentioned it. He was more concerned about the closet. If there had been anything of interest in there, it now lay under a two foot stack of debris.

  In the main bath, towels lay in heaps on the floor, swept from a cupboard along with toiletries, makeup, aspirin, and feminine products he didn’t want to study too closely. He smelled shampoo and something else—cigar smoke.

  The shower curtain hung half in the tub and half out. Its
background color was pale yellow, but fish and dolphins swam across its surface. A dark shadow lurked against the back wall.

  He took a steadying breath and raised his weapon. “Police officer. Come out now with your hands up.”

  The shadow didn’t move.

  “I can see you.” He kept his voice steady, but the shadow didn’t respond.

  He reached out with one hand and yanked. The curtain and curtain rod tumbled to the floor. A dark blue towel hung from a hook at the back of the shower.

  Shaken, he eased out of the room.

  Her room was the last he entered. The mattress had been thrown off the frame and hung by one corner. Every inch of the floor contained clothing, shoes, nightgowns, undies. Drawers were pulled out and upended. Colorful costume jewelry lay broken and crushed as if walked on.

  Each room he had entered showed progressively more damage. This type of destruction pointed toward rage, not a methodical search.

  The closet door stood open three or four inches and he watched it carefully. Had it moved? He adjusted his grip on his Glock and approached from the side.

  Placing one hand on the knob, he threw the door open. A blur shot past him and he jumped back, tripping over a pair of shoes. He rolled to his side and took aim.

  And nearly shot a cat.

  Chapter 17

  Ruben pushed to his feet, cursing his clumsiness, his stupidity, his nerves, and everything else about this day. A quick circuit of the house, back the way he came, assured him that no one had slipped in behind him.

  He ended in the kitchen. Dishes filled the sink and countertop, but they were dirty. No intruder had pulled them out. Nor had anyone but Tessa left the cereal box on its side with the top open.

  Only one place left to search.

  The door to her garage studio had been kicked in. Her CD player lay on the floor, smashed to pieces. With that much damage, it had been hefted overhead and thrown, not swept onto the floor during a search.