A Discount for Death (14 page)

Chapter Nineteen

The cab of Robert Torrez’s Chevy pickup was a tight squeeze. Estelle sat in the middle, scrunched sideways toward Bill Gastner so Torrez had room to shift. The truck smelled its twenty-eight years, a potpourri of motor oil, chewing tobacco, and dog. The cab was more than a convenient spot for the driver to sit. It was a vast depository for things both needed and forgotten.

Gastner hitched his bulk toward the door another millimeter. “Nice rig, eh?” he said, and patted the dash, leaving fingerprints in the ancient greasy dust.

“Spectacular,” Estelle replied. “But Kenderman is thinking police cruisers right about now. This might give us an edge.”

“A new low in undercover,” Gastner chuckled. Torrez remained studiously silent. They rolled through the stop sign at Twelfth and Bustos, pausing just long enough to allow an eastbound livestock tractor trailer to pass through.

“Can you follow him?” Estelle asked, pointing at the semi.

“Sure,” Torrez said, and the pickup accelerated with respectable speed, a minor vibration from the drive train, and the smell of hot oil.

Estelle looked out over the broad, weather-beaten hood at the towering rear end of the stock trailer ahead of them. In another couple of seconds, they would reach Pershing Park, the historical marker that graced the two-block “downtown” area. Just north of the park a handful of blocks nestled the little cinder-block house owned by Barbara Parker.

She tried to imagine what route Perry Kenderman would take through the neighborhoods that lay between her own home and the Parkers’ as he jogged along, his mind fuzzed with overcharges of emotion and alcohol. The village of Posadas was no metropolis, but if he was on foot, Kenderman had a dozen blocks to cover, skirting dogs, fences, and ducking out of sight when the odd car cruised by. He might have sprinted up the alleyway behind the Guzmans’, coming out on Bustos near the Don Juan restaurant. Once into the neighborhoods north and east of the Twelfth Street-Bustos Avenue intersection, he could meander his way to Third Street, keeping to the shadows.

“You’re sure he’s on foot?” Gastner asked.

“No. I’m guessing that he is…he might have borrowed a car from a friend, but we impounded his brother’s little pickup, so that’s out.”

“Does he know we’ve got his truck nailed down?” Torrez asked. “He might be headed back that way.”

“And if he does, Pasquale’s right there,” Estelle said.

“We’ll cut through the back,” Torrez said. He turned the truck onto Second Street, immediately behind Salazar and Sons Funeral Home, and a few minutes later eased to a stop along the curb. Estelle leaned forward and looked past him. She could see the two enormous elms on the other side of the block, their thin crowns illuminated by the streetlight.

“What do you want me to do?” Gastner asked.

“We can cut through right here,” Estelle replied. “If he’s on foot, we should be way ahead of him. If not…” Torrez opened the door of the truck. “We’ll go around front. If you’d cover the back…”

“Let’s do it,” Gastner said. “Roberto, how do I get out of this thing?”

“Just buck it with your shoulder,” Torrez said. “It’s kinda bent.” Estelle saw that he had the small handheld radio in hand. “PD, three oh eight.” The volume was turned so low Estelle had difficulty hearing the reply.

“Turn anything?” Torrez asked.

“Negative.” Chief Mitchell managed to sound disappointed.

“We’re at the Third Street address. We’ll be checkin’ there.”

“We’ll head on up that way.”

“Hang south of Bustos for a while,” Torrez said. “If he’s headed up here, I don’t want him spooked.”

“Ten four.”

“Three oh six, you copy that?”

“Three oh six copies. I’m at the school right now. No sign of him.”

Torrez slid the radio back in the pocket of his jacket. “Let’s go see.”

As they crept through the darkness, Estelle waited for the neighbor’s dog to sense their presence, but either he was inside or didn’t care. The Parkers’ house loomed dark against the halo of the streetlight. The backyard was small and unfenced. Torrez led, keeping close to a hedge of runty, water-starved lilac bushes. Gastner touched Estelle’s arm and pointed off to the right, toward the back door. She nodded and he drifted that way, walking so slowly that she knew he was searching for level footing, hoping to feel the hidden tricycle or sandbox before he tripped over it.

Estelle could see no lights on in the back of the house, none from the bedroom where Ryan hopefully snuggled, wrapped around Franklin the cat. They had reached the high, frosted window of the bathroom when Estelle heard the voices. Torrez stopped instantly, listening. “Damn television,” he whispered.

“No, I don’t think so.” She held her breath and moved closer to the bathroom window. This time, she heard footsteps. She closed her eyes, recreating the floor plan of the small house in her mind.

“I just don’t think this is a good idea, Perry,” Barbara Parker said, and the words were so clear she must have been standing near the bathroom door. “The children are both asleep now. Maybe we should…”

“Shit,” Torrez muttered, not waiting to hear the rest of the conversation. He sprinted toward the front of the house, moving with surprising speed for a man so large. Ducking around the left front fender of Barbara Parker’s little sedan, he reached the front door, breathing hard. He held up a hand as he sensed Estelle beside him. With the other, he reached out and gently turned the knob.

The door swung open noiselessly. In the living room, the television was on, its volume muted. Barbara Parker stood in the hallway, her hands clasped together as if she were praying. Estelle saw her turn, perhaps feeling the change in air pressure or the soft night sounds floating in through the open door. She saw the two officers, and one hand went to her mouth in surprise.

“Perry,” she said, and shrank back as Torrez bore down on her. The sheriff stopped in the bedroom doorway. Looking past his shoulder, Estelle could see Perry Kenderman on the far side of the little single bed, Ryan Parker gathered in his arms. She pushed past Torrez, snapping on the bedroom light as she did so. With his free hand, Kenderman was trying to wrap a small blanket around the boy. Ryan’s face crumpled into a loud wail.

“Put him down,” Estelle barked. Kenderman clutched the boy to him, backing up until his back was against the wall. His left arm slid up until his forearm was across the boy’s upper chest, under the chin. Estelle interpreted his movement as protective of the boy, rather than threatening.

“You have to tell ’em it wasn’t my fault,” Kenderman said helplessly.

“Put the boy down,” Estelle repeated, and when she felt Torrez shift behind her, she turned and pushed a hand against his chest, advancing on Kenderman at the same time. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, but saw no weapons. Still, he could snap Ryan’s neck like a toothpick. She stopped at the foot of the bed. “Perry, what’s this going to accomplish?”

He frowned, and it looked as if he was chewing on his tongue, trying to put words together.

“Perry, listen to me,” Estelle said. “The children are safe here. I talked to your brother this afternoon. He’s not taking them to Las Cruces. Barbara has custody until this is all straightened out. They’re safe with their grandmother, Perry.”

Kenderman shifted his hold on Ryan, turning him so that the little boy’s face was cradled against his shoulder.

“You know the law as well as I do, Perry,” she said. “You can’t just take the children away from their guardian. We won’t let you do that.” For the first time, Perry Kenderman’s eyes seemed to focus on Robert Torrez, who stood easy, blocking the doorway, hands at his sides.

“Let him go, Perry,” Estelle whispered. Kenderman closed his eyes and his arms relaxed, letting Ryan slide down to the bed. Estelle held out a hand and Ryan crabbed across the bedding, his hands hot and sweaty in Estelle’s as she drew the little boy to her. Torrez moved around her quickly, but Kenderman had already sagged down the wall, ending up on his rump, arms across his knees.

The sheriff grabbed Kenderman’s arms and hoisted him to his feet, as if he weighed no more than Ryan, and spun him around face first against the wall. The metallic ratchet of handcuffs was loud in the room, and Torrez wasted no time. He whisked Perry Kenderman out of the house without comment or glance at Barbara Parker.

Still holding Ryan in her arms, Estelle turned away from the bed.

“I just got so flustered,” Barbara Parker said. She reached out for Ryan, then looked puzzled as Estelle made no move to release the child.

“Mrs. Parker, do you understand what’s going on?”

“Why…I don’t…what do you mean?”

“Do you understand that you have
legal
custody of these children?” She glanced across the hall toward the small bedroom where Mindi slept peacefully.

“I…yes, I do.”

Estelle moved a step closer, so close she could smell the cigarette smoke on Barbara Parker’s breath. “Do you understand what that means, Mrs. Parker?”

The woman bristled a bit as some of her backbone returned. “Now, I’m not stupid, Sheriff.”

“Mrs. Parker, we argued Richard out of taking the children earlier. Just now, you allowed Perry Kenderman to walk into your house and apparently it was just fine with you that he take your grandson. I don’t understand you.”

“I…” The woman looked around the room as if the answer was hiding from her.

“You didn’t even call nine one one, Mrs. Parker. Perry had no car. What were you going to do, let him take yours? Or maybe just walk off into the night, the two of them?”

“No, I didn’t know he didn’t have a car. I let him in, and he seemed so…I don’t know, so…frantic about the children. I tried to explain to him, but he just went right to the bedroom. Went right in to fetch Ryan. I tried to talk him out of it.”

Ryan’s weight seemed to solidify against her chest and arm, and Estelle bent at the knees until his feet found the floor. “Good boy,” she whispered in his ear. He didn’t release her hand.

“Mrs. Parker, Perry Kenderman has been formally charged in the death of your daughter. I don’t think you’ll have to worry about him. Richard Kenderman understands that he’s not to be on your property, or not to attempt to contact the children until the court says otherwise.” She saw the tears in the woman’s eyes. “I know it’s hard,” she added, and her voice softened. “They’re remarkable children for so many people to want them. I think you must be very proud of your daughter.”

Mrs. Parker nodded. “I am, you know. I really am.”

“Keep them safe,” Estelle said. She ushered Ryan toward his grandmother, and at the same time smiled at the woman. “And next time don’t take so long to call us. Three little numbers. Nine, one, one. That’s your responsibility.” Heavy footsteps pounded on the rug, and Deputy Thomas Pasquale appeared in the hallway.

“You all right, ma’am?” His eyes took in Estelle, Barbara Parker, and the small blanket-wrapped boy.

“We’re fine,” Estelle said.

“Kenderman’s in the car,” Pasquale said. “And the sheriff wants to talk to you when you’re done.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Estelle said, and turned to Mrs. Parker.

“I’ll be in touch, all right?”

The woman nodded. “Thank you so much. I was stupid, I know.”

“It’s hard sometimes,” Estelle said. “It’s hard to know just what to do.”

She reached over and ruffled Ryan’s hair and earned a small smile. “You take care of Mindi, now,” she said.

“She’s asleep,” Ryan said.

“That’s good. You should be, too.”

She turned and made her way down the hall. Pasquale held the front door for her, and she puffed her cheeks and looked heavenward as she stepped past him.

“Nice night, huh,” he said.

“Wonderful,
Tomás
. ”

Out at the curb, Robert Torrez leaned against Pasquale’s Expedition, one leg crossed over the other, hands in his pockets. Bill Gastner leaned on the hood and appeared to be drawing pictures in the dust while Chief Eddie Mitchell looked on. The three of them looked like ranchers discussing the possibility of rain. She took a deep breath to stop her stomach from churning and walked across the yard toward them. The neighbor’s dog had taken up his position by one of the elms, watching.

“You know, the reason I was coming over to your house in the first place,” Torrez said as she approached, “was just to tell you that Tom Mears found some interesting prints on the revolver. But we kinda got sidetracked for a bit.”

“Just for a bit,” Estelle said. She reached out a hand and touched Gastner on the left arm and nodded at Mitchell. “Thanks.”

“Hell, no one ever dives out the back door,” Gastner said. “I had the easy part.”

Estelle glanced in the back of the unit. Perry Kenderman’s head was back against the top of the seat, his eyes closed, and his mouth open. “Is he all right?”

“Just stoned,” Torrez said.

“So what about the gun?”

“A couple of prints that belonged to George Enriquez on the fired cartridge.”

“Well, that’s expected, I guess. You weren’t driving over to my house just to tell me that.”

Torrez shrugged and pushed himself away from the truck as Deputy Pasquale approached. He hitched up his belt. “But none on the gun. None. Zero.
Nada
. ”

Estelle regarded the sheriff silently.

“Somebody made a dumb mistake,” the sheriff said. “Maybe the shooter made some others, too.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s late. First thing in the morning, let’s take a look. That’ll give Mears time to finish processing everything anyway. And Alan might have something for us.”

Estelle nodded.

“I’ll give you a lift back home.”

Estelle took a deep breath. “Actually, Bobby, I’d like to walk.”

“Walk?” Torrez sounded as if the idea were preposterous.

She nodded. “A little stroll would suit my nerves just fine.” She turned to Gastner. “Are you up for that, sir?”

“Oh, certainly,” the older man said without hesitation. “I’m a great hiker. We all know that.”

A few minutes later, as they watched Pasquale’s unit pull away followed by the village car, Estelle breathed a loud sigh of relief. “You just never know,” she said. Torrez had vanished in the darkness, finding his way through the backyard to his truck. She fished the small cell phone out of her pocket, and as they passed under the next streetlight, she dialed. Francis Guzman answered on the first ring.