A few minutes later, they walked into the small doctor’s office. A woman in her early thirties greeted them. “I’m Sophia Hayes, the secretary. Dr. Barnard said to show you on back to where we have the body.” Her eyes teared and she sniffed. “I’m sorry. I’m friends with Ina’s mother. She’s just devastated.”
Gisella’s heart ached for her pain. “We’re going to find who did this to her.”
The woman shrugged. “I hope so, but it still won’t bring Ina back.”
“No. No, it won’t.” They walked down a small hallway that connected to a locked door. Ms. Hayes swiped her card and stepped inside a room. The temperature dropped by ten degrees. “She’s in there.” She pointed to the wall that held three oversized drawers. Only one had a label.
Brock thanked her.
“Sure.” She frowned and paused.
“What is it?” Gisella asked.
“Well, you wouldn’t be here to claim the body, so if you don’t mind me asking…why exactly are you here?”
“We’re here to see what the medical examiner finds.”
A brow lifted. “Medical examiner?”
Gisella shot a look at Brock. “Yes, he’s coming in this morning from El Paso to gather evidence from her to see if there’s anything that will help track down who killed her. Didn’t the sheriff or Pop explain this when they brought the body in last night?”
“Well, I wasn’t here last night and no, no one explained anything. I just found a note on my desk saying you two would be in this morning and to accommodate you as necessary.”
“Okay, so there wasn’t anything about the ME coming from El Paso?”
“No, nothing.”
Brock stepped forward. “It doesn’t matter. As long as he can get the evidence we need, the lack of communication isn’t an issue.”
“Um…I’m afraid it is.” Sophia swallowed. “Ina’s already been cleaned up and prepared for the autopsy.”
“What?” Gisella nearly yelled the word. Taking a deep breath, she blew it out then said, “What do you mean cleaned up? She wasn’t supposed to be touched.”
The woman paled. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I called Mrs. Delgado, the mortician, who also works as the autopsy team this morning like I always do when we have a death. I told her about Ina and she came right away. She always comes in around 5:30 in the morning before Pop goes in to the restaurant. She stays with Pop’s wife during the day because she can’t be left alone.”
“So, Mrs. Delgado’s already come and gone.”
“Yes.”
Gisella placed a hand on her head and paced from one end of the room to the other. “Great.”
Brock rubbed his chin. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now. Have the ME come on back when he gets here. Maybe she missed something and he’ll find it.”
Ms. Hayes nodded. “I’m so sorry. I truly didn’t know.”
Gisella offered her a gentle smile. “It’s not your fault.” Pop should have been a bit more clear in his note, she thought.
A buzzer sounded and Ms. Hayes said, “That’s the signal someone’s come in. I better check and see who that is.”
She started out the door when the sheriff appeared in the hall. He entered the room. “Well? The ME get here?”
Brock rubbed his eyes. “No, but it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t look like we’ll be needing his services after all.”
“What?” Twin creases appeared in Sheriff Johnston’s forehead as he frowned. “What do you mean?”
They explained.
A red flush crept up into his cheeks and his eyes narrowed. “Who gave the order that the body was to be prepared for burial?”
Ms. Hayes shrugged. “No order, Sheriff. You know I always notify Mrs. Delgado if there’s a death. I call her or send her a text when we have a body and she comes on over to do her thing.”
The sheriff blew out a sigh.
Before he could say anything more, a buzzer sounded. Ms. Hayes jumped. “That’s the front door again. I’ll get it.”
Gisella looked at Brock. “The ME, probably.”
“I’ll fill him in on everything.” Brock left the way they came in.
While she waited for Brock, Gisella examined the room. Small, yet functional. It fit the size of the town.
One thing that caught her attention was the large board that covered one wall of the room. She walked over to it. What was it?
Boot Hill Cemetery in big capital letters graced the top. As she studied it, she realized it was the cemetery blueprint. With small squares containing letters.
Plots? Already in use or ones bought for the future?
The door opened behind her and she turned to see Brock enter with the medical examiner from El Paso. Brock said, “This is Horatio Chavez. I already told him what happened with the body. He said he’d give her a once-over anyway.”
Pop lumbered in and moved to the drawer with the label. After pulling on a pair of gloves, he grasped the handle and said, “I’m real sorry about the mix-up. Sometimes communication around here isn’t the best.” He slid her out.
Ina Jaramillo.
Gisella drew in a deep breath and studied the poor girl.
The ME pulled on his gloves and got to work.
Brock and Gisella watched. Horatio looked up. “I’m going to be a little while. You want to come back in about an hour or so?”
Gisella sighed. “Sure.”
As they headed to the door to leave, Horatio called them back. “Hey, where are her clothes? If someone bagged them, I might be able to get something off them.”
“I’ll ask.” Gisella found the receptionist. “I need Ina’s clothes. Do you know where they are?”
Sophia frowned. “I think Mrs. Delgado placed them in the cabinet for Ina’s mother to pick them up.”
Finally, something positive. For a moment, she’d feared the woman was going to say they’d been washed and sent home.
Gisella reentered the morgue and kept her gaze averted from the actions on the steel table. Death didn’t bother her much. It was a part of life. Yes, she felt sorry for the victims and the families. Her heart hurt for them, but in her job, she learned to distance herself from it and move on. If she couldn’t do that, she couldn’t do her job.
However, watching autopsies wasn’t at the top of her ten favorite things to do and she avoided them at all costs. She opened the cabinet and found the clothes in a plastic bag. Grabbing it, she placed it on the counter. “Here you go.”
Horatio looked up. “Great. I have a feeling that’s going to be our best bet.”
“Call if you get anything interesting.”
“Will do.”
They exited the morgue and walked down the street to the police station. Brock nodded toward the sheriff’s office.
Sheriff Johnston was walking inside. He stopped when he saw them and motioned for them to join him.
“Wonder what he wants?” Gisella murmured.
“Let’s go find out.”
Brock and Gisella entered the sheriff’s office. Gisella inhaled the smell of strong coffee and air freshener. She almost smiled to herself. A small-town police station didn’t smell much different than one in the big city. She looked around. “Where’d the sheriff go?”
Brock shook his head.
After checking in with the lone secretary at the entrance, they were directed to “the third door on the right at the end of the hallway.”
They walked single file down the narrow hall. Gisella led the way. She could feel Brock behind her and wondered at her acute perception of his presence.
Entering the room, Gisella found Chris Locke seated behind an old wooden desk. He looked up and frowned. “Can I help you?”
“The sheriff motioned for us to come on in. Do you know where he went?”
Chris grunted and offered, “Sheriff Johnston got a phone call as soon as he stepped in the door. He went to investigate a disturbance. One he always handles. But he wanted me to show y’all this.”
He reached across his desk and picked up a plastic bag. A small skull-and-crossbones earring glinted from within. “This belongs to Ina’s boyfriend, Clinton Green.”
“Where’d you find it?” Brock asked.
“In the cemetery not too far from where Ina was found.” He placed the evidence in Brock’s outstretched palm. “I went back out there this morning at first light to see if we missed anything.” He nodded at the earring. “We did.”
“So where’s this boyfriend?” Gisella asked as she stepped closer to get a better look at the earring. She noted that Chris’s animosity was nowhere to be found during this exchange. She looked at him a little closer and decided that when he wasn’t radiating attitude, he could be someone she wouldn’t mind working with.
“We’re a little short-staffed so Niles volunteered to track Clinton down now. Clinton works at Jacko’s Auto Store as a mechanic. Should be back any minute now—assuming Clinton showed up for work after his adventures last night.”
“He showed up.” Gisella and Brock turned to see Niles standing behind them. A scared young man with a bad haircut stood next to him. Gisella thought he looked a bit like an ostrich looking for the nearest pile of sand.
Brock looked at him. “Were you at the graveyard last night?”
Clinton’s scrawny throat moved convulsively as he swallowed several times. “Yes, sir.”
“Did you kill Ina?”
ELEVEN
At the mention of Ina’s name, Clinton’s eyes teared up. “No, sir.”
“You know who did?”
He blinked rapidly and shook his head. “No.”
Niles gave him a shove into Chris’s office and said, “Sit.”
Clinton sat.
Gisella eyed him. He looked like a scared kid. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
She reached for the bag that contained the earring. “Is this yours?”
More swallowing. His hand shook as he reached up to finger his bare left ear. “Um…yes, ma’am.”
She leaned in. “But you didn’t kill her?”
“No. I…I was supposed to meet her there about 8:30, but I got held up at home. I was late. By the time I got there, she was dead.”
Gisella looked at him. “She was supposed to meet us at 9:00. Did you know that?”
His eyes went wide. “No, ma’am, I didn’t. But that doesn’t mean anything. Ina has…had gotten real secretive lately.”
“Secretive?”
He bobbed his head.
“How? Secretive of what?”
A shrug. “I don’t know, but she just wasn’t her usual happy self.”
“So what did you do when you found her?”
He shivered. “I ran.”
Chris looked at him. “You didn’t think you should call for help?”
“N-no. I mean, yes, but… I mean…” He broke off and buried his face in his hands. Silence echoed in the room broken only by the sound of the young man’s sobs.
When he finally had himself under control, Gisella shifted and said, “Look, Mr. Green, like I said, Ina was supposed to meet us last night at 9:00 to share some information with us. Do you know of anything she knew that someone wouldn’t want her telling us?”
He shook his head. “She never said nothing. But…”
“What?”
“She was acting funny. Scared.”
Niles crossed his arms across his burly chest. “Scared of what?”
“She wouldn’t tell me. She just acted paranoid every time we were out. She got to the point where she didn’t want to go out at night at all. She’d only go to work, but if I dropped in on her to say hey, she was always looking around to see who was listening.” He shrugged. “Stuff like that. I don’t know.”
Gisella asked, “Do you know anything about the Lions of Texas?”
“Who?”
The blank look on his face answered her question.
Brock shifted his arms across his chest and asked, “Do you own a gun?”
“Sure. Everyone around here owns a gun. This close to the border, you’d be crazy not to own one.”
“What kind of gun is it?” Gisella asked. She wanted to be able to compare it to ballistics on the bullet casings they’d found around the scene.
“I got a rifle and a .357 Magnum.”
She looked at Brock. “We get any feedback on the casings?”
He shook his head. “Not yet.”
Chris cocked his head at Clinton. “You fire that gun recently?”
“No, sir, I sure haven’t.”
Niles motioned for the man to stand. “Well, come on, I’ll follow you home and you can show me the guns.” He narrowed his eyes. “And I’ll be able to tell if you’re lying.”
“I’m not lying.”
Clinton stood and Gisella sighed as she looked at Vernon. “Is there any proof other than the earring that he had anything to do with her death?”
“Nope. And I can confirm his alibi when I go check the guns.”
Clinton nodded and began to gnaw on an already decimated fingernail. But he didn’t look scared anymore, just… like he was grieving.
Gisella thought of one more question. “Do you have any fresh scratches on you?”
He frowned at her. “Fresh scratches? No, why?”
Gisella pictured the skin and dirt under Ina’s fingernails. “Just wondering.” The woman would have gone for the face or whatever exposed skin was within scratching distance. She nodded to Clinton’s hands. “Can you push up your sleeves and hold your hands out?”
He did so.
Pale skin stared back at her. Clear, unblemished skin. “Okay, thanks.”
Clinton pulled his sleeves back down and Niles clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s go.” He pointed him to the door. Looking like he might burst into tears, the young man slouched out as though ashamed of his crane-like height.
Compassion crimping her heart, Gisella stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said softly.
He nodded, gratitude appearing in his eyes. Without another word, he left, followed closely by Niles Vernon.
Once they were gone, Gisella looked at the two remaining men. “I think I’m going to head back over to the morgue to see what our ME came up with. Will you let us know what the sheriff finds out?”
Chris shrugged. “Sure.”
Brock followed her from the office. “What do you think?”
“I think something very strange is going on in this town. And I don’t think Clinton has a clue. I do, however, think he was in love with Ina and is heartbroken at her death.”
“So you don’t think he’s our guy?”
“Nope. Do you?”
“No.”
She smiled up at him. “Glad to know we’re on the same page.”
As they stepped back outside and headed for the morgue, Brock looked around. “You know, everything seems normal. Life is going on around us. But, the people…I don’t think they’re so much unfriendly as they are…”
“…scared?” She finished for him.
He cocked a brow at her. “So, you’ve noticed that, too?”
“I have.” She glanced up the street one way, then back down the other. And shivered. “And every time we’re out in the open, do you feel…exposed? Like you have a big bull’seye on your forehead?”
“Yes. And I don’t like it.” He took her arm and this time her shiver had nothing to do with feeling like eyes followed her every move. It had to do with being next to him, near him. Breathing in his unique scent—and liking it very much.
As subtly as possible, she pulled away from his grasp and picked up the pace.
They arrived back at the morgue within minutes and this time the secretary led them to the back without question.
They found Chavez bent over Ina putting stitches in the Y incision. He looked up when they entered. “I’m just about finished.”
“Did you find anything?” Gisella asked as she
moved closer.
A sigh filtered from the man’s lips. “Not really. She was cleaned up pretty good. All of her internal organs were normal. She was killed due to asphyxiation like the bruises on her neck indicated.”
“So definitely strangled,” Brock muttered.
“Yep. And I did manage to get some possible tissue from under a couple of nails. Other than that…”
“We’ll take what we can get,” Gisella said. She watched Pop—who’d assisted Chavez with the autopsy—remove his gloves, wash his hands, then grab a pen.
He walked over to the big map of the cemetery Gisella had studied earlier. He stood in front of it, ran his finger along some of the boxes, then filled in an empty one.
She looked closer to see what he’d written. IJ. “Is that where she’s to be buried?” she asked.
Pop nodded. “Yes.”
Brock stood behind her, looking, too. Once again, she felt his presence in a way that bothered her. Big time. Goose bumps pebbled up on her arms and she blinked. Clearing her throat, she caught her breath as she noted, “It’s not too far from where she was killed. How sad.”
“No kidding,” Brock said. He sighed and straightened. “What do you say we—”
Gisella’s phone interrupted whatever he was going to say. Snatching it from the clip on her side, she pressed the Talk button. “Hello?”
“Hey, Gisella, this is Anderson.”
Anderson Michaels, another Ranger determined to get to the bottom—or the top—of the Lions of Texas. “What’s going on, Anderson?”
“Our guy in the coma woke up.”
“No kidding.” Excitement thrummed through Gisella. “Did he say who shot him?”
The room went still and she noticed she had everyone’s attention.
“Not yet,” Anderson said. “He’s only opened his eyes a few times, but it turns out that Quin Morton is a former Real Irish Republican Army member.”
Shocked, Gisella went silent as she processed what that might mean. “What? A terrorist? What’s he doing with the Lions?”
“A good question.” Anderson’s sigh filtered through the line. “And one we’re working on figuring out.”
“How did you figure out he was a terrorist?”
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