by Aimée Thurlo
Mike Herrera, too, was in a position to have seen Robert Garcia’s true nature. Had he acted to protect Victoria . . . or maybe RJ? The same could apply to Al Russo, especially factoring in his fondness for the boy. On the other hand, Al’s career had been tied to Robert’s success, so it wasn’t likely he would have murdered his meal ticket.
When she pulled into Sheriff Green’s driveway, Sister Agatha saw Gloria already outside.
“That motorcycle’s sure distinctive,” Gloria said, coming up to greet Sister Agatha. “I heard it coming all the way down the lane.” She headed to her car and slipped inside. “I’m on my way out for a bit, but Tom’s in the kitchen. Go on in.”
Sister Agatha stopped beside Gloria’s driver’s side door. “How are you two doing? A crisis like this could break any marriage, Gloria. Don’t make any hasty decisions. You two need each other more than ever now.”
Gloria shook her head. “You’re wrong, Sister. Everything has a beginning, a middle, and an end. When the dust settles, we’ll go our separate ways. We each deserve a new start.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that. Have you tried—”
Gloria held up one hand. “Stop. I don’t want to hear about this anymore. Just help Tom clear his name so we can both go on with our lives.”
“I’m working on it, but I could sure use some help. Tell me, how well did you know Robert?”
“Not very. We never socialized with him and his wife. I’d never admit this to anyone else, but there was bad blood between him and Tom. Robert had to leave the sheriff’s department under less than ideal circumstances, and though Tom’s never discussed it with me I think he had a big part to play in that.”
“He won’t give me any details either,” Sister Agatha said. Tom wouldn’t violate the department’s confidentiality, but to clear him she’d need every bit of information she could get.
Tom came out before Gloria could reply. “If you two are going to chitchat, come inside. It isn’t a good idea to stay out here in the open.”
Seeing the sheriff, Pax stood up and immediately began straining at the leash to get Tom’s attention.
Smiling, Tom came over to pet him, then glanced at Gloria. “Going shopping again?”
Sister Agatha couldn’t help but notice the dark edge of sarcasm in his voice.
Gloria didn’t look directly at him. “I’ll be gone for a few hours,” she said, then pulled out of the driveway.
Tom watched Gloria drive down the street, then turned and gestured for Sister Agatha to follow him into the house. “Let’s talk.”
Sitting on Tom’s comfortable leather couch, Sister Agatha filled him in on what she’d learned about Victoria, including news that Victoria had learned how to shoot. “What caliber weapon was used to kill Robert?”
“A nine millimeter, but that’s a very common caliber,” he said. “You might follow things up by asking Millie to check and see if Victoria purchased a handgun recently. You may get lucky, but if it wasn’t a licensed dealer purchase, it’s very possible there won’t be any record of it. Gun show purchases aren’t registered, and neither are private sales.”
“All right,” Sister Agatha said, making a mental note of that. “Now I need you to tell me all about you and Robert. You can start with why he left the department. I need specifics, Tom.”
Tom hesitated.
“It wasn’t just to go into business, was it?”
Tom didn’t answer.
“I can check on the dates—when he left the department and when his firm opened. My guess is that some time passed between those two events. I’m thinking you forced him to resign.”
“Robert didn’t go into business right away,” Tom said, sidestepping her question.
“Time’s ticking. Are you going to tell me why he left the department, or should I start asking other officers?”
He glared at her. “I can’t discuss department business with you, Sister. Those matters are sealed for a reason.”
“Robert’s dead. What purpose could it serve now to keep his background a secret?”
He took a deep breath and seemed to consider his options. “Robert Garcia and I had more than our share of problems. Some of those are public knowledge,” he said. “The only thing I can do is suggest that you talk to Leon Jones, Robert’s neighbor on the east side. Leon’s recently retired, so he’s usually at home.”
Sister Agatha studied Tom’s body language as he stared at a framed photo of him and Gloria that was hanging on the wall. Unconsciously or not, he was also fiddling with his wedding ring. Realizing that she was studying him, he dropped his hands and glanced away, his lips stretched in a thin, taut line.
“I’ve known you for a long time, Tom. You’re holding out on me, and not just with departmental business. You know I’m on your side, and if there’s one person you can trust, it’s me. You said you’d talk to me—”
“I’ve told you all I can,” he said, then stood and jammed his hands into his pockets. “Just one more bit of advice. Detective Frank Marquez is a good man. He’s tough but fair. If you get in over your head, call him. Frank’ll find a way to help you.”
“He’s got problems of his own right now,” Sister Agatha said, then told him about the incident with the mayor outside the coffee shop.
Tom laughed. “Don’t worry about Frank. When the heat’s on, he just gets stronger.”
“Tom, I want you to think hard about what you’re doing. If what you’re holding back is pertinent to the case, it’ll surface sooner or later, and the damage may be even harder to control by then,” Sister Agatha said, heading to the door. “Don’t let whatever you’re keeping secret blindside me—or Frank. We’re going all out for you, and you’re not helping—yourself or us.”
Leaving Tom’s, Sister Agatha set out to go visit Leon Jones. As she glanced at Pax, she saw him enjoying the blast of cool air that swept around them on the bike. It was the perfect morning, with the sun shining in a cloudless sky. If things had been different, she would have enjoyed the ride as much as Pax.
As she turned down the street where Victoria lived, she saw someone pulling into the Garcia driveway. She backed off on the throttle to reduce the obvious sound of the Harley, then watched as she drove past. Mike Herrera emerged from a shiny luxury sedan and glanced in her direction. The red-and-white-painted Harley and sidecar, coupled with a nun in a black habit and a big white dog, wasn’t exactly subtle.
Making a spur-of-the-moment decision, Sister Agatha turned around in the road and headed back. As she drove up, she saw that Mike had waited for her. He was leaning back against the driver’s side door, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Hey, Sister, what’s up?”
She took off her helmet and held it on her lap. “Hello, Mike. I’m glad you waited. I’ve been wanting to ask you a question. I understand that you taught Victoria how to shoot a pistol,” she said, hoping he’d confirm her guess on the type of weapon.
His face darkened, and he balled his hands into fists. With effort, he relaxed them again. “I told Victoria to watch what she said around the help. She’s lucky no one’s ever blackmailed her.”
“What has she done that would make her a target for extortion?”
“Victoria?” He suddenly burst out laughing. “You don’t know her very well, or you wouldn’t be asking.”
“You obviously do. So why don’t you tell me?”
“People think Robert controlled Victoria, but that’s not the way it really was. Victoria held the reins, and she loved pushing his buttons. She knew exactly how to set him off.”
“Interesting viewpoint. Tell me more.”
“She’d go shopping, max out all the credit cards, then ‘forget’ to pay the bills on time. Then she’d make sure that Robert found out about it. Their credit rating was like a roller coaster, and that made Robert nuts. During the campaign rallies, she’d always stand in the background acting the part of the dutiful, faithful wife, smiling at everything he said, but Victoria knew how to get und
er his skin, and she liked making him crazy. The shooting lessons she had me give her are a good example of that. When Robert started traveling a lot, trying to expand his business out of state, she decided she wanted to learn to shoot a pistol. She knew Robert would eventually find out, and after that he’d never be able to raise a hand to her without wondering if he’d get shot later that night as he slept.”
“Maybe she was the one who killed him,” Sister Agatha said.
“No way. Victoria had no need to kill him. She knew how to play him.” He pushed away from the car and stood up straight. “Besides, she never actually owned a gun. She just borrowed one of mine. She kept it for a few weeks during the time a residential burglar was working the area. After the cops caught the guy, she gave it back to me. She didn’t want a pistol around her house. She was afraid RJ would get hold of it.”
“What caliber was it?”
“A nine-millimeter Walther P38. It was an old World War II German semiauto I’d carried back in the days when I was dealing drugs. But don’t bother looking for it. I’m still on parole, and I’m not allowed to have a weapon, so I got rid of it.”
“When?”
“Months before Robert got shot, if that’s what you’re really asking.”
“Can you prove that you got rid of that gun before the murder?”
He shook his head. “I sold it one night to a guy outside a bar for two twenties and a beer. He didn’t know me and I didn’t know him. I realize that you’re looking for a suspect other than your friend Sheriff Green, but I had nothing to do with what happened to Robert,” he said.
“If you say so,” she said with a skeptical smile.
“Look at it logically. I have too much to lose and nothing to gain. I’m a Garcia now, and I don’t want to rock that boat. I get a lot of toys just by playing it cool,” he said, gesturing to his new car. “Victoria wouldn’t have shot Robert, either. She’d be more inclined to twist the knife somebody else had placed in his gut.”
“You may be sure about yourself, but you can’t speak for Victoria. You don’t know what she might have done if pushed hard enough,” she said, mostly to see his reaction.
“Oh yeah, I’m positive. Victoria and Robert had a strange relationship, but they were two of a kind. Nothing was more important to Robert than status, power, and wealth. Victoria was perfect for him because she loved being the wife of a man people respected—and feared. She paid her dues for sure, but she got exactly what she wanted and needed—status.” He said nothing for several long moments, then, in a thoughtful, quiet voice, added, “Oh yeah, Sister, I know exactly how she thinks.”
“Because you’re doing the same thing yourself?” Sister Agatha pressed. “You also married into the Garcia family. From small to tall, is that the way it is?”
“Yeah. Like that. As I said, Victoria and I understand each other.”
“There’s more to it than that. Your eyes give you away, Mike. You’re in love with her,” she said, playing a hunch to see how he’d react.
He shrugged. “So what? It doesn’t alter anything. Neither of us wants to change our current arrangement.”
“Which is?”
“We’re friends who keep each other’s secrets.”
Sensing she’d gotten all she would from him, Sister Agatha raised her helmet to her head. “Okay, Mike, thanks for clearing things up a bit.”
“Sister, let me make a deal with you. If you keep quiet about that pistol, I’ll do my best to find out who really shot Robert. Providing it turns out to be someone outside the Garcia family, I’ll pass that information along to you just as soon as I have it.”
She lowered her helmet again. “What makes you think you can find out and I can’t?”
“I know a lot of people, Sister, and we move in way different circles. You’d be surprised what someone like me can dig up.”
She had no doubt that Mike could be a valuable source, yet withholding information about that pistol might end up costing Tom in the long run.
“Look at it this way, Sister,” he said, as if he’d read her mind. “Even if I could find the gun again and turn it over to the police, what would it prove? That it wasn’t the weapon that killed Robert? He was killed with the sheriff’s own pistol, and everyone knows that. I could have gotten another gun, and so could Victoria. Bottom line is that I’d be putting my own freedom on the line for no reason at all.”
She considered it, then nodded. “All right. See what you can find out and get back to me.”
14
SISTER AGATHA WENT ALL THE WAY AROUND THE BLOCK, in case Mike was watching or listening for the bike, and approached Leon Jones’s home from the opposite direction. As she drove up the long driveway, a gray-haired man in his mid-sixties wearing jeans and a pullover shirt looked up. Stopping work trimming the hedge that separated his property from the Garcias, he waved at her.
She stopped the Harley, turned off the ignition, and flipped up her helmet visor.
“You have to be Sister Agatha. I saw you the other day and figured you’d be stopping by sooner or later. I’m Leon Jones,” he said, putting the hedge clippers down and wiping his brow. “You’ve got great timing, Sister. I was just about to take a break.”
He led the way inside the spacious Territorial-style house. The living room had the feeling of a cool, shady parlor, full of overstuffed furniture, but the large kitchen was bright and airy, with Mexican tile counters and backsplash. He pulled out two Cokes from the old-style white fridge and placed one in front of her. “These are imported from Mexico. They’re sweetened with sugar instead of corn syrup—just the way I like them. In the bottle okay with you?”
“Sure, that’s fine.” She remembered how young Sister Jo had raved about Mexican Cokes.
Leon used a “church key” to remove the caps, which weren’t twist-off, and handed her one of the icy bottles.
“So you’re here wanting to know about that row I had with Robert several years ago, right? I actually had to get a restraining order against that lowlife, and he was a deputy at the time!”
“I’ve heard that Mr. Garcia could get violent,” she said with a nod. “What happened between you?”
“Our neighborhood association rules are clear. You’re allowed to prune a neighbor’s plants back if their branches extend over onto your yard, but you can’t do anything that would kill the plant—in this case, a cottonwood. I’d asked Robert to give me a hand with the tree trimming several times, but he never got around to it. I was worried those cottonwood branches would come crashing down on my car during the next windstorm. You know how brittle they can be. So I finally decided to do the job myself.”
He took a long sip of the Coke, then continued. “It was bad timing on my part. He’d been arguing with Victoria that day. When he saw me on the ladder, he accused me of spying on him and his wife. I told him he was nuts, and that’s when he pulled me off the ladder.”
“Were you okay?” she asked, leaning forward.
“He nearly broke my arm, and all over a stupid tree. That was just the beginning, though.” Leon paused, shaking his head. “I filed assault charges, and the judge ended up granting me a restraining order. Robert was supposed to stay off my property and not come within fifty feet of me. Well, that order just made him crazier.”
“He came after you again?”
Leon nodded. “At first he was just trying to intimidate me. Whenever I went to the store, gas station, or anywhere in my car, he’d follow. He’d tailgate, even bumping into me at stop signs—just enough to shake me up. I tried using the camera on my cell phone, but I had my hands full driving most of the time. It was clear to me that he had a screw loose, and what’s worse, he was in his patrol car and carrying a gun.”
Sister Agatha nodded but didn’t interrupt.
“One day I finally had enough. I remembered that Smitty had told me that he’d installed new surveillance cameras in his parking lot, so I decided to set Robert up. He was tailgating me as usual, so I deliberatel
y pulled into Smitty’s parking lot. Robert blocked me in so I couldn’t get back out, something he’d done before at other places. Knowing the cameras were rolling, I went over and asked him to move his car. When he laughed at me, I brought out my cell phone, took a photo of him, then started to call Sheriff Green. That’s when he really went nuts. Robert jumped out of his car, knocked the cell phone out of my hand, and stomped on it. Then he grabbed my arm and swung me around, slamming me face-first into his car. When Robert started punching me in the kidneys, Smitty heard me yelling and came out. If Smitty hadn’t been there, Robert would have put me in the hospital for sure.”
“Why wasn’t he charged with assault?” Sister Agatha knew that could have led to a felony conviction, and a man with a record wouldn’t have been able to run for sheriff.
Leon sighed loudly. “My print shop depended heavily on city business, and the sheriff didn’t want a scandal, so we cut a deal. Sheriff Green gave me his word that he’d handle the matter, and he did. I never had a problem with Robert again.”
“When Sheriff Green gives his word, you can count on it.”
“I agree with you, and I talk from experience,” he answered, then, giving her a long look, continued. “Detective Marquez came to talk to me about Robert yesterday. I think he thought I may have killed him.”
Sister Agatha didn’t respond.
“Were you wondering the same thing?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “The day Robert was killed, I was in the center of the park, playing my fiddle with the Good Gravy Band. We signaled for the start of the fireworks by playing the National Anthem, then performed five Sousa marches in a row. Everyone saw me. I was in the front row, sitting right beside the piccolo.”
“It sounds like you had a wonderful time,” Sister Agatha said, hoping to defuse the defensiveness she heard in his tone.
“The Fourth’s my favorite holiday,” he said, sounding much happier. “I love the parade, the picnics, and the fireworks, too.” He paused, then went on in a thoughtful voice. “I remember seeing Robert and feeling sorry for him. He was missing the point—it was a holiday. A day to honor your country and have fun, but he was doing neither. He was busy campaigning and giving out political flyers. I figure he must have had hundreds in that large envelope he was lugging around tucked under his arm. Despite his casual clothing, it was obvious he didn’t intend to give it a rest, even on his nation’s birthday.”
