“I’ll talk to Mark and see what he says,” Camille said. “And when I get there, I’ll sit down with your hubby and see what he says.”
“Sure.” And don’t forget to talk to your father to see what he wants, Estelle almost amended, but she kept the thought to herself.
“I’ll let you know when I’m on my way,” Camille said. “Don’t worry about picking me up. I’ll just rent something at the airport. I should be able to fly out tomorrow, so maybe you and I can meet up there. Then we could ride down to Posadas together. I’d enjoy that.”
Dennis Mears rose as Estelle approached and extended his hand. He held the position while Estelle finished her call, then shook her hand warmly.
“How’s he doing?”
“He needs a new hip,” Estelle said. “We’ll be leaving for Albuquerque here in a few minutes. Last we heard, the air ambulance was in Gallup, so we have a little time.”
“Hip…that’s a bad deal.” Mears turned and nodded down the hallway. “The atrium is half in shade. Shall we use that—if you have a couple of minutes?”
The warmth of the sun-warmed concrete was welcome after the sterile, refrigerated air of the hospital’s interior. Estelle sat at the small concrete table in the shaded corner, and the banker sat on the bench across from her as if he were astride a horse. Despite his hours behind a desk, Dennis was fit and trim, looking like a polished version of his brother, Lieutenant Tom Mears. Maybe he even awoke each morning with his blond hair perfectly coiffed, with not a whisker in sight.
He frowned and examined the pebbled texture of the table for a moment, running a manicured fingertip along the edge. “Estelle,” he said finally, “I’m a little bit concerned about your mother.” When she didn’t respond, Mears added, “As if you didn’t have enough on your plate at the moment.” He smiled gently. “This is really a difficult position for me professionally, so I’m going to ask you to forgive the indiscretion.”
“Of course.”
“Your mother has requested a significant withdrawal.” Mears stopped, and Estelle felt the first surge of uneasiness. He grimaced as if uttering the news was actually painful. “This is none of my business, of course, but I’m assuming that you have some sort of understanding with your mother? I mean, she’s how old now?”
“Just turned ninety-nine. And yes. I have power of attorney for her as well.”
“As well?” Mears looked puzzled at first, then the light dawned. His sparse, nearly white eyebrows rose. “Oh…for Bill, you mean. Of course. Now, in your mother’s case…and she’s a remarkable lady. She’s still sharp as can be, isn’t she?”
“She’s been fortunate.”
The banker shifted on the concrete bench. “Your mother’s account has not been particularly active.”
“I wouldn’t expect it to be.” Estelle smiled. “If she buys anything at all, she must store it under her bed. I never see it.”
“Needs are few at her age, I suppose.”
“We try to make it so. You mentioned a withdrawal. How much is she asking for?” When it came to figures, Mears didn’t back and fill. He rested his hand flat on the table.
“Eight thousand dollars even.”
“Ay,” Estelle startled.
“Now,” Mears hastened to add, “my problem is that, first of all, the transaction is none of my business. I mean, it’s her money, in her account. And just because she’s elderly doesn’t change the rules.”
“I understand that. But she must have a good reason. When did all of this come about, Dennis? She called you?”
“That’s exactly what she did, late last week. Friday, in fact. She wouldn’t talk with either of the tellers who were working, or with my VP. She could have, of course.”
“What time did this happen?”
“She called me shortly after ten-thirty Friday morning.”
“And she just wanted the money deposited in her checking account? An even eight thousand?”
“This is the part that worries me, Estelle. She asked for a cashier’s check, and as you well know, those are on demand, negotiable by anyone.”
Estelle found it difficult to imagine her mother doing any of this. The details of a vacation trip in 1947 to Monterey might be crystal clear in Teresa Reyes’s mind, but remembering the topic of a sentence just started was a challenge.
“She just called you and asked for a cashier’s check?” Dennis Mears nodded. “Did she say who was going to pick it up for her?”
“She asked that we bring it over to her. Now, we normally wouldn’t do that sort of thing, but in some instances we will. Your mother has been a good customer for twenty years or so. And we understand that she doesn’t get around like she used to. She said that you would be doing this, but that you were busy with court.”
“And I wonder what I was supposed to do with a bank draft for eight thousand dollars.”
Mears held his hands palm up in surrender. “Will you talk with her? I’d worry a whole lot less if you would.”
“Of course. Maybe she’s giving a donation to someone, but why not just write a normal check?”
“We can always hope that’s the case, Sheriff. I tend to be cautious, though. There are a number of scams going around, and some of them specifically target the elderly. When someone who is beyond the normal consumer’s loop suddenly wants a large sum of money, my ears perk up a little. If she was buying a new car, the sum would most likely be a whole bunch of numbers. Eighteen thousand, six hundred and twelve dollars and thirty-eight cents. You know what I mean. And I have to tell you.” He patted the table top gently. “I got a scamming letter last month myself. An e-mail from someone I met years ago, saying he was stuck in the Philippines after his wallet was stolen. He needed twenty-two hundred dollars to get out of there. The police were dragging their feet, things like that.”
“Only twenty-two hundred, though?”
“Interesting number, I think. The sort of thing where someone might be willing to just dash off a check, or an electronic transfer. I didn’t respond in any fashion, and just deleted the e-mail after making a copy for my collection. So when your mother called me…”
“You haven’t cut the check for her yet?”
“No. I confess to dragging my feet. I had just the one call from her, and she said she’d get back to me this week to arrange the transfer. I’ll certainly cut the check today if you give me the word. And that’s what makes me uncomfortable. Your mother is perfectly cogent. If she wants the money, she’ll get it. That’s the rule of the game. But…I didn’t think waiting a day or two would hurt. If it inconveniences her in any way, I apologize.”
“No, no. Let me talk with Mamá and get back to you, Dennis. I’m sure there’s a simple explanation.” Estelle extended her hand. “Thanks for taking the time to give me a head’s up. I appreciate it, Dennis. You did the right thing.”
As they rose, the banker’s face brightened. “Any chance of another local concert soon?”
“September in Chicago is the next one I’ve heard about.”
“No CD releases?”
“You know, Francisco isn’t in any hurry to do that. I’m not sure why. He told me that he walked into one of those huge chain book-and-record super-stores in Joplin, saw the racks and racks of CDs by hundreds of artists, and said it all made him want to run the other way.”
“He’s fortunate that he understands the concept of exclusivity at such a young age.”
“We’ll see where it all goes. Right now, he’s still excited about live concerts. That’s what he loves to do. And he loves all the related academic work, believe it or not.”
Mears nodded and pointed at the doorway to the atrium. Estelle turned and saw the nurse waiting.
“Sheriff Guzman,” the young man said, “Mr. Gastner wishes to talk with you for a minute when you get the chance.”
“I’m on my way.” Estelle shook hands with Dennis Mears once more. “And thank you, Dennis. I’ll be in touch. And yes…please hold the check until you
hear from me.”
“Give Bill my best wishes, please.”
The thirty-year Sheriff’s Department veteran, former New Mexico livestock inspector, inveterate historian and repository of a gazetteer’s worth of information about the Southwest in general and Posadas County in particular, lay plumbed, padded, and monitored in one of the two intensive care beds. His eyes were closed and as Estelle Reyes-Guzman hesitated at the door, he opened first one and then the other. He reached for his glasses and settled them in place. Owl-eyed, he regarded Estelle with something akin to amusement.
The undersheriff stood beside the bed for just a moment, then reached out a hand and patted his left knee, letting her fingers trace the outline of his kneecap.
“So,” she said.
“I’d walk out of here if I could.” Gastner’s voice was raspy.
“We’ve done that before, haven’t we? Are they managing the pain all right for you?”
“Oh, sure,” he said dismissively. “Some really good stuff. And maybe I need it. Your hubby showed me the X-rays. I’m in a hell of a lot of pieces.” He eyed Estelle critically. “You’re lookin’ good.”
“Well, up until your taking a dive, it’s been kind of a downtime. Lots of sessions with Leona on the budget, everybody behaving themselves…I think I’ve finally caught up on some sleep.” She smiled at him as he raised his right arm in slow motion and settled it on top of his head, fingers idly scratching his closely cropped hair. “You’ll be okay, Padrino. They were kind of worried about some congestion.”
“Nah. A little too long camped out on the garage floor is all. But I did a thorough job on the hip. Anything worth doing, you know. They’ve really got me cornered this time.”
“You were just standing beside your truck when you lost your balance?”
“Well, essentially. I turned a little bit for something, I don’t remember what, and the next thing I know, I’m examining the concrete floor. I’d like to be able to say, ‘you should see the other guys,’ but I can’t claim heroism for this one.”
Estelle glanced at her watch. “The plane should be here in less than an hour, Padrino. Then you’ll get a new bionic hip, and you’ll be running sprints in no time.”
He huffed a feeble chuckle. “Sure enough.” He lifted his left hand, the right still in place on his head, and examined the tips of his fingers. “You know, a few dozen times over the years, I’ve watched other folks play out this same scene. I know what the goddamn score is.” His face brightened. “But see, I know some things they don’t. The secret road to healthy bone growth and repair lies in green chile. We’ll find out how good my credit is with Fernando Aragon.” He lifted his head a little, looking hopeful at his own mention of Aragon, owner of Gastner’s favorite restaurant, the Don Juan de Oñate. “I don’t suppose you happened to bring a snack with you.”
“I’ve failed you,” Estelle said with deep, mock sympathy. “I was going to propose that when you break out of here that you buy yourself one of those luxury RVs and park it right in the Don Juan’s parking lot. That way, your restaurant therapy would be just a shout away.”
His eyes narrowed in speculation. “That’s a profoundly good idea, sweetheart.”
“Dennis Mears sends you his best, by the way.”
“He’s worried I’ll fall behind on some payment now? We gotta keep him happy, except I don’t owe him a goddamn cent. He’s the one who will finance the RV that you’re suggesting, though.”
She laughed. “I want to see that.”
A knuckle rapped on the door and Melinda Gabriel bustled in. As wide as she was tall, the ICU nurse advanced to the head of the bed so that her face was a foot from Gastner’s. “We’re gonna get you ready to fly, lover,” she said. “Fun times, huh?”
She reached out and tapped the IV feed. “You’re doin’ okay?”
“As long as I don’t move.”
“Boy, oh boy, roger that. Well, Doc wants you snoozing through the whole trip, so we’ll get started with the goodies.”
Gastner turned his head and nodded at Estelle. “We’ll see you when I get back from drug rehab,” he said.
“So you think,” Melinda scoffed. “She’s flyin’ with us the whole way, just to make sure you don’t try something foolish like hatching some weirdo escape plan.” She patted his left arm affectionately. “I’ve heard about you.”
That brought a deep frown from the patient, who glared at Estelle. “You’re not going to waste all that time….”
“A little R and R,” the undersheriff said. “Anyway, I want to chat with Camille when she gets in, and this will work out just fine.”
“Camille?”
“That would be your oldest daughter, sir.”
“I know who the hell she is. You called her? Jesus.”
“The other way around. She called me, Padrino. That’s why I happened to show up at your place when I did.” She watched as Melinda introduced a new medication to the drip line. “We’ve hatched a grand conspiracy, you see.”
“Oh, for God’s sakes,” Gastner whispered. “Now I’m really finished.” He looked up at Melinda. “My daughter is a professional Jewish mother.”
Melinda squeezed his shoulder. “Maybe that’s what you need just now.” She grinned at Estelle. “You have your overnighties and all that?”
“I’m on my way to do just that. How much time do I have?”
“The plane left Gallup a few minutes ago, taking a youngster back to Chinle. So what, two hours?” Gastner muttered something, and reached out a hand to point toward the door. The burly, bearded Dr. Francis Guzman had entered as silently as a cat, and after picking up the bedside chart, surveyed the various monitor screens.
“Things are lookin’ good.” Guzman moved to Estelle and hooking an arm through hers. In his hug, she look tiny and frail. His left hand settled on Gastner’s wrist as if checking to see if the overhead monitor was correct.
“You should have told my daughter to stay in Michigan,” Gastner rasped. “She’s going to set my convalescence back a month.”
“I don’t have the nerve to tell Camille anything,” Dr. Guzman said. “You can try when you see her.”
Gastner relented a little. “Oh, she’s not that bad, really. But just fix me up here, Doc. I have a whole can of screws and bolts in my garage you can use. Christ, we don’t need to tie up a goddamn med-evac airplane for a busted hip.”
“Normally, that’s exactly what I’d do,” Dr. Guzman said. “Raid the hardware store and get on with it. But some folks luck out and get the full VIP treatment.” As he said that, he turned and urged his wife toward the door. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said to Gastner, and ushered his wife out into the hall, closing the door to Gastner’s room behind them. “Camille’s flying in as soon as…?”
“Tonight, probably. Or tomorrow morning. She’ll rent a car in Albuquerque, so maybe she and I can drive back down here together the day after tomorrow. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
Enveloped in her husband’s bear hug, she lingered for a moment, letting his strength bolster her own optimism. Nothing was ever simple. Padrino had pulled on a brave face, but with his health on the edge, he faced a dangerous surgery—and then a long recuperation and a troublesome road of physical therapy. All of those complications would present the challenge of a complete lifestyle change, from ambulatory and independent to dependence on home health care. She thumped her forehead against her husband’s chest and then drew back a little.
“I need to talk with Bobby before I go. He’s got something going on with a couple of the deputies out at Waddell’s. And I need to talk with Mamá, too,” she said. “Dennis Mears came to see me.”
Francis stood with his hands featherlight on her shoulders. “What, she tried to rob the bank?”
She laughed. “I wish it were that simple. He’s concerned about her request for an eight thousand-dollar withdrawal—all in a negotiable cashier’s check. And asap, of course.”
The physician fro
wned. “New solar-powered hearing aids, maybe? An electric wheelchair with jewel-studded mud flaps? Is she making a down payment on a new golden flute for Francisco?”
Estelle took a fistful of his neatly trimmed beard and twisted. “I don’t think so.”
“She hasn’t mentioned any of this to you?”
“No.”
“Well, talk to her sooner rather than later, then,” Francis said. “I’m not surprised that Mears came to you if there’s a problem, but I’m very surprised that Teresa didn’t talk to you about it first. I didn’t think that you two guys had any secrets from each other.”
“Yo tambien,” Estelle murmured. “We’ll see.”
Chapter Six
Turning his phone so that the two officers could see the tiny screen, Torrez gave Linda Real-Pasquale and Sergeant Jackie Taber a digital tour of the shooting scene. The phone images were disappointingly flat and featureless.
“You go to the top of this ridge.” He nodded eastward. “And where I was shootin’ from about a hundred yards from there, downhill to the east. I left a broken piece of the scope on a rock to mark it. The antelope were another four hundred yards out.” The closeup he had taken of his shattered rifle and jacket was spectacularly blurry. He saw Linda’s right eyebrow drift upward. “It’s a damn phone,” he said.
“Maybe one day you can move up to a pinhole camera, Sheriff,” Linda said, sober-faced. He gave the pudgy young woman a withering glance. Half his size, she was never intimidated by his glowering, his abrupt manner of speech, his ignorance of tact.
“We’ll find where you field-dressed the carcass,” Taber said.
“Yes!” Linda chimed in with mock enthusiasm. “A pile of guts!”
“That’s it. Then just back up due west four hundred yards or so, and you’ll have the spot where I was shootin’ from. I want pictures,” and he looked hard at Linda, “that show something.” He swept an arm in a large circle. “And then I want to know where the shot came from. Got to be to the south. I’d guess maybe as far as five hundred yards out. And then here,” and he turned to face the old truck. “Tire tracks, boot prints, see if you can lift a print off the hood release. Maybe off the hood near the latch.”
Blood Sweep Page 4