Wanda was dismayed at Hector’s appearance. He was a peculiar shade of gray, and was sleeping or unconscious. She bit back a cry, and went to stand beside him, picking up his limp hand. “Oh, Hector, what is wrong? What did they do to you, my husband?”
Wanda didn’t know whether to sit and pray or go to find a doctor to explain to her why Hector seemed worse, not better. She opted for the latter and turned to leave the room, almost running into one of the deputies as she did.
“Will you two back off?” she cried, piqued beyond her ability to be nice. “I’m not going anywhere while my husband is in here. You don’t need to be on my heels all the time.”
“Sorry, Wanda,” the other deputy, who had hung back, said. “We’ll try to stay out of your way.”
The first gave him a sour look, but backed away so Wanda could pass. “I have to follow you,” he said. “Orders.”
“Fine. Do it from ten feet back, or I swear I’ll hurt you,” she said. He backed away, no doubt remembering her performance with the scalpel yesterday. Her people didn’t take scalps, like their enemy the Apache used to, but maybe this man didn’t know that.
With her way cleared, Wanda started down the hall to the nurses’ station, where she asked for a doctor to check on Hector and help her understand his condition.
“Yes, ma’am,” the nurse replied. “Why don’t you go back and sit with him. I’ll send a doctor as soon as I can.”
Wanda did as suggested, scooting the chair near the bed again so she could hold Hector’s hand. His hand was so cold. She bit her lip and coughed as heartburn started, her breakfast sitting uneasy.
At least Jimmy was well away, if she could rely on Dylan, and she was certain she could. Maybe Dylan would make the trip over to Sells and bring her up to speed. She settled in to wait, falling asleep again, almost immediately.
FIFTY
Thurston took the drive to Sells again on Sunday, hoping to get more information from Wanda on what she was doing on the reservation, and maybe what she thought Chaves was doing last night. They seemed to be in cahoots, those two.
He couldn’t figure out exactly how they were connected to the murder of the old man in the national monument, which was his primary case, why Chaves would murder the old guy, or why Wanda and her husband had ended up the captives of one of the cartels. He hated to admit he was in over his head, but Tucson was on his back for results. If he didn’t deliver something soon, he’d have the brass over here meddling in his town again.
He went to the room where he’d last seen Wanda, to find it empty and clean, as if she’d been discharged. From there he raced to Hector’s room. Almost skidding around a corner, he slowed down when he saw his deputies down the hall.
Wanda must be there with her husband. Well, she was going to have to come out and talk to him, husband or no husband. When he got to the door, he made enough noise to wake her, earning a glare from both Wanda and the nurse who was walking past the room.
“Keep it down, sir, or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
Thurston shrugged and walked into Hector’s room. “Wanda, I need to talk with you some more. I’ve got your little playmate in jail. If you want to see him anytime soon, it’s time to come clean. I know you’ve been holding back.” It satisfied him a great deal to see her visibly startle at his words ‘in jail’.
Wanda glanced at her unconscious husband, squeezed his hand, and then walked past Thurston out of the room. “Let’s go to the cafeteria. I need some coffee.”
Thurston signaled his men to stay behind and followed Wanda. When they’d obtained their coffee and sat down at the table, Wanda spoke first.
“Just who do you mean by my little playmate, and why do you have him or her in jail?”
“Don’t try to play cute with me, Wanda. Dylan Chaves. He followed me to the Stars and Garters last night, cased my position, and then fled the scene. What was that about?”
Wanda was looking at him like he had two heads. “What are you talking about?”
Okay, so maybe Chaves was acting on his own. He still needed to know what was going on here on the reservation. He switched tacks and asked that question.
Wanda hesitated. Either she was working on her story or she was still puzzling over the first question. Thurston would have laid odds on the former.
“Kevin, you are making about as much sense as a two-year old reading a book upside down. I have no idea why Dylan would have followed you to that bar, or why you would have gone there yourself, but I’m sure whatever explanation he gave is the correct one.
“As for what’s going on here on the rez, I’ll tell you, but rest assured that I’m going to speak to your superior officer about you. You should already know, and if you don’t, you’re either incompetent or complicit. If I decide the latter, I’m calling Lt. Wells today.”
Thurston blanched at that threat. It was Wells who’d backed up the Wards and Wanda’s demand for a state police investigation into Alex’s kidnapping last summer. There was no love lost between them. “Tell me, then. What is it I’ve been so blatantly missing?”
“Only a cartel war going on under your nose, not to mention the fact that virtually every young troublemaker on the reservation has joined one of them. There’s a thriving heroin trade going on. My grandfather was murdered for hiding a brother — you would say cousin — of mine from the Kings, Los Reyes del Desierto. He went to negotiate with an enforcer to leave Jimmy alone, and was killed for his trouble.”
Thurston was thunderstruck. Of course he’d known that the border was like a sieve. But most of the young O’odham men? Could it be that widespread? That was the question he started with.
Wanda shook her head. “How much do you know about my people?” she asked.
“What everyone knows, I guess. I grew up around here.”
“You must not have been paying attention. I hear your department refer to ‘Latinos’ or ‘Natives’, as if there is a big difference. There isn’t, not here. The indigenous population of Mexico, just south of the border, are my people. Your border cut us in half. Didn’t you ever stop to wonder why so many of us have Latin surnames?”
“No. What does that have to do with anything?”
“It’s because we married among our villages. Some of us have Anglo names, and some Latino, but we’re all O’odham really.”
“So?” Thurston interjected.
“So now we can’t pass back and forth. No one cared about that border, until 1930 or so. We were free to mingle with our relatives and in-laws in both directions. Good God, we’ve been telling the government for several years now what was happening! No one does anything except tighten the border and build a fence. That made it worse!”
“Worse, how?”
“Worse, as in our young people are now turning to drug and human trafficking, just to survive economically. Your government shoots down proposals that would bring jobs to our communities, and our people either leave the reservation and diminish our numbers, or turn to illegal activity so they can afford to stay.”
“So, are you saying this relative of yours, this Jimmy, was one of them? Where is he now?”
“I don’t know. Dylan got him away from the reservation, for his own safety, after they found me with the Gilas.”
“So Dylan is Gila?”
“No, you idiot. Jimmy took Dylan with him to confront the Gilas that he suspected had Hector and me.”
“But they didn’t kill your grandfather?”
“No, that was Los Reyes.”
“Woman, you are making no sense at all. Where were you held? I need to pick those people up and start making sense of this whole thing.”
“Well, stop interrupting and I’ll make it make sense for you. There’s a piece I haven’t told you yet.”
Thurston pushed his chair back and paced around the table, making a show of pulling his hair out. Wanda sat impassively, which irritated him even more. When he finally calmed down, he sat and picked up his coffee, as if nothing had happe
ned.
“Are you done?” she said.
He ignored her. As if there had been no interruption, Wanda picked up her narrative again. “Jimmy said he had a few ideas about where I was. It was just lucky that the first one paid off. I’m not sure how he talked them into giving me up, but he and Dylan brought us to the hospital. That’s the last I’ve seen of either one of them. If you want to talk to the Gilas, you’ll have to get one of them to take you there.”
“And you don’t know who killed your grandfather?”
“Not specifically, no. Now that I know who Jimmy was running from, I assume that group killed Herman. But I don’t know a specific name. Chances are, he’s from across the border and beyond your reach now. That’s how they operate. It’s possible Jimmy could tell you.”
“If I can get immunity for him for all cartel business he’s been involved in until now, do you think he’d come in and talk to me?”
“Maybe, maybe not. It would depend on if he thought he could trust you to keep him safe from Los Reyes. Probably not. But, he may talk to you by phone. That would be up to him.”
“And if I charge Chaves with assisting a known criminal to escape?”
“Good luck making a case against Jimmy for anything. You didn’t even know his name, until I told you. Without a case against Jimmy, I doubt you can make a case against Dylan. If I thought you could, I wouldn’t have involved Dylan in the first place.”
“So you admit Dylan is involved?”
“Only with rescuing Hector and me, and giving Jimmy a ride to wherever he was going. Otherwise, he knew as little as you, until I told him.”
Thurston shook his head. It looked like he was going to have to make a deal with the devil to clear the murder. The rest he’d wash his hands of; it all took place on O’odham land as far as he knew. Let them deal with it.
FIFTY-ONE
Sunday Afternoon
To distract herself from waiting on Rick’s call, Alex had finally decided to work on her blog. Naturally, as soon as she started, the call came in. Thurston was out of town, and the deputy in charge of the holding area was willing to let visitors see Dylan. She had to admit that part of her reason to see him was curiosity. She’d never been inside that portion of the sheriff’s department building.
Rick told her to get there as soon as possible, before Thurston came back and put a stop to visitation. He’d been there already, and agreed with Dylan that the charge was completely bogus and possibly not legal. They were considering a false arrest complaint to Tucson, but there was still nothing to be done about Dylan being in jail until Monday.
It took her less than half an hour to get dressed and get to the cop shop, where a deputy she knew took her back to the visitation area. She was a little disappointed, having hoped to see the holding cells. Dylan waited for her at a small table.
It all seemed very different from the TV shows she’d seen, but then those usually featured large prisons, or at least county lockups from larger jurisdictions. Dylan wasn’t even cuffed or chained to the floor, or whatever they did with the really dangerous criminals.
“Hey Alex, thanks for coming.” He looked good, in spite of his night in jail. A scruff of beard changed his look just enough to send a thrill of danger - the sexy kind - through her body. Could he see her nipples peaked? That could be a problem...
“Hi, Dylan. I can’t believe you’re in here.” She didn’t know if it was permissible to touch him. The deputy was standing at the door, so she sat down without kissing Dylan. A shadow passed over his face, but when she looked again, it was gone.
“I can’t either. It’s total BS. Have you heard anything about Hector? Talked to Wanda?”
“I called her a little while ago, but the call went to voice mail. I left a message. So, what happened? I waited for you last night.”
Alex couldn’t help the hint of hurt that crept into her tone. She had waited. And then she’d gotten mad and gone to bed. Was that the reason Dylan was in jail? Or was him being in jail the reason he hadn’t made it back to her house?”
“I had some things to talk to mom’s nurse about. You know Ange.”
“Yeah, of course.”
“It was later than I realized when I got back to your house, and it looked like everyone had gone to bed. So I went to pick up something to eat, and while I was eating, I saw a sheriff’s unit head toward Stars and Garters. He didn’t come back, so I went to see if he needed help.”
“Wait, what made you think that?”
“I told you, didn’t I? There are a bunch of bikers hanging out there now. New people in town. Not very friendly. I talked to Ange’s boyfriend about them just the other night, and he was going to mention it to Thurston, so I felt responsible if anything happened, you know?”
“I guess. So anyway, what then?”
“I drove by, looking for the sheriff’s car, and found it sitting in the parking lot with a deputy in it. Couldn’t quite make out who he was - it was too dark. Anyway, he seemed fine, so I went on home. When I got there, Thurston was right behind me. He got in my face about what I was doing there, and one thing led to another. We don’t get along.”
“I’m aware” Her face was so expressive with the dry remark that Dylan laughed.
“Well, he decided to arrest me. When I asked on what charge, he said ‘suspicion of loitering’.”
“What? That’s ridiculous.”
“I thought so. Rick thinks so. He’ll straighten it out, but meanwhile I’m stuck here, and I’m worried about Wanda and Hector.”
“I’ll see what I can find out by calling the hospital. I guess I could run out to Sells if I need to.”
“If you do that, be careful. I’m sorry, Alex. I know we have stuff to talk about. It just doesn’t seem like this is the right place.”
“You’re right, it isn’t. It can wait. So, you’re all set? Rick’s going to handle everything... but what about work? Do you need me to call in for you?”
“Thanks, but Rick’s going to handle that too. You know what’s worse I’ve used so much personal time since I transferred here that I’m going to have to take unpaid family leave when the boys come to stay. And I still need to find an apartment, figure out how to get some furniture and stuff on top of everything else. I just don’t know how I’m going to do it all.”
“I’m sorry, Dylan. You spent part of that on me.”
“Oh, hey, I’d do it again, too. I’m not complaining.”
“Aren’t you? I have to get going, Dylan. I’ll try to find a way to get word to you about Wanda and Hector. See you tomorrow?”
Alex stood up, ignoring the stricken look Dylan was giving her.
“Lexi, don’t go!”
“I have to. Take care, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
FIFTY-TWO
Dylan watched Alex walk away, hoping against hope she would look back. She didn’t. The deputy showed him back to his cell, and he sat heavily on his bunk as the door slammed shut. What had he said? She hadn’t been all warm and loving when she walked into the visiting area, though Dylan could swear he saw signs of her being glad to see him.
But, she turned ice-cold after he mentioned... wait! He’d mentioned the time he’d taken off, everything he had to do to get ready for the boys... Could it be possible that she was jealous? Of his brothers? It made a weird kind of sense, as he thought about the fight they had last night. Except, you couldn’t call it a fight if one person just walked away.
He needed to get out of here, straighten this out somehow. Alex meant everything to him. How could she just walk away without caring? Had he made a mistake in thinking she felt the same way about him?
Dylan had never felt so helpless in his life, not even right after his accident. On cue, his arm began to ache. The pain served to distract him, though.
He never pursued an investigation into who had run him off the road last summer, or why. What if it was related? What if everything that happened in July, and everything that had happened so far this mon
th, were related? Would it explain why Alvarez was killed at ORPI? To cast suspicion on him? What did he know, or did someone think he knew, that would put a target on his back, and worse, on Alex’s?
“Hey!” he shouted, banging on the bars of his cell. “Someone! Anyone there? I need to make a phone call!” No one answered, despite the racket he was making. Frustrated, he punched the wall, sending a shock through his arm that made him immediately regret it. He needed someone to come and brainstorm with him, preferably Rick, Alex, or her dad, but he’d even take the deputy in the other room. “HEY!”
Without even a pen and paper to get his thoughts in order, Dylan started to list them in his head. What he really needed, besides people to help him with this, was a way to draw a mind-map of the facts, so they could be linked by lines. Maybe a pattern would emerge. He couldn’t do that in his head, though; the thoughts just scattered and he’d have to start over. With no other choice, he began to list what he knew for sure in sequence of when they happened.
First, he’d received word that his mother was terminally ill. As soon as he got to Dodge, he learned his brothers had been taken by DCS, and he couldn’t get them back without a signed affidavit from their father relinquishing his rights. Then, Rufio, their dad, turned up dead, but it took a while to find him and then to identify him.
As soon as the ID was made, Dylan was suspected of killing him, was run off the road and left for dead. Then, Alex was kidnapped, escaped murder attempts, twice, after she was returned, and the last time managed to gravely wound the attacker, who turned out to be a suspected cartel enforcer. That’s what tied this new murder, a little over three months later, to the incidents last month. Cartel.
Everyone who had been murdered or harmed, including Alex, was linked to Dylan in some way, even if he hadn’t known it at the time of the incident. Why? Was it just a coincidence, or did he know or have something of value he wasn’t aware of? Experienced cops would tell him there’s no such thing as coincidence.
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