She walked outside to get it while Beau flagged down the waitress for more coffee.
“Maybe there’s something in here, something you’ll see on a second reading?” she said, laying the file on the table beside him.
“I’m off duty today, so I guess it’s as good a time as any. Cold cases generally have to be worked on personal time. Let me try calling in a favor with somebody in Albuquerque.” He pulled his phone from a pocket and dialed.
While he was speaking quietly, their waitress showed up with the two steaming plates—eggs, bacon, hash browns and cheese, wrapped in a flour tortilla and smothered in green chile sauce. Sam tried to wait politely but the scent was about to make her drool.
“I should get a report later this afternoon,” Beau said, picking up his fork. “Jonathan is a buddy I met at the law enforcement academy. He changed career paths and went to Quantico and ended up in the Albuquerque FBI office. He can usually get his hands on background and security information. I’ve used him as a resource a couple times.”
Sam dug into her meal. “I’d be interested to know if the report has any explanation as to how Tito might have sent cards to his family after he vanished,” she said when she took time for a breath. “Had I mentioned that part of it to you?”
Beau shook his head and stared at her. “No. And there’s nothing in our file about it. Why wouldn’t Mrs. Fresques have reported that she was hearing from him?”
“Maybe she did. My guess is that if she said anything to Orlando Padilla about it, he told her that her son just had a guilty conscience after running off with that ‘other woman.’ Sent a card now and then so they wouldn’t hate him.” She pushed her empty plate aside and held her coffee mug with both hands. “But that makes no sense. Aside from the fact that Lisa Tombo told me there was no affair between them, a guy who is close enough to his mother to send cards would take the approach of eventually introducing her to this lover and trying to get mom to accept her. Don’t you think so?”
He nodded. “Makes sense to me.”
“Most of us would work harder at getting the family to accept a stranger than we would at hiding out for years just to be with this person. It’s just the way we work, typically.”
“And does that statement have anything to do with us? With my meeting your folks?” His lopsided smile became even more crooked as he held back a grin.
“Okay, maybe I’m the exception to the rule. I left home as a teenager, with no expectations, certainly no desire to ever return to my parents’ way of life. They could accept it or they could just lump it. Besides, you have met them and I thought it went really well.”
“Because your dad is a strictly law-and-order type.”
“And because Mother is a pushover for a handsome man with a Southern accent.”
“Just wait until they really get to know me.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
Their waitress pushed the check onto the table without asking whether they wanted anything more, and Sam noticed that people were lined up at the door.
“We better give up our seats,” she suggested. “I need to get home and keep packing.”
Beau’s phone rang before they’d reached their vehicles. His side of the conversation consisted of a lot of uh-huh and really, punctuated at the end by a no kidding! and “give me ten minutes.” He rattled off a phone number.
“I need to go to my office,” he said, as he clicked off.
“Emergency?”
“That was Jonathan.”
“Quick response.”
“Yeah, and the information is surprising. He’s faxing a report and it’s got to go directly into my hands. He says it includes confidential information and to expect gaps in the data. But basically Tito Fresques’s job at Bellworth was a cover for something entirely different.”
“Like what?”
“He didn’t say. I expect we’re about to learn whatever they’re willing to tell us. Follow me over there?”
It took Sam two seconds to decide she’d rather know what was in the report than to go home and pack boxes.
Sundays around the plaza were always congested, although the chill weather was keeping a lot of folks from strolling around. Beau opted for the back streets and she followed, which took her past the little strip of shops where Sweet’s Sweets sat quietly closed. Past the half-empty municipal parking lot they made the turn and found spots in the lot behind Civic Plaza.
He pulled out his key to the back door and they entered through the squad room where one deputy, a new man, was speaking on the phone, something about a guy they were holding at the county facility for an overnight disturbance. The fax machine at the far side of the room was sitting quietly. Beau’s cell rang again, he gave a quick affirmative, and the machine started to whir. Four sheets of paper edged their way out and Beau picked up each one as it slid into the tray.
Beau nodded toward his office. He unlocked the door, ushered Sam inside and closed it again. He sat at the desk and she stood behind, looking over his shoulder. The pages seemed to be more of a typed report than actual employment forms or government documents. Jonathan Ernhart had taken a risk, transferring this information to a report and sending it.
“Drug enforcement?” Sam said. “Am I reading that right?”
Beau was running his finger down the lines as he read, not skimming ahead as she’d done. Tito Fresques worked for the DEA, performing certain undercover duties that frequently took him to Mexico, occasionally to Washington. His fluency in Spanish and ability to blend had gotten him the job. The Bellworth job as an electrician was purely a cover.
“His family never questioned this, an electrician being sent to Washington?” she mused.
“Doubtful that they ever knew where he went. Bellworth is a big enough entity that they might send guys out on jobs around the state. Tito could use that as a reason to be gone a day or two.”
The second half of the report gave dates and places.
“Look, in mid-August he went into Mexico twice, once through Tijuana and again later to Juarez. That Juarez trip was just three days before he came to Taos and disappeared.” Sam pointed to the line.
Beau nodded. Flipping to the previous sheet, he said, “He’d made both of those runs before. Four times to each place during June and July of that year.”
“So he was familiar with the territory, met the same people each time?”
“Looks like it. They’re only using code names. Tito was Panther. See here? He met with an Oso Negro twice and a Diablo Rojo several times.”
“Were those guys, the Black Bear and the Red Devil, were they good guys or bad?” Sam wondered.
“Informants, I would guess. The real criminals would have probably been named. These codes are to protect the identities of the men DEA had to work with.”
Sam thought about all this, questions flying at her. “And his family knew nothing of this?”
“Too dangerous. For them. A wife casually tells a friend that her husband is away on a trip, a wrong word here or there, and a guy is toast.”
“Tito may have become toast anyway. Someone may have followed him to Taos that weekend.”
“I think his body would have been found. These drug deals go bad, they don’t usually take the time to transport a body very far, or to give it a decent burial.” Beau set the pages down. “But it’s a big state. Lots of room to lose things.”
“Plus,” Sam reminded him, “who sent the cards to his wife and child and his mother? Somebody who wanted him to disappear isn’t going to keep up that pretense.”
“Right. It’s a lot more likely that Tito went into hiding. Saw something he shouldn’t, could name the wrong person . . . I don’t know. To stay hidden this long, I’d bet that he was feeling that there was no one he could trust. Maybe he stills feels that way. It would have to be someone pretty high up.”
“Don’t agencies have a protocol for that sort of thing, some kind of witness protection program for agents? Somebody they absolutely know they can trust
, the person they can call when everything falls apart?
He shrugged. “I would think so. I need to ask Jonathan some more questions.”
Chapter 16
While Beau picked up his personal phone Sam excused herself to go to the restroom. She came out to find the deputy who’d earlier been in the squad room standing near Beau’s closed door.
“Excuse me?” she said. She recognized him as the newest recruit, Denny Waters, a guy Beau had hired after Padilla left.
He started and spun around. “Oh, hi Sam. I just needed to ask the sheriff a question but it sounds like he’s on the phone.”
“He should be out in a few minutes,” she said, standing her ground.
She watched him head down the hallway toward the break room and vending machines.
Come on, Beau, she thought. I’ve got packing to do, a zillion other things . . . She didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye. She paced. She’d programmed Diane Milton’s phone number into her cell, and decided to see if the neighbor had any news about Marla’s condition. But when she dialed it, there was no answer, not even a machine. They’d probably gone to church. The young deputy returned to the squad room, a mug of coffee in hand.
His lurking at Beau’s door earlier was probably nothing, Sam thought, trying to shake off the jumpy feeling. Chalking it up to general impatience, she resolved to calm down so she asked the deputy if he thought the weather was going to get warmer again. Luckily, Beau came out of his office before they’d completely worn out that topic.
“Waters, don’t you have patrol this morning?”
The deputy stammered something about just finishing up a report. He tamped some papers together and abandoned his coffee in favor of putting on his jacket and walking out the back door.
“Not a great self-starter, that kid,” Beau grumbled. He glanced around to be sure they were alone. “Jonathan says he’ll do some more checking on Tito’s status. Says there was absolutely nothing in the file to indicate that Fresques had gone missing. So, if that’s the case, I asked why no one raised the alarm when he quit reporting in. Jonathan suggested that he could have begun reporting to someone else, been shifted to a new division or something and the info in his file was allowed to go stagnant.”
“That just doesn’t seem possible,” Sam said. “A guy working undercover, wouldn’t they expect updates? Surely someone at Bellworth would have questioned. If they didn’t hear from him for a long time, wouldn’t someone go looking?”
He gave her a firm look. “You honestly think every department of government knows what the others are doing? The left hand . . . the right hand . . . one federal office versus another . . .”
She got the picture. And speaking of reporting to a federal officer, Sam remembered that she’d promised Delbert Crow that she would send an update on the two properties under her care. He was one guy who didn’t care about her business or her personal life. First thing Monday morning she would be hearing from him.
“I better go,” she said. “It’s my one day off from the bakery and I’m not accomplishing much.”
He pulled her close, a reminder that the day hadn’t started off badly at all. After a lingering kiss she broke away reluctantly.
“You’re right,” he said. “It’s my day off too.” His eyes grew wistful. “Sure was hoping we would be moving your stuff to my house today.”
“Let me get past this holiday on Tuesday. Things will settle down a lot after that.” She gave him another quick kiss and headed out.
Would life really settle down anytime soon? The wind tunneled down the street as she rushed to her truck. Slamming the door to block the chilly air, she sat in the sun-warmed cab for a moment before turning the key. She wanted to get to the hospital to see Marla, needed to handle her caretaker duties on the two properties and report to Delbert Crow, plus she really should get serious about packing her things. Even though they’d postponed the ceremony, she didn’t want Beau to think she was backing out.
I’m not backing out. I’m just waiting for a day, one whole day, in which I don’t have four thousand other things to do.
And you’re stalling about revealing your little secret, Sam, a little voice said. You know you are.
She rested her forehead against the steering wheel and tried to suppress the thought but it wouldn’t go away. Until she could be completely open and honest with Beau about the powers of the wooden box, she couldn’t make vows to him. She swallowed the lump that came into her throat.
That damn box had been thrust into her hands, had come into her life, completely against her will. She’d tried more than once to get rid of it. Gustav Bobul, the chocolatier, had hinted that the object had an evil history, while Bertha Martinez, the woman who’d given it to her spoke of the many good things she could accomplish with it. So far, her actual experiences had been for the positive. She would have to stress that part of it if she told Beau.
When she told Beau.
The top of the steering wheel felt hot against her forehead. She raised her head, wondering how long she’d been sitting there.
She cranked the ignition and pulled away from the curb. Traffic was light and she drove with purpose toward the hospital. Visits to sick and dying people were always difficult for her and Sam knew that she could very well find excuses to stay away. But she also owed Marla a report.
How much would she actually reveal, Sam wondered as she got closer to her destination. Should she tell the mother that her son’s good job with Bellworth was a façade? That he was working undercover, probably consorting with drug dealers and traffickers in Mexico? The knowledge certainly wouldn’t help a mother. Then again, maybe Marla had already figured out some of it. She pulled into the visitor’s parking lot, still debating.
The decision was made for her when Sam walked into Marla’s room. Two of the neighbors she’d met at the memorial were there, sitting by the bed, talking in low tones. Marla seemed smaller and thinner than ever, shockingly pale, her color almost blending with the hospital sheets. Her hair had gone completely white, and her eyes were large chocolate orbs surrounded by slack muddied skin.
The other two women greeted Sam quietly and used her arrival as a reason to leave.
“Samantha, I’m so happy to see you.” Marla’s smile stretched her dry lips to the point that they looked painful, but the happiness never reached her eyes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner,” Sam said, taking a hand that felt like bones inside a gauze bag.
“Is there news about Tito? Is he coming?”
Sam’s throat clenched at the desperation in her friend’s frail voice.
“Not yet,” she said. “We’re still looking. I’ve got the sheriff’s office involved now, and there is even an investigator in Albuquerque working on it.”
That scrap of news seemed to give her a boost. Marla let go of Sam’s hand and used both arms to push herself a little higher in the bed.
“I need something from the house, Sam. I meant to ask Camille.” She glanced around. “I guess they are gone already.”
Her hands fussed with the edge of the sheet for a minute. “Could I ask you to get it for me?” Marla finally asked.
“Certainly. Whatever I can do.”
“My purse is in this—” She waved one hand toward the bedside stand. “I can’t reach it.”
“Don’t try,” Sam said, walking around to the far side of the bed. She pulled open a drawer but it contained only small items like a mini box of tissues and a paperback book. The larger compartment below held a black leather purse and she pulled it out.
It took Marla almost a minute to grasp the zipper pull and to work it along until the purse opened. Sam nearly bit her nails at the delay, but finally out came a key ring with three keys on it.
“This one works the front door.” Marla said, selecting a silver-toned one. One of the others obviously belonged to the car and the third one probably didn’t matter for Sam’s purposes today.
“I left my cards
in the bedroom,” Marla said. “The ones from Tito. I would like to look at them again, for awhile.”
“Sure. I’ll go get them and bring them back for you.”
“And Sam? When I’m gone would you see that Jolie gets them? Don’t let the hospital people throw them out.”
“Oh, Marla, of course.”
She wanted to come up with something encouraging, try to tell Marla that she would soon be going home and that her granddaughter would be there with her. But the lie would be cruel. Marla wouldn’t believe her anyway. Sam could see that in her eyes.
“Go now, dear. I’m a little sleepy.” Marla’s hands let go of the purse and Sam placed it back in the nightstand.
When she turned to say that she would be back this afternoon, Sam saw that Marla had already fallen asleep, her head lolling to one side. Gently, she straightened the pillow and tucked the blanket higher around the thin shoulders. So sad.
The new errand gave Sam a reason and a method for organizing the rest of her day. One of the properties under her care was located at this end of town, no more than five minutes from the hospital. She backed out of her parking slot and steered that direction. The other place was on the north side of town, and in the interest of killing two birds and all that, she could run by there on her way to Marla’s.
Her duties as a property caretaker under her USDA contract were straightforward: Get into the place and see that it was cleaned and maintained in reasonable condition for sale. Normally, the homes were abandoned by owners who couldn’t keep up with their mortgage payments. If the government had guaranteed the loan, the department had to eventually take possession and see that the property was auctioned off or sold through a Realtor. Sam was usually the first person to appear after the abandonment, and she’d found places in every sort of condition. A couple months ago, she’d walked into an upscale home that looked as if the owner had walked away in the middle of breakfast. Most often, she didn’t get that lucky. Some places were hoarder’s nests, others had refrigerators full of rotten food. And then there was the one where a body had been buried in the backyard, the day she’d met Beau.
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