The doctor’s face was tear-streaked. But even with that, and him sitting, he was still regal. He was still the formal man she’d talked to and who had kissed her hand. He looked at her, his lips tight and straight. “Miss Salome. I am sorry we continue to see each other in such circumstances.”
“Good evening, Doctor. Gramma told me you called her recently. She said you were hurting. She was upset she didn’t know how to help.”
“Yes, I called her. She has such a wonderful way of seeing the world.” He nodded toward the sheriff. “I called James, as well. I have called many people in the last few days, Miss Salome.” He lowered his head. “I have called mi padre, also. None of them have been the balm I sought and now I fear that, in talking so much, I have made a terrible mistake.”
Jace’s breath caught in her lungs. “Yes?”
Dr. Vernezobre stood, formally and precisely. “I am a man of honor, Miss Salome. At least, I believe I am.”
“Damn it, Abbie, no more self-pity bullshit,” Bukowski growled. “You are a man of honor, have been since you were a pup. Ain’t nobody can take that away from you.”
“Though I can give it away.”
“Doctor?”
“Miss Salome, I once thought Dr. Cruz to be a man of honor as well. I know now he is not. He is driven by gold and treasure, by his ego, by his narcissism. As you know by now, I frequently buy drugs smuggled from Mexico. They are less expensive. For my poor customers, this is a good thing. I realize sometimes those drugs are not as potent but the vast majority of the time, I am able to get medicines into the hands of people who cannot afford them. I have saved a great many lives that way.”
The sheriff shook his head. “Abbie. Stop it. Tell her.”
“Tell me what?” Jace couldn’t swallow. Her throat was as dry and painful as the sandstorms that Zachary County saw each summer, sand blasting away paint and scarring metal. Her eyes held steady on the doctor and she wanted to shake him. Stop with your courtly world manners and just. Fucking. Tell. Me.
“I get my drugs through Dr. Cruz’s friends. I use them for the poor; he uses them to maximize profit.”
Jace had danced around this entire question for more than a week now. She bit her tongue hard, let the warm blood flood her mouth. She should have seen this. Cruz’s comments about how little money there was in jail medicine versus what others said about how rich those contracts could be. Of course he was cutting corners; everyone knew it. Jace just hadn’t realized that smuggled drugs were part of the knife used to cut those corners.
“Dr. Wrubel knew that,” Jace said. “That’s why Cruz killed him, in spite of their being friends.”
“They were never friends, Miss Salome.”
“But Cruz told me Wrubel came to dinner at his house and that they went to basketball games together.”
Dr. Vernezobre shook his head. “Untrue. Francis worked for Cruz, but did not care for him. And Francis was not much of a sporting man at all, certainly not a fan enough of basketball to go to a game.”
“So Cruz killed him.”
Dr. Vernezobre nodded. “I believe that to be true. Francis told me he was going to confront Dr. Cruz about it. Francis had seen issues developing with invoices and billing and such. After he realized it, he came to me.” The doctor’s face colored. “I lied to him, Miss Salome, as I’ve done to you more than once.”
“Why’d he whack Bobby?” Bukowski asked.
“I do not know that he did.”
“He didn’t.” Jace told the men about the video footage of the man entering and leaving the courthouse late the night Inmate Bobby died. “He did it with Cruz’s access code.”
The sheriff, his face long and tired, stared at Jace for an eternity. “You ever gonna tell anybody about all this?”
“Yes, sir. Tonight, in fact. I think we need to pick Cruz up.”
“Well, I guess things changed some, Salome. We’re probably too late.”
“Sir?”
“Miss Salome, when Dr. Cruz and I were discussing Francis’s death last week, your name came up. I mentioned to him that I had known and admired your grandmother for years. I told him that she and I, and the sheriff here, used to go listen to music together.”
Jace’s jaw opened, closed, opened again. She looked at the sheriff though he kept his gaze on Dr. Vernezobre.
“I probably mentioned to him the Sea Spray Inn.”
Jace stared at the doctor. “And?”
Vernezobre took a deep breath. “I cannot get your abuela on the phone.”
“What?” Jace’s stomach plunged to her feet. Her head swam. “I don’t understand.”
“Miss Salome, I beg your forgiveness, but Dr. Cruz told me how you had been investigating him. He came by my shop tonight, wanted to know about my next drug purchase. He was sweaty and disheveled. He was talking quickly. He was bruised and battered.”
“Jorge beat him up.”
“That the Mexican cop?” Bukowski asked.
“Or Cruz’s drug dealer.”
“Hell, he could be both.” The sheriff sat on the edge of his desk and played with a giant gold ring on his left hand.
Jace watched it and dug around in her memory. Where had she seen that ring before? Rounded, with a red stone. “Sheriff?”
He saw her looking at his ring. “From the service.”
She stared at it, unsure of why it stuck in her brain.
“When Cruz came to see me today, he was as hysterical as the young mothers who come to me when their babies are sick.”
“Doctor?”
“Miss Salome, Dr. Cruz—”
“Stop calling him that.” Jace said it hard. Her voice landed squarely on the doctor. He grew smaller under it. “He’s a fraud and a thug and a killer.” Then she remembered. “Cruz has a ring like that.”
“Not like this, he don’t.”
“No, not military but big and gold. It has a T and an S on it, twisted together.”
Bukowski stared at her. “Twisted together? Like one over the other?”
“Son of a bitch.” Jace took a deep breath, felt the spin of vertigo squeeze her hard. “I know where I’ve seen it before.”
“Sure as hell you do. Damn it.” Bukowski stood. “That goddamned driver you and Rory picked up in Rooster. The one who was driving for Sinaloa.”
Jace nodded.
“The T and S is for the Texas Syndicate, Salome. Sometimes they enforce for Sinaloa.”
“Dr. Cruz is a gang member?” Dr. Vernezobre looked stunned.
“He tried to frame Inmate Bobby with pig blood. From his cousin’s hog farm. He had his cousin follow me and Rory—”
Dr. Vernezobre staggered a bit, grabbed the edge of the sheriff’s desk for support. “Miss Bogan?”
“Yeah and now you’re telling me he went after Gramma?”
“Hang on, Salome,” Bukowski said. “We don’t know that. All we know is Abbie mouthed off and now she’s not answering the phone.”
“Excuse me, James; perhaps I was not entirely clear. The phone did answer when I called, but she said nothing. There was only breathing.”
“So you woke her up,” Jace said, tinges of hope around her voice. “Sleeps heavy.”
“No,” the Cuban said. “It was a man breathing. As he hung up, he laughed.”
“Goddamn it, Abbie, why didn’t you tell me this?” Bukowski grabbed the phone and punched in a short number.
He’s calling internally . . . within the department.
“Beem, get someone over to the Sea Spray Inn. What? On 80. Get a Zach boy or two there.” He paused. “I don’t know what they’ll find, but tell ’em not to be stupid when they’re pulling up.”
“What are you talking about?” Jace sat, images of the bloody walls in her dreams full and violent in her head.
“Cruz is a convict.” Bukowski pulled his sidearm, checked the magazine, and reholstered. “Bogan investigated her skinny butt off. Did a goddamned good job of it, too. Got Cruz’s history and listened to a ph
one call Kerr made from ad-seg the night Bobby got whacked. Called me just before Abbie came in. Cruz is a Texas boy. Been a guest of Huntsville once or twice. Went down on a nickel in Eyman, in Arizona. Sale of narcotics. Then suddenly pops up as a doctor ten or eleven years ago with some bullshit degree from Gomez U. in Mexico City or some place. There was some blood in his term at Eyman and his last one in Texas.” He took a deep breath. “And the man going into the courthouse was here for a couple of the tours.”
“That’s probably Jorge,” Jace said.
Bukowski snatched up his phone, angrily punched some buttons. “Dillon? Bukowski. Find Kerr and put the gotchas on him. Hold him in isolation until I get back. Don’t say anything to him and don’t let him do something stupid. Huh? Oh, yeah, he’s balls deep in this. Falsifying drug inventory to start with. Thanks.”
“James.” Dr. Vernezobre spoke softly as Bukowski slammed the phone down. “Please help Arlene.” He wiped his face with his hands. “I have made a terrible mistake in judgment. Do not let Arlene pay for my idiocy.”
On his way to his office door, Bukowski stopped and hugged Dr. Vernezobre. “She ain’t gonna get hurt. I promise you. She’s a tough old broad, remember?”
Dr. Vernezobre nodded and chuckled through his tears. “I do, indeed.”
Bukowski glanced at Jace. “Stay here with Jace and I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”
“Fuck that bullshit,” Jace said.
“What did you say?”
“I’m going.”
“Deputy Salome, I know—”
“Sheriff, this is my grandmother. Gramma. I’m going. Either with you, or as an ex-employee. The choice is yours.”
He stared at her, anger boiling in his eyes like Gramma’s homemade beef stew on the stove. His jaw clenched repeatedly, and his right hand became a tight fist. Eventually, he took a cigar from his pocket and jammed it in his mouth. “I’m smoking this thing and you ain’t writing me up for it.”
CHAPTER 44
—Zachary County from City 103 . . . two minutes out—
—City 103 . . . 10-4—
—Zachary from City 95 . . . less than a minute out. What are we looking for?—
—City 95 . . . check the well-being of Arlene Lusk, female, late 60s, manager’s apartment, per Adam 1—
—Zachary from City 95 . . . 10-4—
—City 95 from Adam 1 . . . connected to 479—
—got it, Sheriff—
—Zachary from Adam 1 . . . three minutes out—
—Adam 1 . . . 10-4—
—Zachary from 248 . . . in the area—
—248 . . . 10-4—
—City 95 from 248 . . . I want someone at the door with me . . . one each on lot entrances front and back—
—No problem, Craig; I got ya’ back. 103 on front . . . 112 on back—
—City 103 . . . 10-4—
—City 112 . . . 10-4—
—479 from 248—
—uh . . . 248 . . . go-ahead—
—if she doesn’t answer can I—
—248 from Adam 1 . . . kick the door per me . . . get in there—
—10-4, Sheriff . . . Zachary from 248 . . . show me 10-23. Parking just off site on Frontage—
—248 . . . 10-23 . . . 10-4—
—City 95 same traffic—
—City 95 from Zachary . . . 10-4—
—Zachary from City 112 . . . 10-23 . . . on back entrance—
—City 112 . . . 10-4—
—City 103 same traffic . . . on front entrance—
—City 103 . . . 10-4—
—Zachary from 248 . . . we’re outta the car—
—248 from Zachary County . . . 10-4—
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
—248 from Zachary County . . . status—
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
—248 from Zachary . . . status—
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
—248 from Zachary . . . status—
—Zachary from 248 . . . there’s no one here—
—248 from Zachary . . . 10-4—
—248 from Adam 1 . . . check again . . . if I get there and she’s there, I’m going to beat your ass—
—Yes, sir, Sheriff—
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
—Zachary from Adam 1 . . . 10-23—
—Adam 1 from Zachary . . . 10-4—
But they both knew, when they saw Ezell and the Zachary City officer come out of Gramma’s front door, that she wasn’t there.
Jace smashed a fist on the dashboard. “Damn it.”
CHAPTER 45
Half an hour later, under a full winter sky, only a hint of moon slipping through the thick clouds, casting the world in a dull gunmetal gray, they were at the hog farm.
They’d sent an officer to Cruz’s house and it was empty. After that, no one had any ideas. Rory had sent a text to Jace: in booking. listening on scanner. hogs?
Jace had mentioned it and now they were half a mile from the farm, everyone standing around Bukowski.
“Find her,” he said simply. “Do not get her hurt. If she is hurt, I’ll deal with Cruz.”
Ezell said, “Sheriff, why don’t you let me—”
“I’ll deal with Cruz.”
“Sheriff, I understand, but I think maybe you should let me handle him.”
The only light near them was from a hook-up at a house about a half mile away. Jace couldn’t see the sheriff’s expression, but she could see his head turn toward Ezell and hold.
“I appreciate that, Craig. You’re a good cop, but just let me do this my way, okay?”
Ezell sighed audibly. “Yes, sir. Benji, you circle around back that way. Hughes, go that way. You guys got your earpieces?”
The two roadies, men Jace had heard of but didn’t know very well, did. That meant any radio traffic wouldn’t go through the speaker on their portable radios, it would go directly to their ears, keeping them silent.
“Okay, everybody go to Tac-4 for this,” Ezell said.
Everyone, including the sheriff, switched the channel on their portables.
“If anyone finds this lady, let me know. If you find Cruz, let me know. He killed Wrubel and Wrubel was our friend. Let the rest of us know where you are and we’ll come help you take him down. Sheriff, I’d like you to do that, too.”
Bukowski said nothing.
“Don’t worry, Jace; we’ll find her. We’re pretty good at this sort of thing.”
Jace ground her teeth but thanked him and with hardly a sound, they were gone.
The sheriff looked her direction. “You stay right the hell here.”
“You know I won’t do that.”
“No problem, then. Get your ass out and go find him. No radio, no gun, no vest, no training. Damned good thinking, Salome. You keep your ass here . . . that is as direct an order as I can give.”
Then he, too, was gone.
She managed to stay put for nearly a full minute, surrounded by the empty sound of winter. The summertime desert was alive with sounds and animals and breezes, but the winter chill seemed to blanket the desert, to cut off its air as though trying to kill it. Jace had hated coming to see stars with Mama in the winter because the world seemed so dead. She never asked but sometimes Mama insisted.
Because she needed to get out, Jace realized now. Sometimes, as much as Mama loved her parents, she needed to get away from them. Here, in the desert, with her parents miles away, Mama could try to find some of the peace that eluded her for most of her life.
Jace walked away from the sheriff’s car, headed away from the direction of the house and barn, both dimly lit by the partial moon and Zachary
City lights bouncing off the low-hanging clouds. The guys were searching those places and, while Jace wanted to be there, Bukowski was right. She was neither trained nor equipped for it. So she walked the other direction, not far, not so far that she wouldn’t be able to get back when they found Gramma, not so far that she wouldn’t be able to land a punch or two directly to Cruz’s nose before he was carted away.
Violence begats violence.
Jace ground her teeth. Cruz had done violence to lots of people, including her Gramma. So yeah, in this case, violence was birthing more violence.
She didn’t want violence, wasn’t comfortable with it, but if it came to her, she would face it straight up.
No? You don’t want it? What about waving the gun at Campbell when he first followed you? And what about wanting to hurt him when you caught him in the cemetery?
The harsh truth was that she might be more comfortable with violence than she wanted to admit. It might be growing on her, a condition scarring her soul, the way a virus slides easily through a food chain or a household, leaving infections as its footprint.
The job was changing her and mostly she liked the change. She liked that she was more comfortable talking to people than she ever had been; she liked that she was learning to see situations through different lenses; she liked the feeling of belonging to something larger than herself. But maybe this casualness with physical violence, wanting to pummel Cruz, was the negative to those positives. Maybe it was the price she was going to pay for expanding her other boundaries.
Can you do that, Jace?
She walked, the ground uneven and rocky, stubbed with cactus. Her feet twisted and turned, her ankles constantly shifting to keep her upright. A dull thud began just behind her eyes and quickly blossomed into a sharp pain. Stopping, she looked toward the house and barn. There was no activity. She listened and where moments earlier she’d heard nothing, now she heard the rustle and snort of hogs. A thin stink had slipped into the air as well.
She started walking again and the sound of the hogs, as well as the stink, grew. In the near distance, she saw some outbuildings she assumed housed the hogs. She chuckled. They were as far from the house but still on the property as they could be.
East of the Sun Page 29
