It was weird, he’d said.
I saw that Loretta had caught on, too. Her eyes went wide, and her mouth dropped open. “Last night,” she said. “When I was altering your wedding dress, and Tony was in such an odd mood.”
“Maybe Father Morales wanted to tell Tony something important, or ask for help,” Emma pondered, after we brought her up to speed, still hovering next to the microwave. “Then—who knows why—he lost his nerve.”
“You know what else I just realized?” I asked, pushing away from the counter. “Esperanza wasn’t at the wedding. She was looking forward to it. Why didn’t she show up?”
“Maybe we should ask her,” Emma suggested. The microwave dinged, and she removed the tray. “Who wants lasagna? The other two are meat loaf and”—she examined the third carton—“Swiss steak.”
Loretta opted for the lasagna, and Emma brought it to her, along with silverware and a paper napkin.
“We aren’t going to ask Esperanza anything,” I decided, looking around for the keys to the Hummer. “She’ll be scared to death if we all show up on her doorstep at this hour.”
“You’re not going alone,” Loretta said.
“Freakin’ A,” Emma agreed. “Swiss steak or meat loaf? And don’t say you’re not hungry. You haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.”
“Meat loaf,” I said, resigned.
After we’d eaten, Loretta, Emma, and I fired up the Hummer and headed for the Hidy Tidy. Esperanza’s place was dark.
“She might be pretending she’s not home,” I speculated, and got out of the rig. There was a slight nip in the air, and I wished I’d worn a coat.
Loretta and Emma hurried after me.
“Tony would be pissed if he knew we were here,” Emma said.
“He’s resilient,” I answered, and mounted the porch steps to knock on the door. “Besides, he doesn’t know.”
I knocked a second time.
Nothing.
“Esperanza,” I called. “I know you’re in there.”
The curtain covering the little window in the door fluttered.
“I’m not leaving until you talk to me,” I added.
The latch snapped, and the door opened. Esperanza peered around the edge. “I have to quit, Mrs. Clare,” she said in an agitated whisper.
“You know something about what happened to Father Morales,” I said. It was no great deductive leap: There was only one Catholic church in town, and Morales had been Esperanza’s priest and confidant. She’d mentioned speaking to him when she went to St. Swithin’s to light candles and pray for Micki and Suzie, after Judy Holliday was murdered. “I need you to tell me what it is.”
Esperanza glanced behind her, then faced me again, shaking her head. “I don’t know anything,” she insisted. “My sister, she is sick. In Mexico. I go back.”
“Esperanza, Father Morales is dead. Somebody murdered him.” Morales could have known a little too much about the coyote operation. I was sure he wouldn’t have gotten involved for the money, but he might have provided sanctuary for a few of the illegals, helped them get papers, jobs, places to stay.
Esperanza unhooked the chain and skulked out onto the porch, then stood there shivering. “This very dangerous, Mrs. Clare,” she said, and there was a plea in her voice. “Please—you will leave it alone. We will all leave it alone.”
I leaned in. “Read my lips, Esperanza,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere until you give me the straight story.”
Esperanza paled, and made the sign of the cross. “These are very bad people! They kill Father Morales, they kill me. Or my Maria. Or you. They don’t care. Get in the way, they kill.”
“Who, Esperanza? That’s all I want to know. Give me names, and I’ll go.”
There was a long pause, and I thought I’d gotten through to her. But she turned, quick as a desert mouse bolting for its hole, and slipped inside the trailer. I grabbed for the door latch, but I was too slow. The lock engaged with a hard click.
“Great work, Clare,” Emma said. “If you were going to do bad cop, you could at least have given me a chance to jump in with good cop.”
“You’re not any kind of cop, either of you,” Loretta pointed out. “You’re civilians, damn it!”
“I’m calling Sonterra,” I said, ignoring Loretta, jamming a hand into my jacket pocket and raising my voice. “Do you hear me, Esperanza? I’m calling Chief Sonterra!”
It would have been a terrific plan if I hadn’t left my cell phone at home.
“Maybe she really doesn’t know anything,” Loretta argued. “Let’s get out of here.” She looked across at Micki Post’s trailer, and I followed her gaze. Crime-scene tape rippled forlornly in the chilly breeze. “This place gives me the willies.”
“Give me your cell phone,” I said.
“I don’t have one anymore,” Loretta replied, starting down the porch steps. “I’m cutting back on expenses.”
“Damn it,” I muttered.
“Tony’s probably at St. Swithin’s,” Emma said, following Loretta. “Let’s go find him.”
It made more sense than standing there on Esperanza’s porch, trying to wait her out. But Sonterra wasn’t at St. Swithin’s, unlike every other cop in Pima County.
We tried the station.
Deputy Dave sat behind Sonterra’s desk, playing solitaire with a ragged deck. No sign of anybody else, and he didn’t bother to get up when we came in.
“Do you know where the chief is?” I asked, putting a slight emphasis on the word “chief.” Occupying Sonterra’s space, in his absence, was a petty rebellion, the kind of passive-aggressive behavior people engage in when they don’t have the guts to be direct.
I watched him narrowly, trying to decide if he could really have been the one to shoot Father Morales. Even with his nasty temper, it seemed hard to believe. He was a cop, after all, and as intense as my suspicions were, I had nothing substantial to go on.
“Out making the world safe for democracy, I guess,” Dave said.
My dislike for him intensified. “I missed Madge at the wedding today,” I told him, though in truth I hadn’t realized she’d been absent until that moment. From my tone, you would have thought it had been an ordinary wedding, not a murder scene. I’d already thrown out the bloody dress, and it would be a long time before I opened any of the presents.
“She’s sick,” he said, without particular concern, frowning down at his cards in concentration.
“Maybe I’d better look in on her,” I replied. “Make sure she’s all right.”
That got his attention. He lifted his head and gave me a narrow stare, and I saw that he knew what Madge had told me when I visited their house for supper the other night. And a chill ran down my spine, because he wasn’t above taking it out on her. “Like I said, she’s sick. It wouldn’t do to disturb her.”
I hated myself for the rigid smile I summoned up then. I was more inclined to spit in Deputy Dave’s face, but if he went home and bounced Madge off the walls for spilling the family secrets, the responsibility would be partly mine.
“Okay,” I said brightly. “Just give her my regards, then.”
He mulled that over for a few moments, and I couldn’t tell if I’d convinced him with my backpedaling or not. He slapped a queen of clubs down under a king of hearts.
“Will do,” he said, without a hint of sincerity.
Loretta, Emma, and I trooped outside and piled into the Hummer.
“What now?” Loretta asked. I could tell she wanted me to say we’d call it a night. It was equally clear that she wasn’t holding out any real hope that I would.
“Sonterra must be in the field somewhere,” I said, backing out of our parking spot. “Which means we swing by the Rathburn place to give our best to Madge, then we park in front of Esperanza’s trailer and wait.”
“Cool,” Emma enthused. “Surveillance!”
“Cool,” Loretta echoed—without the enthusiasm.
Madge didn’t answer the door,
but I could see light between the drawn drapes, and her Camry was in the car-port. She knew I was there, all right, and I had a pretty good idea what she was doing.
“Wait here,” I told my fellow crime stoppers, and started down the steps, glancing back over one shoulder to make sure they stayed put.
“If Deputy Dave pulls in,” I said, “get into the Hummer and lock the doors.”
Emma tried to follow when I walked away, but Loretta caught her by the sleeve and held on.
“Be careful,” my best friend called after me.
I went around the side of the house, and sure enough, Madge was hiding out on the patio, puffing away on a cigarette. In the light spilling from the kitchen, I saw that both her eyes were blackened.
She started when I appeared, and then let out a sigh, her shoulders slumping a little. I bit my lower lip to stem the torrent of sympathetic words pounding at the back of my throat and wedged my hands into the pockets of my windbreaker.
Madge blew out a long stream of smoke. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said calmly. A tiny smile crooked one corner of her mouth. “As you can see, it’s a dangerous place.”
“Dave did this to you?” It wasn’t really a question.
She drew on her cigarette again, and in the red glow, I saw that her lip was split. “He didn’t want me to go to the wedding,” she said softly, and with a wistful note. “Was it nice?”
Was it nice?
“You haven’t heard what happened?”
“I was—indisposed,” Madge answered with another infinitesimal and slightly spooky smile.
“Father Morales was shot to death.”
Madge’s cigarette dropped to the patio stones, forgotten. “What?”
I took a step toward her. Put out a tentative hand, the way one might approach a wounded deer, taken by surprise on a twisty path through the deep woods. “You need to see a doctor, Madge. You may be badly hurt.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“I don’t think so,” I argued gently. “Come with me. Please. Let’s get you some help.”
She shook her head. “There’s no help,” she replied. “No escape.”
“That’s what Micki said,” I reasoned. “She could have gone to a shelter, but she wouldn’t. And now she’s dead.”
“I envy her,” Madge said.
I took her arm. “Don’t say that.”
“She’s free.”
The words were so hopeless, so full of resignation. Tiny, invisible ice cubes spilled down my spine. “We’ll get you to a hospital,” I said. “Then I’ll call your sons to let them know where you are. Everything will be all right, Madge—I promise you that.”
“Do you?”
“Clare?” It was Loretta. She stepped out of the darkness, stopped cold when she got a look at Madge’s battered face. “Dear God,” she breathed. “What happened?”
“Deputy Dave happened,” I answered tersely. I tugged at Madge’s arm. “Come on. We’re out of here.”
Loretta took Madge’s other arm, and we hustled her around the house, through the gnome mob, and into the Hummer. Emma was already there, with the engine running.
“He’ll stop us,” Madge said, but she let Loretta and me hoist her into the backseat. “He knows everything that happens in this town.”
Loretta climbed in next to Madge, buckled them both up, and put a protective arm around the older woman’s shoulders. “Let him try getting in our way,” she said.
Emma scrambled over the console to batten down on the passenger side, and I took the wheel. “I’m calling Tony,” my niece said, studying the GPD buttons on the dashboard. One of them functioned as a phone, and I had no clue how to operate the system, but Emma would probably figure it out.
“Go ahead,” I answered, and pointed the Hummer toward Tucson. “Tell him to bust Dave Rathburn on assault charges—and have his hands checked for powder residue.”
Madge leaned forward, clasped my shoulder hard enough to leave marks. “Don’t mess with him, Clare,” she pleaded. “You have no idea—”
“I think I do,” I said.
Emma sifted through the manuals in the glove compartment, came up with one for the communications device, and pushed the appropriate button on the dashboard, spouting Sonterra’s cell number and giving the “dial” command.
His voice mail picked up.
“Crap,” Emma said, in disgust, waiting for the beep. “Tony? This is Emma. We’re in the Hummer, Clare and me and Loretta—and Mrs. Rathburn. She’s hurt, so we’re taking her to a hospital. Call us.” She looked at me. “What’s the number for this thing?”
“No idea,” I said.
“You’re a cop,” Emma told Sonterra’s voice mail. “Find it.” With another push of the button, she ended the call.
A squad car whipped in behind us, lights whirling, just as we passed the Dry Creek city limits. I glanced anxiously into the rearview mirror and kept going.
Madge made a strange, low sound in her throat.
“Maybe it’s Tony,” Emma said.
I shook my head. “He’d call.” The town had been sealed off after Father Morales’s shooting. Where the hell were the roadblocks? Where were the staters and the Bureau types?
I floored it.
Deputy Dave switched on the siren.
“We won’t get away,” Madge said. “Nobody gets away—”
Nobody gets away. I filed that thought for later review. Provided there was a later.
“The hell we won’t,” Loretta replied. “Duck down, Emma, in case he starts shooting.”
Emma didn’t duck.
The siren intensified to a shriek, and the squad car eased up on the left, almost even with the rear bumper. I wrenched the Hummer in that direction, straddling the white line. Deputy Dave swerved, fell back a car length or two, and revved his engine. The siren screamed, numbing my eardrums.
“For God’s sake!” Madge screamed. “Stop!”
I ignored her. Dave was trying to come alongside again, this time on the right, and I knew he’d run us off the road if he succeeded.
“Emma!” I yelled, fighting the steering wheel as the Hummer zigzagged this way, and then that. “Get down!”
She crouched on the floor, and a ringing sound came from the dashboard.
It had to be Sonterra.
It was. And he didn’t bother to say hello. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded.
“Tony!” Emma cried in anxious relief. I had to concentrate on my driving, so I didn’t say anything, but it was better than good to know we had Sonterra on the line. “We need help! That crazy deputy—”
“Tell me where you are,” he said.
Emma pinpointed the location as best she could, with some help from Loretta.
“Keep going,” Sonterra instructed. “I’m on my way. Emma, hit the emergency button on the dashboard—it’s the one with the red cross. Tell the operator what’s happening. I’ll contact the State Police, but the GPD will give them your exact location. Got that?”
“Got it,” Emma said, her voice shaking a little.
Sonterra disconnected.
Emma jabbed the emergency button.
Deputy Dave rammed the rear bumper hard enough to rattle the fillings in my teeth.
Déjà vu all over again.
Madge began to wail in panic, a raw, wounded sound that trembled in my bone marrow and competed with the siren.
“Good evening, Mrs. Sonterra,” chimed the operator. “How may I help you?”
“You can send a whole shitload of cops!” Emma cried. “Now!”
“What is your emergency?”
Loretta leaned forward, shouting to be heard above Madge’s continued lament. “A maniac is trying to run us off the road, and that sound you hear in the background is somebody screaming in terror, you idiot!”
The operator responded with unruffled competence, as though such calls were commonplace, shrieks, insults, and all. “We’re contacting the police,” she said. “Would you l
ike me to stay on the line until they get there?”
Deputy Dave crashed into the bumper again. I wondered, from that odd, detached place in a back corner of my mind, how he planned to explain the damage to the Crown Vic, which was, after all, municipal property.
He didn’t seem overly worried.
“Brand-new,” I muttered. “This car is brand-new.”
“The Arizona Highway Patrol is en route to your location,” the operator announced. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Mrs. Sonterra?”
“Maybe dinner reservations,” Emma quipped, and grinned up at me from the floor. Then she added, “Thanks for everything,” and pushed the button.
The GPD phone rang again.
“I’m with you,” Sonterra said, his voice coming from every speaker in the car. “Special Agent Timmons and I are closing in fast, and the staters are up ahead. When you see them, pull off the road and don’t make any sudden moves. They’ll be nervous.”
“Check,” I replied, glancing in the rearview mirror. Sure enough, I saw what must have been Sonterra’s lights in the distance, and so, apparently, did Deputy Dave. With a squeal of tires and a lot of smoking rubber, he swung off the road and bumped to a stop in the desert. The red-and-blue lights continued to spin dizzyingly, and the siren stayed on the banshee setting.
“Dave just ditched,” I told Sonterra.
“I can see that,” Sonterra replied. “Keep moving.”
“Be careful!” I warned. Dave was probably on foot by then—it was too dark to see—but he might be planning to dig in for a showdown, too. Had I been alone, and not pregnant, I probably would have spun a brody in the middle of the road and gone back.
But I didn’t have that option.
I slacked off on the speed, and when I saw four squad cars approaching from the other direction, I followed Sonterra’s instructions, pulled off the road, and laid my head on the steering wheel, woozy with the release of tension.
State Patrolmen surrounded the Hummer.
Madge’s cries trailed off to little whimpers.
“Open the door and step out of the vehicle with your hands up,” one of the cops yelled.
“They don’t look happy,” Loretta observed.
“It’s routine,” I said, lifting my head and pushing open the door. I left the engine running, in case Sonterra tried to get through on the GPD phone. “Right now, they can’t be sure which side we’re on.” I unfastened my seat belt, stepped down to the pavement, and raised both hands, heeding Sonterra’s warning. In situations like that one, emotions run high. Guns are drawn. Best to play it very cool.
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