Convenient Disposal (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-eight

Behind Kevin Zeigler’s home on Candelaria Court, a neat but homely concrete wall four feet high defined the backyard. On the concrete slab patio, two white wire chairs and an umbrella table occupied one side, and a fancy propane barbecue grill dominated the other. Two large ceramic pots sat empty at each far corner of the patio, as if Zeigler had planned something colorful but had never slowed down enough to add potting soil, seeds, and water.

Estelle sat at the umbrella table and watched the morning sun boil up over the eastern prairie. The light breeze out of the north was cool, a delightful mix with the promised unseasonable heat of that early November morning.

Earlier, during the few moments with her family, she had reveled in their simple presence. She had enjoyed little Francisco’s excitement as he bundled his cache of aluminum foil into his backpack. The bus had picked him up, and Estelle had driven Carlos to Little Bear, leaving her mother a few treasured minutes alone with Dr. Francis—next to her daughter, the old woman’s favorite person on the planet.

But during all of the morning rituals, something nagged in the back of Estelle’s mind. Now, she sat quietly at Zeigler’s table in his backyard, the insulated cup of hot tea held between both hands, the metal of the table refreshingly cold to the touch. To the north, the prairie rumpled into a series of dips and rolls. The sun shadows created a dramatic dark scar out of Arroyo del Cerdo, and Estelle watched the patterns change, letting her mind roam.

The early-morning report from Albuquerque listed Carmen in guarded condition, but physicians had been optimistic. Although still in a restless semicoma, the teenager’s vital signs were strong. Estelle had felt a sharp twinge of sympathy as she tried to imagine what sort of images might still be rampaging in the girl’s mind…a torture that would likely continue for years, surfacing without warning to drag Carmen through the experience yet again.

Freddy and Juanita Acosta remained in the city, but Armand Acosta, Freddy’s cousin, had driven to Albuquerque and picked up Mauro and Tony, returning to Posadas on Wednesday evening. Armand’s home on MacArthur was four doors from Sheriff Robert Torrez’s, and Torrez said that he had kept an eye on the place during the night. The boys hadn’t roamed. Torrez, who knew the Acosta tribe well, was certain that Armand and Tawnya would make sure that all four youngsters would be in school. Whether the two boys would stay there for the entire day was open to question.

Somewhere on Candelaria, another car engine started, and Estelle arose and stretched. The first bell at school would ring at 8:07
AM
, in five minutes. She strolled back around the house, ducking under the yellow tape, and drove to the high school across town, arriving a minute before the bell. The parking lot and courtyard were flooded with students savoring the last few moments of freedom. Here and there, Estelle saw duty teachers, some standing with colleagues, some mingling with groups of students.

The undersheriff sat in the car, watching. Like a large flock of birds, the students began moving toward the school an instant before the bell rang, as if they could somehow hear the silent transistor circuits click into place. Two minutes later, the parking lot and grounds were empty, the day officially begun.

Estelle got out of the car and walked to the front doors. One of them opened, held for her by a tall, incredibly thin young man with a pageboy haircut and terrible complexion. “Hi,” he said, and immediately turned his attention to a mammoth backpack that rested on one of the wooden chairs, all zippers yawning open.

Margie Edwards was trying to hand something to the high school principal, Charlie Maestas, while Maestas talked to two animated young ladies. Maestas saw Estelle, held up a hand to silence the chatter, and then shooed the two from the outer office.

“I’m sorry I missed you the other day,” Maestas said, extending his hand. His suit appeared to be two sizes too small for his short, blocky frame, accentuated by his habit of buttoning the jacket over his rotund body. His grip was moist and perfunctory. “Come on in,” he said, holding open the door to his office.

Estelle nodded and smiled at Margie, then stepped inside. Maestas closed the door and immediately walked to his desk as if he needed to be in place before a conversation started.

“I need a few minutes with Mauro and Tony Acosta, Mr. Maestas,” Estelle said.

“No problem…if they’re here,” Maestas said. He tapped the keyboard of his computer and waited. “What can you tell me?”

“About what, sir?”

He shot a quick glance at Estelle, and then his eyes shifted back to the computer screen. “We’re all concerned,” he said, tapped the keyboard again, and straightened up. He brought his hands together in a silent clap and held them that way. “Yesterday at the administrative council meeting, Ms. Dooley gave us a rundown of what happened at the middle school with Deena Hurtado.” He paused as if he expected Estelle to add something. When she didn’t, he said, “Is this hat pin thing the newest trend? Is that the latest fad? If they’re on campus, we need to move on it.”

“I don’t know, sir. I don’t know how widespread they are. I would hope that it’s limited, but we just don’t know yet.”

“Sit, sit,” he said impatiently, waving toward a large chair in front of his desk.

“Actually, sir, I need to see the Acosta boys.” She glanced at her watch. “We’re running sort of tight today.”

“Ah, well,” Maestas said, with more than a hint of disappointment, “I can understand that.” He glanced back at the computer screen. “Who first? Or do you want them together?”

“I’d like to talk with Mauro first,” she said.

“He’s in Metals One right now, with Mr. Fernandez. I’ll call for him.”

“It would be helpful if you wouldn’t use the PA, sir. Maybe you and I could just walk down there and get him.”

“Sure, we can do that. You want to use this office for home base?”

Estelle smiled with just a hint of politic apology. “I’d like to talk with him outside, I think. We might just take a little walk.”

“All right,” Maestas said, frowning. “Have you been in touch with his parents?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How’s the sister?”

“Holding her own, I think. We won’t know if there’s any permanent damage for some time.”

He looked askance at Estelle. “You don’t think the boys had anything to do with this business, do you?”

“I hope not,” she replied.

“Mauro and Tony are the sort of boys—” he hesitated, searching for just the right thing to say “—who really
need
to be here. Do you understand what I mean?”

“I believe so.”

He nodded sharply. “Let’s go find ’em.”

The metals shop was at the far end of the school complex, taking up what looked like it had once been a large garage, complete with two huge overhead doors that yawned open. Nine students were clustered in a small classroom off to one side, most of them attentive as Mr. Fernandez explained something on the chalkboard. Estelle remained just outside, and in a moment the principal appeared with Mauro Acosta in tow.

The ninth grader walked as if he were a hunchback, baggy pants sagging under a long-tailed, checkered flannel shirt. His olive drab army belt flapped a foot too long.

“Hello, Mauro,” Estelle said. “I’m Undersheriff Estelle Guzman. I’d like to talk with you for a few minutes.”

“Okay.” He shrugged and glanced at Maestas.

“If you need me for anything, you know where I am,” the principal said. He reached out and patted Mauro on the shoulder. “You too, guy.”

“Let’s take a walk,” Estelle said. As they strolled along the metal building, Mauro shuffled with his hands in his pockets. It appeared to Estelle as if he had to constantly work at keeping his trousers in the perfect position of suspense. Between the gravity-defying trousers and carelessly tied shoes, running wasn’t on the agenda.

Estelle paused at a runty elm tree just inside the chain-link fence. The ground around the tree’s base was littered with cigarette butts.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t have a chance to talk to you before you had to go to Albuquerque,” she said. “The doctors say that your sister is making some progress.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, avoiding eye contact. He managed an assessing glance at Estelle, his gaze running down her figure, and he hunched his shoulders a bit more to make sure he was giving away no secrets.

“I need to know about the hat pins, Mauro.” His eyebrows twitched. “We know that you sharpened the one that your sister had with her. We also know that you sharpened at least one for Deena Hurtado.”

He shook his head slightly and regarded the distant horizon.

“I don’t imagine that Mr. Fernandez knows much about that, does he?” The boy remained silent, and Estelle stepped closer, lowering her voice. Mauro was her height, and she shifted to stand directly in front of him, forcing him to look at her. “None of that is of much interest to me just now, Mauro. You’re a smart young man. You know as well as I do what the consequences are if you’re caught carrying a weapon on school property. Even if it’s just a quickie sharpening job for a friend.” She gave him the chance to reply, but he remained silent. “So now you know,” she said. “Tell me about your neighbors.”

His eyes registered surprise at the sudden change of topic.

“Wha—” he said with a frown, as if the final
t
took too much energy to pronounce.

“Tell me about Kevin Zeigler,” she said.

His head jerked back a little as if to say, “Why are you asking me?”

“Did you talk with him in the last couple of days?”

“No.”

“How about his roommate, William Page?”

“Why would I talk to him?” Mauro said. “He don’t even live here.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

Mauro shrugged.

“Last weekend, when Mr. Page was visiting…did you go riding with them then? On the bikes?”

“I don’t ride no bikes,” he said, as if the very thought was ridiculous. Estelle managed not to smile at the thought of the baggy Pants and untied laces tangled hopelessly in the bicycle’s chain. But then, Zeigler’s carefully composed photos had shown Mauro capable of a different image than simply that of the school’s thug.

“Did Tony?”

“No. Well, I don’t know.” He shrugged again.

“Mauro, during the past week or so, have you seen anyone next door besides Kevin and Mr. Page? Anyone at all?”

The boy shook his head.

“They don’t have company very often?”

“I don’t see nobody there,” he said. “Just them two.”

“They don’t have other folks over? For dinners? Maybe backyard barbecues? That sort of thing?”

“No.”

“Does it bother you that Kevin and Mr. Page live next door, Mauro?”

His eyes became wary. “Why should it bother me?”

“I just thought that it might.”

Mauro shrugged. “Why, ’cause they’re queer? It don’t matter to me what they do.”

Estelle relaxed backward and rested a hand against the tree. “I understand that you’re a pretty talented mechanic. I saw your car, in the backyard.”

“It’s okay.”

“Maybe you’ll have it running one of these days.”

“I guess.”

“Did you offer to help Kevin change the tire on his truck?”

He looked puzzled. “What tire?”

Estelle nodded. “He had some trouble there. I thought maybe you knew about it.”

“I don’t know about no flat tire,” he replied with a flash of indignation, an instant assumption that some adult, somewhere, thought he was responsible for something he hadn’t done.

“Mauro, this is an important question. I want you to think hard before you answer, all right? Do you know anything—anything at all—about the attack on your sister? Do you know who might have done it?” He shook his head emphatically. “Who did she have an argument with?”

“She didn’t have no argument with nobody,” he said with considerable heat. “Not something like that. Not what happened to her.”

“What about the fight at the volleyball game?”

“That wasn’t nothing, man.”

“No problems with Paul Otero?”

He grimaced with disgust. “He’s a wuss.”

“Mauro, we need to find the person who broke into your house and attacked your sister. We’re going to need your help.”

For the first time, Mauro Acosta looked directly at Estelle, his dark brown eyes unblinking and unwavering. “If I knew who did that, I’d tell you,” he said, and for a moment he sounded a decade older than he was.

“Mauro, I want to tell you something,” Estelle said, and she lowered her voice another notch. “This is just between you and me, okay? Do you know why we’re curious about your neighbors?”

“Armand said that Kevin went missing.”

“That’s right, Mauro. And that’s too much of a coincidence, Kevin going missing just when your sister is attacked. Don’t you think so?”

“He didn’t have nothing to do with it,” Mauro said emphatically.

“How do you know that?”

“I just do,” he said simply. “Him and Page might be all queer and stuff like that, but he’s still okay. I mean, he always treats us okay.”

“He’s a good neighbor?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s been over once or twice for picnics, stuff like that?” She smiled at Mauro. “Maybe tried to break up a fight or two?”

The boy looked down at the cigarette butts, close to smiling himself.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“If Kevin saw someone next door attacking your sister, what do you think he’d do?”

Mauro shrugged. “He’d probably call the cops.”

“He’s always got a phone handy, doesn’t he.”

“Yeah. Or that radio of his in the truck.”

“Would he come over himself, do you think? Even before the cops got there? If there was really serious trouble?”

“Sure. He’d jump right in the middle of it. I mean, he’s pretty tough.”

“But he didn’t, this time.”

“That’s ’cause he wasn’t there. If he was, he woulda.”

Estelle drew a card from her pocket. “Mauro, I know that talking to the cops isn’t your favorite thing to do, but if you remember something—any little thing that you saw or heard—will you call me? Anytime. Even if you wake up in the middle of the night. Give me a call.”