by Paul Knox
The woman’s husband approached and stood behind her. He said, “And you came here—in your robe?”
Jessie pulled it tighter. “I was cold and it’s all I had. Please, I’m stranded.”
“Okay, but…why didn’t you put shoes on?”
“I was wearing flip-flops. And the straps broke.”
The lady noticed Jessie’s head. “Oh, geez, what happened to your head?”
“I fell and hit it on a rock. I know, I look terrible. A big mess.” Jessie threw her hands up and rolled her eyes. “What are the chances this would happen to somebody? I’m so embarrassed.”
The woman softened a bit. “Do you want to use my phone and call someone?”
“I don’t know anybody’s number. I had them all in my cell and it’s dead. And then I lost it when I fell and hit my head.”
“That is just plum bad luck!” The woman exclaimed.
“I have a home up in Tucson. I know it’s a lot to ask…for a ride.”
“I don’t see so well in the night anymore. But my son is coming down tomorrow for a visit. I’m sure he could give you a ride back in the morning, seeing the circumstances and all.”
The man in the background frowned and began, “Honey, I don’t know if that’s—”
“Oh, Fred, hush up. If I was this woman would you help me?”
“Well, I, uh…yes, I would help you,” he grumbled.
Jessie politely interrupted. “I could always get an Uber. If you ordered one for me, I’ll give you my number and address. I’m good for the money. I’ll even pay you double, just for going out of your way.”
“Oh, I forgot about Uber. Come in, dear. You can get cleaned up and we’ll give you something to eat. I’ll get you an Uber.”
“Thank you.”
Fifteen minutes later, Jessie had showered, cleaned her head and put a few Band-Aids on it. She’d be fine. Fred and his wife had a hearty meal of chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans ready for her, of which she scarfed down two servings.
A short time later, the Uber arrived.
Jessie cried tears of joy as she sat in the car and verified her address with the driver. She could breathe again.
Jessie had a baby boy and a husband to see, to hold, to laugh and cry with.
She wanted to hold her child for ages and then be held all night long and never let go. To feel Shanahan’s strong, protective embrace.
To be together.
Thirty-Five
Ethan Wilson continued watching the Russian’s home, for Reece, but according to the sheriff’s department, he was officially on sick leave.
Pretending he was doing patrols only lasted a day or so, until his excuses piled up and he either had to produce results or actually ‘work.’ With Reece’s name on an arrest warrant, following her orders were no longer kosher.
Nonetheless, Reece and Shanahan were too important to let down. Ethan never doubted that Reece would be found innocent and his unauthorized work would ultimately be retroactively approved.
After the Russians-leaving-without-his-knowledge incident, Ethan constantly drove around the streets behind the house, verifying no one got out the back again. Ethan had also interviewed all the neighbors, asking about their cars and driving habits, or if they knew the Russian neighbors. The Russians were known as ‘quiet’ and no one knew them.
He watched and watched and watched some more. He watched for any strange or missing cars. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. To Ethan’s knowledge, the young Russian never left.
Saturday morning, as Ethan finished the last of his sandwiches, he wondered what he would have to do for food. He glanced at the overripe prickly pear fruits that still hung atop the surrounding cacti.
Then he looked down at his leather belt. It looked chewy.
Had it really come to this?
His phone rang. The sheriff’s department.
“Hey, Penny. Do you know if pizza places will deliver to a car?”
“Ethan, aren’t you watching the Russian’s house?” Penny whispered.
“Yup. An action-packed time, let me tell you.”
“We just found one of their bodies. Dead as a doornail in a dumpster.”
“Dead? Is he older, maybe in his early 60s?”
“Yes. And he had a driver’s license on him, too. He went by the name Dmitry Ivanov. You didn’t see him leave?”
“Well…it’s a long story. Reece knows all about it. I’ll call and see what she wants me to do.”
“Ethan, deputies are headed to your location now. You might want to get out of there, unless you want them to find out you’re helping Reece.”
In his rearview mirror, Ethan watched a few sheriffs SUVs pull up and around. “Too late, Penny. They’re here.”
“Good luck, Ethan.”
“I’ll think of something. Ciao.”
◆◆◆
When Reece awoke Saturday, she discovered the late-night text from Shanahan.
The bartender?
Knowing Green Valley was the hotspot of this investigation, she aimed her pickup in that direction. There were only a handful of bars in the entire valley. If she had to, she’d visit every single one.
Halfway there, Ethan called.
“Well, boss, I just interrogated the younger Russian. His name is Viktor Ivanov.”
“Did you open the safe?”
“I didn’t tell the other deputies I’d been watching the house, so no one knows we already searched the place and found it—meaning, it’s still hidden and Viktor hasn’t been arrested.”
“Other deputies?”
“Dmitry Ivanov—his father—was found in a dumpster behind Green Valley Markey by a homeless guy digging through the trash for cans. I guess the homeless guy recycles them for money or something.”
“The older one is dead? How was he killed?”
“Strangled. Looks like a belt or something thick. Not a rope.”
“Nobody suspects you’re helping me?
“No. I said Penny called me and told me I was missing the action. Which she technically did—not really a lie. No one asked me anything else about it. At least, not yet. I think I’m flying low on the helping-a-fugitive radar.”
“Did you get anything out of Viktor?”
“Not yet, but he seemed pretty shook-up. Honestly though, considering he left with his father, yet came back alone, I think he had a hand in his father’s death. But—and a big but—there’s no proof.”
“Thanks for calling. Find proof.”
Reece hung up, wondering who was next on the list to be murdered.
Then, Reece got a call from someone unexpected. Candy Wallace.
“Ms. Detective Cannon, Frankie hasn’t been home in two days. I have a real bad feeling about this. And there’s something you should know. Can we talk?”
Reece glanced at the clock radio on the dash. Still morning. Randomly searching the Green Valley bars could wait.
“I’ll be right there.”
Reece spun the Mitsubishi around and dialed Chief Gomez.
Thirty-Six
“Gomez, have you heard from Shanahan?” Reece asked.
“Haven’t seen him since the hospital. You worried about him?”
“He knows where Lucky is—and where Jessie was.”
“That brainiac think he’s gonna figure everything out himself? We could have people combing whatever place he found, getting prints and God only knows what else. We’d probably find her.”
“He thinks she’s dead. And he’s out for revenge. Not a good situation.”
“Do you think she’s dead?”
“First M. Knight, now Dmitry Ivanov.” Reece pointed at Candy Wallace’s apartment. “Frankie Two-Fingers and El Hijo Rico have been missing since this investigation began, and I think it’s just a matter of time before their bodies turn up. Yet for some reason, Lucky is still around causing trouble.”
Gomez nodded. “That’s not a good sign.”
“And here I am, on the outskirts
of the investigation, barely able to maintain a lead in this case. I need my name cleared, Gomez.”
“It would help if you still had your phone. Maybe somebody used it. We could’ve tried to find prints.”
“I was worried about tracking. Smashing it was a hasty decision, I admit. An isolated lapse of judgment.”
“This whole thing has been isolated, twisty and strange, Reece. Even for you. What are you really worried about?”
“Jessie. And Shanahan. I couldn't care less about being all alone out here. I just need my resources back.”
“Is that was it is?”
“What is?”
“You feel alone? Reece, you pinche cabron. You’re not alone. Everybody is in this with you. The only people trying to stop you are the people who don’t know you. Shanahan is loco en la cabeza right now. He needs you more than ever.”
“Estás en lo correcto. Estoy lista. ¿Tú?”
“What?” Gomez asked, perplexed.
“Oh, I thought we were speaking Spanish.”
“Reece, I’m an old Chollo. Born and raised—wearing Dickies—here in the states. Never learned.”
“I said that you’re right.” Reece motioned to the door with a small movement of her head. “You ready to go in and find out what Candy knows?”
“Almost. We gotta clear your name. Let me make a call.” Gomez dialed the sheriff’s department.
“Landy? You ready to stop playing hard ball and get Reece back on this case? … Yes, I’ve spoken to her. She’s heard from Shanahan, and he knows where Lucky’s house is. He’s even been inside and verified Jessie had been there. … If we had Reece—officially—back on this thing, we could use her help. You know it’s only a matter of time before we find out who sent that text. And you know as well as I do, she’d never do anything like this. … I’m not bringing her in. … I don’t care what happens to me—I care about what’s right. … Landy, you old bastard.” Gomez hung up.
“That didn’t sound like it went well.”
“Landy’s just worried about the bureaucrats in office coming down on him. Sometimes I think his head is stuck so far up his ass he can’t see the forest for a tree.”
“I appreciate it, Gomez. I get it. I get it. Landy’s stuck in between people he has to please. He’s running two ways at once.”
“You’re not?”
“Maybe I am. Maybe not. But there’s one thing I realize. I’m not impressing anybody. I’m doing what’s right—for the people that I love.”
Gomez opened the SUV door. “Shall we?”
The warm rays of light cut through the chilly morning air and warmed Reece’s face in a way that only the Arizona sun could. “We shall.”
◆◆◆
Reece Cannon went up to the front door and knocked politely, with Gomez right behind her. Candy answered the door and let them in.
Nothing had changed about the inside of the apartment, except for a blender in the kitchen with some slush in it and a few pre-made margarita mix cans that were opened and on the counter. Once again, Reece sat on the bright red couch atop the white shag rug.
“How much more do you know, Ms. Wallace?” Reece asked.
“Millions.”
“What are you saying?”
“The cocaine stuff wasn’t just bad news bears, it was big time bazooka. I didn’t want to elaborate before, but Frankie said he’d seen millions of greenbacks worth of that stuff.”
“Is that what you wanted to tell me, Ms. Wallace?”
“First it was Mickey Money. Then M. Knight. I just heard about Ricky. Frankie isn’t coming home. Everybody’s dying. I’m next, I know it.”
Candy glanced out the window. “Life ain’t worth squat to anybody—only money. No one cares about me. I need protection. A witness protection program or something. Can you do that?”
Gomez drummed his fingers on his leg before sighing and staring into Candy’s fake eyelashes and purple mascara. “That’s a tough request. If you help us bring someone big enough down, sure. Let’s rewind. You previously told us that M. Knight gets cocaine from Columbians, correct?”
“Yeah.”
“Through Galaxsea?” Reece asked.
“Yeah.”
Reece felt her stomach knot. “Is Sandy in on it?”
“Who?”
“The owner of Galaxsea—M. Knight’s boss. He has to know if cocaine is coming through there.”
“I’ve never heard that name—oh, wait—is that your dad?”
Candy clapped her hands together. “You’re the detective from the news report! I almost thought you were gonna take the fall for everybody. It was just a trick, huh? Like a movie stunt?”
Reece and Gomez glanced at each other, frowning.
Gomez spoke. “You’re not giving us much. M. Knight’s dead and we don’t know who Lucky really is. If we find Frankie, we’ll let you know.”
“Wait, wait, how about this. They fly the cocaine in with a small plane, and land it way out in Benson, at that tiny airport out there. No one is ever around. One time Frankie transported bricks of that stuff outta there.”
“You don’t think that would’ve been important to mention before?” Reece asked.
“Goodness you all, I just thought of it! I’m tryin’ to help the best I can. I’m not a computer, I’m a delicate flower.”
Reece stared for a moment, somewhere between disbelief and bewilderment. “Where did he transport it to?”
“To Galaxsea, to M. Knight.”
“Is that plane here, now—in Benson?”
“How should I know? I tried to stay out of all that stuff.”
Reece didn’t hesitate. She turned to Gomez. “I’m going to Benson. Maybe they have a name. Can you document this new info for me?”
“No worries, Reece. Landy won’t have a clue you were here.” Gomez drummed his fingers again—this time to a specific rhythm Reece recognized.
“That’s my song, Gomez. Are you stealing it?”
“You like classical?”
“I like Beethoven’s fifth symphony.” Reece demonstrated by knocking on the little end table by the couch. Dun-dun-dun-dumm Dun-dun-dun-dumm.”
Gomez peered at her with a faraway look in his eyes. “Fate knocking on the door.”
Reece nodded and stood, ready to leave. “That’s what Beethoven said the melody meant.”
Gomez laughed. “It’s a good jam.”
“You know, when I first started working here, before I was a detective, Shanahan once told me something about Landy.”
“That he was as stubborn as fate?”
Reece looked around at the plastic decorations. Fakeness pervaded throughout the apartment. “Shanahan told me that Landy was ‘lucky to keep getting elected.’ That he was ‘good with the bureaucrats.’ And he still is. He’s good at that side of things.”
“What did you just say?”
“He’s good with the—”
“You said Landy was lucky.”
Reece and Gomez looked at each other. Then they shook their heads and in unison said, “No way.”
Gomez eyed her. “Reece, find something at the airport.”
A few seconds later, Reece bid Gomez farewell and left for Benson.
There was no possible way. Right?
Thirty-Seven
Ethan Wilson had barged in Viktor’s home for a second time, and currently had him sitting on a couch, interrogating him with a couple other deputies.
“The coroner puts your father’s death at the same time you were missing from this house.”
“What makes you think I wasn’t here? I was here.”
“I watched you leave,” Ethan bluffed.
Viktor carefully eyed him up and down. “Prove it.”
“I followed you from Casino Del Sol to this house, and then you abruptly left, going down to the Green Valley Market. You bought a carton of milk—thirty minutes away—and then came back here. I know milk is good, but that must be some tasty milk. Straight from the cow’s tea
t?”
“We were going down to look at Green Valley property. My father wanted to buy a new home down there. We received a call that the realtor canceled once we got there. I needed some milk. End of story.”
“I know it’s because you were going to see someone named Lucky, but somehow knew I was following you.”
“Preposterous.”
“I’ve been watching your house ever since. Your father left—with you—and then never came back. That was when he was murdered. Choked with a belt.”
Viktor’s eyes started watering. “How can you be so insensitive? He was my father! My father!”
“Viktor, people are dying and your story has holes. You have the right to remain silent…”
Ethan cuffed Viktor and led him outside to a sheriff’s SUV. He’d transport him down to the station for further questioning.
After closing the SUV door on Viktor, one of the deputies asked, “How did you know to be following this guy, Ethan?”
“Before Reece disappeared, she said something about a guy named Lucky. Where else would he be, but a casino? The valet guys at the casino said he’d been with a Russian in a green Lamborghini. Piece of cake.”
“Haven’t you been sick this whole week?”
“I’ve just been slathering the Vicks VapoRub all over my chest and sucking down cough drops. Crime doesn’t stop, deputy.”
The other deputy slapped Ethan’s back. “You really stepped your game up, buddy. Nice work.”
“Right, uh, thanks.” Ethan felt the afternoon sun burning his neck. He cringed inside, having taken Reece’s credit. He’d set the record straight. Soon.
Actually, he thought to himself, this isn’t fair. I have to say something right this very second.
“And Reece is innocent,” Ethan blurted.
“Everybody knows that,” the deputy said. “Well, everyone except for Landy.” The deputy turned around and headed back into the Russian’s house.
Soon after, Ethan and the deputies searched Viktor’s home. Ethan pretended to look around for a minute before casually turning a painting over and exclaiming to the team, “Look what I found here. What a surprise.”
