Key Witness

by Sandra Bolton

  Emily wrapped both objects in the handkerchief and placed the bundle on her lap. She seemed to be appraising him so intently he didn’t know if she believed him or not. “I think you better tell me everything. Let’s start with why you left New Jersey and what your business is here in New Mexico.”

  “I don’t have any business here. Wish I had never come.” His mind drifted back to Sharon and the terrible vision of her as she lay dying. He knew he was running away from that memory and the knowledge of how he’d contributed to her death. He couldn’t tell Emily about that. Knowing he was still a suspect in the death of Easy Jackson, she would surely see him as a murderer, as he often saw himself. Abe struggled, trying to figure out where to start, how to choose the right words, which ones to omit. He decided to begin with Sharon and how she’d brought him so much joy, then so much sorrow when he lost her.

  Emily waited for him to respond—not prodding or rushing him—quietly anticipating his answer. “Yeah, okay. I’ll tell you why I left Jersey. Mind if I get a beer first?”

  He brought one for her, too, which she declined. After a long drink he started talking. Haltingly at first, Abe described his lifetime of alienation, loneliness, and rejection—until he met Sharon. He told Emily about Sharon’s kindness and fragile beauty, how she shared his love for music and life, and how happy they were together. He took another drink before talking about her illness and inevitable death, the loss still too painful, and his role during her last moments too unbearable to mention. “So I had to leave. The only beautiful, genuine person I ever loved was gone. I didn’t want to play my piano anymore, though it had always been the one thing that brought me peace when all else failed. Schubert, Mozart, Liszt—nothing worked. I didn’t know where to go—Sharon always dreamed of seeing the Pacific Ocean. After she died I sold the piano and everything else I owned except my truck, cut all ties, and headed west.”

  Emily remained quiet during Abe’s discourse, letting him tell it his way. “Maybe I will have that beer,” she said, following a few moments of silence. She pulled the tab and took a modest swallow. “I’m sorry about your girlfriend.”

  During the short time he had spent around Emily Etcitty, Abe had become aware of her calm reticence. After allowing Abe several minutes of quiet reflection, she spoke. “Anything unusual happen while you were traveling? Any run-ins with the law, make any enemies?”

  “No, nothing. I found jobs here and there, earned a little money, and moved on.” The sky darkened, allowing the first early stars to shyly emerge. Coyotes howled in the distance, gossiping with one another. “I keep to myself, try not to make enemies or friends. Besides, once I left Jersey I didn’t know anyone.”

  A chill settled over the evening. Emily went into the trailer, returning shortly afterward with a woven wool blanket and a notebook and pen. She draped the blanket over her shoulders and took another swallow of beer. “I want to know what happened in Clayton, New Mexico—from the time you arrived until you left. Every little detail.”

  “All right, but I don’t know how that will help. I already told you and that state cop everything I know.”

  “You didn’t tell me you found a drawstring sack with a key.”

  Abe stretched his legs and, with hands clasped behind his head, let his mind go back to the scene at the restaurant.

  “I ended up in Clayton when I crossed over from Texas to New Mexico. I was hungry and tired, saw this little café on Main Street and stopped for a bite to eat.”

  “What was the name of the place?”

  Abe closed his eyes, forming a picture in his mind of the crazy sign in the window of the restaurant. El Plato Grande—Open Seven Days a Week and Weekends, Too. “It was a small family place, a hangout for locals. El Plato Grande.”

  “Did you see anybody there who looked like they didn’t belong?” Emily said.

  “They were mostly locals, ranchers and old folks or families.” He paused before continuing. “A couple on a motorcycle showed up. They looked Hispanic and seemed a little rough around the edges. The man and the woman wore matching black leather jackets and some kind of tattoos. Then, I guess there were two other guys that didn’t fit. I noticed their car had Kansas plates. One man stood about six feet, the other shorter, and heavier, with bad skin. They both had sunglasses on so I couldn’t see their eyes. Seemed like they were passing through, like me.”

  Emily started taking notes, looking interested. “Can you give me a description of their vehicle?”

  “Maybe a Buick, a Riviera, or something else long and black, with dark windows. It looked out of place in that little cow town with all the pickup trucks. So did the guys, come to think of it. But I guess a lot of people pass through Clayton.” He began to feel the night chill, gave a little shudder, and crossed his arms over his chest.

  She watched him closely. “There’s a jacket hanging on a hook by the door. Go get it if you’re cold.” When he settled back down, wearing a wool-lined denim jacket, overly large, but warming him already, she remarked, “A perfect match for those innocent-looking blue eyes.” Emily rewarded Abe’s blush with a teasing grin. “All right, then, if you can think of anything else about the guys with the Kansas plates, let me know, but go on. What about the couple on the motorcycle?”

  Abe squirmed under her intense gaze, but a connection began to form in his mind. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of it sooner. “Yeah, of course—the couple on the motorcycle. They had a big Harley with some kind of vanity plates. I saw a Harley at the campground on the morning I left.”

  The light from the open door of the trailer formed a halo around Emily, highlighting the sheen of her hair and skin, her dark eyes counterpoints to the stars that punctuated the night sky. The trail of the Milky Way stretched across the heavens like a silver brushstroke. Abe had never experienced such silence and emptiness. He felt alone—a captive, but captivated as well. He looked at Emily, her eyes questioning, her pen ready in anticipation.

  “Tell me more,” she said, and brought him back to reality. “I need a description of the couple. Take your time.”

  Abe fell quiet before responding, letting his eyes linger on the stars as his mind re-created the appearance of the man and woman. “The woman had dark, curly hair down to her shoulders. Kind of attractive, but in a tough, brittle way. She wore a lot of makeup, tight clothes showing off her figure, and she had a teardrop tattooed below her right eye.”

  “You noticed a lot about her for someone not paying attention. What about the man?”

  Abe looked away, resting his chin on his palm while he thought back to the restaurant scene. “He had a mustache. One of those Fu Manchu types, and his teeth caught my attention. The canines were long and pointed. He was tall and kind of thin, but muscular. Like I said, probably Hispanic. Lots of tattoos.”

  Emily paused in her note taking to look at him. “What kind of tattoos?”

  “All kinds—a teardrop matching the woman’s, Madonnas, bleeding hearts, a spiderweb, and something that looked like a black hand with the letters EME inked across the palm. I admit I was staring until he caught me in the act.”

  “What else, Abe? Keep going.” Her voice, tinged now with anticipation, sounded eager.

  He was trying to remember any other details about the couple, when the image of Easy Jackson came back to him. “It just hit me. They had the same tattoo—the biker and Jackson—a spiderweb on the outside of the elbow.”

  “It’s a prison tattoo, usually indicates the person has done time,” said Emily. “Sometimes jailbirds get them to show how many years they’ve been in prison, or even how many people they’ve robbed or killed. Nowadays it’s often a macho thing, some guy trying to look the part.” Emily stood up and began pacing in front of him. “The woman’s teardrop—it used to mean the same thing, a hit, but it could also mean that a relative or friend was killed, maybe in prison.” She stopped pacing. “I think we’re onto something, Abe. Do you recall what the vanity plates on the motorcycle said?”


  Abe wrinkled his brow, concentrating. “They were from New Mexico, I’m pretty sure. But, some kind of special issue. It seemed like Spanish, maybe—La Em, Ema, la Eme. The letters were followed by a few numerals I can’t recall.”

  Any further discussion was interrupted by the sight of a single headlight bouncing erratically over the rough terrain, headed in their direction.

  Emily watched the approaching light. “It’s Will on his old Chief, probably drunk.”

  The man on the motorcycle slouched under a weathered, black cowboy hat adorned with a ragged feather, and held a bottle of Old Crow in one hand. He roared up to the porch, cutting into a right angle at the last second in order to make a dramatic, dirt-throwing arrival. “Hey, little sister. Saw your government-issue ride down in the arroyo. Funny place to park,” he snickered, before tilting the bottle to his lips and downing the remaining contents. Will tossed the empty bottle, stumbled off the bike, put the kickstand down, and, swaying drunkenly, tried to focus bloodshot eyes on Abe. “Who’s this white guy wearing my bes’ jacket?” he said before sliding like melted wax to the ground.

  “Goddamn it, Will. You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days,” Emily said. Then to Abe, “Help me get him inside.”

  Once they settled Will Etcitty on the small pull-down bed, removed his shoes, and left him snoring under a blanket, Emily and Abe returned to the porch stoop, and she began to talk about her brother. “Will used to be able to handle his drinking. He’s smart, studied to be a geologist, wanted to work on the rez, help his people.” She frowned before continuing. “He landed a job with the big Four Corners Power Plant thinking he could put all his new knowledge to good use. He went to work excited, full of new ideas, but they assigned him flunky office work. He came to realize the corporate bosses would never allow him to work as a geologist. But even more depressing to Will was having to witness the damage the power plant did to our land and how it poisoned our air. The trade-off was money, any kind of work for hard-pressed people.” Emily exhaled a long, slow sigh. “The tribe sold out.”

  Abe shifted his weight, watched the clouds dance past the waxing moon. Patch had left his new friends by the sheep corral and lay sleeping at his feet. He reached down and scratched the dog’s nape. “What happened?”

  Emily stretched her hand toward the dog, her fingertips lightly brushing against Abe’s, sending a current through his body, then both quickly withdrew. She looked away, her hands now folded demurely on her lap while Abe’s face burned from the jolt of unintentional contact.

  “The short story is they fired him. He became a troublemaker, tried to make changes, and started getting the workers riled up, so they got rid of him. Not only that, they made sure no one else would hire him in his field. So he started drinking more and more, until pretty soon that was all he did.” Emily stood, stretched, and went into the trailer, returning a few minutes later with a jacket, her gun, and a set of keys. “That’s a long story, too. Maybe some other time. Right now, I have to get back to work.”

  Emily straddled the motorcycle and jumped hard on the kick start. After three tries the Chief came to life with a rumble. She hesitated, doubt shadowing her features, before looking him in the eye and speaking in her police officer voice. “Give me your truck keys. I don’t want you to mess up, Abe, like taking off or anything. You’re in my custody, and the State Police still see you as their only suspect. I’m responsible for you, and Grandpa still knows how to use that shotgun.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to run away or kill anybody. Anyway, how could I?” Just the same, he shrugged and retrieved his keys from his backpack and handed them to her. It angered him that the law still thought he was involved in Jackson’s death, and he felt a surge of sadness that she did not trust him. But then, why should she?

  Emily revved the engine and turned the bike around, but before she could leave, Abe called out. “Wait. There’s something else I forgot.”

  She swerved around and switched off the ignition, waiting for him to continue.

  “Jackson. He wanted me to take him somewhere in Arizona, place called Bisbee. Said he had a good friend there.”

  “Did he mention a name?”

  “No. Just that we could stay there as long as we liked. He didn’t say anything else about the guy.”

  Emily pursed her lips. “How come you didn’t remember any of this when we questioned you at headquarters?”

  “I don’t know. I was nervous, scared. I answered the questions the state cop asked about.”

  “Think of anything else you forgot, let me know,” she said, restarting the engine. Her parting words echoed in his ear. “You did save my life. I guess you’re okay, for a white man.”

  He watched her disappear, a receding red light bouncing over the empty landscape.

  8

  Early the following afternoon, as Abe carried a fresh bucket of water from the spring, Emily arrived driving a Navajo Police-issue Blazer identical to the one in the arroyo.

  “Where’s Will and Grandpa?” She looked pressed and spiffy in her cop uniform.

  “Your brother’s sleeping off his hangover. Since he couldn’t find any booze in the house he ranted at me for being here, and at you for taking his bike, then went back to bed. Your grandfather went off with the sheep. Patch left with him and the other two dogs. Seems like my dog has found his calling. He’s a natural sheepherder. I can hardly get any time with him anymore.” Abe sounded petty even to his own ears. Then he smiled, feeling foolish about complaining of his dog’s lack of attention. “You look good and rested this morning.”

  “I slept in my own bed at Mom’s house in Huerfano—hot shower and all the perks of modernity. My mother is a teacher at the community school.” Emily emerged from the vehicle carrying a pair of grocery sacks and handed one to him. “Compliments of the Navajo Nation. Our vehicles were towed to a shop in Farmington. They’re assessing the damage now. And the captain put me back on duty, so I can’t stay long. The station issued me this loaner, but the captain is not happy.” Once inside the trailer she put the bags on the counter and pulled back the blanket that sectioned off Will’s sleeping area. She glanced at her brother sprawled on the twin bed. “I impounded Will’s motorcycle,” she whispered. “He isn’t going to like it, but he won’t be going anywhere now, and it’s for his own good.”

  Abe nodded, thinking how he and Will were stuck out here together, and wondering if they would ever get along. “Any new developments on the case?”

  “I’m working on that. Let’s go outside. I’d rather not wake Will and deal with him right now, and I brought some photos to show you.”

  They sat in the front seat of the Blazer while Emily explained how she had gone through the mug shots of prisoners known to belong to a certain gang. “That license tag, ‘La Eme,’ stands for the Mexican Mafia, a really vicious bunch. They were responsible for a lot of the violence during the New Mexico Penitentiary riot a few years back. DMV provided a list of all individuals who have purchased motorcycle vanity plates that begin with the initials EME. I’ve narrowed the list down, and these are shots of some members who meet your description and have been released in the past three years. Take a look.” She handed him a packet of pictures.

  Abe spread the six mug shots on the car seat, then picked them up one by one and scrutinized each. None of the men had a drooping mustache like the biker in Clayton. In fact, most had shaved heads and wore prison garb. He riffled through the stack a second time and paused. “This one—there’s something familiar in the eyes, and he’s grinning like he’s not afraid of anything. The guy in the café had big canines like that.”

  “Rico Corazón.” Emily’s face darkened as if a shadow had passed over. “Locked up in the state pen on a charge of manslaughter one, but his case was thrown out. The lawyer claimed evidence was gathered illegally, witnesses gave conflicting statements, and some witnesses disappeared. They released him last March. Are you sure he’s the one?”

  “Ye
ah, that’s him. He had a woman with him, the one I described earlier.”

  “His girlfriend, Juanita de la Cruz. She swore he was watching TV with her when someone bludgeoned the victim with a tire iron behind the Bar-None stripper joint in Las Cruces. The victim belonged to a rival gang, the Aryan Brotherhood.” Emily returned the pictures to the envelope and placed them on the seat between them. “As for Corazón’s girlfriend, de la Cruz is her stage name and the Bar-None is her place of business. Her act consists of erotically perverse gyrations on a pole in the shape of a cross, wearing nothing but some strategically placed rosary beads. A real class act,” she added with a rueful look.

  Abe tried to imagine the woman in El Plato Grande without clothing, wrapped around a cross, and chuckled in spite of himself.

  The policewoman looked at him with a mixture of disgust and teasing humor. “Hey, does that turn you on, Freeman? You didn’t mention that she moved you in that way when you gave your original description of the so-called lady.”

  “No,” said Abe. He hadn’t felt lust for a woman since Sharon, but he wasn’t thinking about Juanita de la Cruz or Sharon at the moment. He looked away from Emily’s eyes, embarrassed over his stirrings of arousal. “What about the key and the note?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “We’re running print checks on those items, but coming up with nothing but smudges. Your prints are on top of the others. The numbers could be anything, a phone number or part of a combination. But your friend Joseph Alphonso Jackson—alias Easy, alias Spiderman—did time in the pen the same time as Corazón. Jackson was a member of the Aryan Brotherhood, so, needless to say, those two weren’t the best of buddies. There’s a lot of bad blood between the Aryan Brotherhood and the Mexican Mafia.” She turned the key in the ignition and brought the Blazer to life. “Let’s say we’ve had some run-ins with Corazón in the past.” Without elaborating further, Emily concluded the conversation. “I have work to do, Abe. Get out and go make yourself useful.”