Desert Places

by Erica Abbott

  If Lea was feeling the stress before, Jean thought, it would be ten times worse now. A serial burglar was bad enough, but murder would undoubtedly put the investigation into a pressure cooker. She hoped Lea would still be able to focus at the deposition.

  The deposition that was in less than two days, she reminded herself. Get back to work.

  * * *

  Discovery was the most tiresome part of any lawsuit and depositions were among the most tedious of discovery tools. Jean had always preferred research and writing, finding the best case law and crafting the best sentences to persuade a judge to rule in her client’s favor.

  But lawsuits usually turned on the facts, and discovery was all about determining what the facts were. She’d been through dozens of depositions in her career and they never got more interesting. Today, however, had been almost fun, an experience she could not remember having had before.

  As she sat in the downtown coffee shop waiting for Lea to return with their drinks, she recalled her favorite moments of testimony.

  * * *

  The plaintiff’s lawyer had asked early on, “Did you discuss what you were going to say today with anyone?”

  Jean watched Lea hide her smile. She’d told Lea about this question during their prep.

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Lea had responded. “Are you asking me if I discussed what happened in the jail that evening with anyone or if I prepared for this deposition by consulting with my counsel?”

  Plaintiff’s lawyer snorted and it was Jean’s turn to try not to grin. Lawyers hated it when witnesses asked them questions.

  “Either one,” he snapped.

  Lea sat back easily in her chair and said, “I certainly discussed my testimony today with my attorney. And I’ve discussed the events at the jail several times with my staff, the board of county commissioners, the county risk manager and briefly with the press as well.”

  And what did that get you? Jean knew the question was an attempt to get the witness to deny discussing their testimony with anyone so that the attorney could catch them in a lie.

  But the best moment was near the end when the plaintiff’s lawyer asked, “You are aware that Mr. Rosales died while in your custody?”

  “Yes.”

  “After being subjected to an unprovoked stun gun attack by your deputies?”

  “Objection,” Jean said quickly. “That mischaracterizes the prior testimony. The action was far from unprovoked.”

  He glared at her. “I’ll rephrase. You are aware that Mr. Rosales died after the stun guns were used?”

  “Yes.”

  “And yet you are denying any responsibility for his death?”

  Jean watched Lea turn the question over. After a moment, Lea answered, “I wouldn’t say that. I would say that I am denying any fault in connection with Mr. Rosales’s death. He was in my custody. I am responsible for him in the greater sense of the word. But my deputies followed procedures and the procedures were sound. We did nothing wrong. We were not at fault. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel some responsibility.”

  Plaintiff’s lawyer hadn’t liked that answer one bit. It was all Jean could do not to applaud.

  * * *

  Lea brought the cardboard cup of coffee to the small table and said to Jean, “So, how do you think it went, Counselor?”

  Jean sipped gratefully before answering. “It went really, really well. You did a great job.”

  Lea sat down, frowning. She was in full uniform, complete with service weapon and the tiny gold medal pinned to her chest. Jean saw the other late-afternoon patrons in the coffee shop steal glances at the sheriff. “You weren’t worried when he went off on the procedures for removing prisoners from their cells?” Lea asked.

  “Absolutely not. Remember, it’s not a matter of whether the deputies did everything perfectly, that’s not the legal standard in a lawsuit like this. The issue is whether your internal policies were adequate and after today, we’re solid as a rock on this. If we don’t get the case dismissed on a Motion for Summary Judgment, we’ll be in a very strong settlement position.”

  “I always hate settling lawsuits when I don’t think we’ve done anything wrong,” Lea continued, still frowning.

  “I understand. There is some economic point to it, usually based on how much it would cost the county to litigate the case in court as opposed to settling for a small amount. The stronger our legal position, the less we’re likely to have to pay in settlement.”

  Lea drank from her cup and responded, “I get it. I just don’t like it. I guess I’ll just try to remember that the man did die while in our custody and his family is suffering, even if we weren’t at fault.” She sighed, and then continued, “Anyway, I appreciate all the work you did after Del Franklin dumped the case on you with no notice.”

  Jean murmured, “I didn’t tell you Del dumped the case on me…”

  Lea lifted an eyebrow. “No, you didn’t. But I know Franklin a little, and it wasn’t hard to figure out. But you did well to get ready in such a short period of time.”

  “I was fueled by that fantastic meal your mother fed me on Saturday,” Jean said lightly. “Did your dad get home all right?”

  “Yep. Mom said he ate about a gallon or so of chili when he got home after ten o’clock and then he spent half the night up with well-deserved indigestion.”

  Lea looked tired, the skin around her eyes stretched more tightly than Jean remembered. She didn’t think it was the deposition that had stressed her so much. Lea had been cool and professional, just as Jean had expected. “How’s the murder case coming?”

  A sharp glance from Lea surprised her. Wasn’t Jean supposed to talk about it? Carefully, Lea said, “We’re working on it. Why do you ask?”

  Cops, Jean thought in exasperation. Answering a question with a question. They were worse than lawyers. “Did you know the murder victim, Lambert, was suing the county?”

  Sitting back in her chair, Lea said, “No, I didn’t, actually. Tell me more about that.”

  “He was a former county employee in public works. He was suing the board of county commissioners claiming he’d been wrongfully fired.”

  “Was he?” Lea asked.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t had time to read the case file yet. And the lawsuit wouldn’t have anything to do with his murder anyway.” At Lea’s tightening mouth she added, “Would it?”

  “I don’t think so,” Lea acknowledged. “The murder looks like the work of our Joya burglar. But he’s never made a mistake before like this, entering a house with someone home and, obviously, he’s never used a weapon. Changes in the MO always bother me.”

  Jean saw Lea watching her. Lea’s face was thoughtful. What was she thinking, whether or not she could trust Jean with the details of the investigation? Or something else, something more personal, perhaps?

  Jean lifted her gaze to Lea’s eyes. She had hazel eyes, Jean decided. Her eyes were looking gray-green now with the khaki uniform. The single lock of wavy hair was threatening to escape over her forehead.

  Lea Hawkins is not an option, Jean told herself firmly. Even if she’s available, you’re not, so stop looking at her.

  Suddenly Lea asked, “May I ask if you’re busy on Sunday?”

  Despite her best intentions, Jean answered quickly, “I’m not. What’s up?”

  “It’s the Green Chile Festival,” Lea said. “You’re new in town and you should have someone introduce you to the local celebrations. We close off several streets downtown and there are booths with food, a few local restaurants roasting chiles, usually a mariachi band or two. Sound like fun?”

  Was this a date? A ripple of indecision shuddered through her, then she took a deep breath. Time to come clean, at least a little.

  But before she could speak, Lea said, “You look a little shell-shocked. Did I say something wrong?”

  “No, it’s just that I’m not sure exactly what you—I mean, I’m your lawyer, or at least officially so and we, ah…”<
br />
  Lea said softly, “It’s all right, Jean. I go every year and I thought you’d like it. I’m not asking you on a date. But it would be nice to just hang out. Wouldn’t it?”

  Jean relaxed. She could use a friend, God knew, and she liked Lea. It would be fine. She admired Lea for taking a chance by asking her. In the end all she could say was, “It does sound like fun. What time?”

  * * *

  Sunday was unseasonably warm, the sun bright gold and the mountains in the west clear and blue. Jean debated briefly over what to wear and then gave up worrying. She found her favorite walking shorts and paired them with a camp shirt. Tying a sweater around her shoulders in case she was out later in the day, Jean worked very hard not to think about anything other than having a fun time. They were just hanging out, she reminded herself. Friends spending time together.

  She walked over a couple of blocks from her downtown condo to meet Lea at the corner of Main and Fifth, the sunshine pleasantly hot on her shoulders. After a minute she spotted Lea, standing and talking to a uniformed officer who was stationed beside a wooden barrier. She shook his hand when she spotted Jean and walked over to meet her. Out of uniform, Lea was dressed in jeans, boots and a sleeveless western shirt, her arms long and tan and lean.

  Stop it, Jean said. She was getting tired of telling herself that.

  “Hi,” Lea greeted her cheerfully. “You look dressed for the day.”

  Jean gestured toward the officer Lea had been talking to a moment before. “Is there a problem?”

  “Not at all. I’m just checking in. The Tesóro City Police Department is in charge of the event, but we always send some deputies over to help with traffic control.”

  They fell into an easy stroll, wandering among the pedestrians crowding the street. “Are you really always on duty?” Jean asked.

  “Pretty much,” Lea responded. “I don’t mind. It’s part of the job. I certainly knew what I was getting into when I ran for office.”

  They stopped to buy a couple of empanadas and ate as they walked. The pastry fell in delicious flakes around the savory, seasoned ground beef. “I meant to ask you, how did your father escape having the law enforcement career the rest of his family had?” Jean asked.

  After swallowing a mouthful of empanada, Lea answered, “Vietnam. He’s got a Purple Heart for a shoulder wound that prevented him from passing the physical. I think he was okay with it, actually. He really, really wanted to marry Mom and it’s a lot easier to have a normal family life as a rancher than as a cop.”

  Is that why you’re single? Jean wanted to ask.

  Licking their fingers clean from the empanada crumbs, they browsed booths filled with a variety of items for sale, from homemade jellies to brightly colored woven purses. For a few minutes they paused to listen to a mariachi band, bright trumpets and guitars making the atmosphere on the sidewalk a fiesta.

  Soon after they resumed their walk the spicy, earthy smell of roasted chiles swirled around them, luring them by the nose toward the large metal cylinders tended by men wearing bright red aprons and wielding long metal tongs.

  “My God, that smells wonderful,” Jean exclaimed.

  Lea grinned at her. “It smells like home to me. There is nothing like a roasted green chile.”

  “Are green chiles a different kind of pepper from red chiles?” Jean asked.

  Lea looked at her quizzically. “I thought you were from Texas.”

  “Where I come from, chili means ‘chili con carne.’ And in Texas, it’s always about the beef. Sometimes the chili is made without the meat, but with beans instead. But ‘chili’ has nothing to do with chile peppers per se. Other than the occasional jalapeño.”

  “Well, in that case, let me help you on your way to becoming a citizen of the Southwest.” Lea gave her a lopsided grin. “Red chiles are green chiles that were left on the chile plant long enough to ripen, simple as that. The flavors of red and green chiles are very different from each other and to complicate matters, you can have your chiles smoked or not. For example, a jalapeño pepper that’s been smoked is called a chipotle.”

  Jean asked happily, “This conversation is making me hungry. Is it too soon for lunch?”

  Lea laughed. “It’s never too soon for lunch. I recommend a nice medium-rare burger with roasted green chiles on top. Sound good?”

  “Yes, but if you don’t eat yours fast enough, you may go hungry. All food left unattended is subject to possible confiscation by an officer of the court.”

  “I am forewarned,” Lea said with mock solemnity.

  They bought their burgers, and then found two seats at one of the picnic tables set up nearby. There were lots of families, people casually dressed in jeans or shorts for the sunny day at the end of summer. Lea said, “I’m reluctant to leave my burger in your care, but I need to go get drinks. Do you want a beer?”

  Jean said, “I don’t drink. Water is fine.”

  Lea returned with the bottles of water, the ice still clinging to the sides. After twisting off the cap, Jean drank deeply. Then she took a healthy bite of the juicy burger.

  “Are the chiles too hot for you?” Lea asked.

  “After your mother’s chili, they’re mild as baby food.”

  “Interesting that you should say that. I’m pretty sure Mom fed green chiles to us in our Gerber’s strained peas to acclimate us.”

  Jean smiled. “I don’t doubt it.”

  They ate in happy silence for a moment. Then Lea said, “May I ask you a very personal question?”

  Jean almost laughed at her formal politeness, then wondered what the question might be. “Yes, you may.”

  “Are you an alcoholic?”

  Jean put her half-eaten burger down on the paper plate. “You’re assuming that if I don’t drink I’m an alcoholic?”

  “No, I’m not assuming anything,” she said gently. “That’s why I asked.”

  “Point taken. Is it important?”

  “If you’re asking me whether it matters to me or not, it doesn’t. I thought if I knew, I’d quit offering you adult beverages and make it easier on you, that’s all.”

  Jean heard no note of condescension or judgment in her tone. She replied, “No, I’m not an alcoholic. But I’m pretty certain that my mother is. I don’t really like the taste of alcohol very much and I didn’t see the point in taking a chance on continuing the family tradition.” She gestured at the bottles of water. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a beer. It doesn’t bother me if other people are drinking.”

  Lea shrugged. “If there’s any chance I might need to work, I’d rather not have alcohol in my system. I usually wait until I leave town to have a drink.”

  Jean picked up her burger again. The mild, freshly smoked spice of the green chiles complemented the succulent beef perfectly and Jean tried not to wolf down her meal. “Do you leave town a lot?” she asked.

  She’d thought the question innocuous, but Lea hesitated a long moment. “I used to,” she admitted. “I was involved with a woman who lived in Denver and I drove up almost every other weekend for years.”

  Treading carefully, Jean said, “Long-distance relationships are tough, I imagine.”

  “Denver is only a hundred miles or so north of here. It was more of a medium-distance relationship.”

  Lea was trying for lightness of tone, but Jean heard regret behind the words. “What happened?” she finally asked.

  “I couldn’t leave San Carlos County, obviously,” Lea answered. “Her career was important to her too and she needed to be in Denver. We made it work pretty well for quite a while and then not so well for a longer while. When she got transferred to Atlanta, it was time to finish it between us. We were together a long time, but ending the relationship was pretty much mutual.”

  “Almost ten years, your mother told me.”

  Lea gave her the half smile. “Mother is very chatty. I should know that by now.”

  “Then she probably told you I had a partner for thirteen
years.”

  Lea fiddled with her water bottle a moment, then she said, “She mentioned it. A chef, she said.”

  “Yes.”

  “It wasn’t a good ending.” Lea made it a statement rather than a question.

  “I didn’t tell your mother that.”

  “No.” Lea’s voice was gentle. “I can see it in your face.”

  Jean stared at her. The hazel eyes were more light brown today, almost golden. Was her pain obvious to everyone? Jean wondered. She thought she had hidden it rather well, but perhaps she was fooling herself.

  Jean said, “No, it wasn’t a good ending. She left me.”

  Before she heard Lea’s response, the conversation was interrupted by a loud shout, followed by the wail of a crying child. Jean spotted a little girl, perhaps four or five, standing near one of the hot metal chile roasters. She jumped to her feet but Lea was faster. She had the child scooped into her arms in a few seconds.

  “Are you hurt, honey?” Lea asked gently.

  The man standing nearby brandishing tongs exclaimed, “I just managed to keep her from touching it. I think I scared her, though.”

  Lea inspected the child’s hands and arms, but apparently didn’t see any burns. Jean looked around, expecting to see a frantic parent or two, but no one seemed nearby.

  Lea was making comforting noises, saying, “You’re okay now. Everything’s okay.”

  The girl said, “I’m not ’posed to talk to strangers.”

  “That’s a good rule.” Lea set her on the ground. “My name is Lea, what’s yours?”

  “Cheryl. But I can’t talk to you.”

  “Hmmm. Did your mother tell you about police officers?”

  “Yes.” The little girl’s eyes grew round.

  Lea dug her badge from her jeans pocket and showed it to Cheryl. “It’s okay to talk to me. I’m the sheriff, see? It’s just like being a police officer.”

  “You can’t be a p’liceman. You’re a girl.”

  Lea smiled. “Girls make very good police officers sometimes. Can you tell me where your mother or dad is?”

  The tears started again. “I don’t know. They losted me.”