No Witness

by Warren C Easley

  “That’s right, and they get paid based on how many people they can sign up and then collect from. This is right out of the Mafia playbook. And Robert Harris is the accountant for the operation, which was apparently just getting off the ground when Olivia got suspicious.”

  “Why did they use Prosperar patients?” Mariana asked.

  “It was a place to get started. Harris provided a list of undocumented people and their addresses, a ready customer list that would be difficult to come by any other way. They could branch out from there into the general undocumented population.”

  “So what they were doing was like a trial run?” Timoteo said.

  “Exactly. Get it started, iron out the kinks, and then scale it up for really big money.”

  “That list Eduardo Duran tore up was his customer list, right?” Zoe chimed in.

  “Right,” I said. “It was top secret stuff in this operation. He was having second thoughts and was getting ready to talk to Luis. Someone warned him they were coming after him, and he didn’t want to get caught with it on him.”

  Timoteo rocked back in his chair. “Awesome. It fits together like a jigsaw puzzle. Well done, Cal.”

  I waved off the compliment. “It’s been a team effort all the way.”

  “Cal’s Army,” Zoe said, and we all laughed.

  Timoteo said, “Now that we know what the bastards are up to, how do we catch them?”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  “That’s one fucking complicated theory,” Darci Tate said to me after I sketched in the El Seguro scenario and showed her key parts of Olivia Fuentes’s digital diary. It was the next morning in my office, and she’d stopped by at the beginning of her workday at my request. “Sure, it all fits into a neat little story, but you’re gonna need a ton more evidence before I can do anything.”

  I was prepared for a cynical reaction, but I still had to swallow a comeback. “I understand that, Darci. That’s why I asked you to stop by.”

  “I know. God knows we could use a break or two. You nailed El Solitario, but we still don’t know who ordered the hits on Fuentes and Ballesteros.”

  “Gee, I’ll try to do better next time.”

  She looked a little sheepish. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

  I said, “Like I explained, Whittaker has each one of his accomplices either compromised or scared shitless or both. It’s a tight chain, and I don’t see any weak links. However, his wife, Isabel, is a different story.” I went on to describe my encounters with her, and my gut feeling that she suspected her husband of something nefarious but couldn’t bring herself to turn on him. “But,” I said when I finished, “I think that if I present her with this evidence, I might be able to convince her to cooperate with us. I think she has good instincts.”

  “Cooperate how?”

  I blew out a breath. “That’s the question, isn’t it? Maybe she’d agree to wear a wire, get Whittaker to say something incriminating, at least enough that you could get a search warrant. There has to be something linking him with El Solitario.”

  Tate raised her eyebrows. “A wire? That’s a heavy lift. I’d have to run it up the chain.”

  “You got a better idea?”

  She looked at me with her almost-cop eyes. “You’re good, Claxton, but do you really think you can talk this woman into going against her own husband?”

  I shrugged. “What do you think?”

  Tate shook her head with a knowing smile. “Not a snowball’s chance.”

  I laughed. “Then I’m going for it for sure.”

  ***

  Tate got back to me at midmorning the next day. “Okay, it wasn’t easy,” she told me, “but I got a green light on the wire. My chief said if I get Isabel Whittaker hurt, he’ll have my badge. You still think you can get her to agree?”

  I said I’d give it my best shot, and after we disconnected took the card Isabel had left behind at our last meeting and called her cell. “Very well,” she said a little hesitantly, “I can stop by your office this afternoon. What do you wish to talk about?”

  “I have some information I think you should know. Shall we say around two p.m.?”

  ***

  I busied myself around the office that morning, had lunch at the Red Hills Market, and at two twenty, Archie’s single bark announced Isabel’s arrival. I watched as she got out of her Tesla. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight ponytail and she wore no makeup, which only accentuated her beauty. She fawned over my dog, and after taking a seat, showed a cautious smile. “What is this information you have for me?”

  “You were right about Diego Vargas,” I began. “He is involved in something illegal.”

  Her smile died, and lines appeared on her smooth forehead. “Oh, no. What is it?”

  “He’s involved in a protection scheme to take money from people who can least afford it.” I went on to explain how it worked and the role Vargas played. “Other people are involved in this scheme,” I continued. “Robert Harris, the financial manager at Prosperar, is keeping the books on the operation, and Curtis Drake, the rugby coach and ICE field supervisor, is making sure people who pay don’t get deported and those who refuse to pay become targets for ICE.” I stopped there and looked at her.

  A muscle in her face twitched, and she looked away.

  I said, “Isabel, you and I know who is behind this scheme, don’t we.” It wasn’t a question.

  She took a breath, exhaled, and except for the drone of traffic out on the highway, my office went quiet. Finally, she looked back at me as her eyes filled with tears. “I have had my suspicions for some time. I have overheard conversations, seen some papers on Gavin’s desk…” She raised her chin, and a single tear broke loose and traveled down her cheek. “I am not as stupid as he thinks.”

  I nodded in understanding. “It’s important that you know the whole story, Isabel. I suspect your husband had something to do with the murder of Olivia Fuentes.”

  She sucked a breath, and her wet eyes got huge.

  I went on, “Olivia had discovered their scheme. There were other crimes, too—the attempt on her brother’s life, the killing of the vineyard worker, Plácido Ballesteros. The actual killer is dead now, but we want to know who hired him to commit these crimes.” I stopped again.

  She raised her gaze to meet mine. “Money, yes, it is always about money with Gavin, but the Fuentes girl, you believe Gavin had something to do with that?”

  “He’s physically abusing you, isn’t he? And think of Diego, the way he’s been acting. Could it be guilt and fear because your husband is manipulating him?”

  Her face grew pale. “What is it you want from me?”

  “We need to know if your husband is linked to the hired killer. The police can’t search Whittaker Landing without a good reason. If you wear a hidden microphone and get Gavin to admit something about the protection scheme, we can use that to get a judge to sign a search warrant.”

  She recoiled in horror. “A microphone? You want me to wear a hidden microphone?”

  I tried not to look sheepish. “I know it’s a lot to ask, Isabel, but it’s the only way to get justice for Olivia. If we find nothing, that could help clear your husband.” I didn’t believe that, but I said it to soften the ask.

  It didn’t work. Isabel shook her head emphatically. “I could never do that. I am a terrible liar. I would be bathed in sweat in two minutes. Gavin would see right through my attempt.” She shuddered perceptibly. “And then what would happen to me?”

  “I would coach you on how to handle it, and the police would be listening near—”

  “No. I want justice for that young girl, but I lack the courage for something like that.” She stood abruptly. “I’m sorry, Cal, but I have to go now.”

  As she turned to leave, I said, “Think about it, Isabel, that’s all I ask. I have a feeling you hav
e much more courage than you realize. You know how to contact me.”

  She was gone a moment later. I turned to Archie, and his ears came up. “That certainly went well, didn’t it?”

  Chapter Fifty

  I went home that afternoon in another funk. Olivia’s digital diary confirmed what I suspected but offered no solid proof beyond that, and I knew for certain the El Seguro operation was on hold until the heat came off. Darci Tate had been right about my ability to enlist Isabel Whittaker’s help, too. That snowball melted. And just to top it off, Carlos Fuentes now sat in a detention cell with no prospect of ever living in the United States again. I could smell the approaching rain but changed to my running gear anyway and took a somewhat reluctant Archie out for a hard jog, the best therapy I knew. When we got back, I fed him and made scrambled eggs and toast for dinner.

  That evening I put some oldies on the sound system and tried to read to get my mind off the case. Accompanied by John Coltrane, Johnny Hartman was halfway through “You Are Too Beautiful” when I got up and turned the system off. I should have seen that coming—it was a song that always brought Nancy to mind, and that was the last thing I needed. Her ghost was palpable that evening. Just to keep it complicated, Zoe called a couple of times. I let her calls go to voicemail. Gertie was right, I reminded myself.

  I slept fitfully that night and woke up late feeling fuzzy-headed. A thick cloud cover had moved in overnight, promising more rain. It was a Sunday, the day I set aside to clean the house, and I began the task with a decided lack of enthusiasm. As usual at this point, I thought again about hiring a housecleaner. “Jesus Christ, Cal,” Gertie had remarked once after swiping a finger on my desk and displaying the dust, “you need a maid around here.” She was right, of course, but I’d never gotten around to it. The Aerie was and always would be my private space, dust or no dust.

  The call came in that afternoon. “Cal, it’s Isabel. Something terrible has happened. Can you come to the landing?”

  “What is it?”

  “Gavin has been stabbed.”

  “Is he alive?”

  “Yes, but barely. I have called 911.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  The gate to Whittaker Landing was open when I arrived and so was the front door of the mansion. I called out to Isabel, and she answered that she was in Gavin’s study. I found her kneeling next to her husband, holding a bloodstained towel against his neck. A bloody letter opener was lying next to his body. His eyes were slits, but when I stood over him he raised his arm slightly, pointed a finger at me, and tried to speak. It came out a gurgle, and his arm dropped across his bloody chest.

  The paramedics arrived shortly after that, and in no time Whittaker was on his way to the hospital. I knew the police were on their way, so I sat Isabel down. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  A nasty bruise was blooming on one cheek, and a smear of blood was drying on the other. She let out a breath and hung her head. “Diego and Gavin were here in the study, and I could hear they were arguing again. I came to the door and tried to listen. I couldn’t follow everything, but I heard the words El Seguro a couple of times.” She looked up at me, her eyes burning with a resolve I suspected had been there all along. “I got very angry. I went into the study and told them I knew what El Seguro is and that they were taking money from the migrants.

  “Diego kind of froze where he was standing, but Gavin came over and hit me, hard, in the face.” She grimaced and gestured toward her cheek. “When I fell to the floor, he cursed and kicked me.” She pulled up her skirt to show deep bruises already forming on her leg. “Diego screamed at Gavin to stop, and the next thing I knew they were fighting. Diego fell back on Gavin’s desk and came up with the letter opener. He stabbed Gavin in the throat and then ran out.”

  “Where did he go? The Land Rover’s out in the driveway.”

  She paused for a moment. “We have a dock on the river. He likes to go there and just sit. It’s past the stables and the polo field. When I can’t find him, that’s where I always look first.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Stay here, and when the police arrive tell them what happened. I’m going to look for Diego.”

  I called Detective Tate next, and when she didn’t pick up, I left a voicemail: “Darci, Gavin Whittaker’s been stabbed at the Landing. He’s still breathing. You need to get here ASAP.”

  I went out the front door and broke into a jog. When I crossed the paddock in front of the stables, Isabel’s horses lifted their heads up and watched me go by, unconcerned. I crossed the polo field next and took a path at the shed that led through the trees toward the river.

  Isabel was right. Vargas was standing on the dock, staring at the slow-moving water.

  “Diego,” I said as I approached, “it’s Cal Claxton.” He spun around with a frightened look on his face. I raised my hands. “It’s okay. I just want to talk. Maybe I can help you.”

  When I stepped onto the dock, he said, “Is he dead?”

  “No. He’s on his way to the hospital. Tell me what happened. I know all about El Seguro, so don’t give me any bullshit.”

  He exhaled, and his dark eyes revealed the depth of his sorrow. “I told him I wanted out, that I couldn’t take it anymore.”

  “What did he say to that?”

  His eyes flashed anger. “Sure,” he said, “you can go back to Mexico, and take Tito with you. That’s my son. He’s very sick.”

  “Yes,” I said, “Isabel told me about Tito and his special care at OHSU. You wanted out. It’s because of the murders of Olivia Fuentes and Plácido Ballesteros, right?”

  He looked out on the water. “Robert warned us that the Fuentes girl knew about El Seguro, and then she was dead.” He brought his eyes back to mine. “I didn’t believe it for a while. I didn’t think Gavin would go that far, but he was so proud of his little project, a model for the whole West Coast, he used to tell us.” Vargas turned to look at me, his eyes filled with pain. “But he did it, he hired that killer immediately. No mercy for the young girl.”

  “Can you show me any proof of that?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. None of us ever talked about the killings. We were too scared and too ashamed.” He smiled with bitterness. “That’s the way Gavin wanted it.”

  A call on my phone interrupted us. “I’m here,” Darci Tate said. “Where the fuck are you?”

  I told her I’d be right there, and after disconnecting said to Vargas, “Come on, let’s go back to the house. The police are there.”

  He tensed. “I just stabbed a man. I am screwed. My son is screwed.” He looked out on the water. “I can’t swim. I was thinking about jumping in when you arrived.”

  “No, Diego,” I said. “You can’t do that to Tito and your wife. What just happened sounded like self-defense to me. And if you cooperate with the investigation of Whittaker, the prosecution might offer you a deal. Don’t give up.”

  He stood motionless for a long time, then nodded once and followed me back to the mansion without saying another word.

  Darci Tate was standing next to Isabel on the front porch. She said, “Hello, Mr. Vargas. I understand you witnessed the fight and the stabbing.”

  He started to respond, but Isabel cut him off. “Yes, he was there when Gavin attacked me, and he saw me stab him with the letter opener. It was after Gavin hit me and kicked me.”

  Vargas looked confused and started to speak again, but I cut him off, saying to Tate, “That’s right, Darci. He just told me about it. He said it was self-defense.”

  Tate said to Vargas, “I’ll need a statement from you and Mr. Claxton, but not right now. I need you to hang around, okay?”

  Vargas glanced at me, his look saying he understood what had just happened.

  Tate pulled me aside. “Whoa, so the little woman took it to Whittaker.”

  “Yep. She finally decided s
he’d had enough.” I paused for a moment, looked at Darci and smiled. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  She smiled back. “Oh, yeah. In view of this potential crime, we’re going to thoroughly search the premises. Who knows what we might find?”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Darci had Isabel driven to the hospital to have her injuries treated and documented. Meanwhile, she and her partner were conducting a search of Whittaker’s study, while Vargas waited in the Land Rover, and I paced back and forth on the porch. My thoughts kept coming back to Isabel, who had committed a selfless act. I was in awe. If she hadn’t taken the blame, the future of Vargas and his son would have been destroyed.

  I’d told her she had more courage than she knew, and she just proved it.

  As for me, I was a witness obligated to tell the truth. But how did I know Vargas hadn’t lied to me at the river to protect Isabel? No, the version Isabel told would stand, and I was confident she would not be prosecuted for defending herself.

  An hour and ten minutes later, Tate and her partner emerged, carrying a couple of evidence bags. After her partner left with the bags, she pulled me aside. “We didn’t find shit unless there’s something on his laptop or cell phone.” She huffed out a breath and frowned. “Whittaker’s a wife beater, no doubt about that. And maybe with Vargas’s cooperation, he’ll get stuck with extortion and racketeering charges of some kind, but we still have nothing connecting him with El Solitario.”

  Accompanied by a patrolman and wearing a hospital gown, Isabel arrived back from the hospital just as Tate was preparing to leave. Isabel’s normally flawless face was swollen and distorted, and she walked with a slight limp, but her eyes burned with newfound confidence. “Gavin is still alive,” she said. “He is in surgery. I didn’t stay. I never want to see him again.” She looked at Tate. “Am I under arrest?”

  “No, ma’am. But I’ll need you to come down to the police station to make a formal statement, and we’ll go from there.”