8 Sweet Payback

by Connie Shelton

  Under her contract with the Department of Agriculture, Sam was obligated to break into houses that had been abandoned and were in foreclosure. She would clean them up, empty out whatever possessions the owners had left behind, and maintain the property until it went up for sale. As her contracting officer gave directions to the house, she heard children’s voices laughing in the background. Although Delbert hadn’t hesitated to call her on a holiday, it was a little reassuring that maybe he had relatives and some kind of a real life. Unfortunately, there went some of the time she had hoped to use for personal pursuits.

  She repeated what Crow told her. The property was located somewhere in the unincorporated part of the county. She would have to look at the map.

  A loud shriek came over the phone connection and the single word “Grandpa!” and Delbert Crow told Sam he needed to go but that she could call his office if she had further questions once she had checked out the property. In the years she had done this work she’d come across all types of scenarios—hoarder’s dens, ordinary homes neat as a pin, creepy artifacts, and even a body buried in the yard at one place. Each new job always brought a moment of trepidation.

  * * *

  “I need you to show me where you and Jessie were this morning,” Beau said to Joe Starkey. He almost regretted putting the man in the front seat of his cruiser. The flannel hunting shirt reeked of several days’ sweat. And now, in close quarters, he would bet that at least a beer or two had been consumed this morning. He lowered his side window and put the SUV in gear.

  Starkey directed him to a county road at the north end of Sembramos and he turned east into the foothills. Two more turns and they were on a two-track dirt lane. About a mile in, Beau could see where a vehicle had pulled off the crude road and made a hasty turn. The grasses were shredded and skid marks showed in the dirt. He glanced over at Joe.

  “We parked right there,” the older man said. “After they shot Jess, I dragged my boy to the truck and took him back. Hoped the EMTs in town could help him.”

  “So you were hunting close to here?” Beau stopped the cruiser. As they got out he scanned the ground for signs of any other vehicle but saw none.

  Starkey headed into the forest.

  “Hold up,” Beau said. “I need to be watching for footprints.” Not an expert tracker by any means, nevertheless he could see where two sets of prints led into the wooded area, and scuffs and drag marks came back out. At least that seemed to fit Starkey’s version of the events.

  He stayed side-by-side with the other man as they walked toward a small clearing ahead. No other tracks had shown up yet.

  “Here we are,” Joe Starkey said, pointing to a huge pine tree. “We was leaning up against the back side of it here.”

  Both men circled the tree. There against the side of the tree sat a shotgun, propped against the trunk. A second shotgun lay on the ground, apparently where Joe had flung it when he went looking for his son.

  “Dang. Good thing we came back. I’d forgot all about leavin’ these.” Joe bent to pick up the guns.

  “Leave them for a minute,” Beau said. “We’ll take them with us when we go.”

  Joe nodded.

  “So you were sitting here at the base of this ponderosa. Which direction did the shot come from?”

  Joe positioned himself with his back to the tree, closed his eyes for a few seconds and pointed over his right shoulder. “Somewhere over thataway.”

  Beau looked over the two shotguns. Normally with a hunting accident they would both be bagged and taken back for tests and prints. But since the medical investigator had said Jessie’s fatal wound came from a rifle there was no point. He picked up each gun, unloaded it, stuffed the shells in his pockets, and draped the guns—cracked open—over his arm. It was a bit of a burden but he certainly wasn’t going to leave two weapons within reach of a man whose story he hadn’t fully verified yet.

  He stared off in the direction Joe Starkey had indicated. The trees were thick here, the ground littered with pine needles. A shooter had a thousand places to hide and a pretty safe bet that he could walk around without leaving tracks. Still . . . he had to check it out.

  “Stay right here by this tree,” he told Starkey. “Do not move.”

  The older man nodded and sat with his back to the tree.

  Beau circled the tree, found the place where Jessie’s blood stained the needles, the spot where the evidence that he’d been dragged out of the woods began. He stared off into the trees, trying to envision a straight path for a bullet. Walking slowly and turning frequently, he stayed on line, scanning the ground.

  The shooter would have wanted some kind of cover; the sun hadn’t risen but he could have been spotted in the early gray light of dawn. So he would have kept to the trees, ducked behind one until he had a line on Jessie and could step out to get the man in his sights. The problem was that the shooter couldn’t get too far away. More than fifty yards or so and there would have been too many obstacles in the way. Beau kept turning, getting that picture in his head. He scanned the ground, hoping to find a brass casing. If the killer had gotten careless and left it behind, it could be the very thing that would convict him.

  But—no such luck. He widened his search area. Joe could have been mistaken about the direction. Shots echo in the hills, way more than most people would imagine. Still, no brass and not a single footprint.

  He made his way back to the tree where Joe Starkey sat. The man’s eyes and nose were swollen and red, his face wet with tears. Beau cleared his throat and Starkey looked up.

  “I didn’t find anything,” Beau said. “I’ll get a team out here. Work a larger search area, more people . . . if there’s evidence here we’ll find it.”

  But down inside he didn’t believe it. The shooter merely had to be careful to walk on the blanket of pine needles, and to pick up the one small piece of brass that would implicate him. As long as he did that he, or she, probably had gotten away with murder.

  “Come on, Joe. Let’s get going.”

  Joe wiped his shirt sleeve across his face and sniffed deeply as he stood up. Beau put the shotguns into the back of his SUV and they rode quietly back to Sembramos. Joe pointed out the turns to his house, apparently forgetting that Beau had visited there only yesterday.

  The plain little blocky house sat two blocks off the main drag, on a dirt road with no sidewalks. Tan stucco, flat roof, a yard that might have once had a lawn but was now taken over by the wild grasses and a generous number of dandelions. The only thing that differentiated it from most of its neighbors was the shade of red on the peeling front door and the dozen or so people milling around outside. Some had angry expressions. Beau pulled to a stop and Joe opened his door.

  “I’d better come in,” Beau said. He checked his sidearm and got out of the cruiser.

  One of the men spotted the sheriff’s vehicle and started toward him. The man stood at least a head taller than Joe Starkey, much closer to Beau’s height, but otherwise Joe and this one came from the same mold. Thin limbs, lined faces, generous gray in the dark hair.

  “Them Rodartes done this,” the man said through clenched teeth that had a tan cast to them. “If not that Lee Rodarte hisself, then one of them others.” Even the gnarled finger that shook when he spoke reminded Beau of Joe Starkey.

  “Do you have some evidence of that, Mr. . . .?” Beau kept his voice quiet.

  “This’s my little brother. Bobby.” Joe Starkey had watched the exchange.

  Beau took in Bobby’s size and nearly smiled at the description.

  “Do you have evidence that he didn’t?” Bobby said, his eyes flashing.

  Beau wanted to glance around the crowd, judge the mood, but didn’t dare break eye contact with Bobby. Finally the other man looked away first.

  “We are just beginning our investigation, sir. Every bit of information is helpful. What can you tell me?” He relaxed his pose, took a minute to survey the gathering. Inquiring minds wanted to know what was going on,
but so far no one else had stepped forward to challenge him.

  “I can tell you that that Lee Rodarte showed up here in town. This mornin’ early.” A blonde woman stepped toward them, aligning herself near Bobby Starkey. The ragged ends of her hair hadn’t seen a beautician’s shears in a long time, and Beau guessed that her weathered face was as much the result of cigarettes—she dropped one to the ground as she approached—as from working some patch of nearby farmland.

  “JoNell? You saw him?” Joe asked, his jaw clenching.

  That didn’t sound good. Beau glanced between the two men.

  “I can tell you his fam’ly was real mad six years ago,” Bobby said. “They’da done most anything to get back at Jessie for what he told them lawmen and that judge.”

  By this time another man and two women had openly begun to listen. Beau looked at them.

  “Does anyone else have anything to add? Have any of you seen or spoken to Lee Rodarte since he came back?”

  Heads shook. No one stepped forward.

  Beau straightened his shoulders. “I’ll be interviewing the Rodarte family, as well as Lee.” He gave Joe and Bobby Starkey firm stares. “Do not take this into your own hands, gentlemen. You don’t want to end up in even more trouble than Jessie’s killer.”

  Bobby started to say something but Joe laid a hand on his arm and he backed down. Maybe older brother did have some influence.

  Beau started for the cruiser and Joe caught up, asking about his shotguns.

  “Later,” Beau said. “If they check out clean, I’ll get them back to you.” Last thing he needed at this moment was to put weapons into the hands of this bunch.

  Chapter 5

  Beau sat in his cruiser in front of the Starkey home, staying visible while he radioed the department. It took a couple of minutes but he got Lee Rodarte’s parents’ address and brought up the map of Sembramos on his GPS. It was only one road over and four or five houses down so he drove over there, despite the fact that it was mid-afternoon and he really wanted to be home with Sam right now. They hadn’t planned on work taking over their day off together, but then they never did and it seemed to be routinely a part of life.

  He rolled to a stop at the edge of the dirt road, in front of another square little flat-roofed house. At least this one showed some signs of TLC, including flower beds out front and tilled rows of a side garden with a haze of green sprigs already sprouting. A thirty-something woman with long dark hair that trailed down her back in a braid was directing a garden hose at a bed of brilliant yellow daffodils. She straightened when she saw him, smiling as he approached. Not typical for someone who has had a lot of unpleasantness with the law.

  “Ms. Rodarte?” he said, removing his Stetson.

  “Um, sorry, no. I’m Gina Staples.” She realized that water from the hose was running across her narrow sidewalk so she stepped to the spigot and turned it off. “The Rodartes used to own this house but they moved away some time ago. My husband and I bought it five years ago.”

  Beau bit back a remark; the Starkeys might have mentioned that little fact.

  “Do you know where they moved? Are they still in town?”

  “No. After the thing with Lee they left. Went to Albuquerque, I’m pretty sure. My mother lives three doors down. She and Lee’s mother were close. She might have a number for them or something.”

  “So you’ve lived here in Sembramos your whole life?”

  “Yep, every bit. I was born in the hospital in Taos and grew up here, farming organic produce alongside my dad.”

  Beau glanced at the large garden. “Looks like it’s still going well.”

  Gina gazed at her neat rows and smiled. “I’m taking a chance, even putting lettuce out this early but it’s Butterheads and Romaine, hardy varieties.”

  “I wonder, have you seen Lee Rodarte back in town in the last day or so?”

  “You mean, did he come back here after he got out. I don’t know. I heard about Jessie Starkey this morning though. Too bad. But, you know, not all that surprising.”

  “How so?”

  “This town’s wound may look like it healed over. After Angela Cayne died and all the ugliness that followed. But it’s like a cancer that’s still there, under the surface. Doesn’t take much at all to get the two camps at odds again. Starkeys and Rodartes. At one time they were all pretty friendly. There weren’t really any bitter feuds in this town. But that’ll never happen again. It wouldn’t be a good idea for either of those guys to come back to town and get the whole mess fired up again.”

  Beau nodded. His sentiments exactly. Something he would have told either of the men if he’d had the chance to talk to them before they left prison.

  “So, Lee’s parents. I wonder if they know where he is now. Maybe your mother would give me their number?”

  “I’m sure she would,” Gina said. “But there’s someone else who might be a more direct line. Lee had a girlfriend before he, uh, went away. They have a child together. Sophie didn’t want anything to do with Lee after he went on trial, but he really loved that little boy. They say that Lee was calling out to little Nathan when they took him away in handcuffs.”

  Beau thanked her and accepted her offer to call her mother for the phone number he needed. With that in hand, he got back into his vehicle.

  Sophie Garcia lived in unit A of a little six-plex string of apartments near the elementary school. The places were bare-bones, possibly subsidized, definitely minimum-wage-worker dwellings. They all had dingy white stucco and blue front doors, and even from the dirt parking pad out front the place smelled of onions and hopelessness.

  From inside the apartment Beau could hear the lively jangle of a kids’ TV show, with an undertone of adult conversation. When he tapped at the peeling blue paint, the voices stopped; the television hummed along. No one answered.

  “Ms. Garcia? It’s the sheriff. I need to speak with you.”

  The door opened about three inches and a pretty, young woman with shoulder-length chestnut hair and pouty lips peered around the edge of it. She wore bright pink jeans and a fluffy white pullover.

  “Sophie Garcia?”

  Her deep brown eyes blinked.

  “Could I ask you a couple of quick questions?”

  Something shuffled behind the door and Beau’s right hand dropped to his holster.

  “There’s no problem, Sheriff,” Sophie said quickly. “My little boy and me, we’re just watching some TV.”

  “Have you seen Lee Rodarte in the last couple days?”

  Her eyes shifted and she shook her head.

  “Because if you have, I’d like to get a message to him.” He watched her face closely. “And if he’s here right now, I’d like to deliver that message in person. He’s not in any trouble, at least not with my department. But I’m worried about his safety here in Sembramos.”

  Sophie’s eyes flicked to her right.

  “Could I just come in and talk to him?” Beau’s voice was quiet but firm.

  A brown hand touched Sophie’s shoulder. “Let him in,” said a male voice.

  She stepped back and allowed Beau to open the door just enough to get into the apartment. Beau took in the room at a glance, beginning with Lee Rodarte standing with his back to the wall, hands visible. The man had apparently acquired even more tattoos in prison, in addition to the ones Beau remembered from the department photos, which ran all the way down his arms and across his back. Now he had some up the sides of his neck and shaved head. Sophie stepped over to the brown tweed couch and her arm circled a wide-eyed boy of about eight. The kid took in Beau’s uniform and gun, but the minute Rodarte spoke the child’s eyes were on his father.

  “I only came to see my son,” Lee said. “Had nothin’ to do with Jessie.”

  “Did you come straight here from Santa Fe? The minute you got out?”

  “Pretty much. Sophie and me . . . I want to work things out together.” A blanket and pillow on the sofa attested to the fact that he’d spent the ni
ght, but apparently not in Sophie’s bed.

  “Were you here, in this apartment, the whole time?”

  Lee nodded. Beau looked at Sophie. She nodded too.

  “I brought food, got an Easter basket for Nathan. We sat up a long time, talking.”

  “You didn’t go out early this morning?”

  “No, man, I swear I didn’t.”

  “Can you verify that, ma’am?” Beau turned to Sophie.

  She glanced back and forth between him and Lee. Whatever answer she gave would be the one her boyfriend wanted her to say. Unsurprisingly, she agreed with him.

  Beau sighed. “Okay, then. All I can do is caution you. I’d strongly suggest that you not stick around town. There’s an angry group over at the Starkey’s house and more than one of them is tossing out the idea that you tracked Jessie out to the woods and shot him.”

  Rodarte’s teeth clenched; a muscle worked in his jaw. “Jessie Starkey cost me almost seven years of my life. My dad sold the house to pay for those lawyers to keep trying to get me out. My little sister gave up her chance at college ’cause they had no money for her. All because Jessie lied!”

  “So you—”

  “I did nothin’! Nothin’, man! Am I sorry he’s dead?” Rodarte took a step forward, his teeth clenched.

  Sophie Garcia cradled her son’s head against herself, her eyes never leaving Lee’s face. The cartoon on TV became a ridiculous jangle of noise.

  “No, I’m not sorry. But I didn’t kill him.” Lee’s shoulders slumped momentarily. “I don’t know how he died and I don’t care. I’ll leave town, Sheriff, but I don’t want to go without them,” he said with a nod toward the others.

  “Just saying. Be careful.” Beau opened the door and walked out. He would, of course, try to check Rodarte’s alibi, but it was unlikely that someone had snapped a photo of him asleep on the couch in the early morning hours so if he’d left the apartment it would be up to Sophie to come forward with that information. Sometimes the frustration levels of this job just sucked.

  He got into his vehicle and cruised up and down the narrow roads of the small town once more. Didn’t see anyone out in front of the Starkey house anymore, so that was good. And the fire station was closed up tight. As long as things stayed quiet there wasn’t much he could do about his investigation until he got the autopsy results. He came to the edge of town and radioed that he was 10-7, going off-duty.