by Cliff Black
“Well, whatever it is, it’s obvious she doesn’t want to be found.”
The night was quiet and there wasn't a lot of traffic. I rolled the window down the rest of the way, so I could hear the crickets. I changed the subject. “I have an ethics problem I need some advice on, Ezzy. I know you’re a Mormon. My daughter leans that way too.
“So what's your ethical dilemma? And why ask me anyway? I'm no shining example. Maybe you should find a Cherokee medicine man.”
“No, I think you're the person to ask. You’re involved, in a way.”
Ezzy hesitated before he said, “I got a feeling I ain’t gonna like this. What is it?”
“I’m convinced Allen Collins is right. Shelly Grafton did kill Barry Quintana. What should I do about it?”
“You think?” When I didn’t answer, Ezzy said, “Do you know why she did it?”
I listened to the night sounds for a minute before I said, “Yeah, he got drunk and beat her up. The first time he did it, she got title to the house and warned him that she’d break his head if he did it again. She had him scared for a year, but then he hit her again.”
“Any proof she killed him?”
“Oscar showed me where to find some.”
We were both silent for a few minutes. Finally Ezzy said, “This is a tough one. Sounds like the slime ball deserved it. And I can understand now why you're asking me. Shelly is Evelyn’s cousin.”
“Tell me about it, Ezzy. Shelly’s an attractive lady. I enjoyed her company. I’ve been chewing on this for most of a week now, and I can’t decide what to do.”
After another pause Ezzy asked, “Did she ever sell that big house she was living in?”
“Yeah, she did. I don’t know how much equity they had, but she’s got some bucks now. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Give her time to disappear; then tell Collins what you’ve figured out.”
“Seems a shame,” I said. “She maybe didn’t think whatever she did would kill him. But even if she knew it would, he asked for it.”
“Don’t tell me any more, Geronimo. I don’t want to know.”
The store where Nat worked stayed open until ten o’clock. Nat was now working two evenings and Saturday, soccer permitting. This was one of her work nights. I hoped I could get to the dorm before she came home, so I wouldn’t compromise her hideout by going in after her. I didn’t make it, but I got to the dorm parking lot while she was still sitting in her car listening to the last of a tune. She saw me, came to the pickup, and got in with me. I handed her the pictures and explained what I wanted.
She took them, turned on the overhead light, and said. “I’ll need to come to the house to do this. No one has a scanner here.” Then she looked at the pictures and said, “Wait a minute! I’ve seen this guy.” She was holding the picture of James Wilson.
“Where?”
“At our soccer practice. He wears a hat, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same guy.”
Whoa, I thought. Why would Wilson or Smith be over here watching soccer? Has he learned I have a daughter? I asked, “When was this?”
“This past week.”
“Does he come every day?”
“No, but he was there two or maybe three times. We’ve been trying to figure out why he's there–other than to watch Melanie. At first those that didn’t know figured he was Melanie’s dad–the way he was watching her–but she doesn’t have a father who’s in the picture. She has no idea who he is. It’s a little creepy.”
“Melanie? Isn’t she your roommate?” I asked.
“Yeah. She’s the one he seems most interested in.”
“I must have seen her at the game. Which one is she?”
“Dark hair, nice tan, great legs. She doesn’t get to play much yet, but I’m sure you’ve noticed her. You’re not that old.” She reached up and turned the light off.
I did remember the girl. It would be hard not to notice her. “Have you learned any more about her?” I asked.
“Not a whole lot. I met her mom, and I know she went to grade school in Ignacio. I guess she’s lived there her whole life. Her mom runs the gift shop at the casino. Melanie still doesn’t talk about herself, but then, neither do I. We’ve agreed to not pry.”
That surprised me. I asked, “Why would you not talk about yourself?”
“Why would I want everyone to know I’m only seventeen, or that my mom just died, or that Professor Corbin is my dad? Especially since it was Professor Corbin who staked someone over an ant hill.”
“Ouch. I guess that would be a cross to bear,” I said. “What do you say when people ask?”
“I tell them we might be related, but my dad’s retired military.”
“I’m glad you don’t flat out lie, anyway,” I said with a touch of sarcasm.
When she didn’t respond, I said, “Okay, Missy. Back to business. If this guy shows up at your practice again, call me. I have a class that hour, Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, but call me anyway. If I can get away, I want to have a look at him.”
“Shall I call your office?”
“I’ll keep my cell phone with me. If I don’t answer that, try my office. And stick close to Melanie. Can you do this photo matching thing this weekend?”
“Sunday should work.”
Nat had her hand on the door handle when I again pictured Melanie Martineau and something jelled. “What does Melanie’s mom look like?” I asked.
Nat looked at me for a minute and then said, “Not a bad idea, Dad. She’d be a lot closer to your age than Shelly.”
I was too excited to respond. I picked my briefcase off the seat, opened it, and said, “You’ve never seen my picture of Maria Virginia Teresa Gil, have you?” I found the envelope, pulled out the picture, and handed it to her. “That was sixteen years ago. What do you think?”
“Turn the light back on,” Nat said. She looked at the picture, looked at me, and back at the picture. “This can’t be real, Dad. Do you have any idea what the odds are of this happening?”
“You think it could be her then?”
“She’s probably gained ten pounds, and her hair is streaked, but I noticed she had dark roots. I can’t say for sure, but I think it is her. How did you figure it out?”
“I was thinking of Melanie Martineau and the similarity to Martinez suddenly occurred to me. Virginia’s current address on her old sorority listing is Virginia Martinez, care of Rosa Cisneros in Cuba.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to jeopardize your friendship with Melanie, and I don’t want to dump it on them out of the blue, but having James Wilson watching your soccer practices tells me he knows who Melanie is. We need to do something quickly. Does Melanie ever go home for the weekend?”
“I don’t think she has yet. What are you thinking?”
“Probably nothing that would work. Give me a day or two to decide how to proceed. In the meantime stick to Melanie like glue.”
The next day, when I had a couple of hours free, I called Shelly at the bank and asked her to meet me in Mancos. I needed to get Shelly’s problem out of the way so I could concentrate on how to approach Melanie and her mom.
I told Shelly it was important. I guess she believed me. She was sitting in the Jag, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel when I arrived. I got out of my truck, stretched, took a couple of long deep breaths of the fall air and slid into the passenger seat of her car. The look and feel of leather and varnished walnut were as impressive as the first time.
“This better be important,” Shelly said as I closed the car door. “My manager wasn’t happy with me taking off like this; although, I’ll admit it seemed like a good idea to me.” She smiled.
“Have you ever thought of moving to Belize?” I asked. I figured there was no reason to waste time with small talk.
“Are you nuts?”
“Seriously. They speak English, the weather is nice, and there’s no extradition agreement with the
U.S.”
Suddenly, all the banter was gone from Shelly’s demeanor.
“Belize would be a lot better than Cañon City,” I said. The Colorado Women’s Prison was in Cañon City. I figured she would know that.
Shelly put her head down on the steering wheel for a couple of minutes, then she looked at me and said, “You know, don’t you?” It was more a statement than a question.
“I think so.”
“Can’t you forget it? No one else needs to know.”
“Collins will figure it out in time.”
“I like living in the U.S.” She paused and looked out the window. After a few moments, she turned back and asked, with a catch in her voice, “What about justifiable homicide? Wouldn’t that work?”
“Maybe last October. Not now. If you don’t like Belize, you’d better move to a big city. Pick one and disappear into it. Change your appearance and establish a new identity. The toughest part is, you will absolutely have to sever all ties with your past–and that includes family. Take up bowling. No more softball. Montezuma County doesn’t have a lot of resources to pursue missing persons, even murder suspects. In five years the case will be buried so deep they’ll never dig it out.”
Shelly slumped in the seat, put both hands on the steering wheel, and stared out through the windshield. The muscle in her jaw bunched as she clenched her teeth. “I guess I shouldn’t have hit the bastard so hard,” she said, “but I had a load of adrenaline, and I wanted a home run. It’s a wonder I didn’t take his head clean off.”
I didn’t say anything. I’m not good at comfort, and besides, she wasn’t a victim. I was shocked by her cold-blooded statement. She’d brought this on herself. There are other ways, though maybe not as effective, of dealing with an abusive husband. I could see Shelly’s eyes were filling, and then a tear ran down her cheek. She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and said, “Oh, hell!”
She found a Kleenex, wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and said, “Can I have a week?”
“I can’t speak for Collins,” I said, “but I can wait for him to come to me.”
“Thanks, Dan. I had a feeling I'd be sorry if I asked you for a date. I guess it’s better this way than having Collins figure it out, though.”
“I have to get back,” I said. “I have an algebra class this afternoon. I’m sorry about this.”
“Daniel,” she said and turned to look at me. “Do you know we’ve never even kissed? Give me a kiss for the road. We could have been good together if things had been different.”
I was thinking about Shelly and still feeling the electricity of our goodbye kiss as I monitored a test in remedial math that evening. Then Nat called me.
“Dad, there’s something really weird going on here. A cop just picked up Melanie.”
“A city cop?”
“I don’t know. He’s wearing a police uniform, but he’s not driving a regular cop car. He’s driving a sedan with no lights on top, and I think it has regular plates.”
A chill ran through me. I had tried to shield Nat from danger, but now, when it looked like I’d found McLaughlin’s granddaughter, the girl gets abducted, and Nat is the only one in position to follow.
I said, “That’s no police car. Can you follow them safely?”
“I am following, but I don’t dare get close. This car sticks out like a red convertible.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“Well, Coach had us come back at six to do some drills. Afterwards, he wanted to talk to those of us going to Albuquerque. We only take fifteen players to the away games. Melanie’s not going, but she rode with me, and I figured she’d wait for me, but when the meeting broke up, she was already gone. I got in my car and started back toward the dorms. I saw her about a block ahead, and this cop was putting her in his car. It seemed to me like she didn’t want to get in. That’s when I decided to follow.”
“Was Wilson–the guy in the picture–there today?”
“I didn’t see him.”
“What color is the car Melanie’s in?”
“Sort of a light tan.”
“I guess you didn’t get the plate number?”
“I haven’t been close enough.”
“Keep following. If they go to the police station, you can forget it. I want to talk with Ezzy. I’ll call you back in about two minutes.”
Ezzy wasn’t on duty, but the dispatcher told me they’d just bought a cell phone for him and gave me the number. I tried that.
When he answered, I got the usual, “How Geronimo. What’s up?”
“There’s something strange going on over here. When Nat looked at Wilson’s picture, she said he looked like a guy that had been hanging around watching her soccer team practice.”
“He’s driving from Cortez to Durango to watch soccer practice?” Ezzy asked.
“Nat said he paid particular attention to one girl, who happens to be stacked. His watching her seemed natural enough, except that last night while I was talking to Nat, we figured out this particular girl could well be the Cherish McLaughlin I’ve been looking for. Now, only a few minutes ago Nat saw a man dressed like a cop pick that girl up on the street. She’s following them. Do you know if Wilson’s got a different car? Can you get someone to see if he’s home?”
“He’s still driving that old, gray, Chevy pickup so far as I know. He's living in a run-down motel south of Cortez. Let me see what I can find out. I’ll call you back.”
“Call me on my cell phone,” I said and repeated the number to be sure he had it.
I called Nat back.
“We’re heading south past Wal-Mart,” she said. “What should I do?”
“Stay with him. The sheriff’s office is out that way, but I think I’d better find someone to pick up these tests and come after you. I’ll call you back. I gotta get off the line so Ezzy can reach me.”
I summoned one of my better students to my desk, explained what I needed, and sat him in my chair. I told the class to hand their papers in when they finished and leave the room. Then I left.
I ran a hundred yards to where my pickup was parked, jumped in, and headed off the hill by way of the Geoglein Gulch Road and East 8th Avenue. As I threaded my way down Santa Rita Drive to get on 160, my phone jingled. It was Ezzy.
“Geronimo. I asked the city cops to drive by Wilson’s place and see if he’s there. I haven’t heard back from them yet. I called my buddy, and he said a couple of days ago, when he drove by Wilson’s place on the way home from work, there was an older Jeep Cherokee wagon parked close by with a guy sitting in it. Some medium color, blue or green. He wasn’t sure.”
“This guy Nat's following is driving a tan sedan, but the Cherokee may mean something too. Remember Nat thinks one followed us when we went to see Rosa Cisneros.”
“What’s happening over there now?”
“I’m trying to catch up. Last I talked to Nat they were going south past Walmart. I’m about to 160. I’m about fifteen minutes behind. It’s looking very fishy.”
Ezzy said, “I’ll see if I can round up some help for you. I’ll call you back.”
Nat called again. I needed a hands-free phone. I was breaking all my personal rules driving with one hand on the wheel and one eye on the road.
“Dad, he turned off on the road to Ignacio and then after about a mile or two he pulled into a place with a metal building sort of like a big garage or a barn. I went on by and stopped when I came to a little service station. What should I do?”
I tried to picture the situation. “Go back to where you can see them, get off the road and wait for me to get there. Stay in your--”
”Wait. Here he comes now. Should I follow him?”
“Yes. I'm not far back. I'm about to the junction. Is Melanie still in the car?”
“I couldn't tell. There was something in the back seat. Like maybe he'd wrapped her in a blanket.”
“We may be on a wild goose chase, Nat, but try to keep him in sight. I’m about five minu
tes behind you. Be careful.”
I got off the phone and concentrated on driving. I made the turn for Ignacio as my phone rang. It was Ezzy again.
“Wilson’s not home–whatever that means.”
“Nat had to stop at a service station to keep from being spotted. She’s trying to get back on their tail, and I’m not far behind. They may be heading for Ignacio. That’s where the girl’s mother lives. Maybe we’re making a big deal out of something ordinary–like maybe there’s an emergency with the girl’s mom.”
“I’d agree, except why was Wilson casing the girl? And where is he now?” Ezzy asked.
“I hear you. How is it possible that the girl I’ve been looking for all this time was right here in Durango and playing on the soccer team with Natasha? What are the chances of that?”
“Where you at, Geronimo? I’ve rounded up some help.”
“I’m heading down 172 for Ignacio. I made the turn just before you called.”
“Wait a minute. You said Ignacio? That’s the Ute Reservation. The Sheriff won’t have jurisdiction down there. Let me see if I can get hold of the Ute cops.”
Fifteen minutes later, I drove into Ignacio expecting to see Nat’s car parked along the road somewhere. There was no sign of her, and I didn’t know which way to go. I came to a stop near the intersection where Highway 151 goes east to Arboles and Highway 172 goes south into New Mexico. It was now past eight o’clock, but all I could do was wait for Nat to show up or call me.
Chapter Thirty-One
My cell phone rang. It was Nat. “Dad, I caught up with them. They didn’t stop in Ignacio. They’re going on south. Where are you?”
“I’m at the junction with highway 151. Do you mean south on Highway 172 toward New Mexico?”
“Yes.”
“Can you still see them?”
“Yes, and I’m sure he can see me. He has to know he’s being followed.”
I got on the road again, driving with one hand. “That’s okay,” I said to Nat. “The important thing is, don't get too close to him. I don’t care if he knows you’re following, only don’t take any chances. If he stops, you stop, but don’t get close. Okay?”