The Corpse in the Cactus

by Lonni Lees

“I don’t understand why he wasn’t fired a long time ago. He’s a loose cannon. He’s certainly not professional. He’s rude and his work is sloppy. He’s hateful and he’s just not right. He’s a Mexican who hates Mexicans and makes no secret of it. If that isn’t a red flag to his instability I don’t know what is. His judgment is clouded and he’s trouble waiting to happen.”

  “Sit down. There’s things about Jerry you’ll never understand, but this might help. You haven’t been here long enough to know the skinny on him and I think it’s time you knew.”

  The two sat down in the empty room and faced each other.

  “Jerry Montana used to be one of the best cops we had.”

  “Not any more. Not by a long shot.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Then why haven’t you weeded him out?”

  “Long before you were hired on, Jerry was a good cop, married to a good wife, the whole bag. Esperanza was his love. One day Esperanza drove down to visit with her sister who owned a rancho with her husband just this side of the Nogales border. They were a close-knit family and visited back and forth all the time. She and her sister took the horses out to ride around the property that day.”

  Maggie squirmed in her seat. The last thing she was interested in was the history of Jerry Montana.

  “I’ll keep it short. They were waylaid by crossers. Not the poor souls searching for a better life. The women probably crossed paths with some drug mules. Anyway, Esperanza and her sister were pulled from their horses. They were beaten and their horses stolen. Esperanza was raped and her throat was cut ear to ear. Somehow her sister survived but she was never the same after that.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “The killers were never caught.”

  “No surprise there. They worm through the underbrush like rattlesnakes.”

  “And they’re just as slippery. Anyway, that’s why he is the way he is.”

  “But he remarried. Wouldn’t that mean he moved on?”

  “The wife tries. I give her credit for that much, but it’s hard to measure up to a memory.”

  “Why does she put up with him? Word is he doesn’t treat her right.”

  “She’s young and white and not too bright. But her heart’s in the right place. She thought she could fix him, but nothing can wring out that anger and pain. Not even her.”

  “You can fix a broken leg, but you can’t fix broken people. If they’re broken they’re broken. All the more reason to get rid of him.”

  “It comes down to loyalty. He was good once and this job is all he has. I don’t think he could handle losing it.”

  “I sympathize, honestly I do. I’ve experienced loss myself, but you don’t see me taking it out on the world.”

  “You don’t have to like him, just-I don’t know. Just try to understand a little.”

  “He’s annoying and he’s unstable.”

  I’ve known Jerry a long time and I’ve never seen him hurt anybody but himself.”

  “You want me to be a cop or a damn social worker?”

  “Sometimes we have to be a little of each.”

  “I’m not heartless sir, but I am practical.”

  “Just cut him some slack.”

  “I respect you, more than you know. If it weren’t for your confidence in me I’d never had made detective. I’m thankful for that, believe me. But giving him a free pass could come back to bite you in the behind. Sir.”

  “I doubt that. Now, back to the other issue.”

  “Honestly? Some of those gallery people have become friends. I like them and they’re good people. Personally, I don’t think Barbara Atwell belongs behind bars, but I did the job I was expected to do. And I don’t sneak around tailing fellow officers.”

  “Give it a rest. Distance yourself from them. All of them. At least for now.”

  Maggie nodded, rose and headed for the door.

  “That’s an order.”

  She nodded.

  “And Detective Reardon?”

  “Yes sir?”

  “You’re the best damn detective I’ve got. Don’t be going all touchy-feely on me.”

  He should talk, she thought to herself as she pushed through the door, slamming head on into the city attorney. He carried a scowl on his face and a briefcase in his hand and shoved past her without as much as an acknowledgment or an excuse me and went inside. Today he would officially charge Barbara Atwell with the murder of her husband Armando. Maggie had done her job and he was doing his, but that fact didn’t help much.

  Maggie and authority had always butted heads, yet the profession she’d chosen put her in a position of authority. It was a game of tug o’ war. No matter which side won the other lost, leaving her dangling somewhere in the middle.

  And now she had to back off from Rocco and play nice with Montana.

  The game was getting tougher and the rope was starting to feel like a noose.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Camouflage

  The sound of her own stomach growling woke up the young woman in the motel room. Light filtered through the gap in the closed curtains and spread across the empty side of the bed. She sat upright, pushed the hair from her face and rubbed her eyes, trying to get her bearings.

  He hadn’t returned.

  She was alone and she didn’t know what to do.

  Her heart pounded. She was scared.

  Had something horrible happened to him?

  He’d told her how dangerous the world was.

  Or had he just abandoned her?

  No, he’d never, ever do that.

  For as far back as she could remember, he loved her.

  She didn’t know which felt worse, her fear of abandonment or the gnawing hunger in her empty stomach.

  The phone on the side table beckoned her, trying to coax her toward it. Just pick me up, it said. Call for help.

  She wanted to call the police, to tell them he had disappeared, but he had told her that the police were no better than the gestapo in Nazi Germany. She had no idea what the gestapo was, let alone Nazi Germany, but she understood the tone in his voice when he’d told her that. They were danger and they were to be avoided. That was all she needed to know.

  She rose from the bed and walked over to her box of breakfast cereal, turning it upside-down and giving it a shake. Eight colorful puffs fell to the floor, speckling the dingy carpet like tiny flowers. She shook the box again. It was empty. She hurled it across the room and threw herself onto the bed.

  There was no one to hear her sobs or to dry her tears.

  * * * *

  Detective Maggie Reardon reached across her desk and picked up the ringing phone.

  “Yes, put it through.”

  She listened, inserting the occasional uh huh between pauses.

  “Just leave it where it is,” she said. “Yes, it might well be. I’ll send someone out there to pick it up. And thanks for being so observant. We want to wind this up as much as you do.”

  She hung up the phone, then punched in Montana’s cell number. He and Aaron were likely already on the Museum grounds.

  “Jerry, Maggie Reardon here. No, I’m not calling about that, you creep. This is business. Are you two out there yet?”

  “We’re just pulling in.”

  “There’s a green Chevy parked in the lot.”

  Jerry made a snide remark.

  “We can talk about that later,” she said. “Do you see the car?”

  The phone went silent as she waited.

  “An old puke green junker? Yeah, I can see it from here.”

  “It might be the clue we’re looking for. I need you to take photos before the tow truck gets there. Wait there until they do. And don’t touch anything.”

  She hung up before he could respond and punched in an extension.
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br />   “I just got a call from the Desert Museum. Seems there’s a car that’s been parked there awhile. It was there last night and it was still there this morning. I think there’s a good chance it belongs to our John Doe. I need a tow to bring it in so forensics can go over it inch by inch. And give me a heads up when it gets here.”

  She listened to the voice at the other end.

  “Look for an old green Chevy. Montana and Iverson are already on scene and waiting.”

  Maggie returned to shuffling through papers and digesting her earlier conversation with the Captain. Even Rocco must have his limits. Backing off meant goodbye. Nobody wants to be stuck in second place. And the men in her life had always come in second. She worried about Carlos. And then there was Jerry Montana. His trouble-making just added fuel to the fire that was building inside her. He’d followed her. It was creepy, like having a stalker. What kind of detective was she that she hadn’t spotted him? He’d always resented her and made her uncomfortable, but she’d underestimated just how low he could go. Her anger was building. She picked up a sharpened pencil and hurled it upward toward the acoustic ceiling. It stuck like a well-aimed javelin to the tile above her head, adding one more spear to the small forest of stubs. It was a safe way to let off steam, although she’d rather have aimed it straight at Montana’s heart.

  If anyone had noticed the overhead collection of pencil stubs they’d said nothing. It reminded her of the high school librarian who’d watched the collection of spit balls build like snowflakes against the window pane. Maggie would get the occasional scowl, but she’d never been caught. She’d learned early on that you don’t act on hunches and suspicions, you act on evidence. The librarian might have suspected, but Maggie was too fast for her. In the teenagers eyes, there was no harm done. It wasn’t like it was graffiti. She’d never have actually defaced anything. Spit balls, unlike bullets in a riddled body, washed off like nothing had ever been there.

  It would be awhile before the car was towed in. It would be even longer before forensics could go through it, dust it for prints and check out anything else they might find. It was unlikely they’d find any blood. John Doe was definitely killed on the bridge over the javelina enclosure. No way somebody could have carted that dead weight through a public place unnoticed. It was equally surprising he could be killed on the spot without somebody witnessing it, but that’s how it was adding up. It took a lot of chutzpah, or a lot of anger, to take a chance like that. She’d stay put until she got the call regarding the car and hoped it would prove to have belonged to the corpse they’d found in the cactus.

  She wanted to give him a name.

  It would be a starting point.

  In the meantime, there was plenty of catch up paperwork. She shuffled through the forms, but her mind was on Rocco La Crosse. Sooner or later she’d have to tell him it was over. She picked up the phone and dialed his number. Might as well get it over with and move on.

  “Rocco here.”

  “Hi, it’s Maggie.”

  “You sound down, but it’s good to hear your voice. I wondered if I’d ever hear from you again. You ran out of here this morning like you were on fire. Was last night that bad?”

  “Bad? It was perfect. In every way.”

  “Glad to hear I haven’t lost my touch.”

  His voice was soft and sexy, like the actor John Gavin in the old movies.

  The thought of Rocco touching her sent goose bumps up her arm.

  “I apologize for racing out like I did, but I was late.”

  “Business first, right?”

  “You’ve got me pegged.”

  “I was wondering if—”

  “We’ve got to talk.”

  Rocco groaned. “You know that’s the one sentence no one ever wants to hear. It’s never good.”

  “No, it’s not good. I got chewed out by the Captain this morning. I’ve got direct orders to stay away from you and to distance myself from anyone connected to the gallery or Barbara’s case.”

  “Why should your personal life matter to him?”

  “It’s complicated. Everything is. But the bottom line is that it could interfere with the testimony when it goes to trial. It could sully my credibility. I get it, I just don’t like it.”

  “Either do I.”

  “I care about you. I was ready to take a chance, Rocco. I’m so sorry it has to end like this.”

  “End? Why should it end?”

  “I told you why.”

  Maggie wanted to cry, but she didn’t.

  “Maggie, Maggie, Maggie. It’s not the end, not if you don’t want it to be. This situation isn’t going to last forever, even if it does end up going to trial, which I seriously doubt.”

  “You’re an optimist. But it could be a long time and it’s not fair to you.”

  “I waited a long time for last night and it was worth it. I love your company. It’s nice finding out who you are when you’re not hiding behind your badge. Just think of it as a bump in the road. I think I’m capable of waiting longer if that’s the way it has to be.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t think having to deal with me is ever going to be easy.”

  “You’re worth some waiting. Last night proved that. Hey, I’m more than willing to take a break between chapter one and chapter two. I’ve barely cracked the book but I have to see it through and I’m curious to see how it ends.” Pause. “If it ends.”

  This wasn’t the response she expected.

  “I always thought that if something was right it would be easy.”

  “Nothing about you is easy. It won’t be fun, but I’ll back off and wait to hear from you. Who knows? Maybe next time I’ll cook Italian and we can down a jug of cheap Chianti so we can tolerate each others garlic breath.”

  “I’m sure going to miss you.”

  * * * *

  The Captain and the City Attorney faced each other like two pit bulls ready to do battle. The Captain’s blood pressure was rising and his face was turning red. The little blue veins popping out on his forehead didn’t escape the attorney’s attention. It was proof he held the upper hand. The attorney stubbornly stood his ground, waving the papers in his hand, cool and composed and sure of himself.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me,” said the Captain.

  “This is my call.”

  “She murdered her husband, we’ve collected the evidence, what else do you need?”

  “Not enough to convict.”

  “Shouldn’t that be up to a jury?”

  “And how will it look when she’s exonerated? There’s enough question marks on this one that getting a conviction will be damn near impossible. Add to that the community outrage and the negative press. You’ve got a lifelong Tucsonan who defended herself against a drug dealer. It doesn’t matter if it was her own husband or a total stranger. Are you getting the picture?”

  The captain had to give the city attorney credit, though he sure as hell wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of saying it aloud. After the cops did their job the guy usually wrapped it all up in a pretty bow and the perp went to prison where he belonged.

  “The picture I’m seeing,” he said, “is a man determined to maintain his conviction record. And I question your motivation.”

  “See it any way you want. There will be no charges filed against Barbara Atwell. Just an unfortunate situation that got out of control. It was self-defense. Period.”

  “We’ve put a lot of time and manpower into this. Come on, he wasn’t even facing her when she hit him with that death blow.”

  “It’s too weak and it won’t fly. Get her walking papers in order and send her home.”

  The Captain looked at him with his meanest bad cop look. There was no intimidating him. The guy wouldn’t flinch. It was like trying to stare down some animal who refused to blink.

  “T
here’s more to this, isn’t there?”

  “I don’t like insinuations. I know my job. And you know all you need to know,” he answered. “Just cut her loose.”

  He headed for the door, then turned and faced the Captain.

  “It’s my call,” he repeated, slowly as if speaking to a dense child. He straightened his silk tie and was gone before the Captain could respond. Just as well.

  “Arrogant s.o.b.,” he muttered under his breath, then reached for the phone. The guy was good at his job but he was no Perry Mason. Not by a long shot.

  “Reardon, get your butt in here. Now.”

  * * * *

  She could tell by the look in his eyes that he was not a happy camper. Detective Maggie Reardon stood before the Captain waiting to get chewed out again. She’d thought their earlier conversation was over but he was definitely poised for round two.

  “You had something to do with this, didn’t you?” It was more of an accusation than a question. He looked like he’d just been through world war three, perspiration gathering on his flushed face as he spoke.

  She just looked at him, puzzled.

  “Barbara Atwell,” he said.

  “What about her?”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t know what’s going on or that you didn’t have a hand in it. I didn’t get to be Captain by not having good instincts and I’m smelling a foul odor.”

  “I’m sorry sir, but I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

  “I just had an unwelcome visitor and he wasn’t the bearer of good news.”

  “I saw him leave. Smug and rude as ever.”

  “At least we agree on something.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “There will be no charges filed against Barbara Atwell. We’re cutting her loose.”

  Maggie did her best not to smile or exhale a sigh of relief. Rocco’s magic had worked once again. It made her wonder exactly what kind of dirt his connections had on the City Attorney. It must be some heavy stuff to get results this fast.

  “I’m…surprised,” she said. “We put a lot of work into this.”

  “Don’t shit me, Reardon. I can see it in those bright green eyes. You are not disappointed.”