My phone buzzed a couple of minutes after I shut the door. Darian Stackhouse was calling.
“Chief,” he said.
“Darian,” I responded. It was a discourtesy. I wanted to see what it would bring up.
There was a pause from his end. I could almost hear him mentally cursing me. Then he said, “We got going on the wrong path the other day.”
He was taking pains to keep things civil. That was interesting.
“I wanted to reach out. To see if there is anything my team can do to help you out.”
Walker was definitely a pipeline to them. I’d lied to him when I said I was asking everyone about the DEA. Who else, I wondered.
“I can’t imagine what that would be,” I said, as if I hadn’t a care in the world. “If there is anything you think I should know…” Tossing the conversational potato over to him did a couple of things. It made him wonder if I was ignorant or cagy. It also put him in the position of having to volunteer information if he wanted to lead me to where he wanted.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he responded, just as grandly. “Let me know if there’s anything at all we can do.” We were both playing the same game.
“You wouldn’t know anything about a shooting at the Desert Drop Inn last night?” I asked.
“Isn’t that where you’re staying?”
“Yep.”
“No. I don’t.”
I believed him. He sounded like it was something he wanted to know about.
“Anyone hurt?”
“Nope. Someone’s truck got shot up though.”
“Well—it’s a dangerous world.”
“It sure is.”
It had been another short, violent night. I was exhausted. I left as Hector and Gutiérrez were coming on. We exchanged looks and waves but no words as I drove away. My first stop was a hardware store. I bought some tools and some lumber. On the way back to the motel, I picked up a pizza.
The remainder of the afternoon was spent nailing boards to the floor in both rooms and putting 2x4 braces at the doors. I also nailed boards over the windows. I kept them covering the curtains so they couldn’t be seen from outside. They wouldn’t stop someone who was serious about getting in, but it would make it impossible for them to sneak up on me.
While I worked and chewed pizza, I planned what to do next. I decided to head out to where the bank was being built and poke around. If that didn’t provoke anyone, it would be off to that fancy gun club. I was ready to start throwing mud around and seeing where it stuck.
I ran one more errand. I went to the store and purchased new jeans and white shirts. If I was going to shake things up, I wanted to look good. Around eight o’clock, I fell asleep in front of the TV.
Because of my plans for the day, and because no one shot at me in the middle of the night, I was already up and dressed when a furious pounding started on my door. It was the city council-man, Bascom Wood.
I opened the door, and he said, “They took my son.”
NINE
“Who took your son?” I asked Councilman Wood even as I pulled him by the sleeve into my motel room.
“They did.” His statement sounded imploring. Then he said again, “They did,” as if the new emphasis answered everything.
“Stop.” I said it as much for me as him. Bascom was worked up and worried about his kid. I was completely in the dark. It was no time for pretending that I knew things I didn’t. “Who took him, and how do you know?”
“The Machados. The Machados took him. It had to be. I did something wrong. I said the wrong thing. That’s how they work. It’s my fault, but Baron shouldn’t have to pay.”
“Baron?”
“He shouldn’t have to pay.” Bascom was close to tears.
“Is that your son’s name?” I asked as calmly as I could. “Baron?”
“Yes.”
It seemed to be working; he was breathing better and looking right at me.
“How do you know they took him?” I asked slowly. “Did you see it?”
“No. Baron was gone this morning.”
“Just gone? No notes? Was there a break-in?”
“No. Nothing like that. He was gone. He was just gone. I went into his room, and he was gone.”
“Your wife?”
Bascom shook his head and looked at the floor. “It’s just us. My wife went away. It was a long time ago.”
“Who are the Machados?”
His head popped back up. “The Machados—the Machados. The brothers. Eladio and Simon Machado—the reason behind everything that happens here. Baron would not have been harmed without them knowing. Without their approval.”
“And what did you do to piss off the Machados?”
“It’s because I talked to you.”
“To me? You didn’t say anything—”
“They don’t know that.”
“But they know you talked to me.”
He tilted his head in a sorrowful gesture that wasn’t quite a shrug. “I don’t know what they know.”
“That’s why you came to talk to me. When you knew I wasn’t Paris Tindall—you thought I could help you get out of your situation.”
Bascom Wood stared at me. His eyes were desperately sad. He held his mouth in an angry line. The anger was at himself, though, not me.
“The Machados?” I asked him. “Did they murder the previous chiefs?”
His eyes blazed to match the angle of his mouth. That time the anger was all at me. “My son first.”
“Come on.” I pulled him out of the room and down the stairs. Once at my truck, I used Paris’s cell to call 911.
The woman on the board asked, “Another ride, Chief?” She didn’t bother to keep the annoyance out of her voice.
“No. I want you to get hold of officers Gutiérrez and Alazraqui. It’s an emergency; get them in, and have them meet me at—hang on.” I tossed the phone to Bascom and said, “Tell them where we’re going.”
“Where are we going?”
“Your home. We want to see where this started.” I opened the door of my truck and pointed over to his car. “I’ll follow you.”
* * * *
Bascom Wood and his son lived in one of the 1950s ranch houses off the city center. It was red brick with white-painted trim and a deep porch. The first thing I noticed was how obsessively neat and manicured everything seemed for a man and son living without the moderating force of a woman. It was the kind of home you see in magazines at a doctor’s office when there is nothing else to read.
One step into Baron’s room, and I was convinced that he’d run away.
The bedroom was large and cozy. But it was perfect. And if there is anything in the world not perfect, it’s a teenaged boy.
The twin bed was made with hospital corners showing. Sheets were bright white. The folded bedspread was printed with stars and galaxies. There were shelves with books lined up by size. Interspersed among the books were Star Wars action figures. The largest was a model of Boba Fett, the bounty hunter, and his ship. On the walls were two perfectly aligned posters from the latest movies. In the corner, hanging from fishing line over the desk, was a model of the Millennium Falcon.
Gutiérrez arrived first. She came in while I was still staring at the perfection of Baron’s room.
“Back here,” I yelled when I heard Bascom let her in the front door.
“What’s going on?” she called back as she made her way down the hallway. “Wow,” she said as soon as she stepped into the boy’s room.
“This is Barron’s room. He’s Bascom’s son, and he’s missing.”
“Missing?”
“Bascom thinks kidnapped,” I explained.
“But you don’t?”
“I don’t.”
“Why?”
“Baron is sixteen. Could you live like this at sixteen?”
“I see your point, but…”
“But what?”
“Is that enough?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “There might be
other issues.”
“What does that mean?”
“Things I feel more than I know.”
“Oh…” The way she said it carried a great deal of judgment in such a small sound.
“Put it together with a room like this, and I see a lot of pressure on a kid.”
“Maybe so, but you need to know that Councilman Wood is involved with some powerful people. He’s deeply involved with the expansion of the city limits and all the new construction.”
“He’s involved with the Machado brothers.”
“He told you that?”
“Yep.”
“Then he’s afraid.”
“Very.”
Gutiérrez shook her head and said, “But you don’t think they took his son?”
“What’s more likely? Those powerful people kidnapped the boy with no notification and no reason that Bascom understands. Or the kid’s not getting along with Dad and just needed some space.”
“In that case, why are we here?”
“A kid is missing. You don’t ignore that.”
Gutiérrez stared at me for a moment like I had grown a second head.
“And no matter how it turns out, it may be the excuse I need to kick some doors.”
“I don’t get you,” she said. “For a moment, I think I do, and then…why are you here? The truth.”
“I don’t think this is a kidnapping, no matter what Bascom is into.” I left her standing in the room.
Bascom was waiting in the hall. “Did you find anything? Clues?” he asked with tempered hope.
“One big one,” I answered. “How about if we have some coffee?”
At the kitchen table, we sipped from cups in matching patterns. I noticed that there were no plastic cups or cartoon glasses that most people can’t seem to avoid collecting.
“When was your last fight with Baron?” I asked.
“How do you know we fight?”
“Your house is like a temple. Sixteen-year-old boys don’t like conforming to anything but their friends. You don’t have a lot of rebellion room around here.”
“His mother wasn’t much of a housekeeper. It was an issue.”
“I bet.”
Hector came in, and I pointed down the hall to send him to Gutiérrez.
“I wanted Baron to have a good home. A place to always feel safe and welcome,” Bascom said.
“Safe I can see. Did he feel especially welcome?”
“It’s his home.”
“What were the fights about?”
“Everything,” he said. The truth of the word and the price of it were on Bascom’s face. “His room. His clothes. Friends. He wants a car.”
I suddenly regretted all of what I had put my mother through. “What about a girlfriend?”
“No.” He shook his head sadly over his coffee cup. “Baron is awkward.”
“Awkward? How?”
“He was always…you know…sensitive. I tried to get him to play football. He’s big. He could do it.”
“He didn’t want that?”
“He tried out for the play. He’s going to be Hugo in Bye-Bye Birdie. Crap like that scares normal girls away. They want a real man.”
It could have been the sound of his voice. It might have been that I’d become more sensitive to certain things. Maybe I was already tuned to jump. But hearing Bascom say “real man” in that way made my skin crawl a little.
Gutiérrez appeared in the doorway behind Bascom. “What do you want to do?” she asked.
I knew that question. It was a handoff. I was the chief, and she was placing the burden firmly into my hands.
“Bascom,” I said. Gutiérrez instantly frowned at me. A professional would have said “Mr. Wood.” I got it but didn’t backtrack. “What kind of phone did he have?”
Bascom shook his head.
“What does that mean?” I asked him. “If you don’t know, find one of your bills. We can track the phone or at least get records to see if he was making plans with anyone.”
He shook his head again. “You were right about fighting. We did all the time. Yesterday it was about his friends and how he acted.”
“Acted?” Gutiérrez asked the question.
I was glad it wasn’t just me.
“He’s sixteen. His friends are geeks. And he thinks he’s going to Hollywood to make movies. I wanted him to grow up.”
“You wanted him to man up,” I said.
“Yes.”
Hector was standing behind Gutiérrez then. He was half a head shorter, or maybe that was because he was staring at the floor. I thought he was hearing something that he’d heard in one form or another all his life.
“What about the phone?” I prodded.
“I took it away.” Bascom looked up at me. He blinked a couple of times and then turned to include Hector and Gutiérrez. “I thought it would help. Those phones—those kids—they spend all their time in another world. I thought I could toughen him up a little.”
“Where is it?” Hector asked.
“In my closet,” Bascom answered. “Locked in my gun case.”
“Get it,” I told him.
As soon as Bascom went from the kitchen, Gutiérrez said, “It won’t help. We’ll have to get records from the service provider.”
“She’s right,” Hector agreed.
“Why?”
“The phone will be password protected,” Hector explained like I was the slow pony in the race. “No sixteen-year-old boy is giving that to his father.”
“Here is the phone,” Bascom returned to the room and set the blank unit on the table along with an envelope. “And there is the bill. Do whatever you need to do.”
I picked the phone up, and the screen lit with an input pad and a blank line labeled Password.
“Excuse me,” Bascom murmured. He stepped back out.
Gutiérrez and Hector came in to get a closer look at the phone.
Bascom stopped at the threshold of the kitchen door and turned back. I gave what I hoped was a look of hope and encouragement. He opened his mouth as if about to say something. His eyes were glazed. His posture was slumped and beaten.
“We’ll find—” I almost made a promise I didn’t know if I could keep. “We’ll do our best to find Baron, Mr. Wood.”
He nodded, but there wasn’t much meaning or energy behind it. “I know who has him,” he said.
“I know you think you do. And we’ll check it out. We won’t leave anything undone until we find your son.” I felt a little proud that I was doing the right thing, the cop thing. The fact that I was imitating TV shows didn’t bother me.
“My son didn’t run away.” He nodded at the phone. “You think you’ll find something in that?”
“There’s a good chance.” I pecked at the keypad.
“I’ll leave you to it.” Bascom nodded. With that he shuffled from view.
What I had typed on the password screen didn’t work. I wondered how many chances you got before the phone locked up.
Hector asked me, “Who?” He tilted his head in the direction Bascom had gone.
“He told me the Machado brothers took his son.” I fidgeted with the phone as I tried to work through connections in my head. “The guy we kicked out of his trailer mentioned the same name to me. I’m guessing the Machados are the jefés in town.
“This is not something we can get into,” Gutiérrez said.
“More hands-off stuff?” I asked. I tapped at the phone’s screen again. My first try was Skywalker. The second was DeathStar. I wasn’t wrong. I was certain. But I wasn’t right yet.
“Out of our jurisdiction. Machado is on the DTO radar. We need to let the feds handle it.”
That stopped me. I turned my attention from the phone up to Gutiérrez. She was looking right back at me.
“DTO?” Hector asked.
“There’s nothing to handle yet.” I pecked the name Boba Fett into the password box. Then I held up the phone to show off the unlocked screen.
/> “You did it?” Hector sounded disbelieving.
“Tell you what,” I said, speaking to Gutiérrez. “Why don’t you head back into the office?”
“Why?”
“Just in case things get messy and we have to call on this Machado guy.” I looked up and right into her eyes. I wasn’t smiling. “Me and Hector will handle things with the kid. I’ll call you if we need you.” I don’t think I could have been clearer.
She must have thought so too.
Gutiérrez straightened. She looked at Hector and then back at me. There were a hundred questions on her face, but she had the sense not to ask them. “Sure,” she said. “Whatever you want.”
Once we heard the screen door clap closed behind her, Hector asked me, “What was that about?”
“We need to have a talk about Officer Gutiérrez,” I told him.
“Why?”
“She’s DEA.”
TEN
The kitchen was quiet. Neither Hector nor I were talking. He was thinking about Gutiérrez and reconsidering everything he knew about his department, I imagined. I was scrolling through text messages on Baron Wood’s phone.
“How do you know?” Hector asked. “About Gutiérrez, I mean. How can you say she’s in the DEA? She’s been on the Lansdale force over a year.”
“When did things start to go all Wild West around here?” I paused on a picture of a teenaged girl making a kissy face that had been sent to Baron. She was pretty. The pair of them had been sending each other a lot of texts and pictures.
“I don’t believe it.”
“Sure you do,” I told him. “You’re just not admitting it yet.”
“How do you know?”
I held up the phone, showing Hector the picture of the girl. “Her name’s Louisa Rey. Know her?”
He looked and took a good long time about it. “No. But that doesn’t mean anything. The way people come in and out of those trailers, there could be a hundred kids.”
I nodded and walked my fingers one by one through the text messages.
“Tell me about Gutiérrez,” Hector said. “She said something that set it in your mind. I saw you looking at her.”
I held up a text message. It read,
I’m going off leash. Picnic at the bend?
Louisa answered,
About time. I have wine and all day.
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