“Well, then that”s good.”Merry took another enormous bite. “No sense having my boy in danger. Don”t tell him I said that, either.”
“Your secret is safe with me,”Marge told him. “So how did your daughter meet Willy?”
“At church.”
“Willy isn”t from around here,”Oliver said.
“No, but he served in Vietnam with a boy who grew up about three farms to the north of here. Willy came out for a visit and I was impressed that he bothered going to church.”He shook his head in fatherly consternation.
“What happened to Willy”s friend who grew up on the farm?”Oliver asked.
“Oh, he went back to his roots. He grows corn and is making money off biofuel. Me, I don”t grow crops for no cars. I grow crops for people.”Another bite. “Is that cake comin”?”he shouted out loud.
“Just hold your socks!”When Gladys came in with the cake, everyone oohed and aahed. It was chocolate with chocolate frosting and several layers of fresh berries in between. When she handed Oliver a slice, he noticed he was salivating heavily.
“Thank you so much.”
“You”re very welcome. And I”ll give you both a slice to take home. He certainly don”t need the whole thing.”
“If you don”t want me to eat it, why do you bake it?”Marcus asked his wife.
“I do it as an artistic project,”Gladys countered.
“Then donate it to a museum.”He finished his slice in four bites. “I know you came here to talk to the sheriff. He won”t be able to see us for another half hour. In the meantime, you can watch us bicker.”
“Oh, you”re so silly.”She gave him a gentle slap on the shoulder. “Coffee?”
“I”ll have some,”Marcus said.
“I”m making up a fresh pot.”She went back into the kitchen.
Marge said, “How well did you know Rondo Martin?”
“Or did you even know him?”Oliver added.
“I knew who he was. Can”t say I knew him well. Did I ever have any business with him? Is that what you”re asking me?”
“Just anything you can tell us about him,”Marge said as she took out her notebook. “You know why we”re interested in him, don”t you?”
“Yes, I do. He was the guard in those murders and he”s missing.”
Oliver said, “What can you tell us about him?”
“Nothing much. We didn”t talk other than an occasional nod. I felt he might have kept his distance because of my skin color, but after talking to others around here, he just wasn”t the neighborly type. Not too many neighborly types anymore. Most of the farms here are run by big business.”
Marge nodded.
“There are still several holdouts like myself. I”ve been approached a few times about selling my land. It”s my children”s inheritance. Anyway, you don”t want to talk politics, you want to talk about Rondo Martin.”Marcus cleared his throat. “There were a couple of times when I stopped at the Watering Hole for a beer, he”d be there drinking whiskey, talking to Matt or Trevor or whoever was tending bar. We farmers work sunup to sundown when the days are long and the weather”s good. In the wintertime, it can get cold. That”s when the tavern does its business.”
“Is there a lot of crime around here?”Oliver asked.
“Sheriff would know more than me,”Marcus said. “Reading the daily sheet, I think that most of the crimes come from the migrants getting drunk on the weekends and whopping on each other.
There”s not a whole lot to do around here. We”ve got a general store, a church, a movie house, a lending library, a couple of family restaurants, and a street of taverns. That”s about it.”
“Do the migrants go to the same church as you do?”
“No, they do not. We”re all Baptists. Migrants are mostly Catholic or Pentecostal. We don”t have any Catholic or Pentecostal churches. They must have their own.”
“Where do the migrants live?”Marge asked.
“In the outlying areas. We call them the ciudads, which means cities in Spanish. Ponceville is built like a square. Smack in the middle is the town, then the farms, and on the perimeter is where the migrants live. Their living quarters, provided by the big businesses that hire them, are pretty primitive. They got their running water and electrical lines, but it”s still very basic. Don”t matter how basic it is, though, they just keep coming. And they”ll keep on coming as long as conditions down in their countries are poorer than conditions up here.”
“Are they legal?”Oliver asked.
“The businesses get them their green cards. All my workers have green cards. Can”t do it any other way. Otherwise the INS will shut you down. We”re not talking about Martin very much.”
“My partner and I are just trying to get a feel for the town,”Marge said. “Maybe it”ll help us understand Rondo Martin better. Do you know if he spoke Spanish?”
“Anyone living here for some time speaks Spanish.”
Marge nodded. “So…what about you and Rondo Martin…getting back to the original question.”
Marcus smiled. “I never said much to him, honestly. Occasionally, he”d show up at church. I sing in the choir. My wife does as well. He showed up once when I had a solo and told me I had a good voice. That was about as personal as it ever got.”He checked his watch and managed to hoist himself out of his chair. “Well, we”d better get going if we want to be on time.”
At that moment, Gladys walked in with the coffee.
Marcus looked at the tray of mugs. “We can be a few minutes late, I suppose.”
“You certainly can.”She smiled. “We have a…fluid concept of time here.”
Her husband passed out the coffee cups. Gladys said to help themselves to cream and sugar. The detectives thanked her profusely.
Marge said, “I like your photos, Mrs. Merry.”
Gladys smiled. “That”s what walls are for.”
“I also like the artwork.”
“Really?”Gladys said. “I don”t care much for it. It was given to my in-laws by the artist. His father was a farmer in Chino and I think he was a family friend…Did I get that right, Marcus?”
“Something like that. Paul was a weirdo. My mama only kept it because she didn”t want to hurt his feelings.”Marcus laughed. “Turned out he became real famous.”
“Paul Pollock,”Gladys said. “Have you ever heard of him?”
“No,”Marge said, “but he paints like Jackson Pollock. Are they related?”
“That”s him,”Gladys said. “Jackson Pollock. Paul was his real first name.”
“Uh, he”s pretty well known,”Oliver said. “His father was a farmer?”
“Yes, Detective, he was.”
“The painting”s very valuable, Mrs. Merry,”Marge told her.
“Oh yes, it is. And please call me Gladys.”
“And you”re not worried about theft?”Marge said.
Gladys shook her head. “The people around here who see it think it was done by one of my grandchildren.”She stared at the painting. “I don”t bother to correct them.”
TWENTY-ONE
THE LAST KNOWN address of Alejandro Brand was in Pacoima, part of Decker”s old hunting ground in Foothill. The place was a burb of about a hundred thousand people. Its major claim to fame—besides a horrendous airplane crash in 1957 that killed children in a schoolyard—was its junior high that had once schooled Ritchie Valens, a rising pop star in the 1950s. The poor boy”s career had come to an abrupt halt when he, along with Buddy Holly and J. P. Richardson, aka the Big Bopper, had died in a heartbreaking small-craft crash in Iowa in 1959. Pacoima Junior High had been changed to Pacoima Middle School, but that was just about the only thing in the town that had evolved. It was still a working-class Hispanic neighborhood pocked with violence.
The area was rife with industrial plants and warehouses for the trades, but there was some local shopping: discount clothing stores, liquor stores, convenience marts, fast-food chains, launderettes, used-car lots, and the occasion
al ethnic bodega. Around here, money was tight unless it was Friday night. Then the bars did bang-up businesses. As Decker cruised down the wide streets, he slowed down to study the bad boys who populated the sidewalks or the weed-choked lots. They eyed him back with defiant looks and aggressive stances.
Brand”s address was an apartment building constructed in the 1950s out of glittery stucco with an aqua blue sign that bore the name The Caribbean. It was two stories of depression with laundry hung from the balconies. Decker found parking easily and walked up to an outside locked gate. It was short enough for Decker to extend his arm over the top and reach the doorknob on the other side. The courtyard had a small clean pool that was currently in use by a slew of elementary-aged children. There were several women in swimsuits reclining on plastic-strap lawn chairs, yakking with one another as they worked on their tans. The ladies looked at Decker with suspicion.
He picked a woman at random—a Latina of around thirty with short black hair, dark eyes, and a voluptuous body that was pouring out of her bikini. He told her in Spanish that he was the police—a show of his badge—and looking for Alejandro Brand.
The woman responded with a purse of her lips. “He”s bad news.”
Her friend, overhearing the conversation, broke in. She was older and heavier, wearing a halter top and cutoff shorts. “Very bad news,”she concurred. “Raul, stop playing so rough with your sister. Let go of her now!”Back to Decker. “He sold drugs upstairs from his mother”s apartment.
“After Mrs. Cruz died, it got much worse. We called the police, but every time they tell us there”s nothing they can do unless someone wants to press charges.
“Finally the apartment caught fire. The building almost burned down.
“But the fire department was quick, gracias a Dios.”She crossed herself.
Decker thought about a meth lab and all its flammable components. “Did you smell anything funny coming from the apartment?”
“Who got that close?”
“What about the trash? Did you find a lot of antifreeze containers, Drano, lye, iodine maybe?”
“I don”t look at other people”s trash,”Lady 2 said. “I don”t know what he was doing and I don”t care now. All I know is we have more peace.”
“Although there is funny business with Apartment K,”Lady 1 told him.
“Not as bad as with Alejandro. Many bad men come in that apartment. I had to watch my daughters like a mother hen. He had lots of spending cash and had a pretty face—a bad combination for teenaged girls.”
“Any idea where he lives now?”
“No, and I don”t care.”
“Gracias a Dios,”said Lady 1.
“Let him be someone else”s problem.”
Decker said, “Did anyone else besides his mother live upstairs?”
“Who knows?”Lady 2 said. “So many people going in and out…Raul, next time you hit her, you”re getting out!”
“Did Brand have any sisters and brothers?”
Lady 1 said, “I think Alejandro was the only child. Mrs. Cruz was very old.”
“It was his grandmother,”Lady 2 said.
“She used to call him mi hijo.”
“He called her abuela once. She was the grandmother, maybe even great-grandmother. She was very old.”
“So you have no idea where Alejandro went?”
“He”s somewhere in the neighborhood,”Lady 1 told him. “I see him at the market from time to time. I pretend not to notice him.”
“Good idea,”Decker said. “What market?”
“Anderson”s warehouse food and grocery. It”s about three blocks away.”
Decker wrote it down. “How many months would you say it was between when the old lady died and the apartment caught fire?”
“Maybe three months.”
Lady 2 concurred. “Finally he”s gone. Now we have peace and security. We all got together and put in the iron gate.”Suddenly, she narrowed her eyes and glowered at Decker. “How”d you get in here?”
“I reached over and opened it from the inside.”
“Hmmm, that is a problem. We put the gate up for protection. If you got in so easily, maybe we need to think of other things.”
“How tall are you?”Lady 1 asked.
“Six four give or take.”
“How many men do you know who are six four?”Lady 1 asked Lady 2.
“None.”
“Me, too. It”s not a problem.”She looked at Decker. “Make sure the gate is closed on the way out. Next time, use the bell. That”s what it”s for.”
“HARRIMAN JUST LEFT.”It was Wanda Bontemps on the phone.
“What did he want?”Decker tried to keep the acid out of his voice.
“We asked him to come in, Loo.”
Hunched over the steering wheel, it took a couple of beats before Decker processed the words. He had been so focused on Rina”s safety that he forgot that Harriman was actually serving a purpose.
“Yeah…right. The phony interview with Oscar Vitalez. How”d that go?”
“Harriman said it wasn”t him. We tried to convince him that he was the guy based on Rina”s ID, but he didn”t take the bait. He said emphatically that it wasn”t the guy. So I”ve got a couple more guys lined up for him to listen to. We”ve set up another meeting at five this afternoon.”
“Good job, Wanda, thank you. Alejandro Brand—the guy who Rina did ID—doesn”t live at his listed address but he”s still in the neighborhood. I”m going to hunt around. Any luck locating Joe Pine?”
“I haven”t heard from Messing. Want me to give him a call?”
“Yeah, do that. I”m getting another call, Wanda, could you hold?”
“Just take it. Nothing more to say. I”ll talk to you later.”
Decker loved the efficiency in Wanda. The call was from Rina.
“I”ve got some time this afternoon if you want me to look through more mug books.”
Decker knew there was no stopping her. “Sure. How about…three?”
“Great. Do you need anything?”
“No, darlin”, I”m fine. I”m in Pacoima now. I”ll talk to you later.”
“What are you doing in Pacoima?”
“Looking for Alejandro Brand.”
“When you find him, let me know.”
“Why would I do that?”
“So I can ID him in person.”
“Your ID doesn”t mean anything because you didn”t hear him talk about the Kaffey murders. Harriman needs to ID him, not you.”
“Why not both?”
“Because he overheard something suspicious. You didn”t.”
“I can tell you if he”s the guy that Harriman was eavesdropping on.”
“I”m sure Harriman eavesdrops on many people. That”s what got him into trouble in the first place. Look in the mug books, but nothing more. Please be considerate of your weary husband”s feelings and do not get involved any deeper, okay?”
“Stop worrying, Peter. I”m just trying to help.”
The road to hell, et cetera, et cetera. “I know, darlin”. I”ll see you at three.”
“We”ve got a date. I”m bringing a cake for the squad room. If you behave yourself, you can have a slice.”
“And if I don”t?”
“Then you don”t get a piece and can use it to jump-start your diet for the seventy millionth time. Either way, it”s a win-win situation.”
MARCUS MERRY DROVE them in his 1978 Ford Bronco Ranger with 102,000 miles on it, the three of them crammed into a cabin designed for two. He announced that he was making a stop first and took them across open fields until he pulled up in front of a barn in the middle of nowhere. He cut the engine.
“Just gotta unload some stuff.”
“Need help?”Marge asked.
“Got six crates of produce in the back. If you want to carry one in, I won”t object.”
Oliver whispered to her, “You had to ask.”
“It”ll get us to the sheriff quicker.”She go
t out of the car and slid a crate of onions over the tailgate. “Where are we, Marcus?”
“Local food cooperative. Although everything grows out here, no one farmer grows everything. This way we just swap for what we need.”Marcus moved quickly for an old guy. Within five minutes, six crates of onions and garlic had been unloaded and Marcus received credit for his produce. “I was running a little low on points. Now Gladys can shop.”
When everyone was stuffed back into the cab, Marcus drove into “town.”Main Street was two lanes sided by storefronts: general clothing, general feed, one grocery mart, a store for fabrics, a bank, a used-car and tractor lot, and an auto parts store with a big sign that said TRACTOR PARTS. There were also two hardware stores, a movie house, couple of family restaurants, and several drinking man”s bars.
The local courthouse and county jail was the last stop on Main. It was a Federalist-style building fashioned in white plaster, not very large by courthouse standards, but it dwarfed its competition down the road.
The sheriff”s office was on the third floor and overlooked green rows of flat fields. The receptionist was an ancient woman with blue white hair partially covered by a jaunty red beret. The red was echoed again in the woman”s dress and her fingernail polish. She looked up and held out a long, liver-spotted hand. “Edna Wellers. You must be the detective friends of Willy.”
Marge smiled. The way Edna said “detective friends”made it sound like they had come to Ponceville for a play date with Brubeck. “Yes, we are. Nice to meet you.”
Edna looked at Oliver. “Well, you”re a handsome young man. Are you married? I got a daughter. Divorced but her kids are grown.”
Oliver said, “Thank you, but I”m currently seeing someone.”
She gave him a once-over. “You look like you can juggle more than one at a time. Don”t he, Marcus. Back me up on this.”
“Edna, enough out of you. They got business to do. Go get Sheriff T out here so they can make their plane in time.”
“When are you leaving, handsome?”
“This evening,”Oliver answered.
Edna”s face fell. “Well, that stinks!”
“Where”s T, Edna?”
“He hasn”t come back yet.”To Oliver she said, “You can”t stay another day?”
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