Scavengers (13 page)
“Did they believe that anyone was home?”
“They thought that Denton was. They’d taken an evening stroll, and seen him earlier, working with the animals out back.”
“What did you find out about his mom?”
“She was playing bingo,” Kenderman said. “Won one hundred ten dollars, and took a couple lady friends of hers to the Don Juan for a treat. One of the neighbors called her. She didn’t even make it out of the restaurant before she collapsed. She’s at Posadas General now.”
“I talked to her for just a minute in the emergency room,” Eduardo Martinez said. He put two fingers at his nostrils. “She wears that air thing, you know what I mean?” He shook his head sadly. “A real shock, you know? This is just a real bad thing. Old Denton, he was okay.”
“I’ll go over in a few minutes to talk to her, sir. If we can. Did you want to go with me?”
The chief shook his head quickly, a wobble that was half positive, half negative as if to say, “No, you go ahead and do it.” “She’s taking this real hard,” he said.
Hard
was an understatement, Estelle thought. The woman, frail enough to be wearing an auxiliary oxygen tank, had lost her son, her home, everything but her aging car, the clothes on her back, and the remains of the $110.
“Did anybody see the animals loose after the explosion?” Estelle asked. “When you talked to the Salazars, what did they say? Did they see anything when they came outside?”
Kenderman glanced at Chief Martinez and then at Estelle. “Ah…I didn’t ask.”
“I didn’t see any dead,” Estelle said. “They’re scattered halfway to Deming by now, I imagine. But they’re the least of our problems at the moment.”
Over Kenderman’s shoulder, Estelle saw Linda Real’s little red Honda ease into a spot on the opposite side of the road. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” she said.
Linda had two camera cases slung over her shoulders and slammed the car’s trunk closed as Estelle approached. “I hope you brought plenty of film,” the undersheriff said, and Linda grinned, pulling her Oakland As baseball cap down firmly on her head.
“I’m about to buy stock in the company,” she said. No look of worry or concern crossed her face. “This looks like a real messaroo.” She stood for a minute, assessing the challenge. “And by the way—when I stopped by the county building, I saw Pauline Saenz, Eurelio’s mom?”
“She wants her son out of jail, no doubt.”
Linda nodded. “And she wants to talk to you.”
“Queue up, Mrs. Saenz,” Estelle said. “Let me show you what I need here. And Bill Gastner’s around here somewhere. He’s going to need some shots, I’m sure.”
“This is the place with all the illicit donkeys?” Linda said, falling in step with Estelle.
“This is the place, except all the livestock beat a hasty retreat when the fire started. I have no idea where they went, but if you’re lucky, you might get some action shots you can sell to
Rodeo News
.”
“Who turned them all loose?”
Estelle watched Linda duck under the yellow ribbon. “That’s one of the interesting questions,” she said.
Mary Salazar cowered next to her husband, her arms hugging her silver vinyl coat around her body as if caught in the middle of a raging blizzard. Nestor, in jeans, slippers, and a T-shirt, draped one beefy arm across his diminutive wife’s shoulders as they stood on the edge of the stirring, chattering crowd of spectators. The couple stood quietly, not joining in on the conversations.
From fifty yards away, the woman’s posture spoke eloquently—”If only we could have…” Estelle felt a pang of sympathy as she approached the couple.
Seeing the undersheriff, Mrs. Salazar drew her coat tighter, leaned harder against her husband, and seemed to shrink into herself. Standing there in the February night, unsure of what was going to happen next in her world, Mary Salazar didn’t look like the woman she would have to force herself to be in a few hours, confidently herding her twenty-three second-graders through their day at Posadas elementary school.
As Estelle drew close, Mary Salazar stretched out her hand—not a handshake, but a gathering in, as if Estelle were one of the woman’s small charges who might wander into danger. To the best of her knowledge, Estelle had never met Mary Salazar. Mary obviously knew who Estelle was, despite the undersheriff’s casual dress. Even as Mary turned away from three other woman and an elderly man who were standing close by, Estelle found herself wondering what Mrs. Salazar’s relationship would be with little Francisco in two years time. Mary didn’t look like the steely-nerved type.
“This is so…” Mary said, and stopped, biting her lip.
“Mrs. Pope is safe,” Estelle said. She nodded at Nestor Salazar. “She’s at the hospital now.” Voice husky from the smoke, Estelle wasn’t sure that Mary had heard her.
“But Woody…” Mary said.
“I’m sorry,” Estelle said.
“So awful.”
“Could we find a place to talk?” Estelle glanced toward the Salazars’ mobile home. A tiny white dog sat on the metal step by the front door. The dog’s short leash was snapped to the handrail, and he shifted position every couple of seconds, as if unsure what vantage point might allow him to keep all the incomprehensible human activities in view.
“We can go to the trailer,” Mary said, and Nestor nodded—the closest he had come to a comment. One of the other women, demonstrating either acute hearing or adept at reading lips, orbited back into the group, reached out and grasped Nestor by the upper arm.
“I’ve got coffee on,” she said. “You’re welcome to it.”
“I’ll just need a few minutes,” Estelle said, and nodded toward the Salazars’ trailer.
“Surely,” Mary said, and for the first time, some of her occupational confidence crept back into her voice.
“Thank you,” Estelle said to the other woman, who looked disappointed. “Maybe a little later. We appreciate your kindness.” Following the couple toward their home, Estelle saw that the Salazar lot was as orderly as the Pope property was junk-struck. Mary’s Camry was parked in the driveway, with the Nestor Salazar Plumbing and Heating truck snugged in behind it. Even the truck was neat—and probably more expensive than the older model mobile home beside which it was parked.
As they reached the trailer, the small dog became a white ball of constant motion, its tiny feet dancing on the metal step. Nestor unclipped the leash and the animal darted into the trailer ahead of them. Inside was uncomfortably warm as Nestor closed the door behind them. The dog danced around her feet, black nose twitching. “He won’t bother you,” Nestor said. “Scampi, come here.”
The animated dustmop hurtled itself into Nestor’s beckoning arms, pink tongue darting out as it panted.
Mary Salazar perched on the edge of the sofa, still wrapped in her silver coat. She made no move to offer the ubiquitous cup of coffee. “Mary and Nestor,” Estelle said, and sat down in the wooden rocker across the rug. “One of the village officers told me that you had seen Denton Pope earlier in the evening. Is that correct?”
Mary nodded. “We walk every evening. Nestor and me. We had Scampi on the leash.”
“And you saw Denton?”
“Yes. Woody, we all call him.”
“Do you remember what time that might have been?”
“Right at nine o’clock,” Nestor said. His voice was rich and authoritative. He sat down beside his wife on the sofa and brushed some of the fur away from Scampi’s face. The dog had eyes, buried deep behind its coiffure, and the little black dots flicked this way and that.
“And did everything appear normal at that time?”
“Well, I suppose so,” Mary said, and shrugged. “We saw Woody when he came out the side door of his place. It was dark, but when he opened the door, the light, you know?”
“Did you see where he went?”
“No. We didn’t pay any attention. I think he turned toward the backyard.”
“You didn’t speak to him, though?”
“Oh, no,” Mary said. “We just saw him. He was busy, and we wanted to walk.”
“Eleanor was not home at that time?”
“I don’t think so. Her car was gone. And she usually plays bingo on Monday nights.”
“And Wednesday. And Friday. And Saturday,” Nestor added. “She’s a bingo addict.”
“When was the last time you spoke with her?”
Mary frowned. “Oh, my. It’s been a while, I think. I mean other than just to catch sight and maybe shout a ‘good morning.’ She’s going to be all right, isn’t she?”
“We don’t know, Mary. She’s being kept at Posadas General for observation. We’ll know more by morning.”
“Such a shock.”
“Yes, it is. When was the last time you actually spoke with Denton? Do you remember?”
“Well, other than earlier…but we didn’t speak to him then. I guess I chatted with him some on Saturday afternoon. I was thinking that it might be fun to have the second-graders out here to meet all the burros while they still had them. Denton suggested that maybe it would be better if he brought one or two over to the school sometime.”
“Maybe easier on the donkeys,” Estelle said. The image of Livestock Inspector Bill Gastner flashed through her mind. The second-graders would find him entertaining, too. “You said ‘while they still had them.’ Were they planning to thin the herd a little?”
“I don’t know about that,” Mary said. She looked at Nestor. He stroked the dustmop’s head and shrugged. “This little one,” and she nodded at Scampi. “He’s enough of a handful. I can’t imagine having animals all over the place the way they do.”
“I never see them,” Nestor said, as if that settled that. “The Popes, I mean. You know, I get busy. We all do. And I probably should have taken the time. Maybe Woody wouldn’t have blown the place up.”
Estelle nodded with sympathy. “Mr. Salazar, had he ever mentioned furnace problems to you before this?”
Nestor shot a glance at his wife. “He didn’t. His mother did.” Estelle remained silent, waiting. Nestor shrugged. “She said that they were both getting tired of having to get up and relight the pilot. She wondered if I’d come over and take a look at it some day when Woody wasn’t home.”
“Some day when he
wasn’t
home?”
Nestor shrugged again. “Old Woody, he was kind of an odd duck. Figured there was nothing on the planet that he couldn’t do. Mr. Fix-it-himself.” A trace of a smile touched Nestor’s pudgy face. “Eleanor was afraid he’d screw things up. She didn’t like gas in the first place, and was always after him to put in a woodstove. He wasn’t much for that. It’d be my guess that gas furnace came with the place when it was new—sometime in the stone ages. I mean, we’ve replaced our heater, what, three, four times?”
“Did you actually ever look at it? At their heater, I mean?”
“Nope. Should have, obviously. She told me that it was starting to get noisy when it lit…you know the way those old ones do. Kind of goes
whump
after enough gas collects. The baffles were probably shot, is what I think.”
He transferred his hand from Scampi’s head to Mary’s forearm and patted her. “We sure feel bad about all those animals. My gosh, what a mess now.”
“I think all of the animals were able to escape,” Estelle said.
“That so? Well, good, then. I know some of ’em were loose, but I wasn’t sure about the rest.” He nodded and patted his wife’s hand. “Just about a zoo, is what it is over there. The wife don’t mind all the animals, but it’s kinda strange, if you ask me. Wind gets just right, you can smell that place.” He waved a hand in front of his nose. “Too many critters in too small a space, if you ask me. ’Course, I don’t suppose that has anything to do with the fire. I guess now they’re going to be rounding up goats and donkeys and whatnot for the next month. Don’t know what will become of them.”
“Do you have an idea who might’ve turned all the animals loose when the fire started?”
“I have no idea,” Nestor said. “They sure enough got out of there in a hurry, though. They was runnin’ every which way when we went outside.”
“You heard the explosion?”
“Sure did,” Nestor said, and Mary winced, not sharing the eagerness of her husband’s memory. “Just
whump
, like that. Real loud. Actually, it was sort of a double
whump
, just the way propane does sometimes.”
“But a single explosion, then. There wasn’t a long time lag between the two?”
“Just
whump WHUMP
, like that. And then kind of a roar that built up. I knew right away what had happened.”
“You ran outside at that time?”
“Sure did. Me and the missus. We could see the fireball just about taking out the whole west side of their trailer, there. It’s actually two joined together, you know. I shouted for Mary to call in, and I started across the street to see what I could do.”
He held out a leg with one of the furry slippers. “And then I realized I wasn’t going to be able to do a damn thing. That fire,” and he paused and drew himself forward on the couch. Scampi shifted nervously. “That fire, sheriff, was already above the trees, there. You know them two elms that grew right beside their propane tank? It was higher than that, and already workin’ on his car, parked right there. And with the car burning, why, that propane tank was just a few feet away—just across the driveway. And that’s enough to scare anybody.” He reared back as if seeing the fire again. “I could see that there wasn’t anything I could do.” He drew a horizontal circle in the air with his finger. “So I come around the east side, to see if I could maybe reach the door there.” He shook his head. “But they’ve got this snarled up old barbed wire and chicken wire conglomeration of a fence on that side.”
Holding up his right arm, he displayed a short, reddened scratch on the underside of his arm. “I started to get all caught up in it, and saw right away that even if I did get through, there wouldn’t be much that I could do. About that time, I heard the first siren.”
“And the animals were loose then?”
“There was animals
everywhere
. And I mean
everywhere
. They’re pretty smart, you know, if they got a choice. They was goin’ this way and that, trying to figure out the best way, and the fire just kind of drove ’em off the back of the property, there, over in those woods. And some of ’em broke through into Florek’s, and God knows what all. Like I said, they’re going to be finding strays for a long, long time.”
Estelle frowned and rested her elbows on her knees. “I’m trying to understand this, sir. When you ran around the house to the east side, to the fence that snagged you…at that time, did you see animals loose?”
“Sure enough did. All over the place.”
“But you didn’t see who turned them loose.”
Nestor shook his head, puzzled. “Nope.”
“You didn’t see anyone else in the area, or on the Popes’ property?”
He leaned back against the sofa and looked at Mary. “Didn’t see a soul,” he said.
“Maybe they just neglected to hook the chains, or whatever they have on the stalls and such,” Mary said.
“Well, no,” Nestor said. “I see what the sheriff’s sayin’. They might forget to hook one gate, maybe two. But as far as I could tell, the whole damn menagerie was on the loose. Hell, she’s even got a half dozen ducks over there, and I
know
they keep them penned up, ’cause of the coyotes and coons. But they was already squawkin’ through the weeds there, headin’ east for all they was worth.” He reached out a hand and scooped up Scampi. “You got any ideas about all this, Sheriff?”
“No,” Estelle said, and took a deep breath. She pushed herself out of the chair. “I’m sure there’s a simple explanation. We’re just glad no one else was hurt. We’ll find out what caused the explosion, and I’ll talk with Eleanor later today.”
Nestor heaved himself to his feet, threatening to crush the small dog between the folds of his belly. “I
know
what caused the explosion, sheriff. There’s no mystery there. They was using an old, worn out piece of junk to heat that place. Should have been red-tagged a long, long time ago.”
“You think it just caught up with him, then.”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s what happened. I
know
that’s what happened. You see, those baffles prevent the gas from collecting in one spot. They kind of guide the flow of propane across the burner, keeping it even and under control. That was the problem there.”
“Interesting,” Estelle said, and extended her hand to Mary, and then to Nestor. “Thank you both. We may need to talk with you again.” She fished a business card out of her pocket and handed it to Nestor. “And should you think of anything else, feel free to call me.”
“Let us know if there’s anything we can do,” Mary said. “I feel so awful about this.”
“I certainly will,” Estelle said.
The night was still full of people, the flicker of flames, and the roar of heavy equipment. Estelle stood on the shoulder of Escondido for a few minutes, watching. Dawn was four hours away. By then, the jets of water would have cooled the propane tank, the hot spots would have been quenched, and the Popes’ small patch of paradise would be quiet ashes.
Shouldering her own camera bag, Estelle walked along the shoulder of Escondido to the far west side of the Pope property, her slight figure unnoticed by the assembled curious. She slipped into her car and sat for a while, watching from the darkness.
