Too bad he couldn’t blame the bump for the loss of his heart.
The deputy, clearly out of his league, moved over when Ruth entered the interrogation room. She glanced over Raoul’s rap sheets and Mitch’s notes. She nodded and said, “Good job” before pointing to the door. The deputy looked insulted until he realized Ruth meant Mitch.
Mitch looked at the door.
Mary stared pointedly at her watch and tapped her foot impatiently.
“You call that a hint?” Mitch asked Ruth.
“I call it an order.”
Raoul snorted.
Mitch stood and shook Ruth’s hand. “You call me with whatever you get.”
“I will,” Ruth promised. As he left the interrogation room, she called over her shoulder, “And you call me about that hard head of yours.”
That hard head started pounding even more on the drive to Gila City. Mitch closed his eyes and made Justin announce every distance sign: Gila City: 52 miles. Gila City: 32 miles. Gila City: 5 miles. Mary had to remind Justin every time she changed gear so that he moved his knee. Alma was silent the entire way. Mary made arrangements to drop Justin and Alma off at Eric’s church, then get Mitch to the emergency care center.
It didn’t matter the time. The five-piece band was warming up for the second set.
It was just starting to grow dark when Mary pulled into the church parking lot. Eric waited at the front door. He walked to the truck and said, “Mitch, I can’t believe it takes you three hours to get to the doctor when you need stitches.”
“Without me and an order from Ruth,” Mary griped, “he’d still be in Broken Bones trying to get Herrara to talk.”
Eric peered in at Alma. “You all right? Did you know Roberto had brothers?”
“I knew. I met Raoul when we crossed the border. His eyes—they are hard like Roberto’s.” She shuddered.
“Well, if anyone can get him to talk, it’s Ruth. Let’s get you kids inside and Mitch to the emergency care center. Sis, you want me to—”
“No, I’ll take him.”
Mitch found himself smiling. If left up to him, he’d rather have Mary holding his hand than Eric.
“My house afterward,” Eric ordered.
It took six stitches, not five, and the physician on duty shaved a bull’s eye on the side of Mitch’s head. Mitch waited until the doctor left the room before heading for the mirror and grimacing.
“It’s not that bad,” Mary said sympathetically.
“Liar.” As soon as the tenderness went away, Mitch would go for the bald look. Not his best style, but better than looking like a punk kid with a deranged hairstylist.
The physician returned with a printout explaining what Mitch could and couldn’t do for the next twenty-four hours and with a prescription for painkillers, which Mitch had no intention of taking.
“You’ll be with him all night?” the physician asked Mary.
“Ah…someone will.”
“I’ll be fine,” Mitch insisted.
“Make sure he is watched for slurred speech, vomiting, vision problems, difficulty in breathing.”
“And if any of these things occur?” Mary asked.
“Bring him back immediately.”
“You’ll stay with Eric,” Mary said.
“But—”
“You’ll stay with Eric so he can get you here if something goes wrong.”
“Nothing will go wrong.”
“Right, and we’re making sure of that.”
Without another word, Mitch shuffled behind the doctor, went to the counter, signed the necessary forms and they were free.
Mary headed for Eric’s house. Eric opened the door and motioned them toward the kitchen. Ruth’s mom was boiling hot dogs. Megan was putting chips in bowls while Justin was setting out paper plates and plastic cutlery. Alma sat in the living room, her head bowed while she clutched a Bible. On the couch next to her was Rico Santos.
Mary started to go to Alma, but Eric stopped her. “She’s all right. Church did her good. She stayed after and spoke with the minister. We have the prayer team putting her at the top of their list. I’m betting the prayer chain will start tonight.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Mary almost wished there’d been a prayer team available when Justin was in the hospital and she was ratting on Eddie. But she wouldn’t have been ready to believe then. This morning she’d had a prayer team when she, Alma and Ruth had prayed on the porch. Tonight she was ready to believe.
Looking across the room at Mitch, she thought of the impromptu prayer she’d said when she saw him lying unconscious on her living room floor.
As if sensing her looking at him, Mitch glanced in her direction and smiled.
“One hot dog or two?” Ruth’s mother called, breaking the spell.
“One,” Ruth said and glanced down at the list of what Mitch could and could not do. “Ice chips for him.”
“Warden.”
“That’s Madam Warden.” She headed for the phone and punched in a number. The conversation was quick and the only thing Mary really heard was, “They’re here. Come on over.”
“Okay, you two,” Eric scolded, “what’s the scoop?”
Mary handed Eric the list and filled him in on Mitch’s wound and that Mitch would be spending the night. Mitch filled Eric in on what he knew about Raoul Herrara. Rico joined in and added a few details that the antique dealer had provided later, namely that he had seen Roberto the day little José was taken and that he had seemed more than a little antsy that day.
“Unfortunately, being antsy is not a crime,” Mitch muttered.
If it was, he’d be guilty of a crime every time Mary Graham got near him.
Although antsy didn’t even begin to describe his growing feelings for her.
About the time Ruth’s mother started dishing out the hot dogs, a car pulled up in front. A moment later, someone knocked at the door.
Ruth opened it, and Mary’s childhood friend Rosa Packard came through the front door, holding a smiling baby boy. Her husband, Sam, the cop who’d found the baby blanket followed behind.
“Oh, my,” Rosa said. She handed the baby to Eric and headed for Mary. “I think I hate you. You haven’t aged at all.”
“Oh,” Mary choked. “I won’t tell you the hair color I use.”
“I told Ruth to call the moment you got here. I’ve missed you.”
“Mom,” Justin said. “Who’s this?”
“My best friend from childhood, Rosa. Mrs. Packard to you.”
“And my long-ago girlfriend.” Eric winked, earning a nudge from Ruth.
“Are you the one who painted my Uncle Kenny’s fingernails red while he was sleeping?”
Rosa pointed at Mary; Mary pointed at Rosa. “It was her idea!”
Laughter and hot dogs were the perfect mix to put the tension of the day behind them.
Rosa’s son, Jimmy, managed one without the bun. Alma didn’t eat a bite. She stayed near Rosa and seemed to soak up the sight and scent of Jimmy. Alma picked up a piece of hot dog that Jimmy threw. Alma handed Rosa a napkin. Quite frankly, Alma hovered. And as glad as Mary was to see Rosa, the sight of little Jimmy was too real a reminder of what was happening in Gila City and what was at stake.
Mitch frowned, nibbled on his ice chips, and stayed on the couch. Every time he tried to get up Mary and Ruth tag teamed him and told him to sit down.
Once the dinner dishes were put aside, Ruth’s mother took Justin and Megan out front to play a game of late-night basketball.
Soon Ruth’s kitchen table looked like Mary’s had this morning with mug shots, maps and police bulletins spread out. Rico and Alma looked at picture after picture trying to find the coyote who’d taken her baby. Ruth sat beside them, immersed in her notebooks and graphs.
Mary, Rosa, Sam and Eric sat on the floor by the couch and started trying to find a tie between Eddie and Darryl.
“I agree,” Rosa said, patting her youn
g son Jimmy on the back as he fought sleep. “Whoever ordered the hit on Eddie ordered the hit on Darryl, but I don’t think the two are related.”
“So,” Mary said slowly, “we need to find someone who had a vendetta against Eddie and a different vendetta against Darryl?”
Mary and Eric started writing down the events, names and arrests that were the traits of their brothers. Eric knew the most about Tony and Sardi; Mary knew the most about Kenny.
“Tomorrow,” Mitch said groggily, from the couch, “we make Patrick Wagner our number-one priority.”
Mary tried not to notice how Mitch’s eyes were closing. He’d taken a pain pill after she and Ruth ganged up on him. Mary asked Ruth for a blanket and quietly covered him up, then went to the kitchen table and sat next to Alma. Spread across the table were dozens of photos, down-and-out criminals, losers, men who’d broken the hearts of their mothers, wives and children.
Men like Eddie.
After all the years of trying to forget Eddie and the used car lot; Eddie and his loud, obnoxious buddies; Eddie and his anger, it felt good to be facing the past, overcoming it, maybe putting it to rest. She smiled as Alma leaned into her and together they studied the faces of a society neither of them wanted anything to do with—except to find Tomás and José and the other babies.
Ruth’s mother brought the kids back in at eleven. Megan went to bed; Justin lay down in the next room; and Rosa, Sam and little Jimmy went home. Then, after one too many mug shots, Alma nodded off around midnight. That’s when Eric declared they’d done enough.
Mary roused Justin while Rico convinced Eric that he was perfectly capable of traveling to Broken Bones and watching over everyone.
Mary tiptoed to the couch and leaned down, feeling Mitch’s forehead and watching his chest rise and fall with slow, deep breaths.
“Sis, you okay?” Eric walked up next to her, touching her elbow.
“You didn’t see him on the floor of the cabin, blood pooling around his head. I about fainted.”
“I doubt that. You’re tougher than that.”
Eric then knelt down on his knees by the sofa, hands folded, head bowed, and started talking to God.
For the first time since finding Mitch on the floor, Mary felt peace. She almost knelt next to Eric.
Almost.
Eric finally stood, touched Mitch on the shoulder, then said, “Go home. He’s fine.”
Rico and Alma were already in Rico’s car. Justin waited by Mary’s. She’d barely climbed in when she realized that her son was fully awake again and needed to process everything he’d seen and heard—not only with Raoul, but also his visit to Eric’s church.
“Mom, church is a little bit like school. I was in a classroom with a teacher, but I didn’t know what she was talking about. Were these people real?”
Guilt tapped her on the shoulder. Tonight had been Justin’s first experience inside a church. He didn’t know the Bible stories that had peppered her childhood. He only knew the Bible characters who’d made it to the television screen.
What would Justin have thought if he’d seen Eric praying over Mitch? Would he have understood?
For the first time in a long time, Mary thought about how much God and the church meant to her mother and why her mother had wanted God and fellowship to mean something to Mary.
Justin continued, “Mom, they sing in church. I didn’t know the words or how to figure out the songbook. You like to sing. Maybe you should try it.”
She loved to sing and probably knew the words to the songs he spoke about. Her mother used to sing the church songs. Sometimes she sang when crying would have made more sense.
When did I stop singing hymns?
Maybe it was the day her best friend’s brother died and Rosa moved away.
But Rosa had forgiven Mary.
Tonight proved it.
If Rosa could forgive Mary, maybe God could forgive Mary.
“Mom, Uncle Eric said a prayer in front of everybody,” Justin added.
“Did you like church?” Mary asked.
Justin thought a moment. “Kinda.”
“Wanna go again on Sunday?”
“To Uncle Eric’s church?”
It was a long drive, but maybe it would be worth it for both of them.
Then Justin changed the topic. “Mom, do you like Mitch?”
“Of course I like him. He’s done nothing but help since we arrived.”
“He’s different than Dad,” Justin finally observed.
Mary could only nod.
“I wonder if Mitch ever skateboarded, rode horses or panned for gold,” Justin contemplated.
“I don’t know,” Mary said, “but I do have it on good authority that he’s pretty talented on a four-wheeler.”
Justin perked up. “Yeah, he’s been showing me how to ride his.”
Hmm. Something else her son was learning without her.
It was enough to stop his barrage of words. Justin put on his earbuds and leaned back. Mary tried not to think about Mitch, tried not to worry about Mitch, tried to deny what her son already knew—that Mitch was becoming an important part of their everyday lives.
When they finally made it to her cabin, Rico insisted on going in first. Once Rico secured the area, Mary headed up the stairs and to her room. Rico and Alma followed. Justin turned on the television, saw the look his mother sent him and said, “Just ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes.”
Rico and Alma followed Mary into her bedroom. The contents of two drawers were still strewn on top of the dresser and on the floor.
“Do you need help cleaning up?” Alma offered.
“This is nothing.” Standing in her room, in front of the dresser, she supposed that part of the reason she didn’t feel violated was that very little in the house really belonged to her. The bulk of the furniture and stuff belonged to Eric and Ruth. Even the pictures on the walls were from the thrift store in town.
“This is my fault,” Alma said. “He is looking for me.”
“Then why did he start in what was obviously my room? If he were looking for you, he would have gone to the guest room first.”
“It’s not your fault,” Rico asserted. “And, think, catching Raoul takes us one step closer to finding José and Tomás. Ruth will get him to talk. I’m almost glad this happened.”
Both Mary and Alma frowned.
“Mary should not suffer because of me,” Alma finally said.
Mary shook her head. “I’m not suffering. Nothing was taken or destroyed and now,” she looked at Rico, who had announced he’d be keeping guard all night from the front porch. “We have our own bodyguard. We’re as safe as can be.”
Then Justin yelled, “Mom, what’s an Amber Alert?”
EIGHTEEN
“Surely not,” Eric muttered the next morning as he watched the news. “No one could be that stupid.”
Mitch didn’t contradict his friend. Eric knew there were all kinds of criminals and stupid certainly described more than a fair share. Not that Mitch thought the mastermind behind the baby abductions was stupid. No, desperate, maybe, if they were taking a baby now. But just like with the twins, no doubt a promise had been made, a payment delivered.
“With Raoul’s arrest, plus the media attention Alma’s garnered, you’d think Roberto, or whoever is pulling his string, would back off for a while.” Eric was still talking to himself.
“The child was taken at precisely 10:32 p.m. from a trailer park in Maricopa. Home birth. Hispanic. Baby reported to be two weeks old. A girl.” Ruth scribbled frantically in her notebook, her coffee cup now abandoned on the kitchen table. She’d been on the phone after they called it quits last night and again this morning. “I’m still waiting for a copy of the report, but I’m not thinking it’s going to give us much.”
Mitch shook his head, then thought better of the action. The night of solid sleep had been kind to him. While the head wound was still swollen and tender, it no longer throbbed. Also, the five-p
iece band had surrendered thanks to a pain pill that knew how to do its job.
His cell phone had also been doing its job. So far he’d heard from the men he’d assigned to speak with pediatricians taking care of twin boys under the age of five months. He had five families to investigate. He’d heard from the men he’d assigned to talk with Darryl Farr’s ex-wives. Other than bad taste in first husbands, both had the good taste to marry well the second time and to answer all the questions his detective had asked. Unfortunately, since neither wife had lasted more than two years, and since neither union had produced children, both had cut ties with Farr and his friends long ago. They’d looked at mug shots but didn’t recognize anyone. As for Patrick Wagner, Mitch hadn’t organized the search yet, didn’t feel he knew the ins and outs of the man. He wanted to be the one to interrogate. He leaned forward. “Ruth, what do you think? The baby in Maricopa taken or given?”
“So far all I know is that a neighbor called in. The mother speaks no English and is living with friends. We don’t know about the father.” Ruth looked up. “Until we can tie this abduction to the others, I think we need to be concentrating on the break-in at Mary’s yesterday.”
“You still think Mary was the target and not Alma?” Eric asked.
Mitch nodded. “Why search Alma’s belongings? She has nothing but what has been given to her.”
“So what does Mary have?” Eric asked.
“A husband who was murdered in prison by the same man who murdered my border patrol officer,” Mitch chimed in.
“I agree,” Ruth said. “Let’s start with what we know. When we get the report from Maricopa, we’ll marry the contents to what we already have. In the meantime—”
“I’m taking a shower and heading home,” Mitch said.
“Rico’s called twice. Everything’s fine,” Ruth protested.
Mitch rubbed a hand over his head, gingerly touching the spot where Raoul had gotten him. “There’s always something to discover.”
“Got any plans for after you check on Mary?” Eric asked.
“Just to start visiting the places in Wickenburg that sell 2008 black and green KFX450 Kawasakis. It narrows down our field considerably that our perp was riding a new high-end model. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find it’s not his and it’s not registered. Then, I’m coming down big-time on Patrick Wagner and all who know him.”
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