Acid Bath

by Nancy Herndon

  “Miss Bonaventura had nothing to do with the murder,” said Arturo Spengler. “Mr. Spozzo and I have never been to this miserable town before.”

  Elena nodded. “Well, enjoy your visit, and do keep in mind that ‘a policeman’s lot is not a happy one.’” Elena was quoting Gilbert and Sullivan, which her father liked if he couldn’t listen to zarzuela, Spain’s contribution to light opera. “We always like evidence of where people were and weren’t, as opposed to vague, unsubstantiated statements. If we don’t get solid evidence, we keep digging.”

  The two visitors from Miami left, and Elena entered a report on them, called and left Fernie word of Bonaventuras in town, then considered what she could do to investigate the Herbert Hobart computer in the absence of any cooperation from Charlie Venner. The powers that be at H.H.U. had offered cooperation, but Elena herself, who wasn’t by any means an active participant in the technological revolution, couldn’t do a complicated search on an unfamiliar computer even with permission, which meant she needed an expert — which meant I.D. & R.

  Some departmental gossip clicked in her head. The LSPD had just hired a new computer expert from Wyoming, a woman described to Leo by Pancho Rodriguez in Vice as a six-foot cowgirl with the world’s best knockers. Elena decided that it was high time the department’s minimal number of female police persons formed an old girls’ network.

  “Hey, Leo,” she called to her partner. “What’s the name of the new computer woman?”

  “Daguerre,” said Leo. “M.M. Daguerre.” He never forgot a name, especially if it was attached to a memorable pair of breasts. “You wanna grab a bite at Tico’s?”

  “Nope. I plan to ask M.M. Daguerre to lunch.”

  “She’s too tall for you. Just thought I’d tell you, in case Frank’s turned you off men.”

  Elena made an obscene gesture, which he couldn’t see because he’d turned his back, then tried to find M.M. Daguerre’s extension. It wasn’t yet in the departmental phone listings. When Elena finally reached the woman, M.M. Daguerre sounded harassed, even over the telephone, and Elena had a hard time talking her into lunch.

  “My God,” said the computer expert, “if I put in eighteen hours a day for the next six months, I still wouldn’t have this new system up and running.”

  “We’re all in the same boat,” said Elena. “Crime or computers — everyone in the LSPD needs three backups, which city council says they don’t have the money to hire.”

  “Oh, what the hell,” said M.M. Daguerre. “As long as we eat Mexican food, I’m willing to take the time.”

  Elena was surprised; she hadn’t known Mexican food was popular in places like Wyoming — she hadn’t even known they had computers, much less people, in Wyoming. Wasn’t it a sheep and cow place? “I’ll come downstairs and pick you up at noon.”

  Fourteen

  * * *

  Friday, May 22, 12:15 P.M.

  In a welcome-to-Los-Santos spirit, Elena had offered to pay for the lunch. Now she was regretting her generosity as she listened to Maggie Daguerre ordering. Although the woman was almost six feet tall, Elena didn’t really believe anyone could eat that much.

  “I love Mexican food,” said Maggie, closing her menu. “That’s why I came down here.”

  “Uh-huh.” Elena was recalculating her monthly budget. The woman had just ordered enough food to pay for the dwarf apricot tree Elena had been planning to buy. “How’d you happen to go into police work?” she asked after placing her own, more modest order.

  “My father and both my brothers are cops,” said Maggie, brushing aside somewhat ragged black hair that had fallen into green cat’s eyes.

  She was a beautiful woman, Elena had to admit, and Leo was right about the figure, tall and lush.

  “On my father’s side they’ve been cops way back to the original immigrant Daguerre. He was a Basque shepherd who came to Wyoming to make his fortune herding sheep.” She was scooping up salsa with tostados and eating them enthusiastically while she waited for her first course to arrive. “He’d evidently just stepped off the train in Cheyenne when he saw someone attacking a woman, so naturally he rescued her, and she got him the job as police chief.” Maggie pointed to herself when the waiter, who spoke only Spanish, arrived with the first dish. “Then he discovered that she was a madam, so he arrested her. How’s that for gratitude?” said Maggie, grinning and stirring pico de gallo into her guacamole. “Great stuff,” she said, nodding toward the salsa. “You don’t get too much of this in Wyoming.”

  “And the computers?” prompted Elena, since that was the skill she was really interested in.

  “Oh, I sort of fell into that. Hung out with some hackers in college, then started taking courses. When the department in Cheyenne needed a computer person, there I was, and it got me off the street where all my dad’s old buddies thought they had to nursemaid me. They wouldn’t even let me drive the patrol cars,” said Maggie, and attacked a bowl of chili con queso and a plate of flour tortillas. “How about you? You’re a real cop, a homicide detective!”

  “My father’s the sheriff in Chimayo, New Mexico,” said Elena, “but I hadn’t been planning on being a cop. I happened to fall in love with a guy on the Los Santos narcotics squad. I met him on a backpacking trip.”

  “No kidding,” said Maggie. “I lost my virginity in a sleeping bag. Say, are you into canoeing?”

  “Well, I’ve been rafting in the Rio Grande Box Canyon. That’s up in New Mexico.”

  “Oh, right,” said Maggie knowledgeably. “Good rapids. Can you canoe up there?”

  “There are a few crazy people who do,” admitted Elena.

  Maggie pushed aside her empty bowl of chili con queso and dug into number twenty-one, which contained a sample of every type of Tex-Mex food served on the border. “So you’re married to a cop?”

  “Divorced,” said Elena. “But by the time we fell out of love, I’d been to the Police Academy and even caught up with him in rank.”

  “Oh wow, that must have pissed him off.”

  “It did. Frank’s good undercover, the original scruffy narc, but he doesn’t do too well on the civil service tests. He still hasn’t passed the sergeant’s exam, and it took him four years to make detective.”

  Maggie nodded. “Lots of my dad’s old buddies were like that. Screwed by the civil service exams. It’s a real pain in the butt, not being able to drink beer with this, don’t you think?”

  Elena nodded, liking the woman, even if it was costing a fortune to get acquainted. She figured the bill might come to twelve or fifteen dollars. “Listen, I’ve got a favor to ask,” she said as the last bite of refried beans disappeared from Maggie’s plate.

  “Sure, what is it?” Maggie hailed the waiter and asked if they had flan.

  “Sí.” The waiter beamed approvingly and went off for the caramel custard.

  Elena revised her monthly budget a second time. “I’ve got this murder case,” she said, sipping her Diet Coke. “Maybe you read about it. Somebody dumped the body in unslaked lime and boiled off all the soft tissue. Now the Buildings and Grounds man at Herbert Hobart says he’s missing a shipment of unslaked lime, which I ought to be able to trace through the computer system. The problem is I don’t know any more about computers than I have to, and the head of the computer center not only didn’t help, he left town.”

  “Is he a suspect?” asked Maggie.

  “Not that I know of. Anyway, I wondered if you could trace that lime. The company that shipped it swears it was delivered. Central Receiving got it. Buildings and Grounds didn’t.”

  “Well, I might be able to. Depends on how tight their security is and how cooperative they are.”

  “The president and vice-president have offered to do whatever’s necessary.”

  “It’s just that I’ve got all this work of my own, a whole new system to put in. It’s a real bitch, and I don’t have much help.”

  “Maybe some evening,” suggested Elena.

  “Well, O.K.
It’s not as if my social calendar is full.”

  “Listen, I really appreciate the help. Let me call the university and get back to you.”

  As they walked back to Police Headquarters, Elena thought wistfully of Sarah, with whom she’d shared many pleasant meals. Even if Sarah came back to Los Santos, even if she wasn’t tried for Gus’s murder, she was a suspect, and Elena the investigating officer. Their friendship would never survive the acid bath case.

  Fifteen

  * * *

  Friday, May 22, 3:34 P.M.

  Wonder of wonders! Elena thought when Jaime Garcia told her that Lili Bonaventura was on the line. It would seem that the meeting with the Bonaventura representatives had brought results. Heretofore, Lili had refused to answer calls from Elena or Leo. Now she was doing the calling. Elena picked up the receiver and identified herself.

  “What’s the idea of telling my father’s lawyer that I was getting it on with Gussie?” Lili demanded.

  “That’s what your teammates say,” said Elena.

  “They’re just jealous.”

  “Right. Because you were getting it on with Gussie and they weren’t, or at least not all of them.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Did it ever occur to you, Lili, that your father might have sent someone to put an end to the affair?”

  “You mean Pop had Gussie whacked? No way. In the first place, he’d have got me out of town if he wanted to do that. And in the second place, he didn’t know anything about it until you opened your big mouth.”

  Elena thought that was probably true, which moved Bonaventura and company further down on her list of suspects, not that she intended to forget about them. Fat Joe wouldn’t necessarily have believed that Herbert Hobart University should be the sole protector of his daughter’s virtue. On the other hand, if he’d been keeping an eye on her, why had he allowed the affair to continue through two semesters? Lili was right; he hadn’t known.

  “And Gus wasn’t sleeping with anyone but me,” said Lili.

  Uh-huh, Elena thought.

  “And I didn’t kill him. If you’re looking for a suspect, how about his ex-wife? They couldn’t stand each other.”

  “When was the last time you saw Mr. McGlenlevie alive?” Elena asked.

  “I told you. Two weeks before I found his body.”

  “You didn’t see him on campus or talk to anyone who had seen him?”

  “Nope. Gussie and I were very discreet. With a father like mine, you have to be, and that’s all I’ve got to say, except keep your mouth shut about my business. I could have you whacked, you know.”

  Lili Bonaventura slapped the phone down so hard that Elena had to whip it away from her ear to escape hearing damage.

  “What was that all about?” Leo asked, wheeling his chair around the partition. He currently held the title in the rolling chair race held once a month on Homicide Row.

  “An oversexed volleyball captain just threatened to have me assassinated,” Elena grumbled. She typed in her I.D. number, the password, and a report on the telephone interview with Lili, including the threat.

  Sixteen

  * * *

  Friday, May 22, 8:16 P.M.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Elena after the campus policeman let them into the computer center.

  “The uniform,” said Maggie and started to laugh.

  Elena grinned. “That’s art deco designer stuff. The women officers wear it too. I hear some of them even like it.”

  “Lavender cops! It has to be a first.”

  “Over here.” Elena led her toward the computer station they’d been told they could use.

  “This may be a waste of time, you know,” said Maggie. “If they’ve got any kind of security, and us without the passwords, we’re not going to discover anything.”

  Maggie sat down at the computer, logged in, and began to press keys, muttering to herself, while Elena lounged in a strange-looking fan-back chair and thought about her ex’s latest visit — at least she assumed Frank was responsible. Someone had set off her truck alarm in the middle of the night, catapulting her out of a sound sleep. All the elderly neighbors who weren’t hard of hearing came tottering out as usual, assuming it was Frank and saying they were going to call the police chief.

  Of course there was no way to prove Frank had done it. Not when Los Santos lost thousands of cars to thieves who whisked the vehicles straight across the border, where they were absorbed into the Mexican economy, driven by the Federal Judicial Police, local cops, businessmen, and politicians. That was another losing battle, but not one Elena had to fight.

  “I don’t believe this,” said Maggie. “This system’s got literally no security. I found all the passwords without even trying.” She stared at the screen in amazement. “They must have hired Elmer Fudd to run their center.”

  “Worse,” said Elena. “My bet is Charlie Venner’s too busy sleeping with the employees to pay any attention to the computers.”

  “Uh-huh.” Maggie went back to tapping and muttering as the letters and numbers streamed across the lighted screen. “Your missing unslaked lime ended up in” — she tapped once more — “the Electrical Engineering storeroom.”

  “Oh shit!” muttered Elena.

  “Addressed to Sarah Tolland. You want me to see if I can find out when it got rerouted and by whom?”

  “Yeah, do it.” Elena had a very bad feeling that she knew who, if not when. But why would Sarah expose herself that way? Surely if she could delete her post-conference address, she could delete this stuff.

  “Uh-huh.” Tap tap tap. More information streaming across the screen. “Someone in Electrical Engineering did it. Sounds suspicious, huh? Unslaked lime isn’t something you’re likely to need in E.E.”

  “Not unless you want to dissolve a corpse,” Elena muttered.

  “The lime destination was changed on May first,” said Maggie.

  “Can you tell by whom?”

  “Nope,” said Maggie. “Just the station. There’s no user code. It’s on the departmental account. Anything else?”

  “I guess that’s it for now,” said Elena morosely.

  “Well, great. Let’s go get a beer. I’m buying.”

  “Sounds good to me.” As Detective Elena Jarvis watched Lieutenant Maggie Daguerre shut down the computer, she thought about the case. One thing for sure: If Sarah ever came home, she was in deep shit, and so was Elena for having let her go free the first time she tried to kill her husband. Or had someone else killed Gus and set Sarah up to take the rap?

  “Say,” said Maggie a half hour later, “you don’t know anyone tall, male, straight, and AIDS-free, do you? If you do, I wouldn’t be opposed to a blind date.”

  “If I did, I’d be dating him myself,” said Elena. “Unless you want to meet my ex, but I don’t recommend him.”

  Maggie sighed. “When I came out here I didn’t stop to think that everyone was going to be so short.”

  “It’s those Hispanic genes,” said Elena. “Frank’s Anglo, and he’s about your height, but he’s no prize.”

  Seventeen

  * * *

  Tuesday, May 26, 10:15 A.M.