Come Dark (20 page)

Chapter Twenty-five

She punched off the phone, and startled as a pair of muscular arms encircled her shoulders from behind.

“We could be featured in
Successful Parenting
magazine,” Francis whispered in her ear. “Keep the kids up until all hours and feed them rich lasagna to fuel their dreams.”

“Well, as Bill Gastner is fond of saying, ‘Events conspire.'” She turned and snuggled against her husband. “What was your day like?”

“Now that's another long story. And I think Alan Perrone is going to be contacting you about the autopsy, when you both have the chance.”

“Anything unusual?”

“As far as I'm concerned, the whole thing was unusual. Bobby managed to stop by for a few minutes. He thinks the gun involved was a thirty-eight, not a three-fifty-seven. Two of the rounds didn't go through and through. The two that did weren't hugely explosive in exit, like we'd expect from a magnum. Still,” he shrugged, “it was obvious to me that the last shot was meant to make very sure. Scott was essentially gone when that last shot was fired through the heart.”

“Did anything change Bobby's mind about the trajectory of the shots?”

“I don't think so. No stippling with the first three, so the shooter had to have been some distance away. At least eight feet or so.”

“No surprises, then.”

“No.” He stretched hugely. “Long day, and I'm still pooped from last night.” He drew her back into another hug. “You already know about that from the patrol log, I'm sure. The kid tangled with a deer, then lost it and sent his truck into a utility pole. What a mess. Bishop said for sure he was speeding, which he'd have to be to inflict that much damage. And no seat belt, so among other things, he suffered a ruptured spleen when he smashed into the rim of the steering wheel. That, along with a broken left elbow, cuts and bruises, head laceration with a possible concussion. Really nasty.”

“Over near where he lives?”

“That's the ironic part,” Francis said. “He
walks
home from the wreck, if you can imagine that. Only a hundred yards or so, but still. By the time he got to his front door, he would have been just about crawling. I'm surprised he made it.”

“
Ay.
Who made the ambulance call?”

“I'm told that it was his mother. She was home, thank goodness for that.”

“What did he tell the deputy?”

“I'm not sure he said much. By the time I saw him in the ER, he was right on the verge. We pumped some blood into him, and he's lucky. The medevac was over in Cruces, and got here in a hurry.”

“So he's at UNMH now?”

Francis nodded. “Tough little bugger, for sure.”

“Efrin. He's Art Garcia's little brother, I think.
That's
been a couple of years.”

“That?”

“This guy here would know.” She nodded at the shiny Dodge SUV that had glided up to the curb. Bill Gastner took his time getting out, and when he closed the door behind him, he stood for a few moments, looking up at the sky. At one time a big, burly fellow, Gastner had shed considerable weight. Still he was nothing approaching svelte, but at least not carrying the sort of poundage that crippled knees and hips.

He walked around the SUV, just the trace of a gimp marking his progress. He carried a cane that could be folded out into a minimal canvas seat—a “photographer's stool,” he called it.

“You guys keep this up, and you'll join us denizens of the night.” Gastner stepped carefully up onto the sidewalk, then ambled toward them. “Kids go to bed, after all?”

“No. They're lying in wait inside. A special night, I guess. That's my excuse.”

He pointed the cane toward the Corvette. “Is this their ride?”

“Yes. Non-stop from Kansas.”

“Ah, the energy of youth.” Gastner's imitation of W.C. Fields was spot-on. “How's the grand lady?”

Estelle laughed. “
She's
the only smart one. She went to bed a bit ago.”

Gastner walked halfway to the front stoop and stopped again. “My radio about burned itself out today.”

“It's been busy.”

The old man ran a hand across the short gray stubble that topped his round skull. “Frank Dayan's going to have a stroke, I think.
And
Leona Spears tried to corral me.
And
Arnie Gray, for God's sakes. It's been a while since a county commission chairman tried to nose his way into your business. I don't know what they think
I
can tell 'em. Or
would
tell 'em, I should say.” He stepped into a bear hug with Estelle, then turned loose and shook hands with Francis. “You look as if you've been up 'round the clock yourself, Doctor.”

“A very, very interesting day,” Francis replied.

“I just had a conversation with Frank,” Estelle said. “Leona hasn't called me, which is a surprise.” The county manager, an accomplished gadfly, liked to talk with Estelle, who would listen to her, as opposed to trying to pry information from Bob Torrez, who wouldn't.

“You know, just a nasty time.” Gastner followed that with a resigned shake of the head. “Any ideas who Coach Scott crossed?”

“Only the vaguest of notions. Slim possibilities.”

“At least you know it wasn't simple robbery. I wouldn't think a shower would be the place for that.” He dug the tip of his cane into the sod, flipped the canvas seat open, and gently lowered himself. “Ah, that's the ticket.” He folded his arms across his still-ample stomach, balanced with his feet spread wide. “You know, a little bit full of himself, that guy,” Gastner said. “I got to know him years ago when he was one of the assistant football coaches. Surprised the hell out of me when he jumped to volleyball.” The former sheriff's passion for Posadas Jaguars football was no secret. “A little more center-stage, maybe. Hell of a record he's amassed, though.”

A small form appeared, gazing through the screen door. “Padrino is here, and the lasagna is cool enough to cut,” Carlos announced in a loud stage whisper.

“The words I long to hear.” Gastner rose from his stool, folded it, and followed Estelle and Francis inside. Both boys earned hugs, and then Gastner stopped and stood stock still, hands on his hips, regarding Francisco's traveling companion.

“Padrino
,
this is Angela Trevino, from school,” Francisco said.

Gastner reached out and took Angela's hand thoughtfully. “What a pleasure, Angela Trevino from school. And you play what, other than this young man's heartstrings?”

Angela ducked her head in amused embarrassment at Gastner's blunt assessment, but then offered a radiant smile. “The cello, sir.”

“She's headed for Julliard,” Francisco added.

Gastner turned his head and cocked an eyebrow at the fifteen-year-old. “And you haven't decided yet whether that's a good thing or not.” He paused. “Unless you're going along.”

“Most likely not, Padrino.”

“Most likely not.” Gastner was clearly amused at Francisco's precise manner of speech. “Well, time will tell. So you two vagrants
drove
down here from,” and he waved a hand eastward, “somewhere over there. Long haul.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you're off again when?”

“Sometime Sunday, we think.”

“Well, even a short visit is better than none at all.” He pointed an index finger at both boys, one of whom was delivering the dish of lasagna to the table. “You two are staying at my
casa,
right?” He looked at Estelle. “Right?”

“That would be perfect, if you'll have them,” she said.

“Well, you have a key, so make yourselves at home. And you know where the food is, or bring what you like.” He leaned forward and inhaled deeply. “On the off-chance that there might be any leftovers from
this
.” He circled Addy's waist with one arm as she set a large glass bowl of Caesar salad on the table, along with a large loaf of garlic bread. “We should do this more often,” he added.

For the next half-hour, conversation played light, with Gastner a seemingly inexhaustible source of questions for Francisco and Angela, but he skillfully included Carlos as well. At one point, his fork laden with lasagna, he leaned over close to the small boy, who had made it a point of securing the chair on Padrino's immediate right, and said in a gruff stage whisper, “Do you have
any
idea just how good this is, kiddo?”

Carlos nodded vigorously. “Thank you.”

“You're entirely welcome. The question is, did Adorina lend her talents to it, or is it a solo performance?”

“Carlos made it all by his lonesome,” Addy said from the kitchen. “You're lucky there aren't chocolate chips in it.”

Dessert was another of the little boy's trademarks, a key lime pie's crisp, cold flavor helped to mellow the aftereffects of the lasagna's green chile. Finally, as dishes were being cleared to the kitchen by the younger generation, Estelle leaned close to Gastner. “Do you remember anything about Coach Scott that might shed any light?”

Gastner grimaced. “Are you kidding? I don't even remember getting up this morning.” He shook his head. “No, as far as I'm concerned, he was just another face in the parade of coaches who come and go. Except he never left, for some reason. He found whatever he was after right here in lowly old Posadas.” He sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “Maybe a classic example of a big fish in a small pond.” He set the cup down carefully. “You know, I never actually spoke to him. Face-to-face, I mean. One-on-one. Never had the occasion.”

He lowered his voice another notch. “Somebody just walked into the school after-hours and found him alone?”

“Yes. It appears that way. He was in the shower.”

“Good God. So what's the direction so far?”

“We're concerned…
I'm
concerned, that Stacie Stewart might be somehow involved.” His grizzled eyebrows shot up at that, but he waited as Francisco approached.

“We're going out to the patio for a bit,” the boy said, and Estelle watched as her older son escorted Angie Trevino, a hand light on her elbow, out through the sliding doors. The boy was mindful to close the door behind him, rather than leave the screen gaping, giving his parents and Padrino privacy. Carlos clanked and banged in the kitchen, and Addy leaned on the counter.

“Shall I buzz over to Mr. G's place and get the rooms ready?”

“By all means,” Gastner said. “Use the two adult bunk beds in Buddy's room. The bedding is in that closet. Lock up all my valuables, put a padlock on the fridge, and chain the pitbull. And warn the neighbors.”

“That would be wonderful, Addy,” Estelle added. “Thanks so much.” She pulled the girl into a hug.

“Are you headed out again tonight?” Gastner asked.

“I need some sleep,” Estelle said. “I'm starting to go in circles.”

He watched Addy head out the front door, face thoughtful. “So what's with this Stacie Stewart thing?”

“She's disappeared, Padrino
.
She went to The Spree, left her baby in the car along with a puppy, and that was the last we saw of her. Tommy Pasquale watched her go inside the store, and that's it. We haven't seen her since. Todd is trying his best to cope, but he doesn't know which way to turn.”

“Huh.”

“This is what bothers me, Padrino
.
LT and I watched the volleyball game video from the night before. There she is, sitting immediately
behind
Coach Scott, buddy-buddy with her elbow resting on his shoulder. And then sometime shortly after the game, he's murdered and the next day, she splits town. Hubby has no idea where she went.
That's
what worries me.”

“I can't see hubby working up the gumption to go on a shooting rampage.”

“Nor I…unless he's up for an Academy Award acting job. When I saw him earlier at the hospital where the EMTs took the baby,
that's
what his mind was on—not murder. And by then, Scott was dead.”

Gastner pursed his lips. “So what happens tomorrow?”

“We need to go through Scott's house and see what we turn up. I need to go through Stacie's things, which Todd is not going to like.”

“Not that that matters.”

“No, but…Then we hit up Scott's colleagues to see what we can turn.”

“Sex, drugs, money, or power…that's what makes the world go 'round. Any or all.”

“There was no apparent physical fight, so no forensic trail there. And there's no sign that the killer and Scott stood in the shower, having a spirited conversation before the shots were fired. I mean, he didn't even have time to turn off the water. It's a puzzle. As I recall, the kind of case you liked the best.”

Gastner smiled. “That was back when I could remember from one minute to the next where the puzzle pieces went when I found a new one. You have a hell of a team, Sweetheart. Use every one of 'em.” He leaned back and peered toward the kitchen. After a moment he was able to gain Carlos' attention. “Seconds on key lime? Carlos, how about that?” He held his fingers an inch or so apart. “Just a little savory piece, sort of a shot for the road?”

“Coffee with it?” the boy asked.

“Of course. Thank you.” He turned back to Estelle and her husband. She was resting her head on Francis' shoulder, eyes heavy. “I'll scarf down the pie, and then get out of here.” He cocked an eyebrow at the physician. “What keeps you busy these days?”

“Same old, same old,” Francis said. “Right at the moment, it's babies on the way, elderly folks breaking various body parts, and the occasional teenager trying to defy gravity.”

Gastner laughed. “Why do I not miss all of that?”