Convenient Disposal (16 page)

Chapter Twenty

From the Marenses’ driveway, Estelle could look down Candelaria Court and see the front door of each house. Seven families lived on the little street. It now appeared that only Carmen Acosta and Doris Marens had been home between noon and two
PM
on Tuesday.

According to deputies, Mrs. Marens had chosen not to accompany her husband to Las Cruces that Tuesday on a book-buying trip. Now home with whatever treasures he’d found, it was Clarence Marens who answered the door. Angular and badly bent from arthritis, Marens had to cock his head slightly to look at Estelle. A thick pair of glasses hung precariously from his pocket.

“Good morning, Dr. Marens,” Estelle said. She saw the flash of confusion on Marens’ wrinkled face, even though the man must have been accustomed to random greetings from college students who knew him, but who had never graced his classes. “I’m Undersheriff Estelle Guzman, sir. May I come in for a moment?”

“Well, of course you can,” Marens replied. He fumbled with the tricky storm-door lock.

“Is your wife home, sir?”

“Yes,” he said judiciously. “I think she is. Whom should I say is calling?”

“I’m with the Sheriff’s Department, sir.”

“Oh, certainly.” His gaze dropped to the seven-point gold badge on her belt, visible except when her jacket was zipped. “Just a moment while I go fetch her, young lady.” He started to turn away, then stopped abruptly, beckoning Estelle into the house. “Forgive me. Come in, come in.”

He pushed at the storm door awkwardly, and Estelle caught the latch. “Where are my manners.” He beamed metallically as Estelle entered. “Doe!” he called to his wife. “Doe, you have company.” Marens’ hands wavered as if he were unsure that Estelle would remain upright if he stepped away. “I’ll tell her you’re here. I think she’s sewing.”

The living room to Estelle’s left was small, neat, overfurnished, and unused. An old-fashioned paper roller blind was drawn down over the window that faced toward neighbors to the east, and through which Zeigler’s home would be clearly visible. Lacy drapes softened the drab effect of the blind. The larger window that directly faced the street was shaded by a modern vertical shade, the sort with narrow slats that both rotated and could be drawn to the side. The slats were currently drawn closed, but rotated so that the view down the street was not obscured.

“How about some coffee?” Estelle turned to see Clarence Marens poised in the archway leading to the kitchen.

“No thanks, sir.”

“Tuna sandwich?” He glanced at his watch.

“No, thanks.”

“Well, I was just about to make us a snack, and I’d be absolutely delighted to make a third.”

“I appreciate the offer, sir. But no, thank you.”

“Homemade bread.” He persisted, and his eyes twinkled when Estelle laughed. “We have one of those bread machines. You ever tried one of those?”

“They’re wonderful, sir.”

“I doubt that she’s interested in tuna fish sandwiches or bread machines,” his wife called. In a moment she bustled into the living room, a small, neat package of energy. Her smile of greeting immediately turned into a frown. “I talked to the young man yesterday. I’m trying to recall his name…”

“Officer Sisneros, I believe,” Estelle said.

“Yes. The village officer. What a mess you have over there.”

“Mrs. Marens, I wanted to talk with you again about what you might have heard and seen yesterday. I know you’ve been through it all before, but with a little time now, there’s always the chance that you may have remembered something.”

“How’s the child? I understand that it was Carmen who was—”

“We think that Carmen will be okay, Mrs. Marens.”

“Just awful. Really just awful. Well”—and she glanced first into the living room, and then toward the kitchen—“would you like to sit down?”

“Here would be fine,” Estelle said, and stepped toward the overstuffed sofa that faced the front window.

“I’m cutting bread,” Dr. Marens called, and his wife grimaced with impatience.

“We’re going to both end up as blimps,” she said. “My daughter-in-law gave Cal the bread machine for his birthday. Now he’s Mr. Baker. Anyway, fire away.” She settled into a rocker.

“Mrs. Marens, when I arrived yesterday, I saw you standing out on your porch.”

“Well, my goodness, such a circus, with the sirens and all. I know that it’s none of my business, but the first thing that crossed my mind was,
Oh my goodness, the school bus is going to be driving into the middle of all this
.”

“I’d like you to remember back to early morning, though,” Estelle said. “Before any of this happened. You told Officer Sisneros that you didn’t hear or see anything unusual between noon and the circus.” She smiled. “But before that? Would you tell me about your morning?”

“My morning. Well…my days are so exciting. Cal and I start thinking about getting up right at seven
AM
The clock radio comes on, and we listen to the news. That tells us if the world is still in one piece or not—whether there’s any reason to get up. So far, so good. Yesterday, Cal decided to go to Las Cruces. That wonderful bookstore there, in the mall. That’s just what we need is more books.”

“Everyone needs more books,” Dr. Marens said from the kitchen.

Doris Marens held up her hands. “And that’s that. I spent my morning doing two loads of laundry”—and she ticked two fingers—“and then I wrote a letter to my sister Agnes. Then I went to work back in the sewing room. I’m a shirt factory now.”

“Five grandchildren,” Dr. Marens called proudly.

“I took a little break around one or so and had a turkey sandwich. And then back to sewing. And then sirens and lights, and Lord knows what all.”

“At any time in the morning, do you recall seeing any traffic on the street? Any at all?”

Doris shook her head. “Most of the time, I was up to my ears in stitchery. That little bedroom back there has just the one window that looks south. There certainly isn’t much to see out back. Just weeds and more weeds. But you know, this is a quiet street.” She pointed past Estelle. “Not what I’d call
traffic
. Neil across the way goes to work about eight or so. He works at the bank, as I’m sure you know. Mrs. Sanchez next door has been in Tucson for a month with her son and daughter-in-law.” Her hand worked down the street methodically. “Both Penny and Ralph Beuler teach at the high school, so they’re gone by seven. And the county manager lives down at the end. He’s gone early, too. That just leaves the one other house on this side of the street. It’s vacant now.”

“Kevin Zeigler probably left for work before you got up, then.”

“Oh, certainly. We usually hear his little truck, and I fret about that sometimes, too. He drives way too fast on this street. Did you talk with him?”

“She frets about everything,” Dr. Marens said from the kitchen.

Estelle jotted a note on her small pad, and her lack of response prompted Doris. “He came home at around noon, you know. You need to talk with him, certainly. Maybe he saw something.”

“You saw Zeigler drive by at noon?”

“Well, not
noon
, exactly. When did I see him.” She looked down at the carpet. “I think it was when I was coming out to the kitchen. That little white truck of his.” She sat back in the rocker, hands braced on the arms of the chair as if awaiting lift-off. “Which is unusual, I suppose. As far as I know, Kevin
rarely
comes home during the day. He’s sort of the phantom of Candelaria Court. I don’t know, maybe yard and garden isn’t his thing. Every once in a while, we see him on his bike—sometimes with his friend. The one with the fancy car.”

“Can you recall exactly what time that was? When you saw his truck?”

She frowned and pursed her lips. “What time did I eat lunch? That’s the puzzle.” She brightened and smiled at Estelle. “You see, if you’d told me
yesterday
that I should remember all this, I would have paid attention.”

“That’s the way it works, I’m afraid,” Estelle said.

“What time? I know that it was sometime after the noon news. I always listen to that. That was over, and I worked in the back for a little bit. So I don’t know—I could guess that it was sometime between twelve-fifteen or twelve-thirty and one o’clock. I’m just sure that it wasn’t
after
one. Well, one-thirty at the latest.”

“Or maybe two or three or four,” Dr. Marens said. “Your sandwich is ready, Doe.”

“You just be patient,” she said, and shook her head. “It wasn’t after one-thirty.”

“What did you see, exactly? Will you show me?”

“Oh.” She pushed herself out of the rocker. “Now you’re asking me for impossible details. Let’s see…I was walking to the kitchen from the sewing room.” She moved to the hallway and turned. “He drove by,
whoosh
, like that.” She chopped the air with her hand. “And that’s it.”

“Why would you remember that?” Dr. Marens asked.

“Who
knows
why we remember what we remember, Mr. Memory Expert,” Doris said. “I
didn’t
remember that when I talked with the village officer yesterday. But he didn’t ask about earlier in the morning, either.” She returned to the rocker, sitting on the edge of the seat. “What’s Kevin say?” she asked.

“I haven’t asked him about that particular moment,” Estelle replied.

“Well, you should. It wasn’t that long before all the fireworks.” Her eyes narrowed a bit as she made the connections for herself. “Was it one of the family who was responsible? They’re quite a crew down there, the Acostas are.”

“We don’t know yet, Mrs. Marens.”

“You need to talk with Kevin,” Doris persisted. “I know that was him going by. And you know, for once, he wasn’t going ninety miles an hour, either.”

“He doesn’t drive that fast,” Dr. Marens said. He appeared in the archway, cup in hand. He held it up toward Estelle. “You sure?”

“He
does
drive that fast,” Doris said. “You just don’t notice.”

“Mrs. Marens, you said that yesterday he
didn’t
appear to be in a hurry?” Estelle asked.

“Well, relatively not. Not by his usual standards.”

“Was he alone?”

“I think so. But”—and she held up a hand—“now we’re really stretching it. I just didn’t notice. I did notice that he was going slower than usual. I saw his brake lights come on. And then I wasn’t looking anymore. I was in the kitchen.”

Estelle rose from her spot on the sofa. “Please show me.”

“Show you what, dear?”

“You said that you saw his brake lights come on. Would you stand where you were yesterday and show me…as near as you can remember?”

Doris shook her head, a hand on each side of her skull. “Oh, the things you’re asking this old brain to recall.”

“You’re telling me,” Cal said. He leaned against the kitchen’s center island, munching half of a sandwich.

His wife ignored him. “Okay. Here I am in the hallway,” she said, turning to face the kitchen, chubby arms outstretched as if she needed them for balance. “I walked out here, and I hear the truck. I
suppose
I hear the truck, because otherwise, why would I bother looking out?” She pointed at the living room window.

“The blinds were just the way they are now?” Estelle asked.

“Yes. I saw the truck go by. I’m sure I didn’t stop walking. Why would I do that? The brake lights flashed.” She stopped and looked at Estelle. “Now, if I take another step, I’m in the kitchen, and I can’t see the window past this partition here.”

Estelle stood beside Doris. “The lights came on when the truck was about opposite the Beulers’, then.”

“Good grief,” Doris said good-naturedly. “I’m not going to be that exact.”

“But standing here, I can’t see the little field between the Beulers’ and the Acostas’,” Estelle said. “I can’t see that unless I step out into the living room.”

“I didn’t do that.” She looked quizzically at Estelle. “Why is all this so important? Kevin drove home for lunch, that’s all.” Sudden comprehension lit her features. “But listen…his truck was down there when all you people were flying around, wasn’t it? It seems to me I remember seeing that…and at one point there was quite a crowd of officers looking at it, too. I wondered about that.”

“Old nosey,” Cal muttered.

“We’ll straighten everything out,” Estelle said. “It’s important to determine who was where and when.”

“Well, of course it is,” Doris agreed. “I only wish I could be of more help.”

“Mrs. Marens, it may be necessary to obtain a formal deposition from you at some point.” Estelle withdrew one of her cards from her pocket and handed it to the woman. “I’ll be in touch with you if that’s necessary.”

“You want me to haul her downtown for you?” Cal asked. “I’d enjoy that.”

Estelle laughed. “No, sir. If I need anything, I’ll be back.” She held out her hand, and Doris Marens’ grip reminded her of her son Francisco’s: tiny bird bones. Back outside, she looked down the street, seeing the white Ford Ranger in Zeigler’s driveway. It was possible that the county manager hadn’t driven the truck home for lunch…that someone else had. She felt a surge of relief, tempered by a deep wave of apprehension.

Chapter Twenty-one

Leaning against the edge of her desk, alone for a moment, Estelle Reyes-Guzman stared at the whiteboard long enough that the printing blurred into an amorphous mass. She had left the Marenses’ with what she considered a key piece to the puzzle—and then the door had slammed shut. For the last two hours, she had scrutinized her notes, her memory, the stack of photographs, the slim folder of lab evidence. Nothing made sense to her, and her intuition refused to make even the most unathletic leap.

“Let me guess.” Estelle startled at the sound of Bill Gastner’s gruff voice. The retired sheriff leaned against the door-jamb of her office, hands thrust in his pockets, boots crossed as if he’d been lounging there for an hour. His keen gray eyes twinkled. “You haven’t had lunch yet, have you.”

“Lunch?”

“That’s what I thought.” He straightened and beckoned with a nod. “Come on. Have lunch with me. Turn loose for a little bit.”

“That sounds good.”

He stopped short, bushy eyebrows arched in surprise. “You never agree to lunch, sweetheart. Things are that bad?”

“Yes, sir. They’re that bad.”

He laid a hand over his heart. “I’m flattered, then.”

She glanced at the clock. “It’s after two,
Padrino
. You haven’t eaten yet? I’m surprised.”

“As a point of fact, I did not miss lunch. It was early, though. I got myself cornered by Frank Dayan.”

“Oh-oh.”

“Is right. He’s irked with you and Bobby.”

“That’s not unusual, sir.”

“Nope. But I ran a little interference for you.” Gastner moved to one side so Estelle could close the office door. The undersheriff locked her office, and then followed Gastner out to the central dispatch island. Gayle Torrez was on the phone, and Estelle waited until she hung up.

“I’m ten-seven, the Don Juan no doubt,” Estelle said. “If anybody calls for me, tell them I took early retirement.”

Gayle smiled sympathetically. “Can I come, too?”

“You bet,” Gastner said. “Just put the ‘your call is important to us’ recording in the nine-one-one answering machine, and let’s go.”

“Don’t I wish.”

“May I bring you something back?”

“No, thanks,” Gayle replied. “I didn’t mean lunch, anyway, Bill. It’s the early retirement that sounds good.”

Outside, Gastner gestured toward his state truck. “My chariot?”

“That would be a nice change,” Estelle replied. They drove west on Bustos Avenue so slowly that had Posadas had traffic, they would have been a cork. For the first six blocks, they rode in silence. With the Don Juan de Oñate Restaurant in view, Gastner slowed even more, allowing the truck to drift up to the blinking caution light at the intersection of Twelfth Street and Bustos.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you mention the
R
word, sweetheart.”

“The
R
word?”

“As in ‘retirement.’”

“It was a tired joke, sir,” Estelle said. The truck thumped up into the restaurant parking lot.

Gastner maneuvered to park in the near-empty lot with one hand, the fingers of his other hand counting imaginary numbers. “What have you got now, about sixteen years with the county? You were absent without leave for a couple.”

“Today, it seems like sixteen years, ten months, two weeks, five days, three hours, two minutes, and fifteen seconds.”

Gastner laughed. “That bad, eh.” He waved a hand at her door. “Lock that, will you? I’ve got a bunch of state money in the glove box.”

They strolled across the lot to the restaurant. The Don Juan had settled into dimly lit silence after the noon rush, and Gastner made his way to the back where a divider created a small intimate area with only three booths. “Is this all right?” he said, as if there was a choice. The former sheriff had settled onto this same patch of yellow plastic upholstery for decades.

He drummed his fingers on the vinyl tablecloth as Estelle eased back in the booth with a sigh.

“You look tired.”

“I am. Tired and frustrated.”

“Sixteen years, ten months, blah blah,” he said with a smile. “That’s part of the package, you know.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “Hell, you’re still good for another twenty-five or thirty years.”

Her eyes rolled and she dropped her head back against the booth’s upper roll of padding. “When I click twenty, sir, I’m going to pull the car over to the curb and park it, even if I’m in the middle of a call.” She closed her eyes. “I’d like to see what it’s like being home when Francisco and Carlos come home from school.” She lifted her arm and opened one eye to look at her watch. “Coming up in fifteen minutes, by the way.”

“We’ll eat fast,” Gastner said, and he leaned back as Jana-Lynn Torrez approached. Tall and statuesque, Sheriff Torrez’s niece glowered at Gastner.

“You’re still trying for that frequent-flyer discount, aren’t you?” she said.

“You bet.”

“How about you, Estelle? What can I get you?”

“A taco salad with sliced jalapeños would be wonderful.” She grinned at the look of mock astonishment on Gastner’s face.

“She eats,” he said.

“Of course she eats,” JanaLynn retorted. “How about you?”

“Coffee and apple pie, if there’s any left.”

“Sissy,” JanaLynn chided. “I’ll be right back.”

“No burrito, sir?” Estelle asked.

“I had one for lunch. I pried Frank away from his newspaper for a grand total of about fifteen minutes. He would be grateful if you’d give him a call this afternoon.”

“I’ll try to do that.”

“This is a big one, Estelle.”

“Ay, I know it, sir. The whole thing makes me sick.”

Gastner hesitated while JanaLynn delivered coffee for him and a large glass of ice water for Estelle. She left the plastic coffee carafe on the table.

“I talked with Milton Crowley,” Gastner said. He nodded as Estelle’s eyebrow shot up. “I happened to swing by the county building this morning. I guess it was a few minutes before noon. Bobby said that you guys had gone out there earlier today.”

“Crowley’s an interesting fellow,” Estelle said. “That’s a nice sign he has on the boundary fence.”

“That’s something, isn’t it? But old Milt’s okay. I mean, other than being a complete ass.”

“I’d give a lot to be able to see the videotape of the meeting.”

“That’s what Bobby said. Shrewd idea, too. But you know, I agree with him that a court order won’t accomplish anything, even on the slim chance that Judge Hobart would give you one. It would just feed the flames. Milt would take a stint in the lockup as a badge of courage. Anyway, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to talk with him myself. We get along all right. I got the same answer you did.” He shrugged. “I thought maybe he’d lighten up a little.”

“He doesn’t seem the type, sir. The more we talked, the more he bristled.”

“Yup. He does love an audience.”

“Bobby said you had some interesting stories to tell about him. Something about his garden?”

Gastner laughed. “Yeah, well…” He took a long, thoughtful sip of the coffee. “His wife died a while ago. I guess it’s been seven or eight years now. In the last few months, she was just a bag of hurtin’ bones, Estelle. After a while, she refused any more chemo and radiation. Hell, they couldn’t have paid for it, anyway.”

“How sad.”

“Well, that’s the way it goes, you know. Old Milt, he had himself a nice stand of that funny tobacco. I’d been there a time or two, and knew it was there.” He shrugged. “I didn’t give a shit. I mean, so what? He wasn’t selling it down at the high school or anything. If the marijuana eased things for his wife even a little bit, what the hell. I don’t know if you remember the search we had for those two hunters that got themselves lost on Cat Mesa?” He nodded. “Anyway, that was right behind Milt’s property. I kinda steered folks around his place. I knew damn well what would happen if some straight arrow from the Forest Service or State Police saw Milt’s crop. There’d be a war, for sure.”

“I can imagine. Or even a couple of our own, for that matter.”

“So—I suppose in the great balance beam of life, we could imagine that Milt owes me a favor or two.” He leaned back and looked wistfully at the mammoth taco salad that JanaLynn delivered to Estelle. “And look at this pathetic little thing,” he said to the generous piece of apple pie that she slid onto his place mat. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

The jalapeños were fiery, and Estelle felt herself relax. She hadn’t thought that she was hungry, but now she found herself digging into the spiced chicken and chile concoction as if she hadn’t eaten for a week.

“Anyway,” Gastner said. “I chatted with Milt this morning, and that was that. I just wanted you to know I gave it a whirl, for what it was worth—which turns out to be very, very little.”

“I appreciate that,
Padrino
.”

“Have you stopped by the county manager’s office in the last couple of hours? The sheriff and your new captain are tearing the place apart. I didn’t dare step too close. They’re apt to put me to work.”

“I bet Penny’s delighted with that mess.”

“Penny needs a good, powerful sedative by now.”

Estelle hesitated, toying with her fork. “I keep imagining Kevin’s face,” she said. “We’ve got people going through his house, his truck…his office. You know how meticulous he is. I imagine his reaction if he suddenly walked into the middle of all of this. As if Penny somehow missed a message that he had to go to Cruces or something—some family emergency. He comes back and walks into the middle of this mess.”

“Considering the alternatives, that would be all right,” Gastner said. “I don’t think it’s going to happen.”

“No, sir. It’s not.”

“You have a bulletin out?”

“Everywhere on the planet. Bishop talked to Zeigler’s mom and dad in San Diego. Nothing there. No word at all. He has a sister in Seattle. Nothing. We just found out that he has an ex-wife…and a son.”

“No shit?”

Estelle nodded. “They’re in Socorro. The boy is in second grade. Surprise, surprise.” She sighed and looked out the window. “And needless to say, Kevin’s roommate is just kind of slowly dissolving.”

“Page seems like a decent-enough sort.”

“He is. He’s not coping with the waiting very well. But then again, neither am I.” She pushed the salad to one side, her enthusiasm for food blunted after half a dozen bites. “
Padrino
, we know that Kevin stopped by the county maintenance yard early yesterday morning. He had a soft tire on his county truck, and had it aired up. He didn’t change it. But it’s
been
changed since then. The spare is mounted on the truck, but the flat tire is missing. The jack was on the floor in the passenger side of the cab.”

“Who knows where it might have gone flat,” Gastner said. “Unless somebody comes forward to say they saw Zeigler struggling with it along the road somewhere.”

“No one has. Not yet, anyway. I talked with Doris Marens this morning, and there’s a little piece there. I don’t think that it
was
Kevin Zeigler who brought the truck back to his house sometime after noon.” She quickly recounted her conversation with Doris Marens, and as she did so, she saw the expression of skepticism settle on the old man’s grizzled face.

“Because he’s driving slower than usual, and because he puts his foot on the brake? Sweetheart—”

“It makes sense to me,
Padrino
. It makes sense that maybe it wasn’t Kevin. Someone brought the truck back, parked it in the driveway. Now”—and she dug her finger into the soft tablecloth—“if that person didn’t want to be noticed, he’d drive carefully.” She leaned forward and dropped her voice. “If he wasn’t exactly sure where Zeigler lived, he might well slow down several houses early—making sure he pulled into the right place.”

She settled back and watched Gastner toy with the last scrap of pie crust.

“Why would any of that happen?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Estelle replied. “Suppose someone kidnapped Zeigler.” She smiled wryly. “Someone after the county’s millions. They spirit him away someplace, and return the truck?” She shook her head. “No sense.”

“Well, somebody returned it,” Gastner said.

“Yes. Someone did. There are no prints, no fibers, no nothing. Just a hint of tobacco smoke and body odor.”

“What if the whole mess with Zeigler isn’t related to the Acosta girl’s assault, sweetheart? Have you looked that way yet?”

“It is, sir. It
is
related. The lug wrench says it is. The grease smudge on her bedroom wall says it is. The whole coincidence of the truck’s being there at the time of the assault, and Zeigler’s being missing, says it is. I
know
it is.”

“Just asking.” Gastner poured the last of the coffee. “So let’s assume someone grabbed Zeigler—for whatever nefarious reason—and returned the truck—for whatever
bizarre
reason. After he returned the truck, did a buddy pick him up in another vehicle?”

“I don’t know. Doris didn’t see anyone. Or she didn’t
notice
anyone.”

“If he wasn’t picked up, what did he do, walk? No one saw strangers walking up and down Candelaria about that time?”

“No.”

“Or on a bike?”

“No. Zeigler has four bikes, sir. Well, he and Page have four. All of them were in the house. And that’s the thing.” She leaned forward again. “No one has been inside Zeigler’s house since he left for work Tuesday morning. I’m sure of that.”

“Not even himself?”

She shook her head. “That’s impossible to say. But I don’t think so.”

“You’ve pretty much taken all of the Acostas off the hook?”

“Sure. First of all, the attack on Carmen wasn’t their style. I mean, getting mad at a sister results in some bruises, some yelling and hair flying. Not what we saw. Freddy may be a tubby little bully, but it’s not his style, either. Juanita was at work. And the one thing that makes me certain is”—she held up both hands—“the truck.
Something
happened that involved that.
Someone
pushed his way into the Acostas’ home and attacked Carmen. There may be evidence that Carmen managed to hurt the attacker, at least a little bit.”

“With the hat pin.”

“That’s right. She had it with her. When she knew she was in serious trouble, what’s she do? She tries to use it. Her attacker wrenched it out of her hand and stabbed her with it. A lucky shot.”