“Okay, kiddo,” she said. “Spill it. You called him your ex, but you still have feelings for him, is that it?”
Miserable, Alex wailed. “I don’t know! It’s confusing, Nana. I haven’t seen him in four years, and now he shows up where he said he’d never be again. I don’t know what to think, or how I feel.”
Nana mentally did the math, and her eyes grew round. “Is this the guy…?” Oh, God, Dad told her about that night? She might be a senior citizen, but her mind was still as sharp as it ever was, pot or no pot.
“Yeah” Now she’d pry until she found out anyway.
“I thought he was long gone,” she said.
“So did I.” Alex sighed. “Nana, I had dinner with him last night. First thing this morning, I’m in the grocery store and people are whispering behind my back. Then the sheriff’s department calls me in for questioning, and they tell me he’s not where he’s supposed to be. The dead guy may be his stepdad, and Dylan’s been looking for him. It doesn’t look good, and now they’re trying to put me in the story, too, just because I dated him four years ago and I’ve been seen with him lately. How is that fair?” Her voice was rising again and she stopped abruptly. She had to get control over her feelings.
“Child, whoever told you life was fair?” Nana asked. It was something Alex had heard her say all her life. She knew what Nana was thinking. If life were fair, Aunt Jess wouldn’t have gotten MS. If life were fair, Mom wouldn’t have run off and never come back. Life wasn’t fair, that was all there was to it. They had to live with that, and they had to adjust.
Dad came back in before Alex gave her stock answer, ‘Santa Claus told me life was fair, and the Easter Bunny confirmed it’.
“Okay, we’re all set. Rick Englebright now represents you, Alex. Next time anyone asks you anything about Dylan, just tell them they should talk to your lawyer.” Dad was frowning, but he didn’t say why.
“Won’t that make me look guilty?” It always did in the TV shows.
“It will make you look smart,” he answered. “Rick wants you in his office first thing Monday if you don’t need him before that. You can tell him everything. Whatever you say to him is privileged; he can’t even tell me.”
“What do you think I’ll be telling him, Dad? I don’t know anything I haven’t already told you.” The words sounded harsh, angry. Alex was stung by the implication she had something to hide from Dad, and anger wasn’t something she concealed well. Nana looked from Dad to her with a small shake of her head. Alex didn’t know who she wanted to tone it down. Unable to trust herself not to start yelling, she stalked out of the room and slammed the door behind her when she got to her own room.
Why couldn’t someone just fucking explain things to her, so she wouldn’t be in the middle of this damn mess?
Chapter Twenty
Sunday, July 20
With his pickup at the bottom of a ravine somewhere on the reservation and his cell phone missing, Dylan felt lost when Wells asked him where he wanted to go. The boys had a few questions, but he had answered all of them to their satisfaction and they were now safe back at their foster home. Dylan was in no shape to drive home, and couldn’t ask Lt. Wells to get him there.
“I’ll get a hotel. If I could just ask you to take me to get a replacement for my cell phone first, I won’t bother you any further.”
“It’s no bother,” Wells said. Dylan wasn’t going to argue, even though he was sure it was.
Later that afternoon, his insurance company representative delivered a loaner to replace his pickup while they investigated and settled the claim. He called Ange to let her know he wouldn’t be home, and settled in for an evening of reflection.
He’d gotten nowhere, worse than nowhere, in his investigation. He’d let Alex distract him, but he couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t her fault she was more beautiful than ever and she occupied too many of his waking thoughts. Had it been only four days ago he’d kissed her like a drowning man sucks air? He was a mass of bruises, aches and pains from the wreck and his desperate climb, not to mention his arm. But the pain of his decision to leave her alone was worse. He wasn’t sure he could do it.
There he went again, getting distracted. He needed a plan. When sleep overtook him, he had one.
He’d start at the casino on the way home tomorrow. A few of the regulars had told him before they’d seen Rufio there, but it had been several weeks ago he’d asked. Now Dylan knew Rufio had disappeared only shortly before he arrived in town, his search had no purpose other than clearing his own name. He wouldn’t need Rufio’s signature on the parental rights termination papers.
The next morning, he put his plan in motion, stopping at the casino on his way home. He bought a soda and a roll of quarters, then settled in at one of the machines to talk to the old-timer he found sitting at the next one.
“How’s it treating you, Uncle?” He asked politely, as expected of a young man toward an elder, pointing with his chin at the old man’s bucket of coins.
“Not too bad,” the stooped elder replied. He never looked at Dylan, but continued feeding quarters into the machine rhythmically.
Dylan put a few in himself and pulled the handle. He didn’t know what it was about these older machines. All the slot machines in Las Vegas and other big gambling towns had been replaced by modern ones that took bills or bar-coded chits only. And you pushed a button instead of pulling the handle. For Dylan, pulling that handle was half the fun. He’d been run out of this very casino on a regular basis as a teen, and the fun was never the same elsewhere. Dylan watched the reels spin and then bars came up across the window. Forty quarters spilled into the bin.
“Hey, that’s my jackpot,” the old-timer claimed. “I was playing that machine before you sat down.” He gave Dylan an appraising look from the corner of his eye.
“Probably so,” Dylan gathered the quarters. “Say, Uncle, do you know Rufio Mendez?”
The old-timer’s eyes darted from Dylan’s hands, where ten dollars’ worth of quarters now rested, to his face. Did he want the quarters more than he wanted to stay quiet about Rufio? Dylan could see the war going on in his mind. Finally, his shoulders slumped. “Yeah, I know him.”
Dylan poured the quarters from one hand to another. “When was the last time you saw him? Who was he with?”
“That’s my jackpot,” the old man repeated.
“Sure, but it was my quarters won it. Tell you what, I’ll give you half.” The elder’s grin revealed a nearly-toothless set of gums. “If you tell me what I need to know.” The grin disappeared, but he held out a hand. Dylan counted twenty of the quarters into it.
“I ain’t seen him for a while,” the old man said, eyeing the other half of the coins.
“No? That’s probably because he’s been dead for at least three weeks.” Dylan was watching closely for his reaction, and the shock was genuine, he’d bet his life on it. “Was he with anyone when you saw him last?”
The old-timer didn’t want to tell him. He looked away, shuffled one foot to kick against the base of the machine, and sent a longing look at the rest of the quarters in Dylan’s hand. He juggled them again.
“Who?” Dylan held his fist with the rest of the quarters rolled up in it, extended as if to pour them into the oldster’s hand. He swallowed hard, but shook his head, refusing to give a name.
“He’s Mexican. Bad news,” the elder said, shaking his head. Dylan poured the rest of the quarters into the old man’s waiting hand, and he dumped them into the same bucket where the first half had disappeared. “Cartel,” he added. “I didn’t tell you that,” he said as he cleared his stool and walked away. Dylan didn’t know his name anyway, so he wouldn’t be putting the old man in any danger.
A chill went down his arms as he recalled the coyote he and his partner had turned over to the Border Patrol a few days ago. Had Wells followed through on him? Dylan hadn’t thought to ask yesterday, with everything that happened. Even though Dylan didn’t want to reveal what he was d
oing yet, he needed to know the answer to that. What cartel was Rufio mixed up with, and who was his contact? Was it someone Dylan knew, or could find? A cartel connection for Rufio would at least provide some reasonable doubt if a finger were ever pointed at Dylan. But, he’d probably have to serve the suspect up on a silver platter if it came to that. He dialed Wells.
Fifteen minutes later, he was fit to be tied. Wells hadn’t interrogated the coyote, because by the time he’d made contact with the right person in the Homeland Security branch office, Señor Coyote had been released on his own side of the border. So much for cooperation between agencies.
It was maddening, too, because Dylan had no doubt he’d be inside the park again, but next time they might not be lucky enough to catch him. Even if they did, would it be in time? Dylan needed that guy, as a witness. He pounded his fist on the top of his car. Shit.
They ought to be locking these guys up and throwing away the key. Cooler heads reasoned with him another one would take his place, and the more they locked up over here, the more they had to feed. He had to admit it was true, but it was frustrating. Sometimes it would have been tempting to shoot them and get rid of that particular problem once and for all. He figured that’s why they send them out to patrol two at a time.
Dylan congratulated himself on evading Wells’ curiosity by telling him he was just following up on the tip. If Wells had known Dylan was interfering in his investigation, he probably would have locked him up and thrown away the key. Instead, Dylan was free to hunt down this cartel guy, if he could. Naturally, not every Latino around here was cartel, or even illegal. Generations of cross-border relations had resulted in Latinos gaining citizenship, having ‘anchor babies’, intermarrying with each other, whites or Natives. For that matter, Latinos had been here when the border was created, cutting families off from each other.
So it wasn’t simple. He couldn’t just walk up to any Latino he saw and ask if he was connected to the cartel. He’d mortally offend most of them. If he happened to find one that way, the guy would probably shoot him on the spot anyway. He had to think of a strategy that would not only flush out the contact, but keep himself safe and below the Sheriff’s radar.
Dylan hung around the casino for a while longer, but no one would meet his eye now. The old-timer had evidently shared Dylan’s inconvenient questions. When it was clear he’d get no more information there, he drove the two or three miles to the hamburger stand at Why and ordered some fries and another soda.
“Noticed any strangers in town?” he asked the soda-jerk.
“Just you,” he said. Smart-ass kid.
Dylan drove back to Dodge, eating his fries and deciding what to do next. He knew what would happen if he started asking that kind of question in Dodge. It wouldn’t take any time at all for it to get to one of the deputies, and then he was certain to be in trouble for interfering in the investigation.
Chapter Twenty-One
Monday July 21
Alex sat in her lawyer’s reception room on Monday morning, waiting to be called into his office. Her toes set up a snare-drum tap against the tile floor, drawing annoyed attention from the receptionist. When she made an effort to stop doing that, her hands wouldn’t stay still, her fingers drumming on her leg. Dad had offered to come with her, but she told him she’d be fine. Besides, he had a paper to get ready. Now she wished she’d taken him up on it.
Rick’s receptionist got Alex’s attention finally and told her she could go in. She stood up, took a second to square her shoulders, and walked toward the inner door. It opened before she got there, and Rick Englebright stepped through, holding out his hand for Alex to shake. Her confidence level was lifted by the business-like outfit she’d worn, as she took his hand and looked him squarely in the eye.
“Good morning, Miss Ward. May I call you Alexis?” he asked.
“Please, call me Alex. I’m only Alexis when I’m in trouble,” She blushed as she realized she was in trouble, or could be.
He laughed. “Then by all means, I’ll call you Alex, and you call me Rick, if it’s okay.” Fine by her; she’d called him Rick mentally ever since Dad first mentioned his name. He and Dad were acquainted through some of the civic clubs, but she’d never met him formally before, though she knew him by sight. He was younger than Dad, maybe thirty-five or so. Too young to be the parent of a schoolmate of Alex’s, and too old to be in her circle, but a familiar face around town anyway.
Rick showed her to the sofa in his office, and took a chair next to it, rather than sitting behind his desk. This was cozy. Probably to make her feel more comfortable. She was immediately on alert.
“Alex, your dad told me you’ve had the misfortune to get mixed up in something that has nothing to do with you. Would you like to just tell me about it, or shall I ask you questions?”
Alex wasn’t sure which she preferred. Maybe both. “Let me tell you what’s happened, and then if you need to, ask me the questions.” Rick smiled broadly.
“Perfect. Go ahead.”
Alex told him, beginning with the decision to go to the site where the dead man was found, and ending with her questioning by Joe Hendricks on Saturday. Rick seemed most interested in the interrogation.
“Did he have anyone else in the room with you?” His eyes were intent on hers, and she got the feeling he was judging whether she told the truth.
“No, just the two of us.” Alex kept her eyes steady on his. Looking away might signal something she didn’t mean. She began to feel cross-eyed, though.
“Did he record your conversation, with or without your permission?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“Did he read you your Miranda rights?”
“No,” With that, Alex realized it hadn’t been an official interrogation at all. A slow burn began around her ears. When she was through here with Rick, she was going to find Joe and hand him his ass.
Rick confirmed it. “Alex, I don’t know what Joe’s pulling, but my guess is it’s something personal with you or with Dylan that prompted it. I doubt seriously there’s anything to his implied threat to you. What concerns me more is your connection to Chaves. You say you think he’s a person of interest? What makes you think that, and why would Joe pull you into it?”
Alex hadn’t told Rick Dylan was her ex-boyfriend from years ago, or that Joe had made overtures implying he wanted more from her than friendship. Now she did. By the time she was finished, Rick was shaking his head, a smile playing around his lips.
“Don’t you just love a small town? So how do you feel about them now?”
She fixed him with a level stare. “Why is that any of your business?”
Rick finally laughed aloud. “It isn’t, just curious. Better than a soap opera for entertainment.” She wanted to kick him.
“Well, here’s my answer then. I wouldn’t date Joe if he were the last man on earth, and I’m not sure about Dylan. Probably could do without him, too, but he hasn’t really given me any reason to hate him. Let’s say I’m worried about an old friend and leave it at that.”
Rick’s expression grew more serious. “I think that’s probably valid. You still haven’t heard from him?”
“No. If I do, should I tell him the sheriffs are looking for him? And do I have to tell Joe?”
“It would be an act of kindness to tell Dylan he’s wanted for questioning. Just don’t get involved if he wants you to help him. Don’t let him tell you where he is if he wants to remain hidden, and don’t advise him. Yes, tell Joe you’ve heard from him and urged him to turn himself in, and that’s all you know.”
“I don’t know if I can urge him to turn himself in. Rick, the Dylan I know couldn’t have murdered anyone.”
“First, just tell him he’s wanted and maybe he’d better check it out. And you don’t know what someone’s capable of under the right circumstances. You don’t even know it was murder. Just be careful, Alex. Call me if you need me, any time.” Rick handed her his card, and her interview with her lawyer
was over.
~~~
Alex called Dad from her car to tell him she wouldn’t be in today. She had some things to do, and not enough time to do them. He asked how it went with Rick, and she said she was okay and would tell him all about it at dinner.
“What’s for dinner?” he asked.
“Fish, what else?” Everything else in her life seemed to be getting complicated, but the running joke still made her smile.
Her first call was to Lt. Wells, to verify the body had been positively identified. He wasn’t available, but someone she was transferred to told her that was correct, and offered to send the press update. Alex gave her the work email and thanked her politely, asking her to leave a message with Lt. Wells that Alex would like to speak with him when he was available. She couldn’t trust Joe’s information, so it was best to confirm it, too.
Alex’s next call went to Organ Pipe law enforcement.
“Is Dylan Chaves available?” Alex had very little idea what Dylan did when he was at work. Maybe someone would tell her.
“Who’s calling, please?” This she didn’t anticipate. It was probably best to act as if this was official business.
“Alexis Ward, reporter for the Dodge Desert Times. I have a few questions for him for an ongoing story.” That was the best she could do on short notice, and she did her best to sound clipped, professional.
“I’m sorry, but Ranger Chaves is on assignment and can’t be reached. Would you like to leave a message?” On assignment? So he had turned up. Or Joe was lying. Alex was beginning to believe the latter was more likely.
“Yes, thank you. Please give him my name and number, and ask him to call me at his earliest opportunity.” She recited the number, and ended the call, then sat and stared at nothing as she tried to puzzle out the game Joe was playing, with her as a pawn.
Alex considered driving around until she found Joe out on patrol, fantasizing about ramming his squad car to pin him in and then yanking him out by the hair and slapping him silly. Deciding it was probably a bad idea, she was working on updating the blog with Rufio’s information when the first return call came in, from Lt. Wells.
Fatal Exposure Page 12
