He nodded without speaking.
Dylan turned back to the coyote. “Who is looking for him?”
The answer was completely unexpected. “Señor Hendricks,” the coyote answered.
~~~
What the hell? Why would Joe be looking for Rufio? It didn’t make any sense, not coming from a trafficker.
“Por que? Why?” It was the wrong question, or maybe the urgency spooked him, because the coyote pressed his lips together and refused to say anything else. After a while, Dylan gave up.
Dylan’s partner kept looking at him, probably itching to ask more questions. But, he didn’t. Maybe he thought Dylan would tell him more without asking if he wanted him to know. Or maybe he thought it wouldn’t be smart. They didn’t know how much English the coyote knew, or what he might learn from their conversation. He’d answered in Spanish when Dylan first asked what he knew about Rufio, but Dylan had asked the question in English. Clearly he understood more than he spoke.
When they got to Lukeville and turned the coyote over to the proper authorities, Dylan asked his partner to wait a minute for him. The other man said he’d grab them some cold sodas and walked away. Dylan turned to the Homeland Security agent who’d done the intake and asked if he could speak to someone about what was going to happen to the guy they’d just brought in.
“I can help you,” he said. The agent looked familiar. He probably lived in Dodge, too. There wasn’t much of Lukeville and it wasn’t safe for families anymore. High-powered weaponry could easily reach a target from Sonoyta on the other side of the border. So far, nothing had happened during the day, but frequent gunshots at night kept most of the Border Patrol agents, now part of Homeland Security, sleeping far enough away for peace of mind. Like the thirty miles between Lukeville and Dodge.
“Okay, the guy said something on the transport that was of interest in an unrelated investigation. At least, I’m not sure it’s related but it could be. I’d like to make sure he’s kept on this side of the border until the investigating officer in that case can question him. Is that possible?”
The agent shrugged. “Hard to say. What’s the other investigation?”
“Unidentified male transient found dead north of Dodge last week. Do you know anything about it?”
“Only what I saw in the paper. Why do you think it’s related?” he asked, scanning a crowd of people who’d just come through the gates.
“A hunch. Long story. What can I do to make sure he gets questioned before you deport him?” The answer made Dylan grind his teeth.
“Not much. You’d probably do best to get the investigator out here in a hurry. No telling what the boss is going to have us do with them next.” He spat at his feet. Evidently the man didn’t much care for ‘the boss’, by whom Dylan thought he meant their mutual Commander in Chief. He wasn’t going to touch that one. He needed his job too much.
Chapter Twelve
Monday-Tuesday, July 14-15
On Monday, Alex approached her dad with the proposition she go to Tucson this morning rather than making ad calls. The only way she was going to get the explanation for why Joe Hendricks called the death of that man a homicide was to go to the lead investigator in person. One of the few stories they had this year that would scoop the town gossip deserved the special effort.
“Why don’t you go ahead and do the ads today, and run to Tucson early tomorrow morning? You can get your story, then head for Casa Grande and school from there,” her dad countered.
During her calls, Alex caught a fair amount of flak for being seen with not one but two men at the dance. She did her best to turn it all into a joke. This was exactly what she didn’t want to happen, but her prediction turned out to be too accurate. Her remark about leaving town was heard, too, and the questions about what she meant were even more uncomfortable.
To add to her misery, Alex got a call from Joe late in the afternoon.
“Let me buy you dinner,” he said.
“I thought I’d made myself clear Saturday night.”
“Aw, c’mon Alex, you didn’t mean it. We’re still friends, anyway. Hey, I’ll take you to the Rattler. We can play some pool. It’ll be fine.”
“Really, Joe, I can’t. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”
“Oh? Something special for school?”
“No. Since you won’t tell me anything about the case, I’m going to Tucson first thing, to see if I can talk to the lead investigator before I head for school.”
Silence on the other end of the line went on too long. Had Joe hung up on her? She was about to end the call when Joe spoke again, sounding strangled.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Alex frowned. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“We haven’t caught the perp, Alex. What if he finds out your investigating?”
“Don’t be silly, how could he? That’s not what I’m after anyway. Solving the case is your job. I just want to know who the victim is.”
By the time the day ended, Alex was exhausted. Anyone who thought life in a small town was peaceful has never lived in one.
~~~
“I was wrong,” Joe said. It was hard for him to admit, especially to the man on the phone.
“That’s becoming a bad habit.”
Joe grimaced. One of these days, the guy was going to go too far. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do. But what were you talking about?”
“The girl. She’s still sticking her nose in. Talking to the homicide unit.”
“You’d better take care of it. If it goes public, I’m not the one who goes down.”
Joe was tempted to say he’d be sure the other man would go down, but he had too much respect for his own skin to risk it that way. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to think for yourself, pendejo.”
Another grimace, and Joe was barely in control of his rage. “Spell it out or I’ll handle it my way.”
“Whatever.”
“What are you doing about Chaves?” Joe asked.
“You don’t need to know. Handle your shit.” The line went dead.
Joe slammed his fist into the wall. It was all going south, and his future was looking much different than he’d planned. It pained him, but it looked like Alex wouldn’t be part of it now. But, since he had free rein to do it the way he wished, he’d take his time, just keeping an eye on her. No use getting hasty. Maybe things would turn out after all.
Chapter Thirteen
Tuesday-Wednesday, July 15-16
Alex was on the road by six-thirty on Tuesday. Her route would be a big loop, taking the southern route to Tucson through the tiny village of Why and the reservation, past Kitt Peak. She’d get to Tucson, just about nine a.m., which would give her half the morning to pry into the mystery surrounding the death and identification. She’d still get to her afternoon classes in Casa Grande.
A stop in Why for a breakfast burrito and Alex was soon back on the road, taking in the early morning desert beauty as she ascended the foothills through the Quinlan Mountains. It was cool this early, compared to Dodge at midday anyway. If she was lucky, she’d see some wildlife, maybe even a cougar. Deer were common, but not easy to spot against the desert landscape. Her beloved javelinas stuck closer to town, where food was plentiful in garbage cans and gardens.
Arriving in Tucson, Alex made her way to the Pima County Sheriff’s department and began working her way through the red tape. She asked for the detective in charge of the investigation of a homicide near Dodge, showed her press ID, and was immediately met with suspicion. Before she could see the man she came to see, Alex had to run a gauntlet of deputies and sergeants who wanted to know her business and see her press credentials. The latter were laughable, consisting of a laminated statement written by her father ‘Editor of the Dodge Desert Times’ that she was indeed employed as a reporter. Alex regretted her casual dress and youthful appearance, which evidently didn’t impress
them much.
Nearly an hour of the two she had to spend there went by before a sergeant ushered her into a private office where a plainclothes officer sat behind one of the messiest desks she had ever seen. If his investigative methods were as sloppy as his desk, this mystery would likely never be solved. Overworked much?
“Good morning, Miss Ward. What can I do for you?” he asked. Someone had briefed him on her presence, and no doubt on what she wanted.
“Good morning, er,” The officer hadn’t introduced himself, and if there was a nameplate on that desk, she certainly couldn’t see it.
“Lieutenant Tom Wells,” he supplied.
“Lieutenant Wells, thank you. Good morning to you, too. I’m sure you’ve been told I’m a reporter for the Dodge Desert Times,” Alex paused for comment. Hearing none, she continued, “I’d like to interview you for Wednesday’s issue, regarding the unidentified man who was found dead near Dodge a week ago yesterday.” That came out sounding professional, as she’d rehearsed on the drive.
Lt. Wells’ eyebrows rose. Alex reviewed what she’d just said, fearing it had come out all wrong after all. This was her first big story, and she had a sudden sense she was getting in way over her head.
“Certainly,” he responded. “Before we begin, I’m told you referred to it as a homicide when speaking to others in the department. Would you care to tell me how you came to that conclusion?”
Alex had told everyone who asked her that. Deputy Hendricks said it. If he shouldn’t have, then he’d be in trouble, but she couldn’t worry about that now. Confused, she said as much to the lieutenant.
“And you are acquainted with Deputy Hendricks outside the professional connection?” Lt. Wells asked. What did this have to do with her interview? Alex was more and more off-balance. This isn’t going the way she expected at all. Not even in her worst-case scenario.
“Sir, I’m sure you know quite well Dodge is a very small town. I’m acquainted with almost everyone who is a permanent resident.” Trying too hard. She sounded like a little old lady. But maybe it would get her back on track. “Should Joe not have told me this was a homicide? I did ask him why he said that, and he told me he wasn’t at liberty to say. However, now the investigation is a week old, I believe the public has a right to know if there’s a murderer potentially in our midst.”
Alex’s dignity was shattered when Lt. Wells laughed. “Who said anything about a murder?”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he took pity on her, no doubt sorry for taking advantage of her youth to tease her. “Homicide merely means the victim died at the hands of another. It doesn’t necessarily mean murder in the sense it was a criminal act. For example, it could have been self-defense, or justifiable. Our investigation should determine that.”
“I’m aware of that.” Now she sounded shrewish, but she couldn’t envision something taking place that would end in the body being left in the desert long enough to partially mummify if any of the non-criminal reasons for killing someone applied. Wasn’t that a separate criminal act? Leaving the body where it isn’t likely to be found? However, it was found, fairly close to a trail that is well-traveled in some seasons. She was thinking too long and too hard. Rather than try to puzzle it out for herself, she should simply ask.
“So, what has your investigation determined? What evidence is there the victim died at the hands of another, as you so eloquently put it? Why the mystery?”
Instead of answering right away, he asked if she knew a Dylan Chaves. Now she was more confused than ever.
“Yes, I told you, I know almost everyone in town. Why?” Her frustration showed. She sounded impatient.
“I just wondered. He called in with a tip. Do you know anything about that?” Lt. Wells regarded her with sharp interest, and she struggled for the right answer. Why would she know anything about it? In fact, she’d like to know what he knew, too. She turned the question back on Wells.
“No, I don’t, but I’d like to. What did he want with you?” Lt. Wells sat back and tented his hands. Alex detected some amusement in his eyes, which annoyed her. She did her best to suppress it. Demanding answers wouldn’t get her anywhere.
An hour later, Alex left Tucson for Casa Grande, a fast-food burger in one hand and the other on the wheel. Her mind was spinning with conjecture.
Lt. Wells revealed the body had a wound near the heart that at first glance by the deputies on the scene appeared to be a gunshot wound. Because of the condition of the body, they couldn’t be certain until the autopsy had been performed. What the medical examiner discovered was that it was a gunshot wound, but shouldn’t have been fatal—it wasn’t as near the heart as the deputies thought and hadn’t passed through any critical organs. The investigation was now centered on who had shot him and what had happened to the man after he was shot. Cause of death was determined to be exposure, but the gunshot wound definitely contributed. They still didn’t know who he was. Fingerprints turned up no matches, but they had a report of a missing person matching his description. The investigation was effectively stymied unless and until a positive identification could be made.
Lt. Wells effectively and thoroughly turned away any questions having to do with Dylan, who the missing person was, or anything substantive. Pending investigation, he kept saying.
It made for a sensational story as stories went in little Dodge, but not a very satisfactory one, since the end couldn’t be written yet. The most interesting thing she found out was that it wasn’t and never had been a secret homicide was suspected. What kind of fool was Joe playing her for? And why?
When Alex got to campus, she had nearly an hour before her first class. She spent it in the library, researching what happened to unidentified human remains in the state of Arizona, something she should have asked Lt. Wells. It would make an interesting sidebar to the story. One article pierced her with sorrow. It claimed there were nearly thirteen-hundred unidentified human remains in Arizona, and about forty-thousand nationwide. What about the families of these people? Sure, some may not have any, but Alex guessed there were thousands of sad family members who had to constantly wonder what happened to their brother or sister, son or daughter, or parent. She knew what that felt like.
It had to be especially true of the remains found in remote desert lands. Most of them were likely to have been transients, Latinos seeking a better life here in the US. Their families, in Mexico, Guatemala and other countries where gang and cartel warfare made life dangerous must wonder when their relative would send for them or return for them. How many died from the violence, still wondering?
Alex was near tears when her class started. Yes, it was a terrible and expensive problem for US citizens, especially along the border. Taxpayers were burdened with the necessity of caring for them, the federal government seemed to have no solution and no ability to stem the tide. A newspaperman’s daughter, Alex was acutely aware of the issue, more than most girls her age. But what about the human misery that sent these people on the long, dangerous journey, sometimes more than once? Shouldn’t everyone have mercy on that? During her class about responsible journalism, the answer came to her. She couldn’t do everything, but she could do something. She was in a position to help.
~~~
Dad was home when Alex returned from class, but he’d already eaten. He told her he was afraid she’d feed him fish. The old joke fell flat for once, though she gave an obligatory chuckle.
“Dad, have you written your editorial for this week already?” Alex held her breath, hoping he hadn’t. She had an idea.
“No, why?” he asked, not paying much attention as he turned the page of the book he was reading. Alex recognized it as an old Zane Grey novel he seemed to re-read at least once a year. That was her dad—so set in his ways he couldn’t even read a new book. She began to doubt if her idea would fly.
“I thought maybe I could write a guest editorial,” She waited for the explosion, surprised when it didn’t come.
“Oh? Well, I’d
have to approve it. If you can write it tonight, so I’ll have time to come up with something else if it isn’t suitable, I guess I could let you try it.” Dad turned another page, picked up the drink beside him and took a sip. Alex was standing right in front of him, open-mouthed, but he never glanced up at her.
Before he changed his mind, she flew out of the room, eager to get the thoughts down that had pursued her all day. He might not approve it, and the more conservative elements in Dodge might write hate mail to them for the next week if he did. But at least she would have the circling thoughts out of her head, written down where she could control them. By tomorrow afternoon, almost half of the town would probably think she’d broken ranks with Dad, and the other half would think they’d gained a new voter.
The truth was that this had nothing to do with politics, and everything to do with common human decency. Liberals and conservatives alike loved their families. Alex was going to make them feel what it would be like to lose a family member and never know what happened, or go down trying. Realistically, a guest editorial in a weekly newspaper in a town of fewer than thirty-five hundred wasn’t going to make a difference that would be heard. Dad had taught her though, that knowing what you’re doing isn’t going to make a big difference is no excuse for not doing what you can anyway. Maybe he would remember that tomorrow when he decided the fate of her editorial.
By Wednesday afternoon, Alex couldn’t sit still. Today’s edition was on the newsstands. Dad approved the editorial, although he had some questions about what brought it on. If it created a strong reaction, they’d know soon. She was puttering around the front office, making excuses to stick around in case people arrived to comment.
For the second Wednesday in a row, she was shocked to see Dylan walk in the front door. This time his step was sure, and his striking looks brought to mind the questions that chased her to sleep after the dance.
“Hi, Dylan,” Alex met his eyes, determined not to reveal her illicit thoughts.
“Hi, Alex.” A sigh escaped her. Was it an omen he hadn’t called her Lexi since last week? Or was it a stroke of luck? She shouldn’t have danced with him, it confused her. Confusion made people too vulnerable.
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