He flushed, as predicted, and began stuttering, “No, no, of course not, that’s not, well, I didn’t mean . . . You always look gorgeous, really. It’s just that—”
I laughed. “I get you every time, you know that, don’t you?”
He blushed again and ran his hand over his blonde buzz cut. “Sam, for cryin’ out loud!” He sputtered a bit more and fidgeted with his khaki uniform and finally noticed the coffee tray and donut box I held. Glad to get off the topic of my looks, he said, “What’s all this?”
“Just a little something to add to your waistline,” I nodded toward his girth, which had grown a bit since the last time I saw him.
He chuckled. “Thanks a lot.”
We rummaged through the donut box and chose a couple each, then sat back to eat and sip our coffee. The coffee was lukewarm but rich and earthy. The maple bar left that weird greasy coating in my mouth that donuts always do.
“How’re the wife and kids?” I asked to let him know I remembered he was a happily married man. Uniformed stud-muffin that he is, Trent seems to think I have the hots for him. In high school he certainly had it bad for me, although I never returned the interest. I had found his streaking activities amusing until people started to whisper that we were an item, after which I just found them mortifying. The truth is, I had been much too serious to fall for a goof-off like Trent. When I returned to Desert Rock to live after my mother died, I heard that Trent had exchanged streaking for nudist colonies. His wife, I understand, joins him. Don’t know about the kids. I wondered if the appearance of a gut had dampened his enthusiasm for the hobby. Probably not—someone into streaking and nudist colonies was obviously at ease with his body, a healthy attitude I envied.
“Wife and kids are fine,” he said. “You working on another case?” His brown eyes twinkled.
Trent had tacitly accepted, even encouraged, my involvement in the wind farm murder investigation. He had agreed with me that law enforcement was handling the case badly, and he had been more than eager to have me to conduct extralegal investigations on my own. He had been delighted that I had discovered who the real murderer was. I hoped my reputation would make him inclined to help me now.
“Actually,” I said, biting into a second maple bar, “An old friend of ours from high school asked me to look into a disappearance. You remember Eddie Martinez?”
He smiled. “Of course I remember Eddie. I see him every day at Coffee Buzz.”
“A friend of his”—I almost choked on the “friend” part—“asked me to look into her brother’s disappearance.”
“Ah, you mean Gabby Castillo. Yeah, she came in here about two weeks ago, wanted to file a missing person’s report. There was no evidence of wrongdoing, but I went ahead and looked into it, just because she seemed like a nice lady.”
“You mean because she’s hot.”
He laughed, turning red. “You know I’m married!”
I took a gulp of my coffee. I could feel the caffeine flow through my body, soothing the addict within. “So, what did you think of her story? Do you believe that her brother is missing? And what about her claim that their other brother killed him?”
He popped the tail end of a chocolate bar into his mouth and washed it down with coffee. “Well, honestly, when she first came in, it had been less than twenty-four hours since she had seen him. So what? I mean, he’s an adult, right? I talked with her but didn’t file a report. Then she came back a day later, and still no Pete. So I wrote the report. I went to Pete’s apartment, looked around. I called around to his employer, his friends, even the travel agents in town. I never found a thing to give a clue as to what happened to him. Still, it’s been, what, almost two weeks now. I’d have to say at this point I believe her. I mean, about the disappearance part. The guy worked full time and was a student, he seemed ambitious, responsible. It’s the middle of the semester, I doubt he’d go off like that.”
“And the brother-as-killer story? You talk to Raul?”
“Yeah, and he didn’t take it kindly. He’s a piece of work. Hard to see him being in the same family as Gabby and Pete.”
“But would he kill someone?” I knew it was a dumb question the minute I’d asked it. Killers come in all shapes and sizes, and most people are astonished to discover they’ve been living with a murderer in their midst. But I wanted to learn Trent’s take on the guy.
He said, “Well, I believe anyone can kill with the right motive. Raul seems to truly hate his brother. He’s ashamed of him. Raul is one of those guys who can’t stand the thought of gays, I guess. Does all that add up to him killing Pete? It’s impossible to say.”
“Did Gabby tell you Raul beat Pete up a few days before Pete disappeared?”
“Yeah, and a couple of Pete’s friends mentioned it, too. Pretty brutal, by the sound of it. It struck me as odd, that happening out of the blue like that. Hard to believe it was simply because Pete is gay. The guy’s been gay a long time, so why beat him up now? No, there must have been some other trigger. But I couldn’t get a bead on it.”
“What about an alibi?”
“Raul had one. Said he was playing poker the night Pete disappeared. I checked with the guys he said were there, and they all confirmed it.”
“Do you believe it?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think it’s worth much. Those guys are the same ilk as Raul, if you ask me. And their stories were pretty well aligned, if you know what I mean.”
I sat for a moment, drinking coffee. The sweet, greasy smell of donuts had replaced the institutional smell of Trent’s office. I could hear a copy machine chunk-chunking somewhere down the hall. The air was chilly, and I was glad to have the warm coffee cup in my hands. Trent reached forward to grab another donut, his office chair squeaking.
I said, “Gabby also mentioned that Pete was involved in the protest over the mayor’s toxic waste proposal. You look into that at all?”
“Yeah, I did find out that Pete and a man named Matthew Thornton got into it at one of the protests down at city hall. It wasn’t much, though, the kind of thing you see during protests. A little name-calling, pushing and shoving. That’s it.”
Ah, so Thornton was the guy in the photo I saw in Pete’s apartment. “Who’s this Thornton character?”
“He’s helping the mayor with this waste proposal thing. Well, actually, he’s helping Bernard Cornwell, who’s helping the mayor.”
“Bernard Cornwell?”
“Psychologist, prominent Christian in town. He and Mayor Tyler go to the same church. Cornwell helped Tyler get elected. I think Cornwell figures if he helps Tyler, Tyler will someday repay the favor. Cornwell is an ambitious guy and will run for public office one day.”
“And how do Cornwell and Matthew Thornton know one another?”
“Matthew Thornton is his patient and poster boy. That’s the thing, Sam. These people who want the toxic waste dump are all upstanding citizens. The leader of our great city, a religious therapist, and his nice young helper. Hardly people you’d think of killing anyone. This thing just hasn’t gotten to that level, it’s mostly just ads in the paper, hand-painted signs, that kind of thing.”
“You talk to any of these people?”
“Yeah, I met with the mayor. He knows who Pete is, but he doesn’t know anything about what could have happened to him. When Pete disappeared, the mayor was out of town doing a charity golf thing. I also spoke with the other two. Cornwell seems pretty ambitious—looking to curry favor with the mayor, I think. His grunt, Thornton, is just doing what Cornwell tells him to. You know, printing fliers, organizing rallies, that kind of thing. They’re both Christians.”
“You don’t think churchgoers kill people?”
Trent looked startled. “I’m not that dumb, Sam. Like I said, anyone with a good enough reason will kill. But generally speaking, I think people who look to the Good Book for guidance tend to stay on the right path. Those two look pretty harmless.”
So, I was guessing my deputy friend was
a religious guy. I respected that, but I wondered if it would affect his objectivity in this case. I could understand his point, though. Cornwell and Thornton looked benign compared to Raul, given how Trent had described him. I would have to meet Raul, and the sooner the better.
“So, you don’t think the protest had anything to do with Pete’s disappearance?”
“I haven’t ruled anything out. But at this point I’d bet on Raul. Or someone else we haven’t considered. Who knows?”
With all due respect to Trent, I knew that controversial issues could elicit violent emotions. The surface may look calm, but people got passionate about their beliefs. In this case, there was money and ambition on the pro side of the issue and likely intense fear on the con side. At any rate, now that Vince had given me the green light to write the next book on nuclear waste disposal, I could look into the debate with a clear conscience. Maybe I would unearth something pertinent to Pete’s case.
I swept the donut crumbs from my lap, gulped down the rest of my coffee, and tossed the cup into the trash. “Do you mind if I talk to these people?”
Trent studied me, twirling his coffee cup around in his big hands. He was still handsome, although I could see “the thirties” creeping in. He had developed a slight puffiness under his eyes and his face looked rounder from the weight gain. He said, “You did a good job on the wind farm case. But you could have gotten yourself killed.”
“I know. I’ll be more careful this time.”
He sighed, the exhalation long and slow. He tossed his cup toward the can and missed.
“Ha!” I said, bending to retrieve it.
“Sam, just don’t do anything stupid. And if you find out something relevant, let me know, okay? We’ve kind of come to a standstill in the investigation.”
“I will, I promise. Can you tell me the best place to find Raul?”
“He owns Castillo Construction. Office is out on Quartz Avenue. Watch that guy, Sam. Really, he’s a nut job.”
I stood, extended my hand. “Thanks, Trent. I will.”
5
I decided to go see Raul right after leaving Trent’s office. I didn’t want to give myself too much time to think about it, or I might chicken out. As I walked out of the sheriff’s station toward my car, I noticed that the wind had intensified. I could feel it buffet me as I walked across the parking lot. Looking to the west, I saw black clouds churning over the mountains, obscuring their peaks. Those lucky people living on the coast in San Diego and Los Angeles were getting rain. Most of the time storms to the west of us never drop an ounce of moisture on Desert Rock. We are, after all, in a rain shadow. Storms flowing east from the Pacific Ocean must climb up and over the mountains. Once over the ridges the downward flow of cold air caused by the east-flowing front produces no rain but whips up ferocious winds that can tear the roof off your house. On rare occasions the clouds actually manage to hold enough moisture to release a drop or two, which happened three times this winter. This storm looked promising, but most likely it would just pass over us without a trace. Most of our rain comes from the east during the summer monsoon season in July and August.
I drove south on Feldspar for two miles until I hit the edge of town. Turning right on Whitney and another right on Quartz, I began to think about what I would say to Raul. Sweat instantly broke out on my upper lip, and my stomach flipped over. What on earth was I going to say to this man? Trent and Gabby made him out to be a ruthless goon. I doubted that he would appreciate being asked if he murdered his brother. But even relatively inoffensive questions about Pete were not likely to produce a salubrious reaction. Basically, I had no clue what to do.
I looked at myself in the rearview mirror to see if my lack of confidence showed. With a shock, I decided I didn’t look half bad. Seeing myself as Trent had, I saw a reasonably attractive woman, in her early thirties, with thick long hair and large brown eyes. Inspiration flashed. I realized that this might put me in the category of people Raul might rather drool over than beat up. I was not above using my feminine wiles to save my butt. What exactly wiles were and how a gal could use them, I had no clue, but I decided to give it a whirl. If Raul thought he might get some booty, maybe he wouldn’t kill me.
Still, as good as I looked (for me), I thought it prudent to ratchet it up a notch. I made a U-turn on Quartz and headed back home. This required reinforcements.
When I finally pulled up to Castillo Construction forty-five minutes later, I was a changed woman. I had drawn on enough lipstick to paint a barn, the color being about right for that task. With infinite care I had tarted up my eyes by applying the goopy mascara I had bought at Desert Drugs two years ago. I poofed up my hair, loading it with enough hair spray to lacquer the whole Dallas Cowboys cheerleading squad. After that, I had shimmied into a tight leather skirt purchased one Halloween when I went to a party dressed as a ho. My red blouse was so low-cut my boobs almost fell out when I bent to wrestle my black heels into place. I had no memory of purchasing black high heels, ever, and figured they must be Vanessa’s, left over from some high school prom. Needless to say, after examining myself in the mirror I had slunk out of the house and into my car as fast as possible when wearing stilettos.
When I pulled up to Raul’s construction company, I wondered how I might execute that head toss that women do to signal their receptiveness to men. I feared that if I tried it, I would just look like a pony fighting its bit. Raul’s office was a low-budget affair, a small cinder block square painted the color of sand. His lot was large, packed with trucks and earthmovers, rebar and two-by-fours, and a small hoard of sweaty-looking guys. I glanced at my watch—four o’clock. It must be quitting time. As I climbed out of my old Corolla, the guys all stopped what they were doing and gawked at me. Their silent watching creeped me out until it turned into a whistle, then a hoot, then a chorus of catcalls. Well, what did I expect, the way I was dressed. Still, were they stuck in the Pleistocene or what?
Ignoring the whistles, I tottered my way toward the office. My stilettos punctured the ground with every stride, forcing me to lurch like a drunk. I nearly turned an ankle on a chunk of concrete. For a moment I must have looked like a windmill, arms outstretched and whirling. I heard sniggers from the gallery, but I forged ahead, head held high. I’d be damned if I’d let these Neanderthals intimidate me.
As I started to climb the two steps that led to the office door, a big man emerged from within. He was beefy and probably six foot four, a giant chunk of manhood. With my usual acumen I surmised that this must be Raul. The catcalls behind me stopped, the guys now probably looking hard at work. I smiled at Raul; he did not smile back.
“Hello,” I said in a flighty manner, touching my hair playfully as if to check that it was still attached. “Are you Raul Castillo?” I made my smile bigger, and I had a vision of my straight white teeth catching the sunlight, blinding the man.
“Who wants to know?” His voice sounded hoarse and phlegmy. I was guessing cigarettes. His eyes were hard and still, like black marbles. He had on work boots and blue jeans, a red flannel shirt, no hard hat. His black hair was buzzed close to his head, revealing a skull pockmarked with regular indentations like a golf ball.
I kept the ditzy smile on my face despite his unwelcoming response to my charms. “Hi, I’m Samantha Larkin. I’m a friend of Eddie Martinez.”
I hoped Eddie’s name might make Raul warm up—everybody in town knew and liked the owner of Coffee Buzz. Alas, it did not have the effect I had hoped for. In fact, it had no effect whatsoever. Raul stood there as before, a block of concrete.
“Anyway,” I forged on, my voice chirpy. “Eddie asked me to do a favor for him. That’s why I’m here. He asked me to look into the disappearance of his friend Pete Castillo, who I know is your brother.”
At the mention of Pete, Raul’s cold eyes glinted, and the muscles in his face seemed to cramp up. His arms grew stiff at his sides, his hands constricting. I thought of poor Pete at the business end of those fists and felt sick.<
br />
Raul growled, “What the fuck is this about?”
I felt myself duck ever so slightly, as if his words had physically shot out of his mouth at me. I smiled wider, noticing that my teeth were actually drying out in the wind. “I just came to ask if you’d seen Pete around lately. Eddie asked me to, as I said.” I punctuated this explanation with a little batting of the eyelashes and tossing of the hair even though I could see that Raul wasn’t buying it. What can I say? It was all I had. I noticed the batting business had made my pebbled eye water again. Great, there went the mascara.
Raul said, “What the fuck does Eddie Martinez care about my brother?”
Uh-oh. This was the point where I’d have to mention Gabby, whom I was guessing he despised as much as he did Pete. She and Pete were tight, and obviously she and Raul did not have a close loving relationship, what with her thinking he was a killer and all.
“Actually,” I said, “Eddie asked me as a favor to your sister.” I noticed my voice was flat and to the point now, all my feminine wiles petered out in anticipation of getting my ass kicked. I could feel the cold wind at my back, pushing me from behind toward this totally scary man.
Raul’s eyes narrowed. “Ah, I get it. Gabby and Eddie used to be, fuck, whad’ya call it, an ‘item.’ Until she dropped his sorry ass and hightailed it out of here with some rich east coast fucker. Dude must have tired of my bitchy sister, sent her packing, and here she is, crawling back to Eddie. He should aim higher than my sister.”
I disliked hearing the bit about Eddie and Gabby getting back together. But what I really didn’t like was Raul’s portrayal of Eddie as a sucker and a wimp. “Just so you know where I stand,” I said, pulling myself up to my full five-foot-three height, “Eddie is my best friend. And the reason he is helping Gabby is because he has class. If someone needs help, Eddie gives it. Okay? That why I’m here. He asked me to look into this, so I am.”
Half Life (A Sam Larkin Mystery) Page 3
