Marla still seemed thoughtful and quiet but she nodded her agreement. “I feel like we need to do something, anything that might shed light on this situation. I can’t really relax or feel like Chris is beyond any danger until these cases are closed, and the killer or killers caught and incarcerated.”
Lin understood how she felt. Hopefully doing something constructive would make them both feel better. Soon they were on their way, driving across the desert as the intense Sonoran Desert sun blazed in a clear blue sky with no sign of a cloud anywhere. The earth had a scorched look about it. Lin wondered if there might be any relief from a monsoon shower later—so far there were no signs of that. She knew that sometimes the monsoon rains took a “vacation” for a period of time. Perhaps that was the case now. There’d been no rain for the past day or so anyway. The Sonoran Desert might be the wettest desert on earth, but it would be hard to prove today.
Arriving at the tribal offices in Sells they found everything quiet. There were no demonstrators around and few cars in the parking lot. “I guess Davison’s arrest put an end to the protests, at least for now,” Lin remarked. She’d suspected that Doug’s followers were less committed than he was all along.
“Well, I’m sort of glad they aren’t here,” Marla commented. “From what Chris told me this Davison character was not particularly pleasant.”
“True enough,” Lin said, “but the protesters in general were peaceful enough. They certainly had a point about preserving history. That village Chris and Neal were working on was quite a substantial community, no doubt very important in its day. I just hope that something good can be done to preserve what was found—maybe a museum or something. The history of these people is quite impressive.”
They entered the building and asked if Dr. Manuel was there and if they could talk to him.
“He’s on the phone right now but I’ll ask him if he has time when he finishes the call,” the receptionist offered. “I don’t see anyone on his calendar for the next hour.”
Just at that moment, John Manuel appeared at his office door. He was clearly upset by something. His face was drawn and even appeared pale. He shook his head as if he’d just heard something hard to believe, “Ms. Ruiz…” he started to address the receptionist when he spotted Lin and Marla waiting. “Oh, Ms. Hanna, I didn’t know you were here. I just got some terrible news. It seems that Doug Davison is dead—committed suicide at the Pima County Jail this morning early—or late last night. He hanged himself.” Manuel stared blankly at the women seated in the reception area. He was obviously having a hard time with this news.
Lin felt a sudden shock herself. It must’ve been Davison’s body they saw being removed from the jail earlier. She didn’t know what to think.
“I’m shocked at this news,” she addressed Dr. Manuel. “We were here to talk to you about some information we learned that might relate to the earlier cases but now…”
Manuel seemed to recover just a bit, “Please, please do come in and let’s talk. Ms. Ruiz, please get these ladies something to drink—perhaps something cool like iced tea?”
Lin and Marla gladly accepted his hospitality. They followed him back into the small conference room adjacent to his office. Lin was still trying to digest this news. Why would Davison kill himself? Perhaps he was the guilty party in the previous murders and simply couldn’t face what lay ahead. Somehow though, the whole thing made her feel uneasy.
When Dr. Manuel had closed the door he joined them at the table. “This is shocking news to me,” he said. “I knew about Doug’s arrest and the trouble he was in but somehow, I never expected this. I guess he just couldn’t face what was going to happen but…” He shook his head.
Lin spoke up, “My impression of Davison is that he was a fighter. That he wouldn’t quit. I don’t know what to make of all this either. Maybe he was guilty of killing Jennings—maybe Garcia also—I just don’t know what’s going on here.”
Manuel nodded in agreement. “I know he was arrested in the Jennings case and rumor had it that charges were pending for Mark Garcia as well. That Stevens fellow’s lawyer said he expected his client to be released soon. Doug wasn’t an easy person to deal with, and I know he was involved in some bad stuff on the reservation. No one seemed able to prove anything, but again, there were rumors related to the drug trade hereabouts. I really never saw him as violent—loud, yes—threatening, yes, but that’s as far as it ever went…” Manuel lowered his gaze. It was clear he was puzzled and confused over these events.
For a time, the three of them sat in silence, trying to process what they’d just learned; then Lin remembered the original purpose of their visit.
“ Dr. Manuel, do you recall that old blue truck we saw at Mrs. Garcia’s during our visit the other day?” The cultural affairs officer nodded and looked up at her.
“Well, we came to ask you if you knew who owned that truck or who might drive it?” Lin continued to explain that some workmen had seen a similar vehicle parked at the mall construction site beside Dave Jennings own truck the day his body was discovered.
“Jennings truck wound up at the bottom of a wash so someone drove it there and left by some other means. That blue truck might’ve belonged to one of the folks involved.” It then dawned on Lin that even if Doug Davison was involved in the death of Jennings he most likely didn’t do it alone. “Someone had to have been at the wash to pick up the person who ditched the Jennings truck.”
Manuel clearly understood what Lin was saying. He nodded in agreement, “I don’t know about the truck we saw at Mrs. Garcia’s. I know that she doesn’t drive, at least not very much. In fact, I don’t think she owns a vehicle at all. Sometimes her daughter drives her or she might borrow her daughter’s car from time to time; she does have a license I believe. That old truck though, I’m not sure who it belongs to.”
Marla spoke up for the first time, “How long does it take to get to Mrs. Garcia’s house? Why don’t we go check it out?”
To Lin’s surprise, John Manuel agreed, “It’s not far and she’s probably at home. Let’s do just that. I feel like doing something to get out of this office, at least for a while.”
***
A short drive later they were seated on Mrs. Garcia’s porch. Today was hotter than Lin recalled it being the first time she’d been there. Even in the shade of the porch she felt the heat rolling over her in waves. She always found it surprising that one didn’t feel wet with perspiration in the desert heat but realized that was due to the dryness of the air. One could quickly become dehydrated in these circumstances—even during the weeks of the monsoon when the humidity was sometimes higher. As if she were following Lin’s thoughts, Mrs. Garcia got up. “We need something to drink,” she said, “I’ll be back.”
While they waited for their hostess to return, Lin looked around the yard as far as she could see. There was no sign of the old blue truck. Of course, she couldn’t see out back but it had been parked in the front yard earlier.
Mrs. Garcia returned shortly with glasses of lemonade and a plate of store bought cookies. She insisted that they all partake of the refreshments. When they’d all had something she turned to Dr. Manuel.
“What brings you folks out to see me John? More bad news, maybe.”
Manuel took the opportunity to tell her what they’d learned about Doug Davison. The older woman showed no real emotion at the news. She simply shook her head. “That young man was headed for trouble from the start,” she said. “I’m sorry that he felt he had to take his own life. He had much to live for—a pretty wife, a young baby—now they have no one to take care of them.” She rocked in her chair but sat silently after speaking.
Lin decided to probe further, “You said, he was headed for trouble. Do you know why?”
“Drug business, what else,” Mrs. Garcia remarked, “It’s almost always that drug business around here. Hits our young men and women and it hit him too. Too much money, too tempting…” her gaze wandered toward the horizon.
“Unless, he killed my Mark and maybe that other fella,” Mrs. Garcia spoke with almost certainty, “That must be it. Maybe Mendoza was going to pay him much money. I still think he’s behind all of this trouble. Maybe Doug Davison killed himself because he knew there was no way out of this trouble. The sheriff, he could never reach Mendoza—only those who worked for him.”
Lin finally remembered the original purpose of their visit and turned to Mrs. Garcia, “We came to ask you about that old blue truck that was parked here the other day. Can you tell us who owns that?”
“That old decrepit thing? That belonged to my son, to Mark, but he didn’t drive it to work. He just used it around the reservation here. When Mark died, his wife didn’t want it—decided to sell it.”
“Has it already been sold?” Lin continued. “Who bought it?”
“Why, Doug Davison bought it—just a couple of days ago, right after Mark died. In fact he came out here looking for it, I think it was right after you were here before. Said he talked to Mark’s wife. I called her and she said let him have it. It was no use to her. So I did.”
Lin couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Of course, they had no real identifying information for that truck but…if it was the same one seen at the work site…more evidence pointing to Doug Davison’s guilt. She decided to see if she could get more information about the truck. Unfortunately, when she asked, Mrs. Garcia really couldn’t tell her anything much—she could only give her a phone number for Mark’s wife—perhaps she could provide more information. Lin vowed to call her as soon as she got the chance.
She really couldn’t say why she felt a push to do this—after all Davison was dead and the evidence seemed to point in his direction, but perhaps the truck might turn up at Davison’s home and maybe, just maybe, it might provide more definitive proof of his guilt than appeared to be known at present. Somehow, she couldn’t let things rest until she was absolutely sure that Davison was, indeed, the killer in both cases. She realized that she was probably being unreasonable, but she simply couldn’t let this go, not yet.
***
After talking to Mrs. Garcia the three of them returned to the tribal offices. It was early afternoon by the time they arrived. Dr. Manuel found some folks waiting to see him and quickly said goodbye to Lin and Marla. “Sorry, I can’t spend more time with you,” he said. “I’d thought maybe we could get some lunch but I need to see these folks. If you’re hungry though, the café at the corner near here has really good tacos and burritos. I recommend it highly.”
“Thanks,” Lin responded, “and thanks again for taking the time to talk with us and go out to Mrs. Garcia’s. The only other thing I would like to do is get a phone number and maybe an address for Doug Davison’s wife. I’d like to pay my respects and maybe find out if she has more information on that blue truck.”
“Check with Ms. Ruiz,” Manuel replied, indicating the receptionist. “She has a local directory that should have that information.” With that he disappeared into his office accompanied by the people who’d been waiting to see him.
Ms. Ruiz had overheard what they’d asked and she approached the counter, directory in hand. Soon they had a phone number for Doug Davison’s wife. She gave them an address also but that alone wasn’t sufficient for them to locate her and the receptionist didn’t know where she lived either. “You’ll have to call and ask her, I’m not familiar with this address,” she said. “I’m sure she can give you directions.”
Marla and Lin thanked the young woman and left the office. “I’m not really hungry, we had a big breakfast, how ‘bout you?” Marla asked.
“Not really,” Lin responded, “but folks in the local café might have some information about some of these matters. We could always get something to drink, maybe a snack.”
“Good idea, I hadn’t thought of that,” Marla responded. They left their car where it was parked and made their way over to the small café. It was a bit late for lunch and there weren’t many customers. The delightful aroma of cilantro and peppers wafted through the place tempting Lin, even though she really wasn’t all that hungry.
“Let’s get a bean burrito and share it,” she suggested, “I hate to order only iced tea.”
“Really, now,” Marla grinned, realizing that the food was just too tempting to turn down. “I guess that’ll be OK. We’ll probably have a late dinner anyway.”
An attractive young woman approached, her order pad in hand. Her long dark hair hung in braids bound with beads and her blouse was embroidered in similar fashion. She smiled as she took a pen from her jeans pocket, “What can I get for you ladies this afternoon? Are you here for lunch or maybe dessert? We have wonderful pies here.”
“That’s tempting,” Lin responded, “but I think we’ll share a bean burrito and have two glasses of iced tea please.”
“Good idea to share, our burritos are pretty large,” she smiled as she jotted down their order.
The food came quickly and smelled so good that Lin realized she was just a bit hungry after all. Their waitress brought an extra plate for them to use. “I’ll be right back with the iced tea,” she said.
When their drinks arrived, Lin decided to make the opportunity to chat a bit. From the looks of the dining room she doubted the young waitress was very busy.
“May I ask if you are familiar with the teacher who was leading the protests recently, Doug Davison? I think he worked at the high school here,” she queried.
The young woman looked a bit serious but she nodded in the affirmative. “I do know the man you’re speaking of,” she said. “I graduated last year but I had him for U.S. History. He was a good teacher but…” she seemed to be searching for the right words, finally she spoke “…I think he was a bit of a trouble-maker. He was always trying to stir things up. It’s true, people don’t want to see our history destroyed, but I’m not sure many really cared about the shopping center. They just want things taken care of, preserved for the future. I think most people realize no one is going to be able to rebuild an entire village as it was in the past. Mr. Davison could really pressure folks and some got upset with him. He was…,” she again searched for the right words, “…always up to something, some sort of troublesome stuff…my folks stayed away from him, stayed away from the protests and such.”
Lin was a bit surprised that the young lady spoke so freely. Perhaps this subject had come up before with other people. Maybe it wasn’t a strange topic after all. The girl went to wait on a young couple that had just come in, but after taking their order, she returned to Lin and Marla’s table with a fresh pitcher of iced tea and began to refill their glasses.
“Thanks,” Lin said. “Could I ask you one more question? Do you happen to know where the Davison’s live? I have an address but I’m not familiar with this community.” She showed the written address to the young woman who nodded that she knew that location. She briefly explained the directions but added, “They probably aren’t home at this time of day. I think Mrs. Davison works and…” she hesitated, “I heard Mr. Davison was arrested yesterday, she cast her eyes downward, speaking in a quiet voice as if she didn’t want to be heard spreading bad news.”
If she only knew the rest, Lin thought, but she didn’t want to be the one to tell the young woman Doug had killed himself. “I’ll call first. I have the number,” she said brightly. They asked for their check and left the restaurant shortly. Once outside, Lin tried to call the Davison’s residence, but the call went straight to voice mail. She left a message for Mrs. Davison.
“So, I guess that’s it,” Marla said, “Maybe we should just head back to Tucson.”
“Not, just yet,” Lin said. “We have directions to the house and it doesn’t sound like it’s too far. Let’s just drive by. Th
at blue truck may be there, even if Mrs. Davison isn’t. We might be able to learn the make and model, maybe get the license number. It won’t take long.”
“OK. I guess,” Marla said, “but I think we should be leaving soon, I don’t like the look of that line of clouds.”
Lin surveyed the sky around them. It had been totally clear that morning, but now a line of heavy dark clouds was moving along the horizon coming from the southwest. It looked as if it could bring stormy rains before the afternoon was over.
The Davison home was a doublewide modular at the end of a red dusty dirt road but the yard was fenced and neatly landscaped with native plants. A large Palo Verde tree provided a bit of shade for a picnic table and grill. There was no vehicle in the driveway, but Lin spotted the old blue truck parked behind the house. She parked near the front of the driveway and exited the car. “I’m going to check and see if I can get a registration number for that truck,” she told Marla, “I’m sure it’s the one Mrs. Garcia sold.”
“I’ll wait here in case someone arrives,” Marla said.
Lin walked slowly toward the back of the house, taking care to stay on the graveled driveway and avoid the prickly desert plants that lined the path. Cholla, barrel cactus, and prickly pear formed a dense sort of fencing around the drive and the yard. When she reached the truck, she was disappointed. There was no tag, not even a temporary one. She could determine that the vehicle was a Ford F-150 probably at least ten years old. Evidently, Davison hadn’t had time to register it as yet; perhaps the title hadn’t even been transferred.
Lin couldn’t be sure but she realized that it was going to be hard to determine any link to the truck seen at the construction site, even if someone came forward with more information than seemed to be currently available. Besides, it seemed highly unlikely that Davison or anyone else would have tried to drive this vehicle with no plates to Tucson for any reason. It would’ve invited a stop by patrolmen. If the truck were driven at all it would’ve been out here on the rural roads of the reservation and even that wasn’t too likely. It seemed that Doug Davison had purchased the truck and parked it here pending getting all the paperwork in order—meanwhile he’d been arrested and now he was dead.
Sonoran Sun Page 11
