West Texas Dead: A Kailey and Shinto Mystery

by Frances Hight

  Sanchez barely touched his seat before rising again. He peered at the captain first, then the Federal agents, each in turn. “That. Is. What we in the legal profession refer to as, it is in Latin, so let me translate, BULLSHIT.”

  Carlos Sanchez the calm, collected, lawyer changed in an eye blink. He shoved his chair backwards and stalked the room, a lion after prey. “This man, my client, is a goddamn hero. You have heard the tapes. I have heard the tapes. I presume everyone at your precious DE goddamn A has heard the tapes. You take my client into custody tonight, and I swear by Justice Thomas of the Supreme Court I will sue the federal government after we are through with the Midland Police.”

  The white DEA guy snorted. “Can’t sue the federal government. Everyone knows that.”

  “Happens every day of the week, Perry Mason,” Sanchez fired back.

  “Can’t sue and win, I meant to say,” the Fed said. “We’re the DEA. We have more lawyers on the payroll than this place has cops.”

  “Then I suggest you go find the smartest in the bunch and run down the facts for him. He will send you back here with your ass in your hands. Want to save your career and your ass? Let my client go. Now. Tonight.”

  The black DEA agent spoke up, clearly the higher ranking one of the pair. “Unfortunately, it’s protocol. We have heard those tapes you refer to and it certainly sounds as if your client did all he could to assist Agent Harper Salazar. However, a decorated federal agent lost her life in the performance of her duty. We need to cross every T and dot all the I’s before we can even think of closing our investigation.”

  My lawyer smiled like a predator and sat down, opened his jacket, and removed a fountain pen. He unscrewed the cap. “Do you have a pen? If not, I am quite sure the Midland PD can produce all you need. We will sit right here and cross every T and dot every I together, after which my client Junior Alvarez walks out of here a free man, and you two fine gentlemen get to keep your jobs. We will even allow you to push Record.” He nodded at the tape recorder in the middle of the table. “To forestall any unfortunate

  misunderstandings about what might be said here.”

  Sanchez looked my way for the first time since I’d arrived and winked. “How are you doing?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  “I am truly sorry about your friend, agent Salazar.”

  I nodded. “Thanks.” I didn’t trust myself to respond with anything much longer.

  “These folks have a job to do.” My lawyer reverted back to his full-on counselor mode. Reasonable, polite even. “We want to help them do their jobs the best we can, so we can get you the hell out of here as fast as we can. Yes?”

  I nodded once more.

  “Good. Here is what I suggest, if it meets with the approval of all assembled here. I propose we play the tape of the incident through from beginning to end.” Sanchez placed his briefcase on the table and unsnapped the clasps. He removed a twin to the tape recorder on the table. “I took the liberty of having my staff copy the tape for us. My client will narrate as best as he can about the events that are occurring at that point on the tape.” He peered at the captain. “May we have some water in here, please?”

  The captain pointed at Allen. “You. Go get us some water from the kitchen. Cold ones. From the back. Get enough for everyone to get parched twice over.”

  “But Cap—”

  “Now, officer.” He smiled. “I know we’ll all appreciate your sacrifice.”

  My lawyer took control of the room once again. “Thank you, sir.” He cracked his knuckles and paced as he talked. “I want to point out that while we have all heard the tape on this machine, Junior has not. He was there. He lived it, for the most part. But this will be the first time he hears it. I know you will all agree there are portions on this that are difficult to listen to and none of us were there. I ask your forbearance in regard to my client. If at any time he exhibits distress or otherwise indicates he would prefer not to continue, this little session ends. No questions.”

  All the other players glanced at one another. The lead Fed squirmed in his seat and seemed about to speak up. The captain spoke first. “Mr. Sanchez, I am sure we can all appreciate the unusual set of circumstances we face here. Why don’t we push ahead and do what we can to everyone’s satisfaction?” He glared at the Feds as he finished up.

  The lead DEA spoke. “You realize, it is hard to predict the future, even for the DEA.” He smiled at his little joke. No one reciprocated. “But if Mr. Alvarez is willing to proceed, the, um, government would be most grateful.”

  Allen returned with his arms full of water bottles. He approached to deposit them on the table and somehow tripped on my shoe. The bottles slid across the table, and people snatched at them before they slid off onto the floor.

  I saw Shinto Elliot rise halfway out of her chair. Officer Carmichael grabbed her arm.

  Allen turned to me, his face red. “You did that on purpose.”

  I raised my eyebrows and tried to look hurt. “Thank you for your . . . service?” I said.

  “That’s enough of that.” The captain glowered my way. “We are doing our best to accommodate you, Mr. Alvarez. Are we not officers?”

  Shinto stared at me stone-faced. Kailey actually smiled at me.

  “I hope we can expect the same from you,” the Captain continued.

  “Yes, sir, of course, sir.” I smiled sweetly at Allen, who backed away and pulled up a section of wall to lean against. His red face showed up as a wonderful contrast to the industrial light green of the painted cinder block.

  My lawyer opened a water bottle and swigged. “If there are no objections, we would like to begin. Junior, are you ready for this?”

  I nodded.

  “If it gets too rough, you signal me, and I will end it. Yes?”

  “I’m good. Let’s go.”

  “Paint the picture for us, to the best of your recollection. Where you are at the time, what you see, who you’re seeing.”

  Sanchez leaned over and pushed Play.

  The sound on the tape wasn’t too bad for coming out of a one-inch speaker. After a while the quality made no difference. Hearing Harper’s voice put me right back at Miguel’s. I forgot she’d wired up for our mission. Hearing our conversation in the car and on the front porch might have made a lesser man squirm. If they expected squirming from me, they were gonna be sorely disappointed. I felt happy to hear her again. What I said on their damn tape made zero difference to me.

  “Junior, whatever happens You need to know how much you mean to me. Watch yourself. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have dressed like that. I’m going to be fighting vatos off you all night.”

  “You sweet talker, you. Whatever happens in there, I’m yours and you’re mine.”

  I rubbed my earlobe at the memory of her nipping it. I unscrewed the cap on a water bottle and took a drink. I cleared my throat. “We’re on the porch, getting ready to go in,” I said.

  “Remember that. And don’t worry,” she whispered, “I’ve got your back.”

  We heard the door open, and the sound level of a party at full blast boomed from the tiny recorder. I replayed the scene in my head, smelled the smells, saw the people bopping to the music and milling about. I heard the clink of bottles and tasted the first swallow of that ice-cold Negro Modelo.

  “Getting a couple beers, here. Looking over the crowd. I think this is where a cholo walks up with a joint and—”

  “Watch yourself, honey,” I said. “These people practically invented pot. I guarantee that’s stronger shit than you’re used to.”

  “You don’t know what I’m used to, Junior. I’m good. Look around, tell me what you see.”

  “It sounds like she hit it, but I grabbed it before she could. That’s what’s happening. She would never have—”

  “Don’t worry about that, Junior,” Kailey said. “We all know Harper was good at her job.” Officer Kailey Carmichael, backing me up. Thank
s, professor.

  “What are you seeing here, Junior?” beefy DEA said.

  “Los Demonios. Most of them. A bunch of cartel.”

  “How did you know they were cartel?” asked the captain.

  “How they look, act. Like their shit don’t stink and how you ought to be happy they let you smell it.”

  “Nice group of folks.”

  “Hola, chica. You look lonely standing there all by yourself. You need a real man, eh? Not this pendejo standing here like he’s all that.”

  “Vato Number Two,” I said. “Bad news.” I grinned at the memory. “She handled him fine.”

  The tape picked up her whisper like she’d said it for our ears.

  “You see any real hombres in here, you let me know. Comprende? Now, largate. Go away.”

  “Hungry? Measuring dicks always works up an appetite.”

  Someone at the table chuckled.

  “Come on, Mr. Man. Let’s get you some carne asada, ribs, a fucking hamburger, anything to sink your teeth into besides the local wildlife.”

  “Hola, amigo! Junior. Over here, hombre.”

  “That’s Miguel and his woman, Yolanda.”

  “I like your outfit.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you, asshole. Welcome to our little party, Elizabeth.”

  “Elizabeth is the name Harper used when I met her. Her undercover name.”

  “I see most of the guys are here. Dog, Nacho, Eduardo. Don’t see everyone.”

  “You mean Freddie?”

  “That’s Miguel again.”

  “Oh, he’s around. Like a dog you keep feeding. Couldn’t get rid of him if you tried.”

  “Get rid of who? What’d I miss?”

  “I don’t know. Your balls?”

  “They let you out, I see. Someone should alert the local female population.”

  I heard Allen behind me chuckle and cover it with a cough. I resisted the urge to whirl around and rip his throat out.

  “That piece of shit talking is Freddie Medina. Or Fuck You, as most of his asshole friends and enemies call him. Not to his face.”

  “Hey, hombres, relax man. It’s a party, eh? We eat, have some laughs. You two got some serious work to do. Repair bridges, eh? Be friends. You gonna work together, it’ll be better for me, Yolanda, everyone. Trust me.”

  “That’s Miguel, always the businessman.” I allowed myself a laugh. “He’s smart, focused, dangerous as hell. Good thing you scooped him up when you did.”

  Carlos Sanchez reached over and stopped the tape. “It appears no one told you.”

  “Told me what?”

  “Miguel Castillo and his woman Yolanda slipped through the DEA’s net.”

  Number Two DEA cracked his knuckles. “We snagged twenty-three known cartel affiliates, several Los Demonios, and three trash cans packed with drugs in the raid. It counts as a win. A big win.”

  “Thought you Feds were supposed to be good,” I said. I leaned over and restarted the tape. “You net all the baitfish, let the shark swim off untouched, and lose an agent worth five of you. Big win. Stellar work.”

  “Who does your tats, Freddie? I’ll be sure and never look him up.”

  We heard Yolanda and Miguel laughing on the tape. I remembered Freddie’s face and the sneer.

  “You might want to watch yourself, señorita. I hear chicas who hang around this guy end up with their tits cut off.”

  I squeezed my water bottle and geysered a stream of water onto the table.

  Sanchez stopped the tape.

  “You okay, Junior?”

  I didn’t answer for a few seconds.

  Officer Carmichael spoke up. “This is where Freddie admitted he murdered Patricia Keystone. No one else knew her, uh, breasts had been removed.”

  I nodded and then said, “I’m fine. Really.” I leaned over and pushed Play. “This next part is where Harper and I became separated. I concentrated on Fuck You. She went off to do her agent thing.”

  We heard snippets of her conversations with several people I could not identify. I’d left her by then. Let her go off unprotected while I searched for Freddie. When I found her again, I was too late. Fuck You found her first.

  “Hola, chica. Remember me?”

  I heard the whisper. I pictured the face that went with it.

  I heard him giggle. “Say hello to my little friend.”

  Her gasp made everyone in the room sit forward in their chairs.

  I stared at the recorder, willing it to change the script. But it couldn’t.

  Unh . . . Junior . . .

  “Junior? Lo siento. Sorry, chica. Your boyfriend is out there looking for me and guess what. It’s me who finds you!”

  We heard her moan.

  “One more for Junior.” We heard him grunt.

  I didn’t hear much more of the tape. Tried to block out the gasps and grunts as she made her way, I assume, to the column where I found her standing.

  Freddie then came back into the picture. “Misplace someone, asshole? . . . I don’t know, man . . . She doesn’t look too good, hombre.”

  I saw the whole thing played over again. Her white face, her standing up against the column, desperate not to fall. The collapse. The way she struggled to form her last words.

  “Junior . . . he . . . Freddie . . . my back . . . call . . .”

  Once again, I felt the weight of her in my arms. The wet on her back. Saw the blood on my hands.

  “Oops . . . Bitch can’t hold her liquor.”

  “Get in here on the double, fuckers. Call an ambulance.”

  “That last was me, talking to you assholes.” I looked each DEA agent in the eye. “She’s on the pavement. I held her to make her comfortable as I could. She bled out, and I couldn’t stop it. No one in the crowd gave a shit.”

  “Get her another beer, asshole.”

  “You’re gonna get lucky tonight.”

  “Get her to the bathroom before she pukes her guts out.”

  “Lose another one, fucker? . . . You do got a way with women.”

  “That’s Freddie Medina. The next sounds you hear will be me killing him. You want to arrest me for that? For ending that scum’s life? Fine with me.”

  Someone at the table sniffed, Kailey. She used both hands to wipe her eyes.

  A couple of the men refused to look at me.

  The captain cleared his throat. “Stop the tape,” he said. “We’re done here.” He pointed at Sanchez. “You take Junior home. Get him cleaned up. Paperwork will be out front for you in the morning. As far as Midland PD goes, Junior Alvarez is exonerated of all charges.” He focused on me. “I don’t mind saying, every one of us in this room owes you a debt, Junior. And our apologies.” He looked hard at Allen. “Everyone.”

  Carlos Sanchez nodded and gathered his papers and the recorder. “We certainly appreciate that, Captain. Thank you. There is one more thing, if I may.”

  “Yes?” The captain made it halfway to the door and his wife’s tacos.

  “I am assuming the previous charges concerning the death of one Patricia Keystone will be dropped as well? As a show of good will, perhaps you could vacate Junior’s probation for his prior insignificant infraction for us as well.”

  The captain stared at my lawyer like he might be some unknown species of vermin and then he grinned. “Why the hell not, counselor? I’m in a forgiving mood. Besides, I’m hungry. You’ve got it. Now don’t ask me for another goddamn thing, or I’ll rescind everything I said. Goodnight.”

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Junior

  I felt cold dew soak through my pants. Sitting on a hill with a good view of the funeral, but far enough away to be out of the formalities, I’d been sitting for hours. First to show up, I’d be the last to leave. Naturally, they held Harper’s funeral in Dallas. Oakland Cemetery looked more like a park with huge, droopy old oaks and streams and waterfalls. Kids ought to be throwing Frisbees in the grass and families having picnics. Instead,
large statues intersected bronze plaques that lay embedded in the ground and occasional pop-up vases full of flowers dotted the landscape.

  I sat and watched. Heard the wail of bagpipes lead in a parade of mourners. Law enforcement in rank and file. Family and friends milling in behind. Official-looking church folks directed traffic with appropriately solemn faces. The crowd swelled big enough the preacher spoke into a microphone. The words echoed over the green lawns, coming in waves to me, riding on the breeze.

  When he finished, several folks, probably family, walked to the open grave, bent down, and grabbed fistfuls of dirt to drop inside it. Law enforcement officers stood at attention and snapped a salute while three riflemen in back fired seven times; the old twenty-one-gun salute.

  Took forever for the crowd of uniforms to thin out. Midland PD had shown up in force, decked out in full dress blues. Dallas PD dwarfed their number. Feds from the DEA and probably a couple other agencies wore their best dark suits, sunglasses in place. But leave they did. Soon the only ones left were a grounds crew, two men in overalls with shovels, and one uniform. Midland PD, by the cut of it.

  I stood and stretched, pulling my pants free from my damp ass. I took my time, willing the straggler to get the hell out of there, but he never budged. Fine. The walk from my vantage point should have taken three minutes. I took ten. No luck.

  The cop had his back to me as I approached. I got within a few feet, and he spoke. With a female voice. “Took you long enough.”

  “Officer Kailey Carmichael. Should have known it was you.”

  “How you doing, Junior?”

  “I’m not one for crowds. Especially at funerals. Especially cop funerals. Too many cops all in one place.”

  She chuckled. “I hear you. Did you catch it all from your little hill?”

  “Thought I hid myself pretty good.”

  “You did. But I knew you’d be here. No way you were going to miss her funeral.”

  “Seemed like a nice one from up there.”

  “Should have seen it from down here. Several in my crew asked about you.”

  Silence.

  Kailey took her cap off and wiped a forearm across her forehead. “Yeah, well, I think they did a real nice job. We always do when it’s one of our own.” She kicked at a piece of turf. “Got any plans?”