by Susan Slater
“My boss wouldn’t want me running my mouth like this. Cops even dragged him in to see if there was a connection. Luckily, he’s a golfing buddy of the mayor’s. They leveled with him pretty quick about what was going on.”
Ben thanked him for his time. He hadn’t found Stan, but just maybe he’d ended up with some pretty valuable information. Trouble was, he just didn’t see how this piece fit into the puzzle.
+ + +
When he pulled into the Doubletree’s parking lot, he drove through, turning left onto Tijeras. He parked the Taurus next to a service entrance in a short alley—under a light and directly below a surveillance camera.
“Dr. Pecos? If I could have a minute of your time, thought you might want to see this. I’m Richard Healy, Chief of Security for the Doubletree.” Ben had just walked through the revolving double-door entrance of the hotel.
Ben shook the outstretched hand and followed the man around the front desk. “I was going to stop by before turning in. This probably has to do with the break-in this morning.” Ben was carrying his CD collection, ice scraper and a box of Kleenex. No use leaving anything for someone to steal.
“First of all, my apologies. We’re usually well staffed, but last night we had one of our guys call in sick. And then there was a trashcan fire on the north side of the building started by a couple transients. By the time we got it quieted down, someone had taken out the window of your truck. We did catch some of it on tape. Don’t know how much help it will be; it’s hard to tell anything in the shadows. If I could make a suggestion, park under or close to a light from now on. Makes all the difference.”
Ben leaned over the monitor as his truck came into view. Grainy black and white film, not helped by the shadow of the building and taken at a distance across the entire parking lot. He really did need to pay attention to where he parked from now on. A figure dressed in hooded sweatshirt and baggy pants leaned against the tailgate. He probably stayed there for five seconds before moving to the passenger side of the truck and ducking down. Another wait and then an upraised dark hand—must be gloved—brought a tire iron down swiftly and with force. Ben’s window exploded. The guy was quick, opened the door, rifled the glove box, disappeared from view, presumably while running a hand under the seat. Then, empty-handed, he abruptly closed the door and bolted. It had only taken seconds. Maybe ten.
There was a vehicle at the edge of the frame— “There. Can you stop the tape? Looks like he’s being picked up.”
Ben watched as the back and side of a Hummer came into view, slowed and picked up the vandal. The Hummer looked to be black, a solid dark color, anyway, on tape. Could this be a coincidence? Two different black Hummers wreaking havoc on their lives. Ben very much doubted it.
“Could you make a copy of that for me? I’d like to share it with Lieutenant Samuels of APD.”
“I’ll have it ready for you in the morning.”
Ben thanked the man and headed toward the elevators. The message light on the phone beside the bed was blinking. Ben pushed the play button and started to undress.
“Doc, it’s Lieutenant Samuels here. We need to get together. What’s your time look like in the morning? I’ll be in my office.” He left a number and hung up. The next message began, “Ben, this is Arnold Baxter. Any possibility we could touch base sometime tomorrow? Use my cell; I’ll be running around all day. See you soon.”
That was it. The cop and Connie’s Denver attorney. The machine whirred and then clicked off after a recording thanked him for using the hotel’s services and reminded him the messages would be saved until deleted.
Ben finished brushing his teeth and sank into the bed. He put his cell on the nightstand. Julie would use that number if she needed anything. He propped up a couple pillows behind his head and leaned back. He always liked to run through the cases of the day. When working with patients, many a night’s review turned up something he’d missed earlier. But tonight his eyes closed before a rational thought formed.
The cell’s shrill ring startled him awake.
“Hello.”
“Help me.”
Two simple words, but they cut through the sleep-fog like a knife. Ben propped himself on an elbow, tucked the phone under his chin, and checked the time. Green luminescent numbers cast a glow in the room. Two-fifteen. He watched the numeral sixteen pop up.
“Where are you? I’ll pick you up.”
Silence.
“Emmett—Robby, talk to me. Where are you calling from?”
“How do I know you’ll believe me? How do I know you want to help me?”
“Because I say I will.”
Something that sounded like a laugh, then, “Someone’s trying to kill me. It’s dangerous to know me.”
“Who?” Ben sat up and cursed the ‘unidentified’ caller that showed clearly on his phone. He needed to know where Robby was calling from. A number, anything. “Let’s talk. I can keep you safe.” Stupid thing to promise. The minute it was out of his mouth, Ben wished he could take it back.
“I don’t know where to go.”
“You called me. You must think I can help.”
Ben waited. The silence was so complete that he thought Robby wasn’t there.
“Hello?”
“Okay.”
“You’ll let me help.” Ben made it sound like a statement. “I’ll pick you up. We’ll decide what to do. Tell me where you are.”
“About two blocks from you.”
“How do you know where I am?”
“I followed you. I saw you leave the hospital.”
“Why didn’t you just come here?”
“I’m being followed.”
“Are you safe now?”
“Maybe.”
“Robby, where are you?”
“Meet me in the alley behind the library.”
“Main Library? Corner of Fifth and Copper?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m in a Blue Taurus, give me five—” The phone went dead.
Ben was getting pretty good at pulling on socks, jeans, boots and turtleneck in record time—maybe not Guinness Book of World Records time, but pretty damn fast. He grabbed his jacket, felt the pocket for the Taurus’s keys and the room’s keycard and was out the door. Was he being watched? Taking the time to get a rental might just be paying off. The last thing he wanted was to lead whomever Robby was afraid of right to him. He punched the elevator’s ‘down’ button and didn’t have to wait. He quickly stepped in, a quick jab at L, a muffled whir of machinery, and the obligatory chime announced his arrival at the lobby.
He paused as the elevator doors opened, checked their closing with a hand to the steel casing, and took a quick look around. From his vantage point, the first floor was empty other than a man in hotel livery sitting at the concierge’s desk. So far, so good. A hallway leading to the restaurant and kitchen was half a dozen paces to his right. Even though it wasn’t quite three, he knew the kitchen, which began room service at five-thirty, would be manned. Or ought to be. He should be able to walk through to the alley without being noticed by more than a couple people.
A bleary-eyed head chef barely acknowledged him as Ben pushed open the back door—about two car spaces to the left of the Taurus. Again, a quick look around didn’t turn up anything unusual in the alley, and Ben ‘beeped’ open the car and got in. He literally was going about five blocks. Not a great distance, but a huge one if he put Robby in danger.
He backed out, pulled forward and stopped at the edge of the drive before turning onto Marquette. There wasn’t a car in sight. He leaned against the steering wheel and waited. He wasn’t even sure for what. Maybe the truck’s being broken into was a random act and no one was watching him. More than one person owned a black Hummer. Yet, the attempt on Julie’s life, Robby’s running scared—didn’t do much to calm his jitters.
The street, shiny from rain, mirrored lights spreading like an oil slick into the darkness. Too chilly already for street people; no one was warming sti
ff limbs over a steaming grate or slumped drunken in a doorway. The quiet of a downtown asleep was surreal. But all the better, he guessed. He turned left and accelerated.
Ben remembered that the book drop was to the side of the library, on the north, opposite a loading dock for an adjoining business. There was space enough to park three or four cars—spaces reserved for a CEO and other company dignitaries. But, importantly, the area was not a dead end; the alley was a through street connected with Fifth. He could go around to the back, pull in, pick up Robby and continue back to the hotel, because wasn’t that what he thought would be the safest? Take him back to his room?
He didn’t see Robby immediately. Not until the lanky figure in leather jacket and jeans threw open the car door, tossed a paper bag on the floor, dove onto the back seat and slammed the door shut.
“Did anyone see you turn in here?” Robby stayed stretched out on the floor behind the front seat.
“Not that I know of.” Ben pulled forward toward Fifth. He paused and looked up and down the street before pulling out. A vagrant jaywalked in front of the library, pushing a grocery cart spilling over the sides with what looked like blankets. He disappeared up Copper trailing one large plaid blanket wrapped around his shoulders. There were no cars and no other pedestrians.
“Looks clear.” Ben turned north, accelerating to catch the green light at Tijeras.
“Where are we going?”
“I thought you’d be safe with me—at the hotel.”
Silence, then, “Probably.”
“Do you need anything? Need to stop by your apartment?” Ben realized that the address he had in his billfold was a short two blocks from where they were.
“Moved out. The day after they stole my truck. Everything’s in here.”
Ben assumed that explained the paper bag. He was curious as to where Robby had been staying for the last few days but guessed he’d probably find out in due time. Robby’s appearance surprised him—close-cropped hair, long on top, trimmed clean and short at the hairline, still had the mustache, only one earring, left ear, simple silver hoop, small and unobtrusive. Model handsome. Had a corner been turned? A gender choice made? Now was probably not the time to go there.
Catching every light, they made the trip back quickly. A space, three down from the hotel entrance, was empty and Ben pulled in.
“Can we sit here a minute? Then you go in first and I’ll give it, maybe five minutes, and follow.”
Overly cautious? Ben wasn’t certain it wasn’t overkill, but it would be easy enough to comply. “Sure. I’ll meet you by the elevator—to the left of the reservation desk.” Ben counted off another couple minutes before opening his door. “See you inside.” He’d kept his head down so someone watching wouldn’t catch the movement of his lips. God, the kid had him running spooked now.
Ben pushed the ‘up’ button the minute he saw Robby hit the revolving front door. “We’re on second.” Probably a stupid thing to say since Robby had just watched him press two. But there didn’t seem to be any conversation forthcoming. Ben found himself glancing at the numbers above the door. When the chime announced two, Robby touched his arm and motioned toward the hall.
“How far down to your room?” The whisper was barely audible.
“Next door, first room on your left.”
“Good. You go first. When I hear the door open, I’ll be there.”
Ben nodded, stepped out of the elevator and moved to his left. There was no one in the hall. Ben inserted the keycard and opened the door.
“This is nice.” Robby walked past him to the window that opened onto Second Street. “Could we leave the light off a minute? I’d like to take a look at the parking lot.”
“Sure.” Ben had been about to switch on a desk lamp, but watched Robby carefully draw back a corner of the drapes and look below.
“Nothing. It’s dead out there.”
“Who’s following you?”
A shrug. “Who knows? Somebody in a black Hummer. Windows are too dark to tell.”
Ben sat forward. The ubiquitous Hummer—Julie, his truck, and now Robby. And no one got a license number. Still, it was information for Lieutenant Samuels.
Robby turned and sat down on the bed nearest the window. “This was a good idea.”
Again, Ben just nodded and switched on the lamp. He wasn’t sure whether Robby was referring to his calling him or Ben’s bringing him to his room, but guessed it didn’t matter. Robby picked up the copy of the Journal Ben had tossed on the bed and folded it to look at the feature article. Ben watched as Robby sat looking at Connie’s picture.
“I killed her.” Robby’s index finger pointed to Connie. He looked up at Ben. “I killed my mother.”
Chapter Twenty-one
“How did you do that, Robby?” Ben took a deep breath, pulled out the chair behind the desk, sat, and leaned forward.
“She needed a bone marrow transplant. I would have probably been a good match. I don’t think she had any other relatives to ask.” Robby paused; he was tentatively stroking Connie’s picture, index finger tracing the outline of her nose. “She asked me if I’d do it—save her life. And I said I’d let her know.” He looked up at Ben, tears spilling over. “I put her off. I was pissed that after all this time she only wanted something from me. But I think maybe she just wanted to be with me—live long enough to try to make things right.” Now tears, unchecked, streamed down both cheeks.
“You had no way of knowing how seriously ill she was. How little time was left.”
“But I disappointed her. She put her faith in me. I know that now.” He snuffed loudly, reached for a Kleenex and blew his nose. “Do you think she suffered?”
“I don’t know.” Ben had a decision to make. Unless he was watching Oscar-worthy acting, Robby did not kill Connie. And Ben was going to level with him. Tell him the truth and see what his reaction was. “Robby, when did you last see Connie?”
“Two days ago at her office. It was the first time we met … face to face.”
“Had you ever been to her house?”
“Yes, but not really inside. I performed a ceremony for her outside in the garden. And then one night I thought I’d go in. I went around to that door off the driveway, but I ended up in your room. I left right away.”
Ben pulled his chair around to face Robby. “Robby, Connie didn’t die from her illness. She was murdered.”
Black eyes quickly looked squarely into Ben’s and held. The paper slipped to the floor. “How do you know? Why would someone …?” His voice trailed off. “But it wasn’t reported in the papers.”
“It was covered up … literally … and only discovered when an autopsy was performed. Connie had requested that she be dressed in a wedding gown, her hair braided with pearls—”
“And that’s how she was found?”
“Yes, with a high-necked dress that covered the marks of strangulation.” Ben noted the slight shudder that the word, strangulation, produced before Robby abruptly stood and walked to the window.
“If someone knew my history, they would suspect me.”
“No one should know. I know your history only because I’ve had access to your medical files.” A little bit of a lie, but he wasn’t going to mention Les’s name quite yet. “I would assume those records are sealed because you were a juvenile.”
“Stan Devon got them … at least the police records.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yeah. He threatened to tell Ms. CdeBaca. I paid him five thousand dollars, but I think he told her anyway.”
Slime, Ben thought. He took Robby’s money and then double-crossed the caretaker and walked away with almost fifty. And God knew how much Connie had originally paid him.
Neither of them spoke for a few moments, then Robby broke the silence, “Do you think someone is trying to set me up? Make it look like I killed her?”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” If a person knew the history, it was a perfect setup. A great diversion for the
real killer or killers. Ben had wondered about Robby’s innocence, had even questioned Les. He could only imagine what a cop would do with the information. But nothing had been reported. Over two days. “You need to be careful. I have an idea how we could keep you safe—send you to the reservation.”
“Which one?”
“The one you belong to. Julie and her mother are accompanying Connie’s body to the Mescalero Apache reservation in the morning. I’d like you to go with them. I’ll make some inquiries, get you a place to stay and maybe some muscle to protect you.” Ben thought he had just the contact, a man he’d treated before, an elder of the tribe.
“I’d like to go to the burial.”
“I think she’d be pleased that you were there.”
“You know, my father is half Mescalero.”
“Did she tell you who your father is?”
“Yeah, Jose Rodriguez Mondragon.”
“You’re kidding. The poet?” When Ben had read the birth certificate, he hadn’t connected J.R. Mondragon with the poet. This was great news. What a pedigree!
“I guess. You act like he’s someone famous.”
“Well, in New Mexico, he is. A combination of Indian and Hispanic heritage, a child prodigy, a professor at UNM by age twenty-five, his poetry celebrated worldwide. But if I remember correctly, he disappeared when he was only thirty.”
Robby reiterated Connie’s story of a summer in Spain, a love affair between the thirty-year-old and the disconsolate forty-year-old, a pregnancy and a murder. A murder set up by Skip CdeBaca and carried out by his henchman. But with his wife’s fingerprints on a gun that gave him control—a lifetime of leverage. Ben was quiet. Murder. It made sense. The henchman had come back to collect. Probably threatened exposure and, under the circumstances, that was the last thing Connie needed. She attempted to buy the murderer’s silence. Fifty thousand dollars worth. And then this caretaker or henchman—McNamara—gets blown up by an even greedier villain. What was it his adopted mother used to say? There’s no honor among thieves? But didn’t Mac get what was coming to him?
