“Yeah, I could see where that would enliven his evening,” said Armandariz, and she blew on her exposed fingers.
The locks clicked, and one door opened. Todd looked cautiously around the parking lot, and waved them in. He was a small man only an inch or so taller than Richard, but softly round.
“Todd, this is Dr. Armandariz. Doctor, Todd Aikens.”
“So pleased to meet you,” said Todd in a hushed tone as he pumped Armandariz’s hand.
“We can’t thank you enough for this,” Richard said.
“Not at all. I knew when I saw them I had to do something. They looked so sad.” He turned and led them down the hall.
Armandariz rolled her eyes at Richard and whispered, “What they look is dead.”
“You’re a cynic,” said Richard.
The bodies, discreetly draped with sheets, were laid out on tables. On shelves lay the mortician’s tools of the trade—putty, wax, jugs of bright pink and orange fluid. Richard stared at the neon colors in confusion.
“It takes a lot of pumped-in orange and pink to turn corpses back toward normal color,” said Armandariz.
Richard had been expecting the reek of formaldehyde, but the room smelled of a floral air freshener. Armandariz shed the parka, pulled a long apron and a pair of surgical gloves out of her case, and donned them. Next she set out her instruments. Richard leaned against a wall to watch.
But the Albuquerque coroner was skittish. She pulled down a sheet, then turned away to fuss with her instruments without ever looking at the corpse. She picked up a scalpel, then asked Todd about the prospects for the Colorado Rockies in the upcoming season. Richard watched closely, trying to analyze what was happening.
Armandariz flung down her scalpel. It hit the side of the table with a metallic ting and went bouncing away across the tile floor. Todd ran to pick it up.
“Todd, I’m really tired. You got anything with caffeine around this place?” the coroner asked.
“There’s coffee in the kitchen,” Todd answered, handing the scalpel back.
“Would you get me a cup? Black.” The mortician nodded. As soon as he’d cleared the room Armandariz rounded on Richard. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” she demanded.
“What do you mean?” said Richard, and he made his tone as noncommittal as possible.
Armandariz glared at him. “It’s going to sound crazy.”
“I won’t hold it against you,” Richard said.
She hesitated, then blurted out, “I can’t look at these bodies, and I’ve never had a problem looking at bodies. It’s like they’re repelling any kind of close inspection.”
Richard nodded. “I don’t think that’s crazy. I think it’s the only explanation for why a professional coroner would fail to autopsy homicide victims.” Armandariz stared at him. Richard stepped forward and took another pair of surgical gloves out of her case. He blew in them and pulled them on, working his fingers to smooth out any wrinkles. Taking the scalpel out of her hand, he said, “Tell me what to do. I’ll do it.”
“So you don’t feel it?” Richard shook his head. Armandariz glanced down at the girl’s body. Her eyes started to slide away, but she forced her gaze back to the neck wound. “Make a cut here,” she ordered curtly, and indicated the line with the tip of her finger. A trickle of sweat slipped from beneath the hair at her temple, and ran across her cheek.
Todd returned with the coffee. Armandariz took the cup and gulped down a large mouthful. The smell of the coffee was dark and bitter, vanquishing the floral air fresheners.
The flesh parted under the knife. “Hold it open,” she ordered. Richard clenched his teeth, worked his fingers into the cut and spread it open. Armandariz pulled a small, powerful halogen flashlight out of her bag and inspected the interior of the wound. She stepped back with a nod and pulled off her gloves with a sharp snap. “I’m done. You can have them,” she said to Todd.
“So, what did you find?” the mortician asked with an eager glitter in his eyes.
“Sorry, Todd, you’re not cleared for that,” Armandariz said portentously.
Todd managed to look both disappointed and excited at the same time. “This is big, isn’t it?” he whispered.
“Yes, X Files big, and we couldn’t have done it without you,” said Armandariz. The coroner closed her case and jerked her head toward Richard and the door.
Richard paused to shake Todd’s hand again. “Thank you again, and please, please, keep this entirely between us.”
“You can depend on me.”
Outside Richard sucked in several lungfuls of fresh air so cold it burned his throat. “So, what did you find?” he asked, repeating Todd’s question.
“They were shot post mortem, they need to be autopsied, and the cops need to look for somebody other than the bangers.”
“I don’t think they’re going to,” said Richard. “And here’s why.” He pulled the rolled-up papers from the pocket of his top coat and handed them to Armandariz. “This is a copy of the police report complete with the testimony from the only surviving gang member. Start at paragraph six.”
Armandariz pulled the flashlight out of her case. The powerful beam illuminated the page to a stark white. She read quickly, then looked over at Richard, and slapped the back of her hand sharply against the page. “I want to hear this straight from this pendejo’s mouth.”
“No,” said Richard. “You answered my question. You do not want to be involved in this.”
“The fuck I don’t! Get your ass in the car.”
Richard looked, shook his head. “We won’t be able to see him now.”
“Fine. We grab a hotel, get some sleep and see him in the morning.”
“Okay, but I’ll drive myself. I have my own car.” Richard waved toward his rental parked across the street.
“No. You are not ditching me.”
She had anticipated him. Richard felt his jaw slide forward, ready to fight, but then just sighed. He was secretly relieved to have someone else around to verify and document the craziness.
“Okay, just let me get my case.”
Richard retrieved his overnight case and tossed it into the trunk. He then opened the driver’s side door for the coroner, Armandariz gave him a strange look, then shook her head and got in.
It was partly because she was hungry and partly because she wanted to spend more time with the enigma that was Richard Oort that Angela Armandariz insisted they stop for food. They found a twenty-four-hour Carrow’s and were led by a frowning, gum-chewing teenager to a booth. Angela used the menu as a screen as she leaned across the table and said softly, “When I was her age I had to have the homework done and be in bed by ten.” He smiled and Angela felt dazzled. She realized this was the first time she’d seen the detective not looking stressed, confused, or grim.
“Careful, you’re showing your age,” he whispered back. “But I have to agree. Where are their parents?”
“And you be careful. You’re about to imply that women need to stay at home and raise the kids.” She shook a finger under his nose and he sat back like a startled puppy.
“No, not at all. I was raised in that kind of home, but my parents encouraged all of us to get an education and pursue our interests,” Richard said.
“And who’s all of us?”
“My two sisters. One’s a doctor and the other’s a lawyer.”
“And you didn’t become an Indian chief,” Angela quipped, and glanced at him from beneath her lashes to see how he would react. He chuckled.
“I’ve heard how you enjoy getting under people’s skin.” He paused and lined up his silverware. “Are you from New Mexico?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m a rarity—a native—a twelve-generation native, or thereabouts, at least on my mom’s side. I’m one of the crypto-Jews of northern New Mexico.”
He scanned her face as if searching for the joke. “I beg your pardon?” said Richard.
“Jews fleeing the Inquisition in Spain. A number of them fled
as far as was physically possible, which was the mountains of New Mexico. They were passing as Catholics, and over the years they became assimilated, but certain eccentric rituals survived. I can remember my great-grandmother bringing out the candles on Friday evening, covering her head and praying to the Virgin.”
“So are you Jewish or Catholic?”
“Neither. I flirted with converting to Judaism, but I found out it was just as shitty toward women as Catholicism so I opted for agnosticism. It seemed a safer bet than out-and-out atheism.”
She had touched some nerve. The policeman was looking grim again. Angela paused for a long sip of her coffee. “Look, if I’ve offended you … well, tough. Some people believe. Some don’t. I don’t.”
“It’s not that, it’s … well, it’s an odd echo of … well … things that are happening in my life,” Richard said.
“Want to talk about it?” Angela asked, and mentally kicked herself as she watched him shift down and away from her.
“No,” he said, tempering it with a smile. “I’d really like to hear about New Mexico before it became trendy.”
The teenager returned and they ordered. While they ate, Richard a salad and a glass of milk, Angela pancakes, eggs, ham, sausage and bacon, she launched into stories about the family, the big house on Rio Grande Boulevard, the ranch outside of Taos, the horses, crawdad hunting in the ditches. Her six siblings and her parents.
“It wasn’t easy for them,” she said. “Dad was in the Air Force, stationed out at Kirtland. The women in our family tend not to marry outsiders, and Dad was way outside.”
“Because he’s African-American?” Richard asked.
“Yeah. That whole Rainbow Coalition thing … not so much in New Mexico. The Hispanic and the black communities don’t generally mix.”
“But your last name is Hispanic.”
“My paternal grandfather was from Cuba. Like the Indians in New Mexico with their Spanish names, well, the same thing happened to the slaves in the Caribbean.”
“But your folks, they made it work? They’re still together?”
“Yeah.” Angela smiled fondly at the memories. “Love really can bridge all differences. Sorry, that sounds really corny.”
“I think it sounds nice.”
Angela grinned. “The irony is that Dad’s actually Jewish. His mom is Jewish.”
He insisted on paying, but didn’t make it about being a gentleman. “You came up here to help me out on a case. I’ll get reimbursed.”
While he took a tip back to the table, Angela checked the phone book for a nearby motel. She tried to figure out how he had dodged talking about himself, and kicked herself for babbling like a teenager. She studied his ass as he walked away, the cut of his coat across his shoulders, and gave herself permission to feel like a teenager. Richard tossed down the money, turned and started back to her. Damn, he was gorgeous and without the swagger that incredibly handsome men usually possessed. It was also nice that he wasn’t very tall. At five feet nothing she got very tired of always looking up.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yeah. I found a Motel Six,” she said.
“Excellent.”
He held the door for her again.
Richard could hear the television from Angela’s room next door. It stayed on for almost an hour after they checked in. He wondered if she’d actually be able to sleep after the three cups of coffee she’d drunk at dinner.
He had tried but each time he closed his eyes he saw the pale, slack faces of the dead, and replayed the conversations with their families. Soon they would be coming to Denver to collect their children and take them home. In the morning he would meet the sole survivor of the gun battle, a Hispanic kid who would undoubtedly be charged with felony murder, and there would be another grieving family to mourn the loss of a child. Whoever had actually murdered Alice, Naomi and Drew had a lot to answer for, and he was going to see to it that they did. Which meant he needed help.
He lifted his wallet out of the breast pocket of his coat and pulled out Kenntnis’s card. For a long time he sat on the foot of the bed holding his cell phone, staring at the card, and feeling his stomach clench down into a tight, painful ball.
Kenntnis answered on the first ring, and there was no hint of sleepiness in the voice.
“Okay, I’m with you,” Richard said without preamble.
“Why?” Kenntnis asked with equal directness.
“They killed those kids, at least three of them. We need to find the fourth, this Josh Delay. Perhaps you can make inquiries through less formal channels.”
“All right. You need to be careful. I think this Delay is the one who threw the spell at the building. He’s a pretty major sorcerer.”
The incongruity of the words seemed to beat in time with his throbbing headache. Richard covered his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“Do you think it’s the right thing to do?” Kenntnis asked.
“I don’t know what I feel … ,” Richard began.
“Don’t feel,” Kenntnis interrupted sharply. “I want you to think.”
“I’m human. I feel,” Richard said with matching sharpness.
“That’s fine, feel all you want on your own time. With me, you think,” Kenntnis replied.
Chapter TEN
The interrogation room at the county’s juvenile facility was painted a bilious shade of green. The predominant smells were disinfectant, coffee and bacon. Angela glared at Richard.
“Damn, you had an actual change of clothes.”
“Yes. What did you think I had in that bag?”
“I assumed you were like most cops and had a razor, a pair of socks and a pair of clean underwear.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“You just make me look bad. I hung my pantsuit up in the bathroom while I showered, and hoped,” Angela said.
“It didn’t work,” Richard said, but smiled.
“Yes, I know that.”
Shuffling footsteps and the rattle of metal on metal interrupted them. A guard escorted Danny Sisneros into the room. The guard removed the handcuffs but left the ankle fetters.
“Knock when you’re finished,” the guard said, and left.
Sisneros was a burly kid with a long scrawny neck, like a straw balancing the square head on broad, blocky shoulders. His prominent Adam’s apple bobbed up and down the length of throat like a cartoon character. His left leg was in a cast and thrust out stiffly along the side of the table. He stared at them bleary-eyed and kept rubbing his cheeks. The scratch of skin on stubble was loud in the interrogation room.
“Is this gonna take long, man?”
“No,” said Richard. “I just want to hear what happened night before last.”
“I didn’t shoot nobody,” Danny said with some urgency.
“We know that.”
“In fact, you got shot,” said Angela encouragingly.
The boy’s lower lip drooped in a pout. “Yeah, and somebody’s gonna pay for that. Not like you think,” Danny hastened to add.
He had that oh shit I shouldn’t have said that look that Richard had seen far too many times on suspects. Richard looked away toward the dingy pale green walls. He didn’t enjoy witnessing the general stupidity and low impulse control of most criminals. He couldn’t forget how much of it was due to trauma in the womb from drug-addicted mothers, and the violence and grind of poverty after they entered the world. Richard’s was not a popular view in law enforcement, which is why he kept it to himself.
“Maybe we’ll sue ’em,” Sisneros added belligerently.
“Yeah, you hold that thought, sport,” said Armandariz. “Now answer the nice policeman’s questions.” Richard threw Angela an exasperated look. She shrugged an apology.
“Please,” he said gently.
“We were dealing … like big surprise.”
Richard threw up his hand to stop the flow of words. “Have you said this before and have you seen an attorney?” He caught Angel
a’s look of surprise out of the corner of his eye.
“There was like shit all over the sidewalk, and the PD said the dope was like the least of my problems.”
“All right then, go on.”
“I was down the street about half a block on lookout. Everything seemed to be smooth. Johnny had the shit and Juan had the money. Then these Anglo assholes come walking around the corner at the other end of the street. Right into the middle of the deal. Next thing I know everybody’s shootin’.”
“And why was that?” Richard asked. “Did the Anglos do anything to provoke it?”
“I couldn’t see. Me, I think Juan decided they were cops and Johnny had ratted him out, so he pulled his piece.” He paused and massaged his face with his palms again. Richard waited and pinched his nose to briefly shut out the smell of scrambled eggs and old grease. “It was weird, though. Everybody else was diving for cover or running, but these dumb fucks just stood there in the middle of a gunfight.”
Richard stood. “Thank you, Danny.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes, thanks.”
Richard was pleased that Armandariz kept silent all the way back to the car. Dark gray and white clouds hung heavy in the sky and there was the smell of moisture in the air. He opened the driver’s door for Angela, but she paused, leaned her folded arms along the top and stared at Richard.
“Dead people don’t walk,” she said.
“I warned you not to get involved,” Richard replied.
“You’re pretty cool about all this.”
He didn’t respond, just stepped into the car. Armandariz turned on the ignition and backed them out of the parking space. The heater was roaring. “Let’s hope we can get to the airport before the snow hits,” she said.
“I’ve got to pick up my car,” said Richard. “Drop me back at the mortuary.”
As she climbed the narrow steps into the Mesa plane Angela cursed Richard mentally in English and Spanish. Despite her best efforts he had managed to ditch her. She had waited until the absolute final call for the flight and kept ringing his cell phone every fifteen minutes only to get his voice mail. She had finally left a message; simple, short and to the point. “I’m in. Like it or not, I’m in.”
The Edge of Reason Page 11