Statute of Limitations

by Steven F Havill

  “Eddie, we need to check Janet Tripp’s keys. Tom Mears had them in an evidence bag, and he was going to run prints, but we need to know if her apartment keys are on the ring.”

  “You mean the keys to the place she shares with Sisneros?” Mitchell asked.

  “Right.”

  “Is Sisneros with you?”

  “Yes, he is. We’re at the Don Juan.”

  “Okay. Hang tight. Tom was downstairs with Linda a few minutes ago. I don’t know if he still is or not. Give me a minute to track things down.”

  “We’re headed back to the office right now,” Estelle said. As she switched off, Mike nodded and slid out of the booth. He accepted both doggie boxes from JanaLynn.

  Estelle dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table, thinking immediately of the countless times she’d seen Bill Gastner do exactly the same thing, whether he’d had a dinner or just a slice of pie and coffee. “Thanks, JL,” she said.

  “You guys take care,” JanaLynn said, and the look she gave Mike Sisneros would have been comical under other circumstances. She didn’t quite reach up and pinch her nose shut against the aroma, but her reaction was close. Oblivious, the deputy headed out of the restaurant toward Estelle’s car.

  “Is he going to be all right?” JanaLynn whispered to Estelle as Mike slipped through the inner foyer door.

  “We hope so,” Estelle said. “A little more sleep, a lot less beer, and a very long shower.”

  It took a minute and a half to drive back to the Public Safety Building, straight east on Bustos through the heart of Posadas. The two of them rode in silence, Estelle content to leave the young man alone with his thoughts. Mike Sisneros appeared to have pulled himself out of his personal morass, and his eyes flicked from one side of the street to another as if the answers to all his questions were about to step out in front of the county car. Estelle could see that he was thinking, not just puddling. That was progress of a sort.

  Inside the Sheriff’s Office, Eddie Mitchell stood near the dispatch island, and as Estelle and Mike entered, he extended a plastic evidence bag toward Estelle. “They’re still downstairs,” he said.

  “Still?” She looked up at the wall clock as she and Mike followed Mitchell to his office.

  “Still. It’s the new schedule we talked about. Thirty-six hours on, two hours off. That way, we’ll be able to cut back to a staff of two. Leona Spears will be ecstatic.”

  Estelle looked quickly toward the front doors and the foyer, where the line of plastic chairs awaited visitors. Leona Spears, the potential county manager-to-be, was nowhere in sight. “She was here?”

  Mitchell raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Paranoid, are we?”

  “No...not paranoid, exactly. I just want to have time to prepare for the challenge,” Estelle said. Mitchell closed his office door, and Estelle spread the plastic bag out on his desk so she could look at each key. The fob was bright blue plastic with the a & h welding logo in gold. “Which one goes to the apartment, Mike?”

  Sisneros took the bag, glanced through the set, and shook his head, then looked more carefully. “It’s not there.”

  “She did have them, though?”

  “Well, of course she had them.”

  “As far as you know, she had them when you two last saw each other? What, that would be yesterday some time?”

  “I suppose so. I didn’t ask.” He hunched his shoulders. “Who ever asks somebody if they have their keys? I mean, do you have your house key on your key ring?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Resisting the temptation to check, but now keenly aware of the weight of her own key ring in her pocket, she plunged doggedly on. “But as far as you knew, Janet had her own key to your apartment and she had it with her. It was on this key ring, not some separate one? She didn’t have it on a separate special one or something?”

  “Yes, I said.” A flash of irritation flushed his face. “It’s just the one key.” He enunciated the words as if talking to little Carlos. “It’s one key, and it fits both the inside door by the stairwell, and the outside door. That’s the one door we use most of the time. We don’t come and go through the house. We use the outside stairway.”

  “You always lock the apartment when you go out?” Mitchell asked.

  “Yes. I mean, we forget once in a while, but yeah...we lock it as a matter of course.”

  “Leave an extra key with somebody? The manager, someone like that?”

  “No. Mrs. Freeman might have one. I suppose she does. I never asked her.”

  “Let me see yours.” Mitchell held out his hand and waited while the deputy dug the wad of keys out of his hip pocket. “Which one?”

  Sisneros held the apartment key by the blade, the rest dangling. Mitchell took them and looked again at the keys in the evidence bag.

  “Okay,” he said slowly, and looked up questioningly at Estelle. “Keys don’t just come off key rings all by themselves. And you’re sure she didn’t keep it on a separate ring.”

  “I know she didn’t.”

  “So where did it go?”

  “I don’t know, Captain.” The use of rank as a name wasn’t lost on Eddie, who gazed thoughtfully at Sisneros.

  “We have two choices that make sense,” Estelle said. “Either Janet gave it to someone...to anyone—”

  “Why would she do that?” Sisneros interrupted.

  “You’d know that better than we would, Mike.”

  “Well, I don’t know it.”

  “No idea? All right, then. The other choice is that someone took it. Let’s suppose for a minute. Suppose that the killer took it off the ring.”

  “What would he want with it?” Sisneros asked. “The killer, I mean. If he took it.”

  “Good question. Obviously to get inside her apartment...either then or to use at some point in the future. He knew where she lived. Or he found out one way or another.” She held up the keys in the bag, looking at them again. “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out which one is for the apartment.” She counted them off. “Jeep keys, this one looks like it’s for a small suitcase or night bag, we’ve got a safety deposit key for Posadas State Bank, and I’d be willing to bet that this big Yale key is for A & H Welding. Who knows what the little Brinks key is for...some little padlock somewhere.”

  “That’s to her storage unit over on Escondido, by the trailer park. Where she used to live.”

  “Fair enough. Somebody wasn’t interested in gaining entry to that, evidently. Is anything else missing from your apartment?” Mitchell asked.

  “Anything else?” Sisneros replied. “I mean, nothing’s missing. I was there from the time you dropped me off until the undersheriff called this morning. If something was gone, I would have noticed.”

  I’m not so sure of that, Estelle thought. The way Mike Sisneros had looked when she first saw him plodding down the stairs suggested that a bulldozer could have driven through the apartment and he wouldn’t have noticed or, if he had noticed, wouldn’t have minded.

  “Other than your .22 pistol, I think he means,” Estelle said. “Janet’s personal effects were all there?”

  For the first time since breakfast, the young man’s face crumpled with agony, and he leaned against Mitchell’s desk, jaw slack. “Christ,” he whispered. “Yeah...they were there. They’re still there. I walked into the bathroom and her comb and brush and everything...” He choked it off. “Still there,” he murmured. “Just like she stepped out for a minute and was coming right back.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “I can’t believe this.”

  “The gun was gone,” Mitchell said mildly, repeating the obvious. His heavy-lidded eyes assessed Mike Sisneros without a trace of expression.

  “I don’t know when that happened,” the deputy said. “I’ve said
that a dozen times.”

  “Could it have happened yesterday?”

  “I suppose it could,” Sisneros said, exasperated. “And it could have happened a year ago, too. But what sense does that make? He shot her, then took her apartment key, went to the apartment and stole my gun? That’s sort of backward for that little scenario, don’t you think?”

  “What if Janet didn’t have her key with her yesterday.” Estelle voiced the possibility and waited.

  “If she lost her key, why wouldn’t she have said something to me when she came here? Wouldn’t that have been the logical thing? Especially since I was going to Lordsburg, and she had decided not to. What’s she going to do, sit in the apartment all day?”

  “But she didn’t do that, did she?”

  Mike’s temper rose again. “What are you getting at, anyway?”

  Estelle held up the evidence bag. “The apartment key is gone. That’s what I’m getting at. We don’t know why it’s gone. We don’t know when it went missing.” She dropped the plastic bag back on Mitchell’s desk. “I’ll feel better when I know the answers.”

  “Well, so will I.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. You ready to go back to work?”

  He didn’t look ready for anything, but Estelle saw Mike Sisneros’s spine straighten a little.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Now that we know the key is missing, I want you to go back to your apartment and really look, Mike. Look through everything. All your papers. All your stuff. And Janet’s too. I know it’s hard, but you’ll know better than anyone what should be there and what’s not. Look at everything, Mike.” She paused. “When you’re going through Janet’s things, get the telephone number and address for her sister. We’ll want to talk with her.”

  “Okay. I know where that is. You want me to call her?”

  “I’d rather do that, Mike.” She nodded at the evidence bag. “And if I were you, I’d have the locks changed today.”

  “A burglar’s not going to get much in my place,” he said.

  “I’m not worried about burglars, Mike.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  When Estelle entered the hospital, the hustle and bustle of the day shift had overtaken the halls and offices. Medicine didn’t pause for rest on Sundays. There was no sign of the nocturnal Stacy Cunningham and his floor polisher.

  In his room, Bill Gastner stood in front of the window, gazing out into the bright December morning. A small bandage covered the back of his skull behind his left ear. Estelle rattled the door knob so he wouldn’t startle, and he raised a hand without turning around.

  “I saw you drive into the parking lot,” he said. “Goddamn gorgeous day, you know that?”

  “Yes it is.”

  “Have you taken any time to enjoy it yet?” He turned and grinned at her. “You missed Christmas, you know.”

  “Actually, I have, Padrino,” Estelle said. “And you look like you’re ready to go.” She had almost said huggable, since his brown Hush Puppies, russet corduroy trousers, and plaid flannel shirt made him look like a comfortably rotund teddy bear.

  “That’s for sure,” Gastner said emphatically. He looked at the hospital bed with distaste. “Thanks for agreeing to play taxi.”

  “I bet you’re hungry,” Estelle said.

  “Of course I’m hungry,” he replied. “Let’s go get a little something.”

  “I just spent a half-hour with Mike Sisneros at the Don Juan, so...”

  “Without me? How could you? I’m crushed.”

  “Well, we could have used your touch, sir. JanaLynn says hi, by the way.”

  “God, the love of my life,” Gastner said.

  “I ordered a breakfast burrito, and didn’t touch it. We can go back to the house and nuke it for you.”

  “Sounds good. Although their breakfast menu leaves a little something to be desired in the size department. But that’s a good start.” He went to the closet and pulled his jacket off the hanger. “Let’s get out of here before they show up with that damn wheelchair.” He patted his pocket. “And I have enough drugs to go into business.”

  “Should I ask if the doctors actually checked you out?”

  “Of course they did,” Gastner said. “Francis was here and left. That’s the same thing. I asked if I could get dressed, and your hubby agreed that was a good idea. I translate that as my ticket to freedom.”

  A few minutes later, as they walked across the tarmac toward the car, Estelle noticed the care with which Gastner placed each step. As he reached the back fender, he stretched out a hand and stopped, leaning against the car. “The best thing about being stuck in that place is the getting out,” he said. “The only thing I’m going to be able to smell for a week is spray cleaner and bleach.”

  A few minutes later, when Estelle turned south on Grande, Gastner looked puzzled. “I thought we were going to your place,” he said.

  “You’re not ready for that yet,” Estelle said. “And we wouldn’t get anything done.”

  “I appreciated the troops stopping by my room earlier this morning,” he said. “Sofía brought the urchins.”

  “They were excited about getting to do that. They worry about you, Padrino. You know that?”

  “Rodgers and Hammerstein,” Gastner mused. “How are they doing?”

  She nodded noncommittally, and he reached out and closed the cover on the center console computer as if it might be listening. He leaned his elbow on it, slouching sideways in the crowded seat.

  “You’re allowed to brag on ’em, you know,” he said. “Hell, I do.”

  “Oh, sure!” Estelle laughed, well aware of Gastner’s aversion to inflicting photos of relatives and tales of their innumerable accomplishments on the unwary.

  “Well, I would if the opportunity presented itself,” he added. “You worried about ’em?” That took her by surprise, and he reached out to point at Escondido when it appeared that she was going to drive right by the intersection. “I live down there.”

  She braked hard and turned.

  “You know, I have a granddaughter who plays the piano,” he said. “I think I told you that. Camille’s youngest? Sherri goes to the keyboard, and the rest of the family hightails to the woods. She absolutely has a passion for playing the piano...and she has absolutely no talent whatsoever. Go figure. Her mother does, but not the kid.” He shrugged. “I worry about number one son, though.” He turned and regarded Estelle. “Francisco, that is.”

  When Estelle didn’t respond, he added, “It’s not going to be easy for him.”

  “No, it’s not,” she said, and pulled to a stop in front of Gastner’s adobe. She pushed the gear lever into Park. “I’m not sure what to do, Padrino.”

  He relaxed back against the door, showing no inclination to get out of the car. “You have a list of options?”

  “I suppose we do.”

  When she didn’t elaborate, he beckoned with his fingers.

  “Sofía made a suggestion that scares me,” Estelle said, her voice dropping almost to a whisper.

  Gastner cocked his head. “Scares you how?”

  “She suggested the Conservatorio de Veracruz.”

  His heavy brows beetled a little. “For just him, you mean? Or the whole clan?”

  “Either way. But I don’t think...,” and one of her hands fluttered hopelessly.

  “Don’t think what?” he said bluntly, refusing to let her off the hook.

  “I don’t think that I could send Francisco away,” she said. Once the words were out, they sounded silly to her. “For one thing, I can’t imagine Carlos home all alone. He and Francisco are the next best thing to Siamese twins, sir.”

  “Tough stuff,” he grunted. “So what are the options? All of you could go, right? I mean, whe
ther it’s Veracruz or Juilliard in New York doesn’t matter much, does it?”

  “It matters a lot, sir. But yes. We all could go. We’re not going to, but we could.”

  “You think hard on what an opportunity that is, sweetheart,” he said, lurching around so he could reach the door handle. “Hell, there’s sick people in every corner of the world. It can’t matter a whole hell of a lot where hubby works. Sick is sick. With Sofía’s influence, the whole bunch of you would have to get used to living in grand style. Hell, you could get a job working for the federales, or some such.”

  Estelle laughed. “That’s what Francis said, sir.”

  “Well, listen to somebody, sweetheart. Hey, look,” and he leaned back toward her. “I’ve been around a while, and when my wife was alive, we went to concerts and stuff like that. Best one I can remember was that opera guy, what’s-his-name? The Mexican.”

  “Plácido Domingo?”

  “Yeah, him.”

  “The ‘opera guy.’” She laughed. “He’d love that.”

  “Well, he is. Anyway, we saw him in concert in Houston, back when he was younger. You know, he spends a lot of his time working with young musicians. Anyway,” and he paused and reached up to pat the bandage on his head. “What was I trying to say?”

  “That you’ve been around, sir.”

  “That’s it. And anyone who hears the little wart play, or who watches him make love to that damn piano, or watches the way he tells stories with it...hell, anybody will tell you the same thing. He isn’t some little kid who should be stuck with once-a-week piano lessons in some backwater place out in the desert. What a goddamn waste to the world that would be, sweet-heart.” He stopped suddenly and thumped the computer lid. “It’s none of my business. Except it is my business, because he’s family.” He shrugged. “So there it is. Do what you got to do, sweetheart. Don’t let it wait.”

  “Francis and I need to talk about it some more. Right now we’re leaning toward bringing the world to him, instead of vice versa. Let the rest of the world find out that there really is a Posadas.”