by Joseph Badal
“Shots fired,” Barbara shouted, which stopped Navarro before he came around the front of his car. He dropped down behind its fender.
“What the hell is going on?” he yelled.
“I think Susan’s husband is inside the house. She went in to find out what he was up to and then a shot was fired.”
“Who did the shooting?”
“I don’t know for sure, but Susan hasn’t responded to me. You stay there.”
“You need to wait—” Navarro didn’t finish his statement. Barbara had already moved up the driveway.
She was halfway between Manny’s car and the house when Manny stepped outside and stood in the glow of the porch light. He had a beer in one hand and a pistol in the other. He raised the pistol and fired at Barbara. The round sliced the top of her right ear and scalp. Blood poured down the side of her face and, within seconds, saturated her jacket and blouse.
Barbara’s head felt as though she’d been hit with a baseball bat. But the pain only seemed to make her feel more alert. She sprinted across the driveway toward a large elm tree on the edge of the neighbor’s lawn. Another shot sounded and she heard the clang of a bullet hit metal. Manny released a string of curses in Spanish. After he shouted something about puta policewomen, he fired off another round. Again the sound of a bullet impacting metal. She was behind the tree now and saw sparks fly off the hood of Navarro’s Continental. Another bullet fired. She moved to the side of the tree, pistol-arm raised, expecting Manny to turn the pistol back on her.
Then she saw Navarro rise from behind his car. He had a very large pistol in his hand. He pointed it over the car’s roof at Manny. “Drop the gun,” he shouted in a loud but calm voice.
Like telling a kid to stop making noise, Barbara thought.
Manny answered with a shot that spider webbed the Continental’s windshield.
Navarro fired his miniature cannon. Barbara saw the weapon buck, saw its flash, and heard its report, all as though in slow motion. The difference in the sounds of the two pistols startled Barbara. The boom of a cannon; the pop of a peashooter.
Barbara’s knees felt weak; her stomach fluttery. She sucked in a big breath and raced to the fallen Manny. Navarro joined her a second later. She kicked Manny’s gun away, while she and Navarro kept their pistols trained on him.
Manny Martinez had a bullet hole where his right eye used to be.
CHAPTER 51
“You okay?” Navarro asked. He handed a handkerchief to her.
Barbara’s throat felt plugged. She could hardly build up enough saliva to lubricate her tongue. She held Navarro’s handkerchief against her head wound. Her head now pounded as though rap music played inside it. She finally said, “Yeah, thanks to you. I gotta check on Susan.”
She rushed to the house’s front door, stopped, and wheeled back toward him. She pointed down the street to where Marge’s truck still sat by the curb. “Tell her to get out of here. I don’t want her around when the police show up.”
Barbara ran through the front door. “Susan!” No answer. She moved from the entryway into the living room. A chair lay on its side. The bric-a-brac Susan kept on the coffee table now littered the carpet. When she entered the dining room her breath caught in her chest and her stomach heaved. Susan was on her side against the baseboard of a dining room wall; her white blouse stained red with blood. She looked too pale to be alive.
“Susan! Talk to me! Please say something!” She dropped to her knees and placed two fingers against Susan’s neck. Nothing. She shifted her fingers slightly and tried again. This time she detected a small, delicate beat. “Dear God, please keep her alive,” Barbara pleaded.
She ran to the living room and grabbed a pillow from a chair. She ran back to Susan and placed the pillow under her head. Then she pulled the tablecloth off the dining room table, wadded it into a clump, and pressed it against the leaking wound in Susan’s chest. Susan’s blouse was soaked with blood; the floor was slippery with it. Barbara had dropped Navarro’s handkerchief and now her own head wound bled again; dripped onto the floor and mixed with Susan’s blood.
Navarro yelled Barbara’s name as he ran into the dining room. He came to a dead stop. “Where’s the telephone?” he demanded.
“I already called it in,” she said. As if in validation, the sounds of sirens suddenly filled the room. It took only another minute before the flashing lights of police cars and emergency vehicles ricocheted off the walls.
Barbara glanced at Navarro. “I hope you have a carry permit for that cannon.”
“Absolutely.” He hesitated a second and added, “Your boss is bound to wonder why I was here.”
“I’ll just tell him we’re friends.”
Navarro ripped off a piece of his shirt and pressed it against Barbara’s scalp and ear in an effort to stop the flow of blood, while Barbara talked to Susan.
“Come on, Suze,” Barbara commanded Susan. “Don’t leave me. You’re my partner. It’s us against the world. Remember? You can do it. You hear me?” She gulped. “You’ve got to make it.”
CHAPTER 52
Barbara wanted to ride with Susan in the ambulance to UNM Hospital. But, after the paramedics had patched Barbara up, she had to stay behind so the members of the “Shooting Team” from the Albuquerque Police Department and the New Mexico State Police could question her. She might have taken off anyway if Lieutenant Salas hadn’t showed up and hovered over her. The representatives from the APD and the state police separated her from Navarro and interviewed each of them. She could barely concentrate on their questions. The deathly pale image of Susan preoccupied her mind. She desperately wanted to be with her partner.
Barbara knew she’d violated department procedure and probably broken the law, too, when she met with Marge Stanley. But she knew if she mentioned that Stanley had been at the crime scene, she would be in deeper trouble than she was in already. Lieutenant Salas would know they hadn’t followed his suspension order. They hadn’t stopped working the case.
When the Shooting Team investigators finally turned Barbara and Navarro loose, she pulled him outside. “Thanks,” she said. She had more to say, but she couldn’t go on.
He put his arms around her. “I couldn’t just let him shoot you, Barbara.”
Barbara coughed out a short laugh and pulled back from Navarro. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He stared at her. “I wasn’t just being nice. If it’s okay, I really would like to see more of you. I know you need to get down to the hospital, but . . . what do you think?”
Barbara felt her entire body warm.
“I guess my timing’s not so good.” He touched her cheek and headed toward his car.
Barbara wanted to scream his name, to rush to him, to wrap her arms around him, to laugh and cry and jump and shout, Yes, yes, yes! I would love to see more of you! But she stood rooted to the lawn.
Navarro opened his car’s front door and sat behind the wheel. He tried to crank the ignition, but all that came from under the car’s hood was a high-pitched grinding sound. He tried again, with the same result. He got out of the car, came back to Barbara on the front lawn. “Think you could give me a lift? Looks like a bullet did something to my baby.”
Barbara felt her heart lift as she walked with him to the Crown Victoria. “Do you mind if we go to the hospital first?”
“Of course not.”
On the ride to the hospital, Barbara felt like a kid, full of unfamiliar emotions and too inexperienced to know how to put them into words. She pulled into the hospital lot and still hadn’t said anything. She turned off the ignition. Navarro reached across the seat and touched her arm.
“Why don’t you say whatever it is that’s got you all bound up? You seem angry at me.”
Barbara held onto the steering wheel and stared through the windshield at the looming hospital. She couldn’t look at him. If his eyes locked with hers, she’d never be able to say what she needed to say.
He mov
ed toward her, put his arm around her shoulder, and lightly pulled her toward him. She resisted at first, then let herself lean against him. His touch, the smell and warmth of his skin, the hardness of his body made her feel lightheaded.
She took in a big breath and let it out slowly. “I want to be with you, Shawn.” She’d said what she wanted and needed to say. She held in her breath as she waited for his reply. Her emotions spun like a pinwheel when he said, “I want to be with you, too, Barbara.”
CHAPTER 53
None of the other detectives were at the hospital when Barbara and Shawn arrived. Her mouth felt as though it was full of bile. She knew if one of the boys from the homicide squad had been shot, all of them would have been there.
She paced, sat, paced, sat.
“Why the hell don’t they send someone out to tell us how she is?” she muttered.
Navarro patted her hand. “At least we know Susan’s still alive; otherwise, they would have been out here with bad news.”
Before she could respond, Lieutenant Salas stepped off the elevator and approached them in the tiny waiting area.
“How’s Detective Martinez?” Salas asked.
“They haven’t told us anything,” Barbara said, grateful that at least one person from the department had showed up.
Salas wasn’t his normal bantam-rooster self. He stared at Navarro. “You family?” he asked.
“Friend,” Navarro said.
“He’s a private investigator who worked for Marge Stanley.” Barbara introduced the two men.
Salas’s eyes narrowed. “You shoot Detective Martinez’s husband?”
Navarro nodded.
Salas switched his gaze to Barbara. “Can we talk for a minute?”
Navarro pushed out of his chair and moved toward the hallway. “I need to stretch my legs.”
Salas sat across from Barbara, leaned his elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands. He cleared his throat, looked down at the carpet, looked up again. His olive complexion turned red. “I want to apologize. I hope I have the opportunity to tell Susan the same thing. If I hadn’t let the sheriff and the county manager push me around . . . .”
He suddenly sat up straight. “You’re off suspension. I need you right now, Barbara.” He hesitated. “I’ve got bad vibes about the Comstock and Stein murders. I think you’re right. They’ve got to be connected in some way.”
“Those aren’t our cases anymore.”
“They are if you want them.”
“What about Gabelli?”
Salas’s face had lost most of the red. Now it flushed red again. “He’s at home in bed. Stein’s dog tore up his leg. He’s out for at least a couple weeks.”
Barbara forced herself not to smile. Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy, she thought. “So, the cases are back in our laps?”
“Your lap, until Susan gets out of here.”
“What about Maxwell Comstock’s political buddies? What about the sheriff?”
“I’ll deal with them.” He smiled. “Of course, it will be a whole lot easier if you solve these cases and do it quickly.”
Barbara hoped she would be able to tell Susan that Salas had come begging. She felt even better when three of the guys from the Homicide Squad—Anderson, Bennett, and McMurtree—stepped off the elevator.
SATURDAY
JULY 3
CHAPTER 54
It was 2 a.m. when the trauma surgeon came out to see them. Much of what he told Barbara was lost in the mush her brain had become because of exhaustion, her pounding headache, and her anxiety over Susan. “Critical but stable condition”—she heard that.
Navarro walked with Barbara to her car, took her keys from her hand, and drove her home. He held her arm as they walked to the front door.
“You okay?”
Barbara placed her hands on his chest and nodded. “My partner and best friend isn’t dead. I’m off suspension. And”—she smiled—“I have a new friend. It doesn’t get much better than that.”
Navarro leaned down and kissed Barbara’s cheek. He dangled her keys in front of her. “Okay if I take your car? I’ll bring it back in a couple hours.”
Barbara smiled. “That’s not my car. It belongs to the sheriff’s department.” She laughed. “Hell, I’ve already broken a bunch of rules and probably a few laws as well. What harm would it do to lend you county property?” I must be nuts, she thought. “Make sure it’s back by 7.”
Navarro turned and was halfway down the front walk when she changed her mind. “Shawn, how about a cup of coffee?”
CHAPTER 55
The morning sun streamed through the bedroom window. Despite the late hour—it was already 9:30—Barbara continued to lie in bed with her eyes closed. She needed to get her head together, to make sure her memories of the night were real and not dreams.
“Hey, lazy bones.”
Navarro’s voice resolved the confusion. She opened her eyes. Dressed in only his boxer shorts, he stood beside the bed, two cups of coffee in his hands.
“I called the hospital. There’s no change in Susan’s condition. That’s good. She hasn’t developed a fever or an infection.” After a slight pause, he added, “You want a cup of coffee?”
Barbara quickly hand-brushed her hair, propped her pillow behind her, sat up, and pulled the sheet over her breasts.
“You look great,” Navarro said, as though he’d read her mind.
“You need to see an eye doctor.”
He smiled. “There’s nothing wrong with my eyes. It’s my back I’m worried about.”
“Why?” she asked, concerned.
“After last night . . . .” He let the comment hang until he saw that Barbara understood he was teasing. “I’m too old for younger women.”
Barbara felt her face go hot. Navarro had filled a physical and emotional void in her that had gone unfilled for too long.
“You going to stand there all day?” she said.
Navarro vented a deep rumble of a laugh and sat on the side of the bed. He handed her a cup. “Would madam care for a croissant or, perhaps, eggs Benedict?”
“What madam would like is a roll in the hay, a three-mile run, a shower, and breakfast. Do you think you could manage all of that?”
“In that order?” he said.
“In exactly that order.”
Navarro removed the coffee cup from Barbara’s hand and placed it, along with his own, on the nightstand. “At your service, madam.”
CHAPTER 56
After Barbara dropped Navarro at his place and visited Susan at the hospital, she drove downtown. She told herself she would need to suppress what seemed to have become a permanent smile. She didn’t want the men in the squad room to wonder why her normally dour expression had disappeared. But the desks in the squad room were empty. Salas’s office door was open. She walked over and knocked on Salas’s door. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant.”
Salas didn’t bother to look up. “I expected you a little earlier.”
“I had some things to do; stopped to see Susan.”
“I called the hospital. She’s—”
“Yeah, I know,” Barbara said. “No change.”
Salas looked up and smiled. “Take a seat. I was just yanking your chain about coming in earlier. After what happened yesterday, I’m surprised you’re here at all. How’s your head?”
Barbara sat down. “I’ve got a bad headache but I’ll survive.” She waited for Salas to continue.
He reached down and came up with a stack of files from the floor. “These are the Comstock and Stein files.” He pushed them toward Barbara. “Welcome back.”
“It’s good to be back.”
He nodded. “I’ve thought a lot about these cases. We don’t seem to have premeditation. Someone with murder on his or her mind would have arrived with a weapon.”
Barbara said, “Unless the killer or killers were familiar with the Comstock and Stein residences and knew the spear and candlestick holder were there.”
Sala
s gave her a skeptical look.
“I know, I know. That’s pretty ridiculous.”
Salas chuckled. “With both murders the killer used a weapon of opportunity. It’s like the killer goes to a house for a visit, gets pissed off, and commits murder.”
“You think the same person killed both of them.”
Salas hunched his shoulders.
“Okay, so what’s that tell us?”
“Maybe you should look for more similarities in the two murders. Like there was no sign of forced entry in either case. Maybe those similarities will help find the killer. It’s easier than treating each murder as independent.”
“Yeah, but what if we’re wrong? What if the murders are independent of one another?”
Salas said, “Something tells me the two murders are connected, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have two killers.”
“God forbid we have two killers here. One is bad enough.”
Barbara stood and picked up the pile of files off Salas’s desk. She started out of the office, but stopped in the doorway. “Lieutenant, it’s really good to be back.”
Salas turned and flashed her a thumbs-up. “Good detectives are hard to find.”
Barbara couldn’t help herself. She knew she blushed like a teenager, even after she got to her desk. She felt her smile return just as Detectives Donnie Anderson and Fred McMurtree came into the squad room. They stared at her. She suddenly didn’t give a shit what they thought of her. But she tensed when the men approached her desk. Both of them had been at the hospital last night. But she assumed that may have been pro forma, that they’d gone to the hospital because they knew Salas would be there. What crude or abusive remark would they dump on her today?
“Barbara,” Anderson said, “we just want to tell you how sorry we are about Susan. We just got back from the hospital. The doctor thinks she’ll fully recover.”
