Wink of an Eye (14 page)

The facility was surrounded by two rows of eight-foot chain-link fencing topped with razor wire. Guards' towers were stationed about every hundred yards. I dug out my fake clergy ID from the manila folder and showed it to the gate guard. He waved me through without a second glance. I parked in the visitors' lot, then carried the folder with my fake background information to the visitors' entrance.

I fell in line behind a Hispanic family waiting as the female correctional officer confirmed they were on the approved visiting list. She checked each bag as another officer did a wand search. The family had obviously been here before and knew the routine.

I moved up in line and handed the officer my fake identification papers. “I'm here to see Hector Martinez,” I said, and smiled softly. I gave her Hector's inmate number so there wouldn't be any surprises. “Family emergency,” I added quietly.

She looked over my papers, then waved me through to the next officer. He did a quick wand scan, then spoke into the radio attached to his shoulder. He rattled off Hector's inmate number, then instructed whoever was on the other end to bring Hector to private visiting room 3.

“Hey, Randy,” he called to another officer standing nearby, “Can you take the Father to visiting room three?”

Randy seemed a little too eager for his job. Like maybe he wasn't fully trusted yet to carry a weapon. “Sure. Right this way.”

He ushered me into a small windowless room. The only thing in the room was a card table and two chairs. A phone was mounted on the wall near the door. “A guard will be waiting outside the door, if you need him for anything. When you're finished, just knock on the door and someone will escort you back to check-in,” Randy said. “If it's an emergency, that phone rings directly to the guard station.”

“I'll be fine,” I assured him.

“You sure? Looks like you've already been a couple rounds with one of our residents.” He pointed to his lip and grinned.

I laughed. “A rough game of hoops.”

“Ought to be a law against beating up a priest.”

“Fortunately, there's laws against beating up anyone.”

I let out a long breath when chatty Randy finally left. I feared he was going to ask me to pray with him. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been to confession and the last time I'd lit a candle was in St. Timothy's outside of Vegas when Rhonda called and said Uncle Angus had died. I couldn't remember if you were supposed to light the candle before someone died or light it after they passed, but it seemed right at the time. We weren't very good Catholics.

About ten minutes had passed when the door opened again and a guard escorted Hector Martinez into the room. The guard gave me a quick nod, then closed the door behind him as he left.

Hector was about my height and more ripped than I'd ever dreamed of being. His biceps stretched the fabric of his T-shirt. It wasn't hard to guess how he spent most of his days. The kid could probably bench press a whale.

“
Usted habla inglés?
” I asked.

“What happened to Father Thomas?” His eyes were as black as night and just as cold.

“Why don't we sit down?”

He didn't budge. “They said there was a family emergency. Is it Victoria?”

The sister who went missing three weeks before Burke was shot.

“Yes and no. I don't have any new information on her but I am looking into her disappearance.”

He folded his arms across his massive chest and stared hard at me. “Why would a priest be looking into my sister's disappearance?”

I didn't have much time to gain this kid's trust and what time I did have was ticking by. “Sit down, Hector. We've got a lot to talk about in a short time.”

“Man, I don't even know you.” He started toward the door.

“My name's Gypsy Moran. I'm a private investigator hired by Burke McCallen.”

He stopped, turned around, and glared at me. “That old deputy?”

“Yeah. The one you allegedly shot.”

He guffawed. “So why'd he hire
you
?”

“To find out what really happened.”

“Good luck with that. When you find out, let me know.”

“Why'd you confess if you didn't do it?”

He smiled a cocky smile. “Who says I didn't do it?”

“Sit down, Hector.”

He slowly moved toward one of the chairs but still didn't sit. “What's this got to do with Victoria?”

I pulled out one of the chairs and sat down, leaning into the table. “Victoria disappeared three weeks before Burke McCallen was shot. Seven other girls have gone missing since.”

That took him by surprise. I wished I could see the thoughts spinning through his mind at the moment. He finally sat down across from me. “You think they're connected?”

“I don't know. I was hoping you could tell me what happened the day she disappeared.”

He picked at a hangnail. “She just didn't come home one day. It was the summer and she was working at the grocery store. She got off at four and just never came home.”

“And you don't think there was any possibility she ran away?”

He shook his head. “No … she was a good girl. She was never in any trouble.”

“When she disappeared, did your family report it to the cops?”

He hesitantly shrugged. “For what good it did. My mother and father … they tried to keep a low profile if you know what I mean.”

“And what about you? Did the cops know you?”

“About a month before Victoria disappeared, I got busted with a bag of weed. That was the only trouble I'd ever been in. Then Victoria disappeared, and that cop got shot, and I'm getting dragged down to the station for an
interview.
”

“Where were you the night Burke McCallen was shot?”

“Hanging with some friends at the lake.” He stared at me with truthful eyes and I believed him.

“They wouldn't alibi for you?”

He laughed. “A bunch of weed-smoking illegals? They were all scared to come forward.”

“And the cops nabbed you because they knew your name.”

He nodded. “I guess.”

“Do you remember who made the arrest?”

“A big guy, blond hair. Something Peters, I think.”

“Peterson?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yeah, that was it. Peterson.”

“What happened with the drug bust? Were you ever charged?”

“Not at the time. When they brought me in for questioning about the deputy, that Peterson guy
reminded
me about it. He said they'd make it go away. And I guess they did.” He grinned sarcastically.

“So you confessed to shooting a law-enforcement officer to get out of a drug bust?” That didn't make sense. He could have walked from the drug bust.

Hector slowly shook his head. “No. Peterson told me they knew where Victoria was and if I wanted them to bring her home, I'd do what they told me to do.”

“Did you see Victoria?”

He glared at me. “What do you think?”

I didn't answer. “Have you ever thought of recanting your confession?”

“I don't want the same thing to happen to Maria.”

“Who's Maria?”

“My younger sister. They told me she might disappear, too, if I ever talked.”

“How old is Maria?”

“Fourteen. I don't want her to disappear,
Mr. Moran.
” I felt the chill of his black eyes deep in my bones.

“Does she stay at home by herself during the day?”

He shook his head. “She goes to work with my mother and father.”

“They work at the same place?”

He nodded. “My father works the horses at a ranch. My mother is a housekeeper for the rich bitch owner.”

I took a small breath. “Which ranch?”

“The K-Bar. Ever hear of it?”

Yeah, I'd heard of it. And I was growing more concerned each time I heard its name.

 

CHAPTER 13

Why would the wife of a state senator make a practice of hiring illegals? Maybe Claire wasn't the one doing the hiring. Whether or not she was doing the hiring, it didn't look good for illegals to be anywhere near a payroll a state senator might be connected to. Political careers had ended because of much less. Hiring is usually the job of the ranch foreman. I wondered if Sam Amos was still the foreman. Sam defined the word
cowboy
in my book. He was loyal to a fault and smartly honest—he knew when to keep his mouth shut and when to offer his opinion. He'd walked in on me and Claire in the barn with our pants down more than once. He never said a word. But there was a new pack of condoms waiting on us in the upstairs loft each time we snuck away.

I was halfway back to Rhonda's when my cell beeped. It was Sophia.

“Have you had lunch?” she asked.

It didn't matter if I had just eaten; the delightful Miss Ortez was going to hear that I was starving. “Sure haven't. You?”

“Can you meet me in Kermit? There's a little sandwich shop in a strip center on Austin Drive called Coney Island Subs. There's a big chain drugstore on the corner.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I just need to go over some things with you. When will you be here?”

“I'm about twenty minutes out.”

She hesitated, then said, “I'll wait.”

I mashed the accelerator. It was rude to keep a lady waiting.

Coney Island Subs was sandwiched between an easy-installment insurance agency and a Great Bargains dollar store. A row of booths lined one wall of the sub shop. Sophia was in the back booth looking dangerously radiant in a red tank top and tiny sweater.

“Isn't Coney Island known for its hot dogs?” I said, sliding in across from her.

She arched her brows and stared at me without saying anything. Finally, a cynical grin spread across her gorgeous lips. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

I felt my face redden to the color of her top and immediately jerked the white collar from around my neck. I don't embarrass easily, more like never, but my face felt as hot as that damned chicken dish I'd had at our last lunch. Sophia Ortez made me blush! I wasn't used to blushing; I didn't know how to recover. I didn't like not being in control.

“You're apparently a man of many talents, but priest? I have a hard time buying that one.”

I grinned sheepishly. “I needed a way to get in to see Hector Martinez.”

She smiled and slowly shook her head, then lightly touched her lip. “And I guess you got into a prison fight while you were there?”

I ran my thumb over my busted lip. “A rough game of hoops.”

“It looks like it. Well, I hope your trip to the prison paid off.”

“It did. I'm convinced the kid didn't shoot Burke McCallen.”

A barrel-chested guy with enough hair on his arms to make a toupee came over to take our order. Sophia ordered a turkey club on toasted wheat, hold the cheese. I ordered the Italian sub, all the way.

“So, if Hector Martinez didn't shoot McCallen, who did?” she asked after Hairy Arms left to get our drinks.

“That's a whole 'nother conspiracy theory. But—Hector Martinez is connected to the missing girls, and apparently, the missing girls are connected to Ryce's death. Or did you find out something different?” I prayed for Tatum's sake there wasn't any truth to the rumor about Ryce doing the nasty with an underage boy.

“That was one thing I wanted to meet with you about. No—Odessa PD hasn't done a prostitution sting in over a year and they've never nabbed a fellow officer in any sting. And they'd never heard of Ryce McCallen.”

I wasn't surprised, but I was relieved.

Hairy Arms brought our drinks, then wobbled on a bum knee back over to the deli counter.

“What else did you find?”

“You told me that everyone in the county seemed scared of Sheriff Gaylord Denny.” She popped a straw in her glass of water. “I don't think it's the sheriff they have to be scared of.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I just came from Sheriff Denny's office. I spent over an hour interviewing him.”

I nearly choked on a drink of water. “Interviewing him about what?”

“The missing girls.”

Hairy Arms brought our sandwiches and slid me the ticket. Sophia reached for it but wasn't fast enough. I folded it and slipped it in my pocket. “What'd he say about the missing girls?”

She shrugged. “He said he didn't know anything about it, but he would look into it.” She took a hungry bite of her sandwich.

I stared at her, waiting for the punch line. “And that's it? He's just going to
look into it
? Darlin'—he may be the one
behind
it.”

She shook her head, took another bite of sandwich, then wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. “Have you ever met him?”

I cocked my head, not sure where she was going. “No. I haven't had the pleasure.”

“He's a doddering old man. That's why it took an hour to interview him. His mind kept … wandering, like he has dementia or something.”

I took a bite of my sandwich and chewed slowly, wondering how long it had been since Burke had seen his former boss. “You think maybe he was playing you?”

She was quick to shake her head. “I have an aunt with dementia. I've seen it firsthand. If Denny was playing me, the man deserves an Oscar for his performance.”

I still wasn't convinced. “If he is losing his faculties, you don't think people would notice? The sheriff of any county's a public figure. There's meetings they have to attend with county management, there's conferences, there's—”

“I get it. But that's what the undersheriff's for. I've got an intern pulling the minutes of the past year's board of alderman meetings to see if the sheriff actually attended, or if he sent a representative.”