West Texas Dead: A Kailey and Shinto Mystery

by Frances Hight

  I followed her down the hall and around a corner to a small room that looked like every interrogation room I’ve ever been in. Déjà vu. No windows except a small one in the door. Dingy off-white walls hadn’t been painted in a long time. No pictures on the walls. A functional gray metal desk with an industrial-issue black phone. Cozy.

  “You okay, Miss Carmichael?”

  “My mom passed away last night and I’m still dealing with it, making arrangements, all that.”

  “Man, that's tough. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah. It’s been a crappy couple of days.” She stared off into the distance, sadness smoothing lines in her face. She seemed more like a regular person than a cop.

  “I have no idea if my mom is dead or alive,” I said. “She left me at eight years old with a group of very bad people. I haven’t seen her or my father since.” Shit, where did that come from?

  Her eyes were swimming.

  Wonder how long before the dam breaks?

  “Seems like you are doing okay now.” She cleared her throat.

  “It took me a long time to get here. Longer than most. I’m a slow learner.” This is getting way too deep into my shit. On to today’s problem. “I wanted to ask you about blood splatter.”

  “Blood spatter, Mr. Alvarez.” She corrected me. Irritation crept into her voice. “I put that on the test. Half the class missed it. There is a big difference between splatter, like dropping a carton of milk on the floor, and spatter, where we can analyze and catalog individual drops of blood. It’s an important concept in police procedure.”

  “Spatter, then. Can you tell the difference between spider blood and people blood?”

  “Oh, okay, I see where we are going. This isn’t about the class, is it? You shouldn't be talking to me about this. Have you given your statement?” She sat up straight, and her eyes bore into me.

  Man, this is one tough chica. “I’ve been busy with school and homework. I figure you guys can solve the case fine without me. Besides, I don’t know nothin’.”

  “Come on, Mr. Alvarez, you’re in college now. Lose the street talk and the attitude. If the police say we want you to come in, you need to get your ass into the station and give a simple statement. Unless you have something to hide.”

  “I have a record, and um, police stations give me the willies.” I went for a little humor.

  “I’ll give you some advice then, sir. Get yourself a lawyer, go in, give your statement, and be done with it. Waiting will only make you look guilty. I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this. We are through here. I suggest you leave my office and go give your statement.” She stood. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” For nothing.

  Chapter Fifty

  Kailey

  I slammed and locked the door to the conference room after Junior Alvarez left. I always thought I had great instincts for sussing out suspects. This guy doesn’t seem like the type to commit a murder so close to his home. That would be stupid, and he’s certainly not stupid. I have too much to do to worry about it. For once I’ll let the team of Shinto and Allen handle it. Mom’s funeral needs my full attention.

  Resthaven Cemetery on the outskirts of town had mature oak trees and lush grass amid the desert sand. I wanted to pick the perfect gravesite.

  First, I needed to fill out a lot of paperwork and then follow a young woman named Terry Jobe to the first selection. I stood frowning at the grass and plaques next to what seemed like too small a space to rest in for eternity and felt my leg sting. “What the f—?” I looked down and saw my feet covered in fire ants. Dammit! I kicked and hopped from foot to foot.

  Terry said, “Oops, sorry. I should have warned you. We keep spraying, so far the fire ants are winning.”

  “You could have told me.” I stomped as many of the little suckers as I could.

  “Really, I do apologize. Rarely does anyone come here in open-toed sandals.”

  “I’ll go and get my boots and bug spray before I come back this evening when it’s a little cooler. Have the grounds men spray before you show me any more sites.”

  “I will. What time will be good for you?”

  “I’ll be here at six.”

  “Again, I’m sorry for your loss, and for the fire ants.”

  I rushed for my car and home for relief. Fire ant bites are a long-term pain in the—wherever they bite you. The bites last at least a week to ten days, hurt like a bitch, and then itch worse. This is the only cemetery in Midland, and Mom always wanted to be buried here, so I’ll suck it up, fire ants and the lovely Terry be damned.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Junior

  I got off the bus and hoofed it the rest of the way to Grace’s house. A slight breeze made the walk tolerable even carrying a backpack in this desert heat at dusk. I heard the girls talking and laughing as I approached the door to the guesthouse. Sweet.

  We worked on extra credit deep into the evening.

  After we finished, Brittney drained her bottle of Heineken and said, “Let’s play poker for pennies.”

  “I’m in,” crowed Grace.

  They both stared at me. “I gotta warn you, I’m really good,” I said.

  Grace winked at Brittney and got cards and a huge jar of pennies. I pulled out five bucks and plunked it down for my penny stash.

  An hour and five Diet Cokes later, I said, “Who’s cheating? No one is this good. One of you is cheating.”

  Grace smiled. “We’ve been playing poker with my dad since we were five, and he taught us to look for tells from other players. You raise your eyebrows when you have a good hand and you put your tongue over your front teeth when you have a bad one.”

  “I’m impressed. How much did I lose?”

  “Your shirt, buster, all five smackeroos.”

  “I’d like a rematch, but I better get going, or I’ll miss the last bus.”

  “Stay here tonight.”

  “I’ve done that once. I need to get back to my apartment. After I help you clean up.”

  “Besides,” Grace said, “I think you missed the last bus.”

  I checked the clock on the wall. Shit, she was right. “I can’t make this a habit, girls. Your dad and boyfriends won’t appreciate me hanging out with you. I guarantee it.”

  “Please, Junior?” Grace batted her eyelashes. “You are not a threat. We love you. You saved our lives, and you are an all-around great guy.” Grace slapped my fiver on the kitchen table. “You were too easy. Study up; we’ll play again.”

  They both hugged me and ran out giggling before I could give it back.

  After a whiz, I returned to the living room. Grace’s father stood frowning, hands on his hips.

  “Sir, hi. No worries. I’m outa here.” I grabbed for my stuff.

  “Sit, Mr. Alvarez.” He pointed to the kitchen table.

  “Yes, sir.” We both sat facing each other, his black suit and red tie still crisp at this hour, me in a raggedy-ass shirt and Levis.

  He picked up the five from the table. “I’ll take this as a deposit,” he said, “for representing you.” He slipped it into his pocket. “Don’t worry about the cost. We’ll figure all that out later.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Junior, my daughter told me everything. How you saved them at the frat party. How you’ve been working on your degree, and how honest you’ve been with my daughter and her friends. Even told them you had a record.”

  “They’re nice kids.”

  “I’m glad you understand that. I intend for them to stay as innocent as possible for as long as possible.”

  “I would never do anything to hurt Brittney or Grace.”

  “Good to know. Grace told me what happened at your apartment and that the police want to question you. I took the liberty of checking the crime in question and your record in particular.”

  I groaned.

  “Sir, I apologize. I asked Grace not to bother you. I didn’t kill my neighbor. I liked her. She seemed like a nice lady. I got a
chance for a new start here and I’m busting my ass. I don’t do stupid shit anymore.”

  “The police don’t care that you’ve changed, Junior. They simply want to solve the crime. Tell me everything, and I mean everything, that's happened to you since you’ve come to Midland, Texas. Tell me all about your contact with Patricia Keystone. Don’t leave anything out. Do you understand? The most insignificant detail is important.” He took his coat off, loosened his tie, and pulled out a tiny reorder.

  “I’ve got all night.”

  “But sir, I don’t have the money to pay your fee.”

  “How does five dollars sound Mr. Alvarez?”

  I must have looked puzzled, because he added. “I’m sure you can pay me in some other way and in time. Remember, we both have my daughter to deal with. I’d rather answer to a judge than her.”

  “Sir, I . . .”

  He waved my objection off. “I’ve got a feeling you are in a world of hurt, Junior, and it’s only going to get worse, a lot worse. Let me—let us— help you.” He steely gaze bore into me. “You in?” His finger poised over the recorder.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Kailey and Shinto

  First United Methodist Church on Main Street has been our church for as long as I can remember.

  Friends and family from all over Midland and Odessa poured into the pews to pay their respects. I sat quietly hidden behind a curtain and watched them file in and sit. My mother’s casket overflowed with flowers. Arrangements cascaded around and down the pulpit.

  Mia Emery, mother’s friend and head organist played Mom’s favorite hymn, “A Closer Walk with Thee.” Oh, how Mother wanted to walk again.

  Midland Police Department lined the church, all in uniform. I saw them through a blur of strangled tears. Sheer willpower held back the waterworks.

  A dear family friend Christopher Spanks wore a full kilt and played bagpipes as we left for the cemetery. He’ll play at the gravesite too. Wonderful man.

  Mother gave me strength and hope for the future. She gave me the will to live after I lost Emma. She would not tolerate maudlin outbursts or anger. She would simply say, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. God’s will is sometimes hard to understand. We must persevere, and He will show us His path. Trust the Lord.”

  My heart ached for her and Emma. I felt an arm encircle me from behind. I stood, and Shinto held me close. My resolve burst. I convulsed with sobs. She held me for a few minutes and then pulled away and said, “Get it together, officer.” She handed me a handkerchief. I handed her the box of tissues some guy from the funeral home gave me. We both sobbed and blew our noses. We got through Momma’s funeral and even the graveside burial without another outburst. She would have been proud.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Junior

  I’ve never gone to a police station willingly. My usual M.O. was to come grudgingly by way of handcuffs in the back of a police cruiser.

  At precisely nine a.m. I arrived at Mr. Sanchez’s law offices. His personal assistant called earlier and told me to arrive at his office dressed for court. I came dressed in my best clean white shirt, Levis, tennis shoes, and white socks. The sour-faced woman who led me into his huge office frowned when she saw me.

  Mr. Sanchez looked up from his computer screen and said, “No, that will not do. Sharon, please bring us a white long-sleeved shirt, some khakis and loafers for Mr. Alvarez.”

  “Yes, sir.” She left the office.

  “Sorry, this is my only white shirt, sir.” I smoothed my best go-to-court short-sleeved white shirt that I got in a thrift store. I’d even washed the sucker.

  His secretary returned an hour later with a big bag from American Eagle Outfitters. “I guessed at the sizes,” she said. She directed me to the men’s room, and I quickly changed into the finest clothes I’d ever worn.

  Thirty minutes later and two steps from the doors of the Midland police station, Mr. Sanchez quietly said, “Answer only the questions you are asked. Volunteer nothing.”

  I nodded.

  “They have some statements from you already.”

  “What?”

  “From the day you found out Mrs. Keystone was deceased. The policewomen you spoke to at your apartment complex made notes of what you said. Stick with that script. Any deviation from what you recall or told me is not acceptable. Agreed?”

  “I understand.”

  We were immediately shown to a small beige room without windows. In one corner, a metal ball with blinking red light hung from the ceiling. The camera and microphone.

  “Good morning, gentlemen. I’m Officer Allen Dempsey. Good to see you, Mr. Sanchez.” He nodded and then squinted his eyes at me and said, “Junior Alvarez, I understand you are here to give your statement.”

  I nodded.

  “You’ll have to speak your answers, Mr. Alvarez. For the record.”

  “YES.” I said.

  Mr. Sanchez coughed.

  I realized I must have spoken a bit too loud. “I mean, yes. That’s why I’m here.”

  Officer Dempsey opened a folder. “How long have you known the deceased?”

  “I met her when I moved in. She showed me the laundry room.” I made eye contact, going for neutral and helpful.

  “When’s the last time you saw her?”

  “I told Officer Carmichael and Officer Elliot, I helped her get rid of a spider in her apartment at seven that evening.”

  “Where did you go after you left the deceased?”

  “She wasn’t deceased when I left her and like I said before, I had a class in geology at Midland College.”

  Mr. Sanchez schooled me pretty good. I took my time, looked over at him for clues, and kept my answers short. The whole process took half an hour from the time we entered the station until we walked out.

  Afterward, when he dropped me off at my apartment, I got out of his car and he rolled down the passenger window. “You did well today Junior. They learned nothing more than they already knew.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Do not thank me yet. All we did is frustrate them. They are not finished with you, son.” He put the car in gear. “Call me if they attempt to follow up without me present.” He raised the window and pulled into traffic before I could answer.

  I slogged up the stairs to my apartment and knew in my gut he was right. Typical. Just when things go good for me, I trip and fall face first in dog shit.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Kailey and Shinto

  I paced. Two weeks and the house has me in its grip. I can’t bear to move or change a thing. Momma’s reading glasses sit beside her chair where she last placed them. Once an hour I think I hear her wheelchair roll down the hall. It’s worse at night. The smell of all the flowers in the house is nauseating, but I can’t throw them out while they are still beautiful. I’m going stark raving batshit.

  Why can’t I continue my rotation on the force? Bust some sleazeballs. Knock some heads. Preserve and protect, right? More important, work the Patricia Keystone case. It’d keep me sane, but not according to Captain Samosa. Thank god for my teaching gig at the college. Those poor students are going to get my undivided attention whether they want it or not. I stepped over to my desk and stared at the briefcase full of their latest test papers. May as well go over them again. Give me something to do.

  I wandered to the kitchen, grabbed the pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator, and poured myself a glass. The doorbell rang, and I almost dropped it. I spilled half of it on the counter.

  I swear, if it’s another flower arrangement, I’ll throw it at the deliveryman. If it’s one of Momma’s friends dropping off a casserole, I’ll barf. There are only so many tuna casserole surprises one person can eat in a lifetime, and I’ve far exceeded my limit. If I never see another casserole, I’ll be a happy woman.

  I flung the door open, and Shinto and Heather stood there empty handed. Thank god.

  Shinto sniffed as she strode into the living room. “We came to see how you are
doing. Good thing apparently. You look awful. When’s the last time you took a shower?”

  “What do I need to shower for, if all I’m going to do is sit home and eat? Are you two hungry? I’ve got casseroles coming out the wazoo. I think I’ve gained twenty pounds.” I grabbed my T-shirt, pinched my protruding stomach, and flung myself down on the couch.

  “Oh, are we having a pity party?” Heather said and sat on the couch next to me. “I love pity parties. I’m a great crier.”

  “What if I am?” I sniffed. “What am I going to do without Momma?” Just the mention of her set me off on a crying jag.

  “Oh, brother.” Shinto said. “Listen, bitch, stop this and get your ass to the court-appointed therapy sessions.”

  I stared at her. “Momma’s gone, Shinto.”

  “Don’t start that shit. I know you’re not going to therapy because the Captain told me. The sooner you go the sooner life goes back to normal. I don’t do the poor-me shit. We didn’t come over to hear you whine.”

  “Shinto,” Heather cautioned.

  “She knows I don’t do the crying thing,” Shinto shot back. She stood in front of me with her hands on her hips. “Get your ass to therapy.”

  “What am I going to say? I lost my mom and I’m sad?”

  “I don’t care what you say.” Shinto huffed. “Say anything. Tell the therapist you loved your mother and kick dogs. Whatever. Go see the stupid shrink. Play the game. You’re smart enough to do that aren’t you? Then come back to work. That is what you need.”

  “I told the captain the same thing at the beginning. He told me I had to stay out a month. I’ll croak if I have to sit here and stare at the walls that long.”

  “Go to the shrink. I’m sure you’ll be back before the end of a month.” Heather patted my back.