The chief leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, not interrupting or contributing to the conversation, but listening intently.
“Slender, about five foot eight inches. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark attitude.” Meg sank into the chair Tom had offered her.
“What do you mean by that?” Chief Hudson asked.
Meg sat for a few seconds trying to gather her thoughts. Finally, she shook her head. “I’m not sure I can explain, except to say that he has a negative, doomsday attitude about everything from homework to world peace. He was difficult in the classroom. God knows I tried, but he was closed up inside tighter than a computer file with dozens of passwords. I always felt I was saying the wrong thing to him. I’m not even sure he’s still in school.”
“Can we find out?” Bret took the yearbook from Tom when he handed it off and pointed at a picture.
Chief Hudson leaned forward to take a look. “I’ll call Nate Marsh and see what he knows.”
She tapped Bret’s arm to get his attention. “You remember the girl I told you I’d seen Esteban with?”
“Yeah. You didn’t know who she was.”
“I might have a possibility. Travis says that Tobias is dating Tawni Weaver. She’s Duggan Weaver’s daughter. He owns the salvage yard. They live next door to Rory. She might be the one. I can’t swear to it without seeing her hair again, but it’s possible.”
“Anything else?” Tom asked.
“Only that Travis said the four of them used to hang around at school, walking the halls together, dressing alike in dark clothing and looking for trouble. I hadn’t heard anything about that, so it may have been something that developed through the school year. They aren’t in any of my classes and I’ve never had any of them in detention during Saturday school either, so I can’t answer to any of that. Mr. Marsh might know.”
“We know for sure Esteban is involved,” Tom said. “We got his fingerprint back from the trailer today. They matched the fingerprint we took at Diego’s.”
“So, we need to find Esteban.” Chief Hudson nodded. “He’s the thread we need to pull that will cause this whole setup to unravel.”
Bret reached for his crutches, a grim expression on his face. “And he knows who hit me. That person I want to have an up close and personal conversation with.”
Meg felt a little sick to her stomach as she looked at the expressions on the three men’s faces and remembered the blood in the emergency room. Fear rose up and choked her.
“I need to go. Let me know what you find.” She rushed from the room, ignoring the surprised look on her brother’s face and the confusion on Bret’s. It was the best time to beat it, before she shattered like a crystal champagne flute and embarrassed Bret. She rapidly made her way out of the building and back to her car.
This was her town and she felt like a black cloud had descended on it. A thunderhead hovered over the community, menacing and threatening to destroy its goodness. All that was juxtaposed with her love for Bret, her desire to be tough and not ask him to change his mind about their relationship, and her pride in her school and her students. Such a mixed mess of thoughts and ideas and she couldn’t make sense of any of it.
She started to drive. Not wanting to go home, she drove up and down the streets of downtown and finally found herself on the road to Chad’s farm. By the time she turned into the long driveway to the farmhouse, she’d settled somewhat. Chad’s truck and Robin’s car were parked on the carport. She hadn’t called, but she was going to drop in anyway. She’d play with Boo and Lindy, talk about pumpkins and planting and babies and brush these jittery feelings away.
She’d done her job. The rest was up to Tom and Bret.
Meg pulled into the driveway at Bret’s. Bret’s conversation with his mother had been eating at her for four days. She hadn’t called first, but she’d taken the precaution of driving by the police department first and his truck hadn’t been there. When she dwelled on it, Bret’s behavior over the last few days raised her ire faster than water through a sprinkler. After giving him the information from Travis, she’d gone to Chad’s, then back to his house. He’d been home by then and insisted he was fine and could take care of himself. He didn’t want her to stay over anymore. She’d been upset and frustrated, but had acquiesced to his request. She’d gone back to school the next morning.
But the issues were bigger than hurt feelings at being told to go home. He’d closed himself off from her. There’d been no phone calls, no together time, and no sex. He’d had this excuse and that excuse, but never a solid explanation.
All because, she surmised, she’d spoken to his mother.
She got out of the car and slowly walked down the sidewalk to the front door. She knew what she’d promised. No strings sex. She knew he’d been busy following up on what Travis had told her, but she couldn’t stay away. She kept coming around to one thing. She needed answers as to why he was so adamant about no relationship or marriage. She knew nothing about his family and his relationships with them. Before she judged, she needed to talk to him. Maybe his comments to his mother had been as simple as not wanting her to have the information. She could certainly understand that.
But how he’d talked to his mother still gave her chills. He’d been so cold.
If he’d gone about business as usual after the conversation, Meg probably wouldn’t have thought anything of it. Instead, now he was treating her with the same indifference he accorded his mother in their conversation. She couldn’t let that pass.
On the porch, Meg rang the doorbell. No one answered.
She rang it again. She wasn’t going home without talking to him.
She heard hobbled footsteps on the other side of the door, the lock clicked and door opened. He wore gray shorts and T-shirt. His feet were bare. His face was creased as if he’d been sleeping.
Meg pushed her way into the house, giving him no time to think or make excuses. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Where are your crutches?”
“I didn’t need them for down the hall. What are doing here? What time is it?”
“Nearly seven. Dinnertime.” She perched on the arm of the recliner, close enough for him to bend to kiss her. He didn’t. “I need to talk to you.”
He carefully made his way around her and to the sofa. “More information for the robberies?”
“No.” Meg bit her lip. She didn’t expect it to be so hard to bring it up. “How’s your mother?”
Bret stiffened and gave her a cautious stare. “Why?”
“I talked to her for a second the other day. She seemed desperate to speak with you.” She swung off the arm and sat properly in the chair.
“She’s always desperate to speak to me.” He made his way to the sofa and sat.
“You two don’t get along?”
“What’s with the twenty questions?” He lifted his injured leg to the coffee table.
Meg chose her words carefully. “You never talk about her or any of your family for that matter.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he snapped. “I don’t have other family. Only my parents. They live in California. I live here. End of talk.”
Meg rose and walked to the sofa. She sat down beside him, leaving little room between them to see what he’d do. “I thought maybe she’d upset you.”
He looked down at her, but didn’t move away. “Why would you think that?”
“Because you aren’t acting like...you!” She snapped her mouth shut, frustrated with trying to be diplomatic.
“I’m tired, Meg, and my knee is killing me. Why don’t you spit out what you want to ask?” He leaned back and closed his eyes.
She itched to caress his face or to punch him, anything that would dissolve this neutral attitude.
He opened his eyes. “I’m waiting.”
“You said you’re fine. That you didn’t need me here. But you are not fine. You haven’t called. We haven’t spent any time together. You aren’t talking. You’ve closed yourself off. Away from me.
Why?”
He sat forward, a hard expression on his face. “We don’t have that kind of relationship Meg. Remember?”
“What kind? The kind where we talk to each other, respect each other? Or the kind where we just have sex? Doesn’t respect enter into this anywhere?”
“I respect you.”
“Not since I talked to your mother. You’re shutting me out.”
Bret’s lips pressed together in a grim line. His silence demonstrated most effectively that she should stay on the outside of his emotions looking in.
“Explain it to me, please.” She hated her begging tone, but couldn’t help it.
“I made the decision about relationships long ago. It’s what works for me. There’s nothing else to explain. I told you that and you agreed.”
She sat silent for a minute, the need for more from him rode her. It was damn hard to turn away. “I did agree. I’m just trying to understand. Is it because of your mother?”
He stood and moved away from her, hands fisted at his side. “Partially. She’s not like your mother. Not like your family, Meg.” He gripped the window casing and stared out his front window. “You don’t know the woman. She’s difficult and demanding. Shrewish and unreasonable.”
He stopped for moment and ground his teeth. “If I wanted to talk about her with you, make any other explanations, I would have. I don’t.”
“Fine.” Meg bit her tongue, on the brink of saying things she couldn’t take back. She had promised him she could accept his position before she’d gone to bed with him. Arguing now would be a wasted effort. “I guess I’ll go home.”
“Why don’t you.” He didn’t turn, didn’t move. She let herself out, hoping he’d stop her.
He didn’t.
Ten days later, Bret was off his crutches, favoring his knee and on desk duty. He hated it. Hot weather had arrived early, burning off the sweetness of spring and promising a taxing summer. School would be out in four weeks. The entire department felt the pressure to track Esteban and Rory Cook. They hadn’t been at home since Meg had brought them her information. Rory’s mother claimed they’d gone camping near the reservoir. Rory evidently had dropped out of school about the same time as Esteban.
Tawni Weaver was in school and claimed to know nothing about either one of the boys, but according to Mr. Marsh she had a penchant for lying. Bret had been in on that conversation and agreed.
Tobias Gordon was a blond-haired, spoiled kid, who expected the world to fall at his feet without so much as a finger lifted to push it there. When questioned about the robberies and his whereabouts, his aunt fiercely defended him, and wouldn’t let him answer.
All they had were Esteban’s fingerprints and suspicions about the other three, wrapped up in a jumble of information that was only beginning to form a case against them. Meg’s information had turned the tide. Again.
Meg. He couldn’t think about her. Hadn’t seen her since they’d argued about his mother over a week ago. He’d been a complete and total bastard. He’d just gotten off the phone with his mother for the third time that day when Meg had shown up. He hadn’t been in the best of moods and then she wanted to talk about it. She might as well have brought a whip and beat him senseless. It would have finished the job his mother started on him.
He kept trying to convince himself that not seeing her was a good thing and he was failing miserably. He’d broken down and gone to dinner on Sunday. It had been a disaster. Stuck next to each other at the dinner table, they’d barely talked.
In a mood that was getting fouler by the minute, Bret tossed his pen on the table and went to the coffee pot. There’d been another robbery yesterday—Lora Allister. Sophomore. No fire this time and nothing taken, but absolute destruction. It was almost as if the robberies were becoming incidental to the vandalism.
The mood at the department was tense and foul. His included. He was still damned embarrassed and furious about his injury. He wanted in the worst way to catch up with Esteban and discover who had whacked him behind the house. A charge of assaulting a police officer would go a long ways toward making him feel better.
Dana poked her head in the day room. “Lopez called in. Guess who he and Parker just cornered at Sal’s Grocery?”
Bret swiveled so fast his knee gave. “Rory?”
“Nope. Esteban. He was trying to shoplift. Sal caught him and reported it. They are bringing him in.”
Bret wanted to shout with elation. “Thanks, Dana. Finally a break.”
She grinned and went back to her job.
Bret limped down the hall in slow measured steps and knocked on the chief’s door. “We’ve got Esteban.”
“Where?”
“Lopez and Parker picked him up shoplifting at Sal’s.”
“Get Applegate in here. He’ll want to be here for the questioning.”
Bret nodded and reached for his cell phone, glad the chief was in agreement. He’d already decided to disturb Tom on his day off, knowing he’d want to be involved.
Call made, Bret went back to the day room and waited. It was only ten minutes from Sal’s to the police department, but it seemed like three times that before he heard the back door open. He rose and looked down the hall. Rafe Lopez shoved a gangly, dark-haired, handcuffed teenager into the hallway followed closely by Matt Parker. The kid was dirty, with snake-mean eyes, and a defiant stance. Parker opened the holding cell and Lopez pushed the kid inside.
Bret went to stand near the cell and stared at the kid. This was definitely the kid he’d chased in the trailer park out by the reservoir. “How’d you catch him?”
Rafe grinned. “I didn’t. Sal did. Esteban here thought he could lift some steaks and walk out with them under his jacket. Stupidity with that old man working the store. He had a baseball bat, nearly took the kid’s head off, then trapped him in the meat cooler when he tried to get away. He did all the work for us.”
Bret shook his head. Esteban sat on the edge of the bed in the holding cell and glared, his chin jutted out, his feet tapping the floor almost like a boxer dancing in the ring.
“This is going to get interesting,” Bret muttered under his breath.
The back door opened again and Tom walked in dressed in jeans, a white shirt, and a grey herringbone sports coat.
“You’re dressed up,” Bret commented.
“Appointment at Spooner’s Realty. Trying to buy a house.”
“Find anything?”
“No.” His tone was short and clipped. Bret raised his eyebrows, but Tom didn’t elaborate. Instead, he peeked into the holding cell, his face forming a hard line as he took in Esteban’s body language. “I wasn’t about to miss this.”
Chief Hudson came down the hall. “Let’s get him into the conference room and have a chat. Parker, do the paperwork and let’s get him booked.”
The young officer looked disappointed that he couldn’t participate in the questioning, but went on to the dayroom. There would already be three cops in the room, a slight overkill with a kid this age. Bret looked at the kid again and changed his mind. Maybe intimidation and overkill were going to be their best friends in this interrogation.
Lopez opened the cell and transferred the sullen teen to the conference room. He handcuffed the boy to the chair.
Chief Hudson started them out. “You know your rights?”
“I read them to him when we arrested him,” Lopez said, and left.
The kid stared straight ahead and didn’t reply.
“Just so we understand each other, you are seventeen and in this state that makes you an adult, makes you chargeable as an adult.” The chief read him his rights again.
The boy had the right to remain silent mastered.
After he finished, the chief nodded at Bret. He pulled up a chair and sat across the table from Esteban, debating how to crack the boy and get him talking.
“Here’s the thing, Esteban. You’re going to be charged with shoplifting and evading a police officer. More importantly, we’ll add
accessory to assaulting a police officer to your charges. That’s for starters.”
Esteban shrugged.
“That’s a felony. You’re going to prison.” The kid snarled, but still didn’t reply. “You’ve been out of school.” It wasn’t a question, but the boy shrugged again. Bret took that as his ‘yes’ answer.
“Do you know Rory Cook? Been staying with him?”
A twitch replaced the shrug, and a look came over his face. The defiance was gone. Bret couldn’t quite put his finger on what replaced it—fear, confusion, frustration. A falling out among thieves maybe?
“Rory’s Mom said you went camping together?”
He gave a half snort and found a speck on the wall to stare at.
“Where did you go? We’ve been checking with your uncle and your mother. You haven’t been either place. Not since we found you there the first time.”
Esteban leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.
“You know who hit me? Was it Rory?” The teen smirked and transferred his stare to the crack near the ceiling.
Bret swallowed a bucket load of anger and tried to detach emotionally. He wanted to shake the kid until he got the needed answers. He drew a calming breath and reminded himself that this was as much for the community as it was for him. “Wasn’t Rory? Then who? You cooperate here, we might be able to do something about these charges. Get yourself a second chance.”
“A second chance to do what?” The boy finally spoke, anger thick in his words.
“Get a reduced sentence in a minimum security, finish your education, start over when you get out and make something of yourself.”
The kid’s lip curled.
“Or not. I’m just as happy with charging you with a felony. First strike and all. Some serious prison time will give you time to think. Cooperate and we can help you.”
Esteban spit across the table. “I didn’t hurt you. I was running.”
“Yeah, but you know who did. Was it Rory?” He shook his head, the strange look coming to his eyes again.
Bret decided to take another track. “Diego James.”
Echo Falls, Texas Boxed Set Page 35