Scavengers pc-10

by Steven F Havill

  They were close enough now that if she stood up and turned on the light to survey the arroyo in front of her, Estelle knew that the occupants of the approaching car would see her. If she took her chances and dropped over the edge, a ten foot fall awaited her-jolting under the best of conditions, crippling if her luck ran out. She remained crouched, watching.

  In a moment the car turned east as it chugged around some obstacle in the desert, and Estelle took the opportunity. Releasing her grip on the azote, she cupped her hand over the flashlight and turned it on, once more holding it close to her body. Sweeping the light from left to right, she saw that she was still twenty feet from the break in the edge where the cattle trail broke the crown of the arroyo.

  She snapped off the light, felt for the cactus and flinched as her hand grazed one of the thorns. She found the freshly cut handle, hefted the cholla to break it from the grip of a small acacia, and crouched low, scuttling along the edge of the arroyo, its core now a dark shadow off to her left.

  Something stung her knee as she turned, sliding down onto the trail. A rattle of stones fell away, and she froze, breathing hard. The car was less than a hundred yards away, exhaust note deep and labored. A third of the way down the cattle trail and sheltered by the bank of the arroyo, Estelle turned on the flashlight, directing the beam up the arroyo. Around the corner, the spot where the cows ambled up and out of the cut was a good fifty yards away. She could reach the far side, and scramble up and out of the arroyo. If they saw her, she’d be on the open desert, racing toward the fence-a nice running target for a hunter.

  If she stayed, they might not find her. And there was the chance that the approaching car carried someone altogether innocent-a late night check for wayward cattle, or goats, or whatever…even though there wasn’t a single fresh patty or dropping to be seen.

  Estelle knew exactly what had happened. They’d dumped Eurelio, and sauntered back to enjoy the rest of their booze under a stunted tree somewhere-maybe in a deserted shepherd’s shack. And then they’d heard, piercing on the night air from miles away, the wail of the Posadas ambulance siren. The coincidence of that had awakened even their booze-fuzzed minds. With the night quiet again, they were returning, cautiously, to make sure that Eurelio hadn’t somehow been resurrected when their backs were turned.

  “Ay,” Estelle whispered, and launched herself up the arroyo. She snapped on the flashlight and sprinted as fast as she could, lurching and weaving on the uneven ground. As she rounded the corner and headed upstream, a blast of light swept overhead. The driver had turned on his headlights as he swung around the final corner. They would be looking for their own footprints, moving cautiously. Estelle tightened her grip on the azote, kept the flashlight low, and locked her eyes on the cattle trail where it ramped up the side of the arroyo.

  As she hit the incline of the trail, she heard a vehicle door open. The voices were low and urgent. She snapped off the flashlight and slowed her pace. The arroyo would shield her from view for a few seconds, and she made her way with careful steps, trying to avoid dislodging rocks. She reached the top and looked over her shoulder.

  Behind her, the car was parked with its headlights on, but facing northwest, so the lights illuminated empty desert. A flashlight bobbed and weaved as at least one man made his way toward the arroyo. At one point, they stopped, the flashlight turning. Estelle could see two figures silhouetted against the headlights. Moving slowly, she shrank back away from the arroyo, keeping low.

  By the time the two men had reached their side of the arroyo, she had managed to put nearly twenty yards between herself and the bank. She heard the rapid fire Spanish and paused, listening.

  “Right here,” one of the men said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Certainly. I’m not stupid.”

  What followed was a string of volatile curses as they played the light across the arroyo bottom, seeing the tracks where Eurelio had dragged himself. Estelle held her breath, keeping her face turned away. The light stabbed this way and that.

  “It’s impossible,” one of the men said. “You saw how he was hit.”

  “Let’s find out, Benny,” the other man said. “Let me get another light and the rifle.”

  Estelle took a deep breath, turned her head, and waited until the flashlight across the arroyo was headed back toward the car. She clenched the step of the azote in one hand, the flashlight in the other. Without the light, a sprint across the desert would be a hopeless demolition derby.

  “Okay,” she whispered, and driving as hard as she could, sprinted toward the border fence, keeping the light low. She had managed a good fifty yards when she miscalculated and crashed into a stout clump of greasewood. The cactus tore backward and slammed into her leg even as she pitched hard to the ground, her left shoulder grinding into the dirt. A shout echoed across the arroyo behind her, but she ignored it. She knew that the two men couldn’t cross the arroyo and catch her-she was confident that she could outrun two drunks under any circumstances. But bullets were hard to beat.

  She dashed no more than another two dozen steps before the first loud crack of a rifle exploded behind her. A bullet snapped by yards to her right. Another round sang over her head, and she took one last look down the beam of the flashlight and then snapped it off, running on memory. Three more reports and a symphony of shouts pursued her.

  And then, breath heaving in painful gulps, she saw a dark figure ahead of her.

  “I’m okay,” she shouted. “Go on back.”

  She and Deputy Taber rounded the small hill and with a heartfelt groan of relief, Estelle saw the tangle of old barbed wire that marked the border. She stopped, dropped the azote, and bent at the waist, hands on her knees.

  She felt Jackie Taber’s hand on her shoulder. “You’re all right?”

  “Fine,” she wheezed. “Out of shape.” She straightened up. “They came back to make sure about Eurelio. They must have been where they could hear the ambulance siren, and got spooked.” She sucked in a breath.

  “And they saw you and tried for a moving target,” Jackie said. Estelle heard the shake in her voice.

  “Nah,” she said. “Not to worry. I knew they couldn’t hit me. Not at night, not with a scope.”

  “That’s why you ran so fast…nothing to worry about.”

  Estelle managed a nervous laugh. “Yeah, well…” She held up the azote and turned on the flashlight so Jackie could see it. “I don’t think they know that I have this,” she said in triumph. She pulled at her pocket. “And a shell casing. And a name. They’re dead meat.”

  “What’s the name?”

  “One of them called the other ‘Benny.’ ” She heaved another deep breath and cringed at the stabbing pain in her leg. “Por Dios, but I want to arrest somebody right now.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “In here?” Sheriff Robert Torrez’s voice was muffled by the examining room door, followed by a rap of his knuckle. The door swung open before Estelle had a chance to say “come in,” and she pulled the flimsy hospital gown into a semblance of modesty.

  The physician’s assistant, Jolene Oliver, looked up and turned on her stool to glare at Torrez. “Do you mind?” Jolene carried her two hundred and thirty pounds on a five-foot-two frame, fourteen inches shorter than the sheriff. In contrast, she possessed hands so dainty they might have belonged to an eight-year-old. Her electric blue eyes peered at the world through gold-rimmed granny glasses whose lower rims nestled in deep troughs under her eyes. She pursed her heavy lips with disapproval and pulled an edge of Estelle’s gown down to cover the area of thigh on which she had been working.

  “You decent?” Torrez asked. He blocked the doorway with his body, holding the door against himself with his right hand. “You’ve got company.” His eyes drifted to the stainless steel pan and the welter of stained gauze pads on the tray beside Oliver, the cotton swabs, the topical anesthetic, the antibiotic-and then to the long forceps in Oliver’s hand.

  “We could just
sell tickets,” Jolene Oliver snapped. “Now close the door, preferably with your bones on the other side.”

  Torrez grinned and pulled the door still closer to his own body as he leaned against the jamb. “Captain Naranjo is out in the hall,” he said.

  “Look,” Jolene said with the withering patience of someone talking to a thick-headed twelve-year-old. “We’ve dug out thirty-six of these little bastards.” She nodded at the stainless steel pan and its collection of cactus thorns. “And we’ve got at least another dozen to go, some of ’em hiding in pretty interesting places. So give us a break. Go find yourself a cup of coffee or something.”

  Estelle reached out and touched Jolene on the shoulder. To the sheriff she said, “What’s the word on Eurelio?”

  “Still in surgery. The gunshot wound was a raker. Broke two ribs, blew some bone chips where they’re not supposed to be, and then took a chunk out of his triceps. No major vessels cut, though. He’s lucky. I’m sure it looked like they’d killed him. The damage from the cactus is the hard part.”

  “I can sympathize a little bit,” Estelle said.

  “A little bit,” Jolene sniffed. “Sweetheart, you’re a mess.”

  Estelle managed part of a laugh until Jolene approached another thorn with the forceps, and then she sucked air through her teeth in anticipation. “I really need to see Naranjo, though, Bobby.”

  “Well,” and he turned his head, leaned backward, and looked down the hall. “He’ll wait. He’s too much of a gentleman to come in now.”

  “See?” Jolene said. She pointed an accusatory forceps at Torrez. “Out.”

  “Yes, ma’am. We’ll be in the coffee shop, Estelle.” A frown darkened his broad face. “And I’m sure you’ve done dumber things than this border-jumping stunt. I can’t remember exactly when, though.” He started to close the door but thought better of it. “By the way,” he said, “some interesting developments with the Popes. Jackie said you told her that you really wanted to arrest somebody? You might get your chance. I’ve got a meeting with the district attorney this afternoon.” He saw the curiosity lift Estelle’s eyebrows and grinned. “I’ll tell you all about it when you’re thornless,” he said, and closed the door.

  It was nearly an hour before Estelle Reyes-Guzman was thornless. She slipped into a set of clean clothes that Jackie Taber had delivered, consigning the ripped, pierced, and thorn-studded blouse and slacks to the hospital incinerator.

  Tomás Naranjo saw her as she entered the coffee shop and immediately rose from his seat, his dark, lean face bearing a broad smile touched with sympathy. He stepped to one side and pulled out a chair for Estelle. “And what a night you’ve had,” he said.

  “Not as bad as Eurelio Saenz,” Estelle replied.

  “Of that I’m sure,” Naranjo said. “Perhaps something to eat, then? Coffee?”

  Estelle shook her head. “No, thanks. I don’t have much appetite.” She glanced at the thing that Torrez had been eating, a small, damp, and gooey creation that the menu optimistically called a breakfast burrito.

  “Ah, perhaps later.” Naranjo placed both hands around his Styrofoam coffee cup. “Tell me what you were able to discover.”

  “For one thing, I saw and heard the car. It’s an older Ford station wagon, just like Paulita Saenz said. Only one parking light works, on the left side. It’s the kind with the parking lights right on the end of the fenders, outside of the headlights.” She pulled a napkin out of the dispenser and rapidly drew a front view of the car. “Like that,” she said. “Its fenders look like cheeks, sticking out past the headlights. The headlights are stacked, not side by side.”

  “’Seventy-six Ford Crown Vic,” Torrez said.

  “With a bad muffler and bald front tires,” Estelle added. “One of the two men called the other ‘Benny.’ Paulita said that she thought the two men might have been Benny and Isidro Madrid. I have the piece of cholla cactus that they…or someone…used as a whip on Eurelio.”

  “I saw that,” Naranjo said softly.

  “I’m sure there’s enough blood on it that a DNA match won’t be hard,” Estelle said. “It’ll either be Eurelio’s or mine. And I found an expended shell casing, recently fired, of the same caliber as the one found earlier in Eurelio’s truck. I’m sure it carries some prints.”

  “I saw that,” Naranjo repeated, nodding.

  “It won’t be hard to do a match,” the sheriff said. “We already looked at the primer indentions under the stereoscope. I’d be willing to bet they’re the same. We’ll see what the state lab says. We lifted a couple partials as well.”

  “But we do not have the rifle,” Naranjo said.

  “No, we don’t.”

  “Deputy Taber tells me that she heard at least four shots.”

  Estelle nodded. “That’s correct. I was running across the open, and they shot at me several times. Four sounds about right.”

  “That was a considerable risk,” Naranjo said.

  “I guess so. Not as much of a risk as it would have been if I’d let them catch me.”

  “You had no weapon?”

  “No. Well, that’s not true. I had the azote. That would have been good for a swing or two.”

  Naranjo grimaced. “So tell me…do you think that this young Mr. Saenz will be able to identify his attackers? Are we sure they’re the Madrid brothers?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s still in surgery,” Torrez said. “A real mess.”

  “And whether he will talk to us or not is another question,” Estelle said. “He was pretty stubborn before.”

  “But the azote is a great motivator, don’t you think?” Naranjo said.

  “Certainly.”

  Naranjo idly turned his coffee cup, marking the rim with his fingernail as he did so. “Let me tell you what I have been able to establish since I saw you last. The Madrid brothers live in a small apartment in Asunción, but were nowhere to be found. Although there are many neighbors, I hesitated to talk with them just yet. Once you express an interest, you see…you understand how it goes. But the Madrids know that Eurelio Saenz is in your hands now. They know they have made a mistake. He can identify them. So…” He spread his hands. “They’re going to be most careful. I would not expect that they will remain at their home, waiting for us to knock on the door.”

  “If they were smart, they’d be in Texas already,” Torrez said. “Get rid of the car, cut their losses, and split.”

  “If,” Estelle muttered. “But there’s one other thing.”

  “And that is?”

  “They don’t know that Mexican authorities suspect them of anything. You spoke of the murder of Juan Carlos Osuna. If the Madrids were involved in that, and faked their way through the interview with your officers, then they think that they’re home free.”

  Naranjo nodded. “Unfortunately, the officers discovered nothing of suspicion.”

  Estelle nodded. “My point is that if it is the Madrid brothers who are involved with the homicides both north and south of the border, they have no way of knowing that we’ve made the connection…that we’re working together.”

  “In fact,” Naranjo said gently, “your little incident last night might help in that regard. That was not the sort of thing that a joint task force would undertake.”

  “They couldn’t know for sure who I was.”

  “No, I’m sure they don’t.” He pushed the Styrofoam cup away. “It appears that our first order of business is to find the Madrid brothers, no? Have a little chat with them.”

  “More than a little chat,” Torrez said.

  Naranjo flashed a humorless smile. “A manner of speaking. We’ll begin to tighten the net around their apartment in Asunción, and see where that leads us.”

  “I want to go along,” Estelle said quickly.

  Torrez’s face remained expressionless, but Naranjo tilted his head with interest. “I don’t need to tell you that in Mexico, you’re a welcome visitor…but you carry with you no official capacity.” />
  Estelle sighed. “No, Captain, you don’t need to tell me that.”

  “But perhaps there might be some advantages in our cooperative venture,” Naranjo said, and shrugged. “Perhaps so.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “You’re eager, then?”

  Estelle nodded. “Yep.” She picked at the corner of one of the small bandages on her right forearm, a fierce frown darkening her face. She turned to Torrez. “I meant what I said, Bobby. They’re not going to get away with any of this.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The plan was simple enough. Sheriff Robert Torrez and Undersheriff Estelle Guzman would drive one of the county units as far as the border crossing in Regál, leaving it and their weapons behind as they accompanied Capt. Tomás Naranjo into Mexico. Torrez was skeptical about going anywhere unarmed, but both he and Estelle knew it was an understatement when Naranjo reminded them that his Mexican troopers had “weapons enough for everyone.”

  Estelle was grateful to Naranjo for extending the invitation-it certainly was not required of him. In fact, if the Madrid brothers could be implicated first in the death of Juan Carlos Osuna in Asunción and then in the attempted murder of Eurelio Saenz on the Mexican side of the border, the arm of Mexican justice would bury them so deep that extradition to face charges in the deaths of the two woodcutters in Posadas County was probably neither a possibility nor a necessity.

  As they drove south on Grande Boulevard, Estelle noticed that the normally reticent Robert Torrez was even more quiet than usual. Perhaps he also had been mentally enumerating all the things that could go wrong when two American peace officers strayed south of the border. Whether by invitation or not, the arrangement was an informal one, depending entirely on the strength of Tomás Naranjo’s word.

  “I’d like to go through Maria,” Estelle said as they drove through the interstate underpass.