by Aimée Thurlo
“Envelope?”
“Yeah, one of those large manila ones with the string fasteners. The reason I noticed it was because of his son. RJ loves Mitch Landreth—Mitch the Missile, you know—star pitcher for the ’Topes. He was there in the afternoon, signing autographs before he left for the ballpark. RJ wouldn’t leave Mitch’s side, even after the autograph. Finally Robert came over and hauled the kid away.” He shook his head slowly.
“RJ must not have been too happy about that,” she commented, hoping to keep him talking.
“You’ve got that right. I was sitting under a tree, working on my second hot dog, when I heard Robert tell RJ to hand over that autographed roster Mitch had signed, that he’d keep it safe for him. RJ didn’t want to give it up, but Robert grabbed it away and started to put it in that big envelope. RJ reached for the envelope, and that got his dad really ticked off. He shoved the kid to the ground on his butt, then folded up the roster and jammed it into his shirt pocket. RJ was in tears by then. Robert just made it worse, yanking his son to his feet and telling him to quit acting like a girl.”
Leon scowled; then his expression turned to sheer loathing as he added, “He didn’t have a clue on how to raise a kid.”
Sister Agatha leaned back in her chair and fingered her rosary beads, her thoughts on what she’d just learned. “Robert may have had lots of money, but he sure wasn’t a happy man.”
Leon gave her a wry smile. “Maybe so, but money can usually make you comfortable in your misery.”
She smiled but said nothing for several long moments. At last she spoke. “Tell me, what actually happened to Robert after you turned him in to Sheriff Green?”
“I don’t know firsthand. All I can tell you is what I heard through the grapevine. Robert was advised to resign or risk an internal affairs investigation that would have undoubtedly gotten him charged and fired. When I found out that . . . what . . . five years later, he was running for sheriff, you could have knocked me over with a feather. Had he been elected, I would have sold my house and moved out of town for good.”
“Do you think he could have actually won?” Sister Agatha asked, wondering if someone else Robert had terrorized had decided to settle matters in his—or her—own way.
“Sheriff Green’s a good man, and most of us are very happy with the way he’s run his department. Robert would have kept throwing his money around and convinced some of the people, but the majority would have backed Sheriff Green. I’m pretty sure of that.”
“I guess we’ll never know now,” Sister Agatha said pensively.
After saying good-bye to Leon, Sister Agatha and Pax set out once again, going the back way to avoid passing by Victoria Garcia’s home a second time. What she needed most of all now was the opportunity to think, to assemble details in her mind and see what kind of picture emerged.
Close to the bosque and the river beyond, she decided to take a drive down the shady ditch bank road. As she passed a parked city pickup—one of a small fleet of vehicles that maintained the road and irrigation system—she waved to the driver. He was looking away at the moment, busy with something on the seat, and didn’t glance up, even though the motorcycle and sidecar usually attracted attention.
Sister Agatha drove slowly, not wanting to generate any dust or excessive noise. Several residences lined the bosque—a quiet, peaceful location close to nature. It was easy to think here, among the willows and flowers of the wooded area and surrounded by the musky scent of the river beyond.
In the tranquility of that setting she allowed her thoughts free rein. There was so much that still wasn’t adding up right, starting with Tom. Though Tom Green knew he could trust her, he was still holding something back. It just made no sense . . . unless he was protecting someone else. But who?
At the heart of all her unanswered questions was Robert himself—a former deputy with an explosive temper. She knew how he’d treated his wife, but there were probably others out there he’d intimidated, too. It seemed doubtful that Leon had been the only other person he’d ever threatened.
She then thought about Mike Herrera, another unknown in the equation. He had a connection to the Garcias in more ways than one, and he’d worked the food line that day at the park. Had he somehow drugged Tom so that the actual frame-up could be carried out with greater ease by his unnamed partner?
She then considered what she knew about Victoria. She liked younger men—or maybe it was just men in general. Stepping out on Robert could have been her way of getting back at the man who’d abused her.
That round of speculation brought her thoughts back to Tom and what he was holding back. Recalling Leon telling her about the envelope Robert had carried around on the Fourth, she now wondered if that was somehow the key.
From what she remembered, it hadn’t been on the list of items found at the scene. Logic assured her that if Robert hadn’t handed it to someone else prior to his murder, that envelope must have had some value to the killer. As she considered that possibility, she remembered that Tom had been very eager to see the list of everything found at the crime scene, but he’d never mentioned seeing any envelope . . .
Sister Agatha continued down the ditch bank at fifteen miles per hour, looking ahead for the next road leading away from the river. Behind, in her side mirror, she could see the white city truck closing the gap between them slowly. Knowing the access road was just ahead, she maintained her leisurely pace. She’d be out of his way soon enough.
As she reached the small bridge that crossed the ditch, she saw someone sitting on one of the big logs that comprised part of the traffic barrier. Beside it was a narrow opening in the fence with a log in the way that only people on foot or horseback could negotiate to enter the bosque. She slowed to turn left, toward town, and suddenly realized that the person sitting on the log was Scout.
She waved to get his attention, and, seeing her, Scout walked out to the edge of the road. This time he didn’t run away. Praying he wouldn’t change his mind, she slowed and pulled over to the right side of the road, braking to a stop about fifty feet from him.
Suddenly she heard an engine roar and, as she turned her head, saw the white city truck accelerating. It was moving so fast, it was losing traction and peeling out in the gravel and dirt. She placed a hand on Pax and prayed as the truck with the city logo on the side whipped past her, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. In a heartbeat, the pickup swerved, heading straight toward Scout.
“Look out!” she yelled, but by then Scout was already running down the road.
Realizing he had no chance of outracing the pickup, he dove headfirst over the fence into some brush, then bounced about ten feet. Scrambling to his feet, he took off through the waist-high shrubs, zigzagging his way in the direction of the river.
The truck, unable to follow, came to a sliding stop. There were two quick, loud pops, like gunshots; then the driver took off again down the road.
Sister Agatha, her heart pounding like a drum, saw Scout veer to his right, putting more distance between himself and the shooter, who’d come to a stop again. The pickup started to turn around, but Scout had vanished into the bosque.
Instantly aware that she was now the closest target to an armed man moving in her direction, Sister Agatha whipped the Harley around and raced away from the ditch road. As she glanced back in the side mirror, she saw the city truck hurtling back up the road, racing past the spot where she’d been only seconds earlier.
Knowing that Scout was still in danger, Sister Agatha reached for her cell phone and quickly dialed the sheriff’s department. In a matter of minutes she heard the wail of a siren. A car must have been nearby. When she looked back toward the bosque, the white city truck was no longer visible.
It was midafternoon by the time the sheriff’s department’s search for Scout and the gunman came to an end. To her own great disappointment, she hadn’t been much help. She hadn’t seen the license plate number, nor looked closely enough at the driver to get more than a vague im
pression of a short-haired man behind the wheel. Things had happened too fast.
After making her statement, Sister Agatha had remained at the station, hoping to learn something new about the city truck. After all, there were only a limited number of those around. Her hopes were dashed when Millie came into the office where she’d been invited to take a seat.
“I’ve got some news on that truck,” Millie said. “It was stolen earlier today from Al Russo’s driveway. The mayor used it to visit a construction site yesterday evening and dropped it off at Al’s, asking him as a favor to return it to the city yard this morning. Al didn’t notice it was missing until it was time for him to drive to his office.”
“Why didn’t he report it missing right away? You just got the news, right?” Sister Agatha wondered aloud.
“He reported it to the city motor pool, and they filed a report with us a couple of hours ago. The problem was that Al assumed that the mayor had sent someone else to pick it up. Al had apparently made a fuss about not being anyone’s errand boy, since he had morning meetings of his own. For that reason the motor pool decided to follow things up with the mayor before reporting it to us, but JD was in a meeting in Albuquerque. Rather than make a police report and embarrass him, they waited.”
“I was hoping that this lead would actually go someplace,” Sister Agatha said with a soft sigh. “The thief got lucky. Circumstances bought him some valuable time.”
Millie gave her a sympathetic tap on the shoulder. “Sister, it looks like you could use something cold to drink. Why don’t you and I take a few minutes off?”
Sister Agatha knew Millie well enough to instantly recognize the change in her tone. Although it had been made to appear like a casual invitation, it was anything but that.
As soon as they reached the break room, Millie glanced inside, then, shaking her head, took Sister Agatha down the hall. She led her all the way to the small office situated next to the evidence room and closed the door.
“We’ve got new information on the case, and I wanted to pass it along,” Millie said, keeping her voice low. “It appears that both Robert and Sheriff Green were drugged with benzodiazepines, though Robert didn’t have quite as much in his system as the sheriff did. A tox screen was done using organ and tissue samples taken from the deceased. Doug Sanchez, the sheriff’s attorney, insisted on the test. He’d initially hoped to find too much alcohol in Robert’s system—something that would precipitate aggression and support the claim of self-defense—but this is even better for Sheriff Green. It strongly suggests a third person was involved.”
“Right. The drug was in the relish, yet no one else was drugged, apparently, so that means only those two men were targeted,” Sister Agatha said, thinking out loud. “Only one answer makes sense and clears up all the apparent inconsistencies. A third person wanted both men out cold so he, or she, could stage the scene and frame the sheriff.”
“It works, but you’ll still need to find a way to prove it. Lawyers can argue that the sheriff purposely ingested the drug. As part of our investigation, we’ve already spoken to Mike Herrera and Arnold Cruz—Cruzer—who served the hot dogs that day, but we’ve got nothing.”
Sister Agatha thought about Mike Herrera and Cruzer. Mike had given her all he was going to for now, but Cruzer . . . now that he’d had time to think about things, perhaps he’d remembered something else that might turn out to be helpful.
After leaving the station, Sister Agatha stopped by Tom’s home. No cars were there, however, and no one answered her knock. Hoping that Tom was only out on a short errand, she drove around for a bit, then returned. The driveway was still empty. She then called him on the cell phone, but all she got was voice mail.
It was long past dinner at the monastery when she decided to stop at the community center on her way home. She wasn’t sure which days Cruzer taught, but she did remember something about evening classes for adults.
Hearing an unexpected clicking noise coming from the sidecar, Sister Agatha pulled off to the side and checked the tire. A big piece of gravel had wedged in the tread. All in all, a simple fix. She dug it out with a screwdriver she took from the cockpit, then remounted.
“I bet you’re hungry, too, by now, Pax,” she said to the dog, who’d been incredibly patient all day. “Don’t worry. We’ll eat when we return home, and it won’t be long now.”
Pax snorted and gave her a haughty look.
“Hang on just a little while longer,” she said, switching on the ignition again. “We’ve got work to do. Others are counting on us.”
15
SISTER AGATHA ARRIVED AT THE COMMUNITY CENTER A short time later. The parking lot was full, and from the sign in front and the sound of big band music, she knew immediately it was senior dance night.
She drove around to the far side of the building, found a space, and parked. She could hear the music and laughter coming from inside and smiled. Life went on no matter how grim things appeared to be at times, and the realization soothed her.
As Sister Agatha walked along the sidewalk toward the front of the building, Pax at her side, a flicker of movement on her right caught her attention.
“Pssst!”
As Sister Agatha glanced around, the hair on Pax’s neck and back rose and he growled.
Sister Agatha snapped the leash. “Quiet.”
“Psst! Over here,” came a soft voice.
Scout, wearing his familiar cap and handkerchief, stepped out from behind a juniper.
Sister Agatha smiled, walking slowly over to join him in the building’s shadow. “I’m so glad we’ve run into each other again. Are you all right? I was so worried when I heard those shots today!” she said quickly.
He shrugged.
She looked behind him and saw an opened trash bag on the ground beside the large Dumpster. Sister Agatha watched as he started to rummage through it.
“Let me go inside and get you some food,” Sister Agatha said.
“No.” He fished out a half-eaten burrito, then finished it in two bites. “See? They waste good food. Do you want me to find something for you and your dog?”
“No, that’s okay,” she said quietly, wishing he’d let her help.
“You helped Scout. Now tell me how Scout can help you.”
“I need to know what you saw on the evening of the Fourth, the day of the fireworks, over by the swings,” she said.
Wiping his hand on his pants, he nodded. “The sheriff yelled at that other man. Called him lots of bad words. Then the sheriff fell down, like he was dead. The other man looked at him, then fell down, too.”
“Did anyone else come up to them?”
“There were two people,” he said, “wearing caps like mine, but red. The tall one saw me, but I can run faster. He couldn’t catch Scout. Now he’s looking for me. He wants Scout dead.”
“What about the other person with the cap? What did he do?”
“He watched the other one, but didn’t chase me.”
“Were they together, then?” Sister Agatha asked.
“I don’t think so. The short one was following the tall one, hiding like me.”
“Scout, come with me and tell the deputies what you saw. They can keep you safe.”
He shook his head. “No. You tell them. People . . . they think Scout should be more like them, but I see they’re not happy. They worry all the time. Scout’s free.”
Before she could say anything else, he hurried away with the bag, disappearing around the far corner of the building.
She ran after him, having to restrain Pax a bit. When they reached the rear of the building, Scout had vanished.
Pax pulled at the leash, wanting to give chase, undoubtedly picking up the scent. Sister Agatha snapped him back until he sat next to her. “I know, I can smell him, too, but he’s helped us all he can, Pax. Let him be.”
Like most of the homeless, Scout was a whisper in the night, a rustle in the wind. Freedom came in many guises. Scout had found his in movement
and in the long shadows that shielded him from the world he’d left behind.
Lost in thought, Sister Agatha went in the front entrance and soon learned that no classes were being held that night. As she returned to the motorcycle, a new idea formed in her mind. With luck, Chuck would still be at the newspaper office, working on the morning edition of the Chronicle.
Instead of heading home, Sister Agatha drove quickly to the small downtown office building not far from the sheriff’s department. She smiled as she pulled up, seeing Chuck’s beat-up sedan parked next to the entrance. Taking Pax, she knocked on the door. A few seconds passed; then there was the click of a lock, and Chuck poked his head out.
“Hey, Sister! Pax! Thought I’d heard the Harley. You two working late tonight?”
“You bet, and I need your help. Can I see the photos you took at the park on the Fourth one more time, Chuck?” she asked.
“You got it! Come on in.”
Once she was seated at a table, he placed the file in front of her. Then, before she could look inside, he pulled a large submarine sandwich out of a paper bag and set it on the desk.
“How about splitting this with me, Sister? I’m not hungry enough for a footlong tonight.”
“By all means let’s not let it go to waste,” she said with a smile. “I’ll split my half with Pax, if that’s okay with you,” she added, and the dog barked.
While they were eating, she got Chuck caught up on the latest. Then, after they’d finished, Sister Agatha began to study all the photos that included Robert Garcia.
As Leon had mentioned, several of the photos showed Robert carrying a large manila envelope tucked under one arm. In a few others, he had the envelope in his hand. Upon closer inspection, they were able to determine that there was no writing or label on it.