Efrin covered his eyes with his good arm. “Arthur, he ain’t too fast, you know what I mean? And he’s not in such good shape now. Scott was takin’ a step or two toward me, ’cause I’m still down on the ground, cryin’ like a little kid. Art sticks the gun in Scott’s face, and next thing I know, I see it go flyin’. Scott knocked it right out of Art’s hand. I try to get up, and Scott gets the gun and he says, ‘you two thugs get off school property,’ or something like that.”
After a long, careful breath, Efrin added, “I got to my knees and then stumbled toward the truck. I hear Art yell, ‘You got to give me back my gun,’ or somethin’ like that. I hear Scott say, ‘Yeah, right. It’ll be waiting for you down at the Sheriff’s Office.’ I heard him say that.”
“Scott was going to turn the gun in to us?” Estelle’s pulse jumped. Out of prison, on parole, and a firearms charge. If the gun was turned in to authorities, Art was toast, and he would know it.
“I guess. I had the truck started, and I hear him shout, ‘Don’t forget your damn ladder!’ And wham! My back window blows and something smacks me right in the head. He’s got that ladder right through the window, blowin’ glass everywhere. I didn’t even know if it hit me, but then I’m…bleedin’ all over.”
“And where’s Art all this time?”
“I don’t know. He ain’t going to take on Coach Scott, that’s for sure.”
“Art had driven himself that night?”
“Yeah. He had my mom’s car. He had it parked over in the back of the lot, where it’s real dark?”
“But you didn’t see him leave that night?”
“I didn’t see nothin’. I was hurtin’ so bad I don’t know what I was doin’. I made it a ways away from the school, and almost got home. Then this deer jumps out on the road, and I’m goin’ too fast, and I hit it. And the truck spins in the gravel.”
“Art wasn’t following you home?”
Efrin shook his head. “I hit that pole and finished the job, that’s for sure. That’s what they tell me. I was lyin’ there, eatin’ dirt and grass, and started to crawl home. I think my ma found me.”
“You’re sure it was Clint Scott?”
“Sure it was him. I know him good enough. I mean, I was in his class back in second grade and all.” He closed his eyes and tried to smile, the bandage tape pulling the corner of his mouth. “Almost flunked second grade. How bad is that?” Efrin took another slow breath to see if the pain was still there. It was.
“Then what?”
“Mother Mary, this hurts.” He tried to shift position. “Don’t they got something for the hurt?” he managed.
Estelle glanced at the tubes and suspended bags and gadgets. “They have you on morphine drip already, Efrin. You’re going to have to tough it out.” She touched his left shoulder. “I just have a couple more questions for you. Then you can sleep it away.”
For a minute, it appeared that Efrin had faded out, but then he whispered, “There ain’t nothin’ else.”
“A little bit ago, you said something about she. That a girl, or woman, someone, showed up at the scene. What did you mean by that?”
“That’s what Arthur said. I didn’t see nobody.”
Estelle reached out, picked up the recorder and looked at it, but left it running. “Efrin, you never saw Arthur, or talked to him after you left the school?”
“No, ma’am. I know I got home somehow, and that was it. I passed out, that’s for sure. I remember hearing my mother screaming at me, but anything else? I don’t remember. Not any of this shit.” He lifted his left arm an inch, and almost managed a rueful smile. “I never wanted to do no drugs, Sheriff. But if you got a pocketful of ’em right now…”
“They’ll give you all you need, Efrin.”
“I think they like seein’ me hurt.”
“They like seeing you responsive, hijo. If that requires a little pain, so be it. You’re doing a good job for somebody so broken up. I’m proud of you.”
Efrin gazed at her for a long moment, then closed his eyes.
“So tell me,” Estelle said. “Why the tagging? You thought that your employer was going to welcome your painting the side of his train? The dish? You thought the school needed a touchup?”
“We was just playin’ around. Art didn’t think they’d be able to figure out who did it, but hell, I knew. I mean, they know my work.”
“Ah. That’s the trouble with having so much talent, hijo. You can’t hide it. Where did that design come from?”
“I seen it in a magazine. Arthur told me what it represented, but I don’t remember. Just neat graphics.”
“But nothing like your mural, Efrin. That’s world-class.”
“Yeah, well.” She heard a faint note of pride.
“Why those locations? Is there some particular reason why you chose them?”
“They was in the papers. The newspaper? All the stories lately. That big write-up in the Sunday paper about the train? And the mesa project with the telescope and stuff? That’s been hot in the papers, even on TV. That and the volleyball team. They’re all hot shit right now. Like that big spread in the local paper last week, and then again in the Albuquerque paper? All that publicity. That’s good shit, man.”
“So you just decided to grab some coverage for yourself? Is that what Art wanted?”
“Somethin’ like that.” He tried another smile.
“Who is Art trying to impress with all this?”
“I don’t know, man.” He shook his head. “I just don’t know. I know that it meant a lot to him, so I did it. That’s all.”
“What Big Brother wants,” Estelle said softly.
“Well, he’s had a hard time,” Efrin said. “Is all this going to get Coach Scott in trouble? Are you going to arrest him for what he done to me?”
“You think I should, hijo? It sounds to me like all he did was bump the ladder. That and take Art’s gun away from him.”
Efrin fell silent for a moment. “If I die, maybe.”
“You’re not going to die, my friend. You may feel like it right now, but that’ll pass, day by day.”
“Did you guys get the gun? I know that Art said he paid pretty good for it.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Efrin closed his eyes. “I can’t pay for all this.”
“Not to worry.”
“Does Coach Scott know I’m here? I mean, is he going to show up?”
“Not likely. What about Arthur, though? Where would your brother go if he didn’t want to wait around home, or if he doesn’t come up here?”
“He’s got friends in Socorro, Cruces, Albuquerque…you name it.”
“Good gang friends?”
Efrin made a face. “He ain’t in no gang. My brother, he made a mistake or two when he was younger. You know all about that. But he ain’t touched the stuff since they sent him up a couple of years ago. He’s straight now. We were going to see if I could get him a job out at the park, too.”
Estelle leaned close and whispered, “So you painted Mr. Waddell’s train, you crawled up in the dish and vandalized that…that’s all good thinking, Efrin. I’m sure Mr. Waddell is impressed. Those are all great ways to help somebody apply for work.” She straightened up and stepped away from the bed, pocketing the recorder. “And Coach Scott is dead, hijo.”
Efrin cringed so hard that the pain made him gasp. He turned several shades paler. “What?”
“Somebody shot him to death inside the school, just minutes after you left. He’s dead.”
“But he…”
“He’s dead, Efrin.”
He reacted as if the words were hammers. When he could finally speak, his voice was small and distant. “You mean someone just went into the school and shot him? They broke in and did that?”
“They didn’t have to break in. The back door was open. Besides the killer, you and your brother probably were the last ones to see him alive.”
Efrin didn’t respond. His right hand drifted acros
s his chest to rest gently on the bandages from his surgery, but he picked it up again immediately and covered his eyes.
“I need a more accurate time, Efrin. What time did you go there?”
“I don’t wear no watch.”
“Did you go up on the mesa first?”
“That was the night before. That’s when we did that. And then when Arthur heard they was going to run the train, he wanted one on that. So we did that down at the yard, before we went over to watch the end of the game.”
“So the school tagging was just later in the night, then. After the game.”
“Yeah.”
“What time? I want you to think about this.”
“Maybe half past nine, maybe ten.”
“And just before that, you two were at the game. That’s what you’re saying?”
“We went to the game to watch the chicks play.”
“And then after the game, you went to work tagging the school. How long did you work before Coach Scott came out?”
“Ten minutes, maybe. Maybe less.”
Estelle consulted her notebook. “The hospital in Posadas checked you in at ten twenty-three.”
“If you say so.”
“And your brother?”
Efrin’s cheeks flushed, and he glared at Estelle. “Look, my brother don’t have nothin’ to do with none of this. He just held the ladder for me. He passed paint cans up to me. When we got attacked, he ran…just like I did. That guy…he’s big and he’s scary. But we didn’t have nothin’ to do with no shooting.”
“And he didn’t really attack you, did he?”
“Well, I fell. That’s his fault.”
“Where did Arthur go after you were taken to the hospital?”
Efrin tried to shift in the bed, a whimper escaping through clenched teeth. “I don’t know where he went.”
“Does Arthur own any other guns, Efrin?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t sound convincing when you lie, hijo.”
“Well, yeah, okay…maybe he does, but…”
“But what? He had them before he went to prison?”
“Yeah. Long before that.”
“How long is long? He’s only twenty-three now. He was sentenced to three years on a felony drug charge, and served sixteen months. When did he acquire this gun that you say Coach Scott confiscated?”
“I don’t know. He traded a friend out of it, I think.” The boy glanced sideways at Estelle, loathe to open that door.
“When was this?”
Nurse Sturges appeared from the hallway and frowned at Estelle.
“Just a few minutes,” Estelle said.
“Not any longer than that,” Sturges admonished. “And there’s another gentleman here who wants a few words with Efrin.” She left, shutting the door behind her.
“Is that gonna be Torrez?”
“No. Mr. Waddell said he wanted to visit you for a bit. When was this that Art traded for the gun?”
“He was going to give it to me for my birthday. But he didn’t have no clip for it.”
“How nice of him. What were you supposed to do with it?”
“Just shoot it out on the mesa. You know. Just mess around.”
“Which birthday, hijo?”
“When I turned eighteen.”
“So, recently.”
“I guess.”
“And did he give it to you for your birthday?”
Efrin’s right hand beat a little tattoo on the bedding to counter the pain. “No. My mom told him to get it out of the house. She didn’t want it around.”
“Smart lady. What kind of gun was it?”
“Just some cheap foreign thing. I don’t know. And I don’t know what the stink was all about. He just liked to carry it ’cause he liked the looks of it.”
“So…no birthday present for you.”
He closed his eyes. “That’s okay. He bought me an old ATV instead. We’ll get it running one of these days.”
“Your brother’s good to you, hijo.”
“Yeah, he is.”
“Would your mom know where Arthur is right now?”
That earned the smallest of shrugs. “I don’t think…maybe. Probably home, watchin’ television. Or hangin’ out.”
“With?”
“Just the guys.”
“How about a couple of names? Who does he run with?”
“I don’t know. Him and Iggy, a lot.”
“Iggy?”
“Mauricio Ignacio. We grew up together. My mom don’t like him much. He’s always gettin’ into trouble with the cops. Ask that Pasquale guy.”
“You mean Deputy Tom Pasquale?”
“Yeah. He likes to bust Iggy for anything he can. But I heard that he’s gonna get a job up on the mesa, too. His big brother works the gate nights.”
For a long moment, Estelle stood quietly, regarding the young man. “What?” he asked finally.
I think Mr. Waddell is going to have to tighten up his hiring practices, Estelle thought, but she kept the opinion to herself. She reached out and patted Efrin’s right knee. “I think Mr. Waddell wants to visit for just a minute, hijo. You do what you want, but this would be a really good time not to act like a jerk.” Efrin’s one visible eyebrow lifted in surprise. “If you want your job back, if you want the chance to finish that wonderful mural, then play it right.” She nudged him again. “Apologizing wouldn’t hurt.” She watched him mull that for a moment. “That would be a good place to start. And then, for the next few days, you do exactly what the doctors tell you, hijo. We’ll be talking again.”
“Am I going to have to talk with the sheriff?”
“More than likely.” Whether Bob Torrez’ reputation was deserved or not, there were times when it was a useful tool.
He grimaced. “You’ll make sure my mom gets home okay?”
“Yes.” She gave his knee a final pat. “It would be nice if you’d think about your mom before you do stupid things, hijo.”
Chapter Thirty-four
“Where you at?” Sheriff Robert Torrez sounded completely unperturbed.
“Right now? We’re just leaving Socorro behind.” Estelle leaned over and looked down through the several layers of haze and smoke. “It looks like a pretty good forest fire over by Mount Withington.”
That didn’t earn so much as a grunt of interest from Torrez. “Look, Arthur Garcia showed up. How long before you’re wheels down?”
Showed up? Estelle turned and gestured to Marion Banks. “ETA?”
The young woman held up a finger and made her way forward. In a moment, she returned. “Did you see that nasty fire over to the west of us?”
“I’ve been watching it. How far out are we?”
“The pilot says sixteen minutes.”
Estelle returned to the phone. “I heard her,” Torrez said. “Look, when you land, come direct to the mesa ASAP. Over at the new theater. You know where that is?”
“Yes. But Garcia showed up there?”
“Yup. Bring Waddell with you.” He hesitated. “We’re just going to wait this one out.”
“What’s going on, Bobby?”
“Garcia is makin’ some interesting demands. See you in a few minutes.” He broke the connection. Estelle sat for a moment in silence, thoughts racing. She redialed, and was more than a little surprised when the sheriff answered.
“What?”
“What do you mean, he’s making demands, Bobby? He’s armed or something?”
“Yup.”
“Armed with what?”
“He’s got one of them cheapo imported revolvers, and one of those little semi-auto nine-millimeter assault pistols with the big-ass magazine.”
Por Dios. “And what’s he doing?”
“Just a minute.” The phone cut off, and Estelle stared out the window, willing the miles away. The jet suddenly didn’t seem so fast, the great expanse of the San Augustin plains taking their time to inch past. A tiny course correction brought the
isolated mountain town of Reserve into view.
Torrez came back on the line. “Look, Mears and Taber are in there talkin’ to him. Gastner is there as well. I’m about twenty minutes out.”
“They’re the best.”
“Yeah, but he’s got Christina Prescott, and he’s got that gun to her head.”
Estelle groaned with frustration. The young man was clearly talented in at least one thing—making an already bad situation far, far worse.
“Does he have a phone?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Tell Mears to get one for him, then have Garcia call me direct.”
“Be a minute.”
“And, Bobby—Efrin says that the night he was hurt, Art had a gun with him. Some kind of pistol without a magazine. Efrin says that when Coach Scott came outside to confront them, the ladder went down somehow, and then Art pulled the gun on Scott.”
“Well, shit. That’s ain’t too bright.”
“True, in this case. Efrin says that Coach Scott took the gun away from Art, and told him that he was going to turn it in at the Sheriff’s Department. He never had the chance, obviously. It makes sense to me that Art would have tried to stop him from doing that.”
“You’re sayin’ he came back to the school with another gun.”
“One with all its parts.”
“That’s what it looks like.”
“So how long ’til you’re on the ground?”
“I’ll get back to you.”
She twisted in her seat and saw that Waddell was deep in a briefcase full of paperwork, oblivious to the outside world. He could stay that way, she thought, at least until the tires screeched on the Posadas Municipal Airport pavement.
Marion Banks caught her eye, and one pretty eyebrow lifted. “Is everything all right?”
“No.” Estelle softened the cryptic answer with a weary smile. “The sooner we’re on the ground, the better.”
Marion held up a finger. “Let me.” She rose and moved forward, leaning close to the pilot’s left shoulder. Their conversation was brief, punctuated by a series of nods from both pilot and co-pilot. Marion returned to her seat. “He’s calling Posadas to let them know that we’re driving straight in, and we’ll be fast taxiing in to the FBO. That’s about the best we can do.”
“Good enough.” Maybe.
Come Dark Page 26
