Statute of Limitations pc-13

by Steven F Havill

  Estelle settled in one of the chairs, holding up a hand to fend off further comment until she had read the story.

  Posadas, NM-Investigation continues in Posadas County today into the death of a former Posadas Chief of Police after the man suffered an apparent heart attack on Christmas Eve after a confrontation with two travelers at a local motel. At the same time, officials are investigating the violent death of a Posadas woman on Christmas afternoon, and the assault on a former Posadas County sheriff only hours later.

  Although refusing to say whether or not the three incidents are linked, Sheriff’s Department officials are not ruling out any possibilities.

  Sources in the department said that the death of former village Police Chief Eduardo Martinez was announced late on Christmas Day. Martinez had apparently suffered a heart attack on Christmas Eve that may have been exacerbated by a confrontation with two men at a local motel.

  In that incident, Bruce Jakes, 43, and Everett Wardell, 54, both of Hickory Grove, IN, were arrested and charged with multiple counts of assault, auto theft, and resisting arrest, sheriff’s officials said. Jakes and Wardell allegedly took Chief Martinez’s personal vehicle after the retired law officer collapsed in the parking lot of the Posadas Inn following an apparent heart attack. Martinez, 74, collapsed after talking to the two men, witnesses said.

  Jakes and Wardell were apprehended shortly afterward in the border village of Regál by Posadas County Sheriff Robert Torrez and Undersheriff Estelle Guzman.

  Less than twenty-four hours later, Posadas resident Janet Tripp, 30, was found shot to death late Saturday afternoon, her body discovered in an arroyo north of Posadas by a youth riding a motorcycle, police said.

  Sheriff’s officials said that Tripp apparently had been killed by a single gunshot to the head, and that robbery appeared to be a motive. Police said that Tripp was killed after making a withdrawal from the Posadas State Bank’s ATM. In a bizarre twist, Tripp was reportedly the fiancée of one of the Posadas County Sheriff’s Deputies, officials said.

  Within hours of the murder of Janet Tripp, police said that former Posadas County Sheriff William K. Gastner was assaulted near his home. Gastner was hospitalized for treatment of a head wound, officials said, and is listed in stable condition.

  Officers refused to speculate on whether the killing of Tripp and the assault on Gastner were related.

  “Sheriff Gastner has information that we’re currently processing,” a Sheriff’s Department official said. “It appears that he may have information that may help police identify his attacker.”

  The undersheriff looked up at Bob Torrez. “See what I mean?” Torrez said. Estelle quickly scanned the rest of the article, but found nothing new.

  “Let me show you the press release that I wrote yesterday,” she said, and started to get up. “I think it was yesterday.”

  Torrez waved a hand impatiently. “Forget it. Just tell me the parts of this shit that you didn’t write,” he said.

  “I never said anything about a relationship between Janet Tripp and Mike, Bobby. That’s nobody’s business but theirs-at least at the moment. And I certainly never said anything about Bill being able to identify his attacker. I said that he had been assaulted near his home, and that was it. I also never said that we were investigating any relationship between the incidents.”

  “Did this Willis guy talk to somebody in dispatch? Where’d he get all this crap?”

  Estelle shook her head. “I’ll ask…don’t think he did. I’d be surprised. You know as well as I do that they have standing orders not to discuss any aspect of a case over the phone with anyone outside the department. Every one of them knows Frank Dayan, and they’ve all been over this ground time and time again. They aren’t going to start blabbing just because it’s from some big out-of-town paper. They won’t read a police report or any other piece of public information over the phone to a reporter. They might read the call log, but that’s a summary that’s written for public consumption anyway. If there’s a question, they always say the same thing: ‘You’ll have to talk to the sheriff.’”

  “And then I always say, ‘Go talk to Estelle.’” Torrez managed a tight smile.

  “Yes, you do.” It was the first sign that Bobby’s blood pressure might be returning to something near normal, and Estelle was relieved.

  “Did Bill talk to this guy? Willis what’s-his-name?”

  “That’s a possibility, I suppose. Not likely, but possible. We both know that Bill’s not the blabby type….He’s been in our shoes as long as both of us put together. If he said something, especially without talking to us first, he had good reason.”

  “Reason or not, I want to know,” Torrez said. “Just because I want to know, that’s all. There ain’t much we can do about it now, but we don’t need somebody goin’ off and playin’ the Lone Ranger on us.”

  “That’s simple enough, Bobby. I’ll ask Padrino, and he’ll tell me if it was him. We were talking earlier this morning, and he’s coming over for dinner later on. Right now, it makes sense to me that we should dig a little deeper into Janet Tripp’s background. There’s just too much there that we don’t know, too many things about her death that don’t make sense as a random robbery-gone-bad.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Torrez said, and Estelle knew it wasn’t just gratuitous agreement for the sake of taking credit. He shifted on the uncomfortable chair. “Me and Eddie are going through the files, Estelle. First thing we did was check our own records-and as far as we’re concerned, Janet Tripp was clean. Not even a speedin’ ticket. Nothin’. The village files are somethin’ else. They’re a mess, for one thing. But Eddie was going to give it a try. We know there’s no rap sheet on her. No obvious file.” He shrugged. “But it’s worth lookin’.”

  “I just don’t think that her murder was a simple robbery, Bobby.”

  “You said that before.”

  “Well, there’s just too much…” She hesitated. “I don’t know. Just too many circumstances that don’t make any sense to me.”

  “So where you goin’ with it? Gastner?”

  “His attack is linked somehow. I really believe that, and I couldn’t tell you why, except for the unlikelihood of coincidence. There’s something there that we’re missing. Bill agrees.”

  “Huh.” Torrez stared off into space for a moment, chewing his lower lip. “So what’s next?”

  “You said you and Eddie already made an end run on the files, and that’s a logical place to start. Anything and everything that’s even tangentially related to Janet Tripp-or anyone related to her. And anything that ties her to Bill Gastner.”

  “If there’s something, it’s in the village files,” Torrez said.

  Estelle nodded and tossed the newspaper on Torrez’s desk. “Have you talked any more with Mike?”

  “Some. About Janet’s background, stuff like that. Eddie’s run through it with him again. There just ain’t nothin’ there. Just that she didn’t like Mike’s mother very much. Some friction here.” He shrugged. “But Irene Cruz is over in Lordsburg-was over in Lordsburg all day. So that don’t much matter.”

  Estelle looked at the sheriff for a long time, mind churning.

  “You’re gettin’ together with Bill today, then?” Torrez asked.

  “Yes. I don’t know what he was thinking, if he’s the one who leaked that information. Maybe he thinks he can flush the attacker out, force him to try again.”

  “That’s like grabbing a stock fence during a lightning storm,” Torrez said. “It ain’t too bright.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” Estelle said.

  “When you do, you might remind him that he ain’t sheriff anymore, either,” Torrez said, and Estelle was surprised by the sudden gentleness in his tone. “Anything that goes to the newspapers about what we do goes through your office. No other way.”

  “I think he’s well aware of that,” Estelle said. “But he gets kind of stubborn about certain things. And as I said, he might have
had good reason.”

  “Yeah, well,” Torrez said philosophically. “I guess I can understand that. It’s his skull that got cracked.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  With both hands raised to shoulder level, Bill Gastner backed away from his front door.

  “I’ll go peacefully,” he said.

  “It may come to that, Padrino,” Estelle replied, and she stepped into the dark warmth of the former sheriff’s home as he moved to one side. The heat was turned up unusually high, contrary to Gastner’s habit of liking his house about the same ambient temperature as a cave. “Did you see the Sunday paper this morning?”

  “No…but by the tone of your voice, and the fact that you’re back to visit my humble abode, I imagine that you did. And probably our good sheriff, too.”

  “Ah, yes,” she said. She looked him up and down affectionately. Other than being dressed as if he might be called to go out in a blizzard, with heavy corduroy trousers, Wellington boots, and weighty flannel shirt, he appeared ruddy-cheeked and healthy. “How are you doing? You look great.”

  “Oh, I’m fine. My noggin still hurts, but then again, it hurt earlier today, too. And still will at dinner tonight.” He flashed a bright smile and closed the door deliberately, pushing it against the jamb until the latch clicked. “But the newspaper? Chalk it up to senility,” he said, and turned to gesture down the hallway. “Come on in. I was just in the process of doing nothing and thinking great thoughts.” He paused halfway down the foyer. “You in a hurry? Are we going somewhere?”

  “I wish that we were.”

  “Well,” Gastner said philosophically, “I know exactly how dead-end streets feel.” His eyebrows lifted as he accepted the newspaper clipping from Estelle. He smoothed it out on the counter, and took his time finding his glasses and settling them on his nose. After a minute, he tapped the copy. “I was afraid he’d take that.” He straightened up, leaving the clipping on the counter. “Willis-that kid from the newspaper? He called me at the hospital. I’ll give him this-he’s resourceful.”

  Gastner regarded the ceiling, hand stroking his chin. “As I remember, it was late…some odd hour when I wasn’t expecting to have to think. How he got past the hospital switchboard, I didn’t think to ask. Reporters have their own bag of tricks, I suppose….He proved that at the motel, didn’t he? I didn’t bring his Joseph scam up again, and maybe that’s what he was fishing for-to see if we were going to do anything about that.”

  He shrugged. “What the hell. Anyway, he asked me something about Janet Tripp, and I recall mumbling something about this particular crime hitting us hard, since she was the fiancée of one of the deputies.” He grimaced with embarrassment. “I remember thinking that I shouldn’t have said that in the first place, but that maybe I could claim that as off the record, for a number of reasons. But I don’t remember if I actually said so or not.” He regarded the clipping again. “Obviously, I said something.”

  “It probably wouldn’t have made any difference,” Estelle said.

  “Maybe not. Now the other…” He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m a little more paranoid than before. I don’t turn my back on dark corners anymore, sweetheart. I can tell you that. I must be a fast study. It only takes one wallop on the head to make me pay attention.” He thrust his hands in his trouser pockets. “That reporter caught me at an odd, fuzzy moment, I guess. Maybe I thought the bastard who bent that rebar over my head would like to try again.”

  He stepped over to the coffee maker, which was obviously loaded and primed. He glanced into the basket to remind himself of what he’d already done, then flipped the power switch.

  “It’s an ego thing, I think. Psychologists would have a field day explaining why my common sense and usual good-natured restraint slipped so badly. But the second time somebody tries to crack my skull, I’ll be ready. That’s a little childish, I admit. But that was my thinking. And if nothing else, him making a second try might give you something else to go on.”

  “I’ll pass on that, sir,” Estelle said. “We don’t need that kind of help. Your head, or anybody else’s. You know what you’d say if you were in my shoes. Or Bobby’s.”

  He toyed with the newspaper clipping absently, folding it this way and that without reading it again. “Bobby was a little pissed, eh? I assume that in part is the reason for this second delightful visit.” He grinned and beetled his brows. “‘Tell ’im he ain’t sheriff no more,’” he said, sounding remarkably like Robert Torrez. “Did he say something like that?”

  “Pretty close, Padrino.”

  “Angry, huh?”

  “Briefly. But this too shall pass, as my mother likes to say. Maybe it was good for him. It gave him something else to think about. Between you and Leona Spears, he hasn’t had much time to dwell on his blood clots.”

  “Oh, my God. Don’t put me in company with the Crazy Lady,” he said, clutching his chest dramatically. “I would have liked to have seen Bobby’s face when he heard about that.”

  “I assume then that you heard?”

  “Oh, sure. In fact, I could rub Roberto’s face in it a little by telling him that I saw it coming quite a while ago. Not long after we lost Kevin, in fact. Somebody realized that maybe Leona might fit right in, working with the rest of the nut cases. Our sheriff got a little bent, did he?” He laughed again.

  “Apoplético might be an accurate description, Padrino. BP maybe 300 over 250.”

  “I bet. And he’s back at his desk? That’s dumb.”

  “Yes. Just for a while, though. Gayle’s staying close. I think that right now he’s with Mike. There’s a memorial service for Janet planned for Wednesday at two. At the VFW. Bobby is helping set that up.”

  “I had forgotten that.”

  “Forgotten that?”

  “That Janet was in the service. Army, wasn’t it.” It was a statement, not a question. Estelle nodded, watching Gastner’s face. His eyes had that distant look as he focused on memories here and there, associations that connected who knew how many souls, names, and dates. “I need to stop by and see how he’s doing. Both of ’em, in fact.”

  “You should, sir. I know that Bobby doesn’t like standing in the corner, feeling useless.”

  “Can’t fault him for that. Did someone get ahold of Janet’s sister, by the way?”

  “Mike did. I have her name and address as well.”

  “Is she able to come for the service?”

  “I think so.”

  “A fountain of information you are.” Gastner laughed at the unadorned answer, and then his face sobered. “Too many goddamn funerals,” he said. “Rosary for Eduardo is at four tomorrow afternoon. I think Mass is Tuesday morning at All Saints.”

  “Ten o’clock,” Estelle said. “Mamá wanted to go.”

  “You’re going to take her?”

  “I think so. I’d like to see what faces show up.”

  “Ah,” Gastner said, nodding. “Mind if I tag along?”

  “Of course not, sir. Essie will appreciate it.”

  “Maybe so. And speaking of Essie,” Gastner said, “I’ve been thinking. We need to talk to her, sooner rather than later.” He leaned forward on the stool, with one hand on the counter, looking as if he was about to put his head between his knees. He twisted as he bent, backbone letting out a symphony of satisfying cracks. “We don’t know what they talked about, you know.”

  “They?”

  “Essie and Eduardo. In the wee quiet when they couldn’t sleep. In unguarded moments. You know, Eduardo was just as willing to turn a nasty investigation over to us as not. He didn’t worry about turf, and I don’t think that was a weakness. But you know, not everyone saw it that way, fair or not.” Gastner reached out and picked up the clipping again, scanning through the story. “I’m curious what he would have said about all this.”

  “Which part?”

  “All of it, sweetheart. I wonder what he knew about Janet Tripp-beyond that she was Mike’s flame. And I wonder…” He looke
d up from the newspaper. “I just wonder, is all. Eduardo knew this town, Estelle. Make no mistake about that. He wasn’t an aggressive cop, and he didn’t put himself in people’s faces. He was more apt to let someone off with a gentle warning than a ticket. He considered it a successful day when all the teenagers were home by nine o’clock. But he knew the town. He knew the people. And in that sense, it’s probably a good thing that some of our beloved hot rods like Tom Pasquale and Mike Sisneros broke in with him. I’m not sure I’d have had the patience.”

  “Not likely, sir.”

  “Well,” and he waved a hand in self-deprecation. “It was different. I roamed the county like some old dog who couldn’t fall asleep. I know every rancher, every back road and trail. But the village was Eduardo’s turf. He lived with ’em every day. Saw ’em in church, talked with ’em at the service clubs, all that stuff. Everybody in town was his neighbor, in some way.”

  “Maybe he didn’t talk with Essie much about his day.”

  “Maybe so. Maybe not.” Gastner ducked his head in agreement. “Maybe Janet Tripp was just a name to him, nothing else. You know, I’ve been racking my brain about her, and my file is damn near empty. I can remember vaguely that she was in the army, but hell, I don’t remember if she lived here before that, or after, or what. I remember that her folks were in town for a little while, and then moved-I don’t know to where. I’m not sure when.” He got up and fetched a cup from the cupboard above the coffee maker. “Want some?”

  “No thanks, sir. Bobby says the village files are a mess.”

  He nodded and closed the cupboard door, then filled the cup slowly. “Yes, they are. But there’s good stuff there for the finding. You think that there’s some connection between Janet’s murder and the attack on me.” He paused and spooned in three heaping teaspoons of sugar. “I would have liked the opportunity to talk with Eduardo about that. ’Cause we sure as hell don’t have anything else.” He turned to regard Estelle. “Do we.”

  “You want to talk with Essie?”