“You should have called me first.”
And waited yet another ten or fifteen minutes? “Immediate medical attention for the child is our first concern, sir. Sheriff Torrez was not about to wait.” The name was a wonderful defuser.
Stewart nodded quickly. “Of course. Of course. And what about little Rascal? The pup?”
“As a matter of convenience, he was dropped off at the Mesa View Animal Clinic. They know your puppy, and will be happy to keep him for you until it’s convenient for you to pick him up.” She offered a slight smile. “I didn’t think it would be appropriate to just drop him off at the bank, sir.”
The man looked vexed. “All this just because Stace takes a walk to have coffee with friends.”
“No, sir.” She waited a moment until she knew she had his attention, and he turned to look her way. “All this because an infant and puppy were left unattended in a closed car on what’s working to be the hottest day of the year.”
“Now, wait a minute. You make it sound like some big neglect case here. Stacie would never…” Stewart stopped. What a wife would never do was open to conjecture. What Stacie Stewart had done was now painfully evident.
He waved a hand helplessly, rose, and put a hand on each hip. “Look, you said that the deputy actually saw her go into The Spree?”
“That’s correct. She saw him, as well. I’m told she waved a greeting at him.”
“Which officer was that?”
“A civilian made the original 911 call, sir.”
“But you said one of the deputies saw Stace go into the store. Which officer?”
Let’s all grasp at straws, Estelle thought. “Actually, Sheriff Torrez responded first to the citizen’s complaint of occupants closed in the vehicle.”
“But you said someone actually saw Stace walk into the store,” Stewart persisted doggedly. “That must have been before the sheriff arrived.”
“That’s correct.”
“And who was that? I mean, who’s working days right now? Is that Sergeant Taber?”
Estelle looked at Stewart carefully while she framed an answer. Stewart was looking for excuses, anything to shift blame somewhere else. “At this point, that witness information is part of an ongoing investigation, sir.” Somehow, some way, the man would find a way to blame the deputy, or the sheriff, or even Miss Barber, the retired school teacher who had had the presence of mind to dial the police without a moment’s hesitation. But in all likelihood, if charges were ever filed against Stacie Stewart, Deputy Thomas Pasquale’s testimony would be central.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Stewart muttered in a most unbankerly tone. “You’re talking as if Stacie committed some big crime, for God’s sakes.”
“Sir, by the time the child was removed from the car, EMTs recorded her body temp at one hundred three degrees. The facts are simple, at least on the surface. Your wife parked her Volvo at The Spree, locked the doors with the windows up, and walked into the store, leaving behind Ginger and the puppy. The sun was baking directly through the rear and side windows. Some time afterward, a short time afterward, fortunately, a shopper noticed the child and the puppy in some distress, and immediately made the call. Sheriff Torrez responded, along with an EMT crew.”
“Stacie knows better than to do any of that.”
“Of course she does, sir. We don’t know why she did it until we talk to her.”
“Nobody just forgets that they have a child in the car.”
“Unfortunately, it happens more frequently than we would like. Folks get distracted or preoccupied. Children and pets are left in unvented vehicles, kids are left behind at highway rest stops while the rest of the family drives away. Kids become a forgotten audience as their parents fight over some little frustration.” She smiled gently at Stewart.
He drew a huge sigh. “Sheriff, we didn’t fight, we didn’t argue.” He looked hard at Estelle. “When you find Stace, you’ll let me know immediately? You’ll keep me in the loop?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Can I take Ginger home now?” The child jangled a large set of colorful plastic keys. Stewart smoothed his tie and bent down, nuzzling the child’s forehead. The soft-toned bell that alerted the nursing staff to ER visitation chimed, and in a moment, Sheriff Robert Torrez held back the curtain.
“Hey,” he said, and offered a huge paw to Stewart. “Looks like she’s doin’ just fine.”
“We think so,” Estelle said. “Mr. Stewart was just asking if he could take Ginger home now, and he needs to understand that decision is up to the medical staff here.” She rested a hand lightly on Stewart’s forearm. “There’s a line of protocol now, sir. Just as we turned Ginger over to the EMT crew, they in turn delivered her to the hospital staff. I’m sure they’ll let you take her the minute they’re convinced her health is out of any danger. I would advise you that there has been a referral to Children, Youth and Families as well.”
“Good God, what for?”
“It’s standard procedure in these circumstances, sir. I’m sure Mrs. Benedict will be here shortly. You have someone at home who can care for Ginger today, or will you take time off from work, or what? She will ask you that.”
“I’ll take the rest of the day off, but here you’re sounding as if Stacie isn’t coming back.”
“I wish I could give you an answer to that, sir.”
“If somebody forced her into another car, the deputy would have seen it,” the sheriff said bluntly. “What he saw was that she walked into the store. From there, we don’t know.”
Stewart’s eyes searched first one face and then the other, as if trying to decide what tact to take—the sheriff’s blunt, untempered assessment, or the undersheriff’s calm understanding. “And now? We can’t just sit around and wait.”
“No, we won’t do that.” Estelle glanced at the wall clock. “Take some time to be with your daughter, then when you’ve had a chance to think your morning through, talk with Mrs. Benedict. On top of that, try and remember all the details of what was done, what was said in your household this morning. Any little thing.” She handed him a business card. “I’ll want some details from you. Stacie will probably have called by then, or gotten in touch with you. We can take it from there.”
“You’re not thinking of charging her or anything, are you? That’s what it sounds like.”
“That would be premature, sir. First, we need to find her. That’s all that matters right now. Then we have to understand the circumstances. As I said, anything else would be premature, sir. In the meantime, we’ll start the search process.” She made an effort to sound more hopeful than she felt. “Just this one thing to get us started, sir. When did you last talk with your wife? Either in person or by phone. Be specific about the time.”
“When she got home last night. Maybe eleven. And then this morning, at breakfast. I suppose, what, seven-thirty?”
“And the mood?”
“Just fine. See, Stacie just dotes on Ginger. Well, we both do. We were having fun at breakfast.” He smiled, the proud dad. “See, Ginger just discovered that the puppy is a bottomless pit. She’d dribble some food off her high chair, and Rascal was right there to clean up. Ginger thought that was the funniest thing she’d ever seen. And her laugh. She has this big, bawdy laugh that just…well, it’s impossible not to just melt, watching and listening to her. Anyway, Stace said that she and Ginger were going shopping down at the new store. That’s right, she did tell me that. She said that she might meet one of her friends for lunch. Dana Gabaldon? Dana has a daughter, Adrianna, about Ginger’s age. Maybe a year older. Dana was at the game, too. Girls’ night out sort of thing.”
“Where do they like to eat when they do lunch?”
“At the Don Juan. As far as Stace is concerned, that’s the only restaurant in town.”
Estelle grinned. “There are folks who agree with her.”
He nodded vigorously. “So, that’s what I know.” He avoided Sheriff Torrez’ expressionless gaze and fished his
cell phone from its small belt holster. “I’ll call Dana.”
Estelle held out a hand, covering his and the phone. “Actually, sir, let me have a chat with Ms. Gabaldon first. You need to spend some time with Ginger, make sure she’s all right. I’ll get back to you. And you have my card.”
“You’re going to be able to follow up on this today?” He looked off into the distance, beyond the painted wall of the ER, at a horizon that was suddenly more bleak. “My God, what am I going to do? I mean, she has to be okay and coming back, right?”
“We’ll follow up on this right now, sir.”
“You don’t have to wait twenty-four hours or anything like that? For missing persons and things like that?”
“No. Was Ginger scheduled to be in daycare today?”
“Well, sure. Stace had to work. No, wait…she didn’t, either. Friday is her day off. Jeez, listen to me. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going with all this. She had Ginger all day. See, she and Dana had been thinking that Dana might take Ginger. It’s tough for the Gabaldons to afford daycare, and by taking in Ginger, there’d be both some extra income and company for little Adrianna.”
“But they hadn’t started that yet?”
“No, she and Dana were thinking of starting next week, maybe. They were going to talk about that today.”
She pushed the curtain to one side. Stewart didn’t move. He looked down at the floor, shaking his head slowly. When he looked up at Estelle, his eyes were moist. “I just don’t believe this,” he murmured. “I don’t know what the hell to do.”
“Think hard about the last few days, the last few weeks. If anything that Stacie did or said jars your memory, don’t hesitate to call me. Even little things can be important. And as we come up with questions, we’ll be calling or visiting.” She smiled encouragingly. “Take your time. Keep a cool head, sir.”
Torrez nodded curtly at Stewart, then looked expectantly at his undersheriff. “Got to talk to you for a minute.” He stepped back out of the way as one of the nurses entered. “Outside?”
Estelle followed the sheriff outside to the portico used by incoming ambulances. One of the units waited off to one side, ready to take LeeAnn Bond back to the county lockup.
Torrez lounged against one of the portico uprights. He didn’t seem to mind whether he stood in the shade or not.
“Let’s put everybody who ain’t tied down on this,” he said. “If we diddle around waitin’ for the girl to show up, first thing you know, we’ll find her dead in a ditch somewheres.”
“It’s hard to imagine that she was abducted, Bobby. Pasquale said that when he saw her going into the store, she waved at him, cheerful as can be. And if someone tried to grab her inside the store, there’d be all kinds of witnesses.”
Torrez nodded. “She split.” He said it as if it were a statement of fact. “Either that, or her husband knows exactly where she is, and ain’t talkin’.”
Chapter Eight
Before she had the chance to offer other possibilities, Bob Torrez added, “Clayton Bailey is dead.” Estelle Reyes-Guzman looked up sharply at the sheriff. For a moment, the name didn’t register, and clearly Torrez expected her to take the abrupt change in subject in stride. “The SO in Cathay said he was hit once in the back of the head. Don’t know with what yet.”
“The Illinois couple,” Estelle supplied, and Torrez nodded. “When?”
“They think he’s been dead a couple of days at least. And there ain’t no wife, by the way, and they weren’t at no family reunion out in North Dakota like Bond claimed. Bailey’s been a widower for twenty years. A neighbor found him lyin’ in the barn out behind his house. At the foot of an old stairway goin’ up into one of the lofts. Somebody didn’t look close, they might think he took a tumble, but the M.E. says no. Took a hit first.”
“Bond, they think?”
Torrez shrugged. “Ain’t going to be hard to figure out when Elvis left the building.”
“They’ll want him back.”
“Yep.”
“So was he surprised in the act of taking the license plate, and grabbed a handy two-by-four or some such?”
“He don’t seem the type,” Torrez said. “More of a talker. Seems to me like he’d try to charm the old man into lettin’ him borrow the plate.”
“He was type enough to make a grab for that BB gun you said was in the center console of the car.”
“Yeah, well. Maybe him, but more likely the wife. She could do it.” He made a wry face. “And the Cathay SO hadn’t noticed that the plate was taken off the truck. Didn’t notice it was missing.”
“You’re kidding.”
Torrez shrugged again. “Anyway, it’s their problem, not ours. My bet is that Bond is enough of a wuss to give the wife up just to save his own ass.” He shrugged. “They’ll let us know when they can spring a couple of guys free to extradite. I don’t much feature spendin’ our budget feedin’ these two any longer than we have to. Or listening to ’em, either.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “We’ll already end up payin’ for a finger.” He nodded toward the emergency room door. “So what are you plannin’ now?”
“Stacie was supposed to have lunch with Dana Gabaldon. That’s what Stewart said. On the way, I want to check with Posadas Electric and see what Stacie told them yesterday, if anything. See if she just walked away from there, too. Then I’ll check with Dana.”
“You think he knows anything he’s not tellin’ us?” Through the door, they could see Todd Stewart talking with Susan Benedict, the matronly representative from the county’s Children, Youth and Families Department.
“I’m not sure. He’s a hard guy to read. He’s not exactly frantic, Bobby. At least not yet.”
She opened her phone, scrolled through the directory, and then touched in the number for Dana and Eddie Gabaldon. Dana’s friendly voice announced, “We can’t come to the phone right now, but if…” Estelle hung up. “Not home. Or maybe outside.”
“Eddie’d be over at the post office.”
“Then that’s what I’ll do. I’ll swing by the Stewarts’ house in case she’s out in the yard, and the Gabaldons’, the post office, and then the Don Juan, and Posadas Electric. A quick loop to see if anything turns up.”
“She ain’t sitting around in her yard, that’s for sure. Maybe she lied to her husband about meetin’ somebody.” He tipped his head to one side. “Or about who she’s meetin’.”
“She could have, Bobby. Or Todd could have lied to us.”
Torrez nodded without much enthusiasm. “Good luck with that. In the meantime, we got enough charges to keep the Bonds off the street, but I’ll talk to the DA. If the Cathay SO has any evidence that’ll stick in a good murder case, they’ll want to extradite sooner rather than later.” He offered a rare smile. “We sure as hell don’t want to hold things up, if they do.”
***
The Gabaldon home on North Twelfth Street, a modest concrete block ranch stuccoed to look like adobe, sat quietly under the punishing September sun. The single-car-garage door was closed, the driveway empty, all the house curtains closed. Having driven by the address a hundred times over the years, Estelle knew that the Gabaldons’ car had been preempted from the garage by Eddie’s collection of bikes, including a new tandem with a baby bob behind. She also knew that one of Eddie’s fervent dreams was to beat fellow cyclist Tom Pasquale in a major mountain bike race. That would only happen if Tom lost a leg or a lung.
For a moment, the undersheriff parked several doors down and opened the computer. The Gabaldons had one registered vehicle, a silver 2013 Kia sedan. She jotted down the license plate number, then turned around and retraced her route, bumping over the steel bridge that crossed the arroyo just north of the intersection with Bustos. The Don Juan was handy, right on the corner of Twelfth and Bustos, and Estelle turned into the parking lot. No Kia.
She parked near the side of the building and got out. Inside, the Don Juan was a cool, dark cavern, with murals of the now-cont
roversial Spanish explorer Don Juan de Oñate painted on three walls. A girl who looked so young that she should have been enrolled in middle school greeted the undersheriff with a tentative smile and raised eyebrows, but said not a word.
“Is JanaLynn on shift yet, Bonnie?”
“She’s off today.”
“Ah.” Yet another of Sheriff Bobby Torrez’ endless parade of cousins, JanaLynn knew every regular customer who frequented the Don Juan. Estelle took a step beyond the cash register and surveyed the restaurant. The early lunch crowd was sparse. “Do you know Dana Gabaldon?”
“I even babysit for her sometimes,” Bonnie said brightly.
“Has she been in for lunch today?”
“I ain’t seen her at all.”
Estelle smiled at the girl. “You have the whole place to yourself, huh?”
Bonnie brightened. “Just me until right at noon.” She glanced at the clock, still fifteen minutes shy of the lunch rush. “Then Claire comes in.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem.”
But it is a problem, Estelle thought on her way back outside. For a moment she stood in the sun, letting it chase the remains of the Don Juan’s frigid air conditioning, and then slid into her car, opening all four windows wide. The short drive a few blocks east on Bustos to Pershing filled the car with hot Southwest, a blanket of aromas that Estelle found more refreshing, mixed with the icy air pumped by the car’s efficient air conditioning compressor.
Eddie Gabaldon’s bike of the day was chained to the natural-gas meter on the side of the post office. He wouldn’t have gone out to lunch, being the natural food fanatic that he is. The post office was empty of customers, and Estelle rapped a knuckle on the staff entrance off the end of the lobby.
“Eddie? It’s Estelle Guzman.”
“Just a second!” he shouted from somewhere in the back. In a moment the lock to the inner sanctum of the post office rattled and Eddie Gabaldon pushed the door open. “Hey, Mrs. Sheriff.” He grinned widely, showing square, even teeth. Burly in build, Gabaldon hardly fit the image that Estelle conjured of professional bikers, those riders with thunder thighs topped by otherwise rail-thin bodies and hawk noses perfect for splitting the slipstream. Of course, neither did Tom Pasquale. But the deputy won races on the downhill sections, where his fearless lack of common sense ruled the race.
Come Dark Page 6
