“Yep.” Gastner settled onto the stool. “That’d be a good thing to do, something constructive to do in an otherwise totally frustrating case, sweetheart. We need to take those files apart, piece by piece. We have only one name so far-Janet Tripp.” He shrugged. “Hell, it’s kinda ironic, in a way. Little place like this, and nobody knows nothin’. Unless you’re withholding secrets.”
“I wish I were,” Estelle said.
“It’s like one of those thousand-piece jigsaw puzzles,” Gastner said, thumping his hands onto the counter a couple of feet apart to form a frame. “You have this huge, yawning hole in the middle and you can’t find a single piece to get things going. Then one drifts into place, and before you know it, you’ve got this neat island that grows and grows.” He grinned. “You’ve probably heard me say all this before.”
“It bears repeating,” Estelle said, and Gastner laughed.
“God, that’s what I love about you,” he said. “You help the mantle of senility rest so gently.” He patted his belly. “I get goddamn poetic when I’m hungry. Do you have time right now to go over and have a chat with Essie? I think it would be worth our while. Tomorrow’s going to be tough on her, with the Rosary service and all.” He frowned and glanced sideways at Estelle. “Listen to me. I sound like I’m still working.”
“You are, sir,” Estelle said. She tapped her right temple. “And you’re right. We need connections, Padrino.”
“Don’t hold your breath on my account,” Gastner said. “And here I am, rattling along, and I never asked you why you came over, other than to chew me out about this thing.” He nodded at the clipping.
“I wanted to talk with Essie,” Estelle said. “And I wanted you along. Nobody is going to be able to prod her memory any better than you.”
“And you’re one step ahead of me, as usual. I’m flattered you asked me along, but like I said, don’t hold your breath. Essie might remember yesterday, but I’m having more and more trouble remembering where the next meal is coming from.”
“What makes me doubt that, sir? Do you want lunch before we go?” She glanced at the wall clock and saw that it was after two. “Late lunch? Something to hold you until dinnertime?”
“Nah,” Gastner said halfheartedly. “I eat, and then I’m going to want to take a nap. Hunger keeps me sharp. Let me take this mug of coffee along. That’ll be enough.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course not.” He waved her toward the front door.
As they drove through Posadas, up Grande to Bustos, then west to Sixth, and then south toward the modest, flat-roofed adobe Martinez home, Estelle found herself scrutinizing every passing car or truck, every pedestrian, even every loose dog.
“I don’t think he’s still in town,” Gastner said, as if he could read her mind. They saw the fleet of vehicles parked along Sixth Street, and Estelle slowed the county car. “And I don’t know why I say that,” he added. “You ever had a feeling like that?”
“Por supuesto, Padrino. That’s what I’m living with at the moment.”
“I just don’t know what to do about it.” He surveyed the Martinez’s front yard, now more of a parking lot since there was no sidewalk to define where the street ended and the brown grass began. “Quite a crowd.”
“When you have eleven grown children and their families all under the same roof, that’s a crowd,” Estelle said. “I called her earlier and asked if we could meet with her for a few minutes. I didn’t know if she’d be willing at this point, or not. She’s got enough to think about. But she agreed.”
“I think you’ll find that Essie Martinez has a steel rod in her spine,” Gastner said. “She always reminded me of one of those Schmoos from the cartoons. But that’s only until you talk with her. She’s got a tough streak. Of course, with eleven children, I guess she’d have to.”
They parked behind a Volkswagen Jetta with Wisconsin plates, and by the time they had gotten out of the car and were walking across the gravel toward the front door, Essie Martinez had appeared from inside, purse in hand, obviously on her way somewhere. Behind her, Estelle could see a number of people, and for a moment the chief’s widow turned to speak with someone in the shadows. She nodded emphatically and held up a hand, cutting off the conversation.
“Is this a bad time?” Estelle said. She extended a hand, and Essie took it and squeezed hard, in no hurry to let go. Still holding on to Estelle, she reached out and took Gastner by the elbow. With an escort on both sides, she walked toward the county car, biting her lower lip and obviously close to tears. Estelle realized with a start that Essie had been waiting for their arrival, and was making a clean break.
“Caramba,” Essie said when they reached the car. “You came just in time. Such a houseful!”
“Here,” Gastner said, taking the car’s door handle. “You sit in front.”
“No…my goodness. You’ll never fit back there,” she said, then saw all the equipment in the front. “Maybe not here, either. Look at this. How do you squeeze in there?”
“Like a cork,” Gastner said. He held the back door for Essie.
“I think that’s why Eduardo always drove his Buick,” she said as she settled onto the hard bench seat. “Do you two mind this, after all? I suppose we could find a corner somewhere in the house, but I need to get out for a little bit. I really do. Love ’em all, but por Dios, when they’re all hovering…” She reached out and tugged tentatively at the wire screen that separated the front seat from the back. “The smell of the beer was getting to me. I never liked that stuff, you know.”
“Mrs. Martinez,” Estelle said, “would my office be all right with you?”
“Just wherever you want to talk, that’s fine with me,” Essie said. “I don’t know how I can be of any help to you, but we’ll see.” She reached out and again touched the cage behind Estelle’s head. “Eduardo thought highly of you, you know. Both you and that husband of yours.” Estelle glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Mrs. Martinez tuck her hands in her lap. Other than a little redness in her eyes, her expression was serene as she watched the village roll by.
As they turned into the Public Safety Building’s parking lot, Estelle saw Jackie Taber and Linda Real standing on the back step.
“You know, years ago,” Essie said, “it would have been un-think-a-ble,” and she drew out the word, her accent heavy and thoughtful on each syllable, “for a woman to be a police officer. And now look.” She waited until Estelle had parked and Gastner pulled himself out of the car to open her door. “What do you think of that, Bill?” she said.
“I think times change, Essie,” the former sheriff said.
“They sure do,” Essie Martinez said. “That’s what Eduardo always used to say. ‘The times change.’” She shook her head sadly. “And the things that happen these days. I can’t imagine what goes through people’s minds, can you?”
“No, ma’am, I can’t,” Gastner said. “That’s why we need all the help we can get.”
“Even from old widow ladies,” Essie said. She managed a brave smile.
Chapter Thirty-two
“Eduardo was very…proud of what he did,” Essie Martinez said with great deliberation.
“He had every reason to be,” Estelle said.
“He was chief of police for twenty-seven years,” the older woman said. “Twenty-seven years. That’s something, you know.” She dug a tissue out of her purse, but only clenched it in her hands as if she needed the soft padding. She lifted both hands and then settled them into her lap, composed and expectant. “The way village boards come and go, elections and all that-to stay for twenty-seven years is quite an accomplishment.”
“Essie,” Bill Gastner said gently, “let me lay this out for you.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Somebody whacked me a good one, and someone killed Janet Tripp. We’re thinking there’s some connection somehow, but I gotta tell ya, we’re up against a hard place with this business.” He leaned toward her. “What we were hoping is that you might have some rec
ollection of something that Eduardo might have said to you, or reminisced about, or worried about…any little something. Any time he might have mentioned Janet, or her family. Or even Mike.”
“You mean from this past week, before…”
“Recent stuff, sure. Anything at all. But also anything you can remember from way back when. From the Stone Age.”
“Me oh my,” Essie said, as if to herself. “How would I even know where to start?”
“Janet Tripp and Mike Sisneros were engaged,” Estelle said. “Let’s start there. Mike worked for the chief as a part-timer a few years ago,” Estelle said. “Do you remember Eduardo talking about him?”
“I know that Eduardo liked Michael,” Essie said with emphasis. “And he is such a nice young man. We were happy when Chief Mitchell hired him on full time. Eduardo said that he should, you know. He told Eddie that on several occasions. If there had been an opening before, Eduardo would have done it himself.” Her eyebrows lifted as she pulled in a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh. “That wasn’t always so, you know. There have been some who worked for the village who…who didn’t work out so well,” she said diplomatically.
“Oh, sí,” Estelle agreed, and Deputy Tom Pasquale’s sturdy face came immediately to mind. “Did you ever meet Janet?”
Essie shook her head so quickly it seemed as if she had been expecting the question. “I know who she is…that’s all I know. If I saw her in the grocery store, I might recognize her.”
“That’s about where we are,” Gastner said. “Did Eduardo ever talk about her?”
“Oh…” She regarded her tissue for a moment, smoothing one small corner against her thigh. “I don’t recall any time, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t one, you know.” She smiled, her round face lighting. “These old heads, they’re not good for much.” Her smile faded. “Let me ask you something, and if it’s none of my business, well, you just say so. Is Mike in some sort of trouble over this whole mess?”
“No,” Estelle said without hesitation. “Your husband’s estimation of Mike Sisneros was exactly right.”
“I’m working with Mike on the records deal, Essie,” Gastner added. “Combining village and county? He’s a good man. He’s had good training. Eduardo started him out right when he was a part-timer.”
“Yes, he did,” Essie agreed. “I don’t think that young man as always had it so easy.”
“In what way?” Estelle asked.
“His mother was nice. I always liked her, back when they lived in town. She was Acoma, I think. I think. I’m not sure. Maybe Laguna or Zuni. One of those. But she’s moved. Years go. Maybe Arizona or something.”
“Lordsburg,” Gastner prompted.
“Ah. Okay. I didn’t know that. But I liked her. Irene, her name is. So pretty. Now, I know that Eduardo didn’t have much use for Michael’s father.” She frowned at the floor. “They were divorced, you know. The Sisneros, I mean. Hank and Irene.”
Gastner nodded. “Eduardo had dealings with Hank Sisneros sometimes? If that’s the case, he wasn’t alone. I crossed tracks with him a time or two myself. Old Hank liked the bottle, and he liked the back of the hand.” While he waited for Essie to reply, Gastner drew out a small spiral notebook from his left breast pocket, along with a ballpoint pen, and made a brief notation. “I’m sure Eduardo had far more dealings with him than I did.”
“I don’t know,” Essie said. “I just know that Eduardo didn’t care for Hank. You can tell sometimes, you know? And Eduardo…he was a funny one. When there was something bad to say about someone, he talked to himself. So I suppose he had his secrets.”
“There must have been a time,” Estelle said. She watched Essie’s face, wondering if something bubbled beneath the surface of her memory. For Essie to recall clearly that Eduardo didn’t like Hank Sisneros hinted that she would know something about why.
Essie’s eyes narrowed, but she seemed reluctant to open the door on indiscretion. “When Hank Sisneros moved out of town, Eduardo said that was a good thing. He thought that maybe Mike would have a chance to make something of himself. But I don’t know what the relationship was between Mike and his father.”
“Hank went to Deming?”
“I don’t know where he went. Just that he went, you know. For a long time, Mike worked at the hardware store, out in the lumberyard. He was still in high school. He took such good care of his mother.” Essie looked wistful. “She remarried, of course.”
“And moved,” Gastner said.
“You know, you ask me what Eduardo talked about. That’s easy. The thing that Eduardo just hated,” Essie said vehemently, “was going on domestic dispute calls. He just hated that.”
He sure did, Estelle thought. Before Chief Mitchell took over, if there had been ten domestics in a month, the sheriff’s department routinely handled nine of them.
“That Hank Sisneros…he and Irene-they were like oil and water. I don’t know how they ever got linked up in the first place, but what a mess. Hank, now, he had an eye for the ladies. That’s what Eduardo used to say. What they saw in him, I don’t know. It’s fortunate,” and she drew the word out, “that Mike takes after his mother in the looks department. The way I heard it was that finally, Irene just gave up and the church looked the other way when she divorced him. The best thing. When he moved out of town, that was a relief.” She heaved another sigh. “And that’s what I know about that.”
“We still have our fair share of folks like that in town,” Gastner said.
“Any town does,” Essie said.
“Mike and Janet were happy together, though,” Estelle said abruptly. “Did you ever meet her, or did Eduardo ever talk about her? Maybe she and Mike weren’t seeing each other that long ago.”
“I don’t think so. Like I said, I don’t think I know her beyond just a face in the store, you know. That sort of thing. But what a shame, no? A young girl like that.”
During the next few minutes, Estelle tried every avenue to explore what Essie Martinez might know about her husband and his relationships, and got nowhere. By and large, Chief Eduardo Martinez kept his own personal thoughts to himself. Or, if there had been long sessions of “pillow talk” between the two of them, Essie guarded those chats closely. And the pressure would have been considerable to be less than discreet when enjoying gossip with the other ladies from the church.
The undersheriff looked up from her notes with annoyance when a loud rap on her office door interrupted her thoughts. “Yes?” she said, but the door was already opening.
Sheriff Torrez leaned heavily on the knob. “Hello, Essie,” he said. Behind him, Estelle saw Eddie Mitchell in the hallway. “Bill, you got a minute?”
“Me?” Gastner said with surprise. “I have all kinds of minutes.”
Torrez nodded at Estelle. “I need a couple of ’em with you guys,” he said. “Essie, they’ll be right back.” He made an effort to sound pleasant and conversational. “Thanks for comin’ down.”
“You just go ahead,” the older woman said, favoring Torrez with a nod of approval.
A moment later, the four of them crowded into Torrez’s office, and the sheriff made a point of latching the door behind him. “You got your keys with you?” he asked Gastner.
“Sure.” The former sheriff hauled his keys from his pocket and held them out toward Torrez, letting them dangle from the ignition key of his Blazer.
“The key to the conference room?” Torrez asked.
Gastner fingered through the keys. After looking through twice, he stopped, puzzled. “It’s not there, Roberto.” He looked again, and the silence was so heavy in the room that the metallic tink of each key turning against its neighbor sounded loud and harsh. “Nope. I don’t have it.” He frowned. “What the hell did I do with it?”
“You’re sure you did something with it?” Mitchell asked.
“Hell yes, I’m sure. Otherwise it would be here.”
Estelle pulled out her own keys and held the conference key out to Gastne
r.
“I know what it looks like,” he snapped with unaccustomed impatience. “It’s not here.”
“Now we know what he was after,” Torrez said.
“What?” Gastner said. “Who?”
“Whoever assaulted you with that bar maybe wanted you dead,” Mitchell said. “Or maybe he just wanted your key.”
Bill Gastner whispered an expletive, then shook his head. “That’s nuts, Eddie. For one thing, how would he know which one of the goddamn collection is the right one?”
Mitchell extended his hand, and Gastner thumped the bunch into his palm. “This is the ignition and door-lock key for your Blazer, right? This Kwikset is the front door of your house, maybe the back, too. This little Sergent is the key to your wine cellar.” He grinned, but his eyes remained sober. “You got a safety deposit box key here. They’re easy to recognize, especially with Posadas State Bank stamped on the head. This little fart is to a suitcase or something like that. And this is the ignition key and door key to the state pickup that you drive.” He paused, and looked closely at the last key. “I don’t know what that one is, but it isn’t one that fits any doors in the county building.”
“That’s to my house,” Estelle said.
“Oh, there we go,” Mitchell said. “We’re looking for a big Yale, one that is stamped do not duplicate on its face. Convenient, huh?”
“Did you have the conference room key on your ring?” Torrez asked. “On this ring here?”
“Sure.”
“Did you take it off?”
“Don’t think so. Why would I?” Gastner glowered at Torrez, then at Mitchell. “Do you guys take keys on and off your rings?” Estelle felt the intense déjà vu, remembering their talk with Mike Sisneros about his own keys.
“Nope,” Eddie said, as if to say. And that settle that.
“So that poses a goddamn interesting question,” Gastner said. “Number one, if we assume that in the heat of the moment, in the goddamn dark of the moment, this guy can even see to figure out which key is which, that he then-number two-takes the key before dropping the rest of ’em in the bushes.”
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