Bag Limit (31 page)

“With all that, you decided to go hunting anyway.”

“Sir, it’s the truth. We figured that we’d get out of town, just the three of us, and work it out. We’d just explain to Walsh. We didn’t have to involve any of the authorities. I told Connie…” He stopped and raised his hand to his head. “Jesus, this hurts,” he whispered. “I told Connie that I’d just lay the cards out on the table. The license deal was over. He’d stop pushing Connie about it, and I wouldn’t go to the authorities.”

“He didn’t go for that?”

“He would have. It was Connie who couldn’t handle Matt’s death, and then the old man’s dying on top of that. It’s just something that she couldn’t handle. It was obvious to me. It would have been obvious to Walsh.”

“So he thought a hunting accident was going to work?”

“Stupider things have been done, sir. He must have seen the two of us arguing, and took a chance. I think he wanted to hit her, but it worked out even better than he planned. He knew he didn’t hit Connie, so now he could say that she fell. He’d nail me, and that’s it. Self-defense.”

“But you never fired.”

“No. He could have climbed up to where we were, and fired my rifle a couple of times. He could have done that.”

“Had his heart been in it,” I said. I stood silently for a while, looking down at the young man. “Scott,” I said finally, “somebody’s going to ask this. It might as well be me.” The silence lingered for another few seconds.

“Walsh said that he saw you push Connie off the rocks. That he heard you two arguing. He saw you push her, and he then yelled at you. We know you didn’t fire your rifle. But what about Walsh’s claim that you pushed your sister?

Scott Gutierrez remained silent.

“How would you answer that, Scott? If Dan Schroeder puts those questions to you?”

He lifted his right hand, making a pistol out of his thumb and index finger. “I didn’t push my sister off that rock, sir. If everyone thinks I did, then I wish this had been a couple of inches farther back.” He put his index finger to his skull just above the ear and dropped his thumb. When I didn’t respond immediately, Gutierrez stretched out his right hand toward me. I took it, and his grip was surprisingly strong.

“You haven’t talked to Connie yet, have you?”

“No. I haven’t. She’s in Las Cruces. It’s going to be a while.”

“Oh, Christ,” he murmured.

I gave his hand another squeeze. “You hang in there, Scott. Give us a chance to work this thing through.”

“I guess I don’t have much choice, do I?”

Chapter Fifty-one

“Do you believe him?” Undersheriff Robert Torrez waited by my front doorstep while I thought through my answer. There were too many angles still to be explored, but my intuition had made up its mind.

I’d had all afternoon and evening to think about Scott Gutierrez, his sister Connie French, and their stepfather, James Walsh. I knew what my gut feelings were, but I didn’t want to bulldoze over the soon-to-be-sheriff’s investigation. He had his men placed where he wanted them, and he’d proceed with his investigation at his own speed.

He didn’t need me barking at his heels for the next few hours. If he was good enough to lead the charge up through the rocks without knowing if a high-powered rifle was trained his way, then he could manage the wrap-up, too.

In fact, all Robert Torrez really needed from me was to make sure that I voted the next day.

The undersheriff had driven to my home on Guadalupe late that evening. I hadn’t crossed paths with him all Monday afternoon. I didn’t want to leave messages for him at dispatch, interrupting his day just so that I could tell him, “Hey, I think this,” or “Listen, I think that.”

Even if I were completely wrong, even if I were hoodwinked by sincere-sounding answers from behind the convenient mask of Scott Gutierrez’s bandages, neither he nor his sister were going anywhere. Deputy Jackie Taber was keeping Connie French company in Las Cruces, along with assistance from the Las Cruces Police Department. At four that afternoon, Deputy Tony Abeyta had relieved Howard Bishop outside the Posadas ICU. It had been at that point that I stopped hovering and went home.

I held the door open and gestured for the undersheriff to step inside. “Come on in, Roberto.” He did so, and as he stepped past me, I said, “And for the record, yes, I do. I believe him. I think he was genuinely concerned for her welfare.” I closed the door. “The last thing he’d do is push her backward off some rocks. It would serve no purpose.”

Torrez took off his Stetson and rolled the brim in his hands, frowning at it. “Unless she was threatening to blow the whistle on him. If the license thing was his scam all along, then we’ve got a problem. That’s our sticking point.”

I shrugged and held up my hands. “Did you make any progress with the Del Rio authorities?”

“Nothing yet, but they arranged a court order putting a lock on all of Walsh’s papers—everything at his home or at his dealership. We’re going to do some sifting and see what we can come up with.”

“I think Scott was just in a bind, Robert. He couldn’t just arrest Walsh, because he’d have automatically implicated his sister. And he may have had no proof against the man. He didn’t want to do that, if he could get away with it. I didn’t ask him flat-out, but my guess is that Scott was looking for some way to put Walsh out of business, at least as far as Connie was concerned, without going to the law.”

Estelle and Francisco appeared in the hallway, and the little kid craned his neck to look up at the six-foot-four Torrez. “We had hamburgers for dinner. You shoulda been here,” he said without preamble.

“It would have been better than what I had, that’s for sure,” Torrez replied, and then he turned back to me. “Some interesting tidbits from Neil Sommers.”

“That’s Connie’s current boyfriend,” I said for Estelle’s benefit. Francisco, seeing that the conversation wasn’t going to linger on hamburgers and such, darted back toward the living room.

“Sommers wasn’t invited on the trip,” Torrez said. “He agreed to go along, but Connie refused, saying that it wasn’t so much a hunting trip as a chance for her and her brother and Walsh to sit down and talk over some important family business.”

“So he stayed home,” I said.

“That’s right. He asked if he could join up with them today sometime, and Connie said no to that, too. He said that he got the impression that she was in some kind of trouble with her stepfather.”

“You got a signed deposition to that effect?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did he go down to Cruces after that?”

“He said he was going to drive down this afternoon. I don’t know if he went or not, but the officers down there have orders that there are to be no visitors, period. Not until she’s conscious and has had a chance a talk to one of us.”

“I assume that you stopped by and talked with Scott?” I asked.

“Yes. I just came from the hospital.”

“Do
you
believe him?”

A trace of a smile ghosted Torrez’s face. “Let me put it this way, sir. I’d like to. First, let’s see what we find out down in Del Rio. That may take a day or three. By then, maybe Connie will come around. We’ll see what she says.”

“Fair enough.”

“By the way, Judge Hobart turned Dale Torrance loose on five thousand dollars’ bond. Herb and the kid went over to Lawton to pick up the livestock. Miles Waddell is royally pissed.”

“At what?”

“He thinks that Dale should be in jail.”

“Maybe he’s right. But I’ve given up trying to second-guess the judge.”

“Gayle said Waddell called the Sheriff’s Office and chewed on her ear for ten minutes. He wanted to know what kind of game of favorites we were playing.”

I laughed. “Get used to that, Roberto. After tomorrow, that becomes a way of life for you. You’ll spend about a third of each day handling crank calls from idiots.”

“And relatives,” he said. “Same thing. You should have gone to the Baca funeral. That was quite something.”

“I bet. And no thank you.”

He regarded his hat some more. “I may send one of the deputies down to Del Rio tomorrow, if the lieutenant thinks it’s worthwhile.”

“Good idea. Make sure he votes first.”

Torrez laughed. “Two or three times, sir.”

“We don’t have to stand here in the foyer, by the way,” I said. “You could come in and relax for a while.”

“I can’t,” Torrez said. “I’ve got a stack of things that need doing.”

“There’s always tomorrow,” I said.

“Well, no there’s not, sir. Tomorrow’s already booked.”

“Is there anything in particular that I can do for you?” I tried to sound sincere, I really did.

He reached for the door. I didn’t like the way his forehead was wrinkling. That meant he was thinking, and might actually come up with something. He opened the door and paused. “Don’t forget to vote.”

“Two or three times,” I said, and clapped him on the back. “But for who?”

“I’ll let you know first thing in the morning,” he said.

Chapter Fifty-two

At 7:04
AM
the next day I pushed the big red button at the bottom of the voting machine’s display. The machine chimed to let me know that I’d made the right choices. I pushed back the curtain, turned, and caught a blast of white light square in the face.

Frank Dayan grinned sheepishly and wound his camera for another take.

“Jesus, Frank,” I said, and rubbed my eyes. “There has to be a better way to waste film.”

“Posterity,” he said. “This is a big moment.”

“Just enormous,” I grumbled, and stepped to one side so that I wouldn’t block traffic. In this case, “traffic” was a tiny, white-haired woman who smiled brightly at me. I tipped my hat and moved Frank out of her way. She’d arrived at the fire station on Bustos just as the election clerk had handed me the little admission stub with the number
6
written on it.

Dayan followed me outside.

“Have you established the connection between James Walsh and Scott Gutierrez yet?”

“No, Frank, we haven’t.” I breathed in the wonderful air. And then, as an afterthought, I said, “At least Sheriff Torrez hasn’t. Investigation is continuing, as we’re fond of saying.”

“Is Connie French still in a coma?”

“As far as I know.”

“I’m guessing that some of the answers lie with her, is that right?”

“That would be right.”

“So if she never comes out of it, what happens?”

“The department pursues other avenues of investigation that remain open.”

“I understand that Estelle Guzman is visiting.”

“That’s also correct.”

“Do she and her husband have any plans to return to Posadas?”

I laughed. “You’d have to ask them, Frank.”

“Fair enough. I had a feeling you were going to say that, but it was worth a try. One last thing. Can I break the news that you’ve agreed to work with the New Mexico Livestock Board as an interim inspector? Is that official yet?”

“I’ve been asked, and I haven’t given my answer.” Another vehicle pulled in and deposited two more voters. I nodded a greeting. “But yes, you can say that I’ve agreed to help out on a temporary basis.”

Frank Dayan looked pleased. Apparently his news scoops came in all sizes and shades of importance.

“I heard—maybe it was you that told me, I’ve forgotten—I heard that you promised today would be your last day as sheriff. That you weren’t going to wait until January. Is that true?”

“That’s true. I told the County Commission last spring that was the deal, when I took the job. Assuming both of those voters who just walked into the building push the right buttons, Robert Torrez will be serving as sheriff-elect beginning at midnight.”

Dayan cocked his head and studied me. “And so now what? How are you going to spend your day?”

“I can’t imagine that the average reader would care.” I chuckled. “It would make sense to spend the next seventeen hours being useful. Other than that, I have no plans.”

“Will you do me a favor?” Dayan asked.

“If I can, sure.”

“As soon as you find out something definite about this mess with Connie French, will you let me know?”

“If something crops up in the next seventeen hours, I certainly will. Otherwise, you’ll be talking to Sheriff Torrez.” I found myself grinning like a teenager. “I like the sound of that.” I turned to go, then remembered the newspaper publisher’s trek up the mountainside. “How did your photo of the air rescue come out?”

“Awesome,” he beamed. “It’s going to be a hell of a front page this week. Full color.”

“Outstanding. I look forward to seeing it. Don’t forget to vote, Frank.”

I was three minutes from home, and didn’t waste any time. The Don Juan was closed, but my grandson wasn’t one to shirk his duties. He and Estelle had conjured up their own version of breakfast burritos, and when I walked through the front door I was greeted by the wonderful aroma. Eating wasn’t the first thing on my mind, though.

Earlier, the telephone had rung just as I was getting ready to walk out the front door on my way to vote. My grandson the answering machine had gotten there first, and surprised me when he announced that the call was for Dr. Francis Guzman. “Your aunt in Veracruz, Doctor G,” he said as he handed the physician the receiver.

When I returned home from my electoral duties, “Doctor G” was still on the phone. He’d moved from the busy kitchen to the back patio, where he stood in his shirtsleeves, shuffling the cottonwood leaves with his sandals while he talked.

Estelle reached across the counter and handed me a mug of coffee. “We can eat breakfast in about five minutes,” she said.

“Great. Have you had a chance to talk to Sophia?”

Estelle shook her head. “She was hoping that she would be able to break away and come up for a couple of days, but it doesn’t sound like it.” She glanced out the window. “Very serious negotiations.” She caught her husband’s eye and beckoned, but he grinned and held up a hand. After another minute or two of animated conversation, he opened the back door and peered inside.

“Ah, you’re back,” he said to me. “Sophia would like to speak with you.”

I joined him outside and he handed the phone to me.

“Sophia,” I said. “Nice to hear from you.”

“And how is the
padrino
? ” Her quiet voice was silky, alto, and strongly accented.

“Better and better,” I replied, remembering that the last time I’d seen Sophia Tournal, she’d been lingering over a cup of coffee in my kitchen, deep in conspiracy with Estelle. “Are you able to pay us a visit sometime soon?”

“Sometime soon, yes. I regret not this week.”

“That’s a shame. We’ve got quite a reunion going here at the moment.”

“Francis told me. You are pleased to see your son after so long, no?”

“Most pleased. And my grandson, as well. He’s been keeping the two boys busy.”

“Hmm,” she said. I wasn’t sure if the little sound was a suppressed laugh, a sigh of nostalgia, or a groan of relief that the two Guzman kids weren’t tearing
her
house apart. “Your little town,” she said, “it holds the attraction for Francis and Estelle, no?”

“So it would appear,” I replied, trying to sound as neutral as possible.

“I’ve mentioned the opportunities to be found in a large city, and of course, they are aware of those.”

“I’m sure they are,” I said. “After all, Francis did his residency in Houston. And now they’ve had a taste of the north country and city life up there in Minnesota.”

“Yes.” The single word came without inflection. “You know, I don’t recall the land behind your home, William. When I was there four years ago, I don’t believe I ever had occasion to…to explore.”

“It’s just five acres of trees and brush right now, Sophia. Nothing spectacular.”

“One must look far ahead for these things,” Sophia Tournal said. “Francis assures me that there is opportunity there.”

“I suppose there is.”

She laughed at that, a gentle little chuckle that once again was impossible for me to translate. “You don’t sound overly…what’s the word…enthusiastic.”

“Sophia, just the opposite. I’d do anything I could to help them make the right decision. Of course I’d be delighted if they would settle in Posadas again. I happen to think that there’s opportunity here, but it depends what a man wants. The area is growing, like all of the southwestern United States. Like many little communities, Posadas is desperate for quality medical care. Francis can write his own ticket.”

“Anywhere in the world,” Sophia said.

“Anywhere. I’m sure there’s some pull here because of Estelle’s mother. She’s been a good sport about Minnesota, but she’d like to return to New Mexico—or at least close by.”

“A remarkable woman.”

“Yes, she is. But Estelle tells me that her mother hasn’t tried to influence them one way or another. And that’s exactly the way I feel. It’s none of my business, when you get right down to it.”

“You’re the
padrino
for the children. It is your business. Just as it is my business.”

“I can be their godfather from a distance, if it comes to that.” I laughed. “I’d rather not be, of course.”

“Well,” Sophia Tournal sighed. “I can be an aunt from a distance, too. I have told Francis that I would invest in a new clinic.”

“That’s most generous of you.”

“No, it’s not. I’m sixty-seven years old. I have more money than I could spend in three lifetimes. I would prefer that the clinic be located in Veracruz, of course. But if Posadas is what Francis wants, then so be it. You are close to the border. The clinic will benefit a large area of northern Mexico as well. I have told Francis that he must see to that.”

“I’m sure he will.” I switched the phone to my other ear and realized that my hands were shaking.

“My nephew said that he would call back this evening to tell me what he has decided.”

“That’s fine. And if it turns out that you can break away, we’d love to have you visit.”

“We’ll see what will be,” Sophia Tournal said. “Take care of yourself,
Padrino
. ”

I switched off the phone and just stood there for a long minute, looking at the little gadget.

“Breakfast,” Estelle said. She held the door for me as I stepped into the kitchen, and then gave me a fierce hug.

“What’s that for?” I smiled as she stepped away.

“General principles, sir.”