Statute of Limitations

by Steven F Havill

  “Nothing, thanks,” Estelle said. She glanced at Gastner and saw that the former sheriff was eyeing a particularly dramatic layer cake that had already been sampled, but he grimaced and turned away. “Essie, we need to talk with you again.”

  “But I’ve told you all I can remember.”

  “Maybe I can help,” Estelle said. “We’d like to hear what you recall about the spring of 1990.”

  Essie did a fair job of looking blank. “That’s fifteen years ago,” she said. “Por Dios, how would I remember something like that.” Her eyes flicked toward Bill Gastner, then off into the neutral distance. When Estelle didn’t continue, Essie’s gaze wavered uncertainly. It’s there, Estelle thought.

  “You had some interesting neighbors at the time,” she said after a moment. “The Sisneros family lived next door. You didn’t mention that when we spoke earlier this morning.”

  Essie drew in a long, deep breath, leaning back in her chair with both hands braced against the table. “Well,” she began, then stopped. She pulled a wadded tissue out of her pocket and dabbed at her left eye. “Just Hank,” she corrected. “He bought that little house a couple of years before, when the Estancias moved out. He was going to fix it up as a rental, I think, but most of the time it just sat empty. When he and Irene divorced, he moved in and stayed there. Just for a few months. Irene, she wouldn’t have anything more to do with him. And then she went to Lordsburg and married that guy.”

  “But that was years later,” Estelle prompted.

  “I guess so.” Essie waved a hand in dismissal. “Mike, he went in the army a little bit after that, you know. Three or four years.” As if her two visitors hadn’t appreciated the fact, she added, “That was a long time ago. But are you sure when that was? That was 1990?”

  “We’re sure,” Estelle said.

  “I suppose you are.” Essie’s resignation was tinged with a little bitterness. “So long ago.”

  “Essie,” Estelle continued, “At the same time, at the same time in 1990, the Tripps lived across the street. Am I right?”

  The older woman pursed her lips and regarded Estelle thoughtfully, long enough that the undersheriff got the impression Essie was not simply trying to remember, but was calculating how much to say.

  “You know, that was a real mess,” she said. “And so sad, I think.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, I don’t know all the details,” Essie said, and the tone of her voice made it clear that she certainly did know the details. “But Olivia...you knew her? Olivia Tripp?”

  Estelle shook her head. Gastner sat silently, his face impassive, like an old bulldog dozing with his eyes open.

  “Well, they had their troubles, too. They didn’t live here too long, I know that. They broke up, Brad and Olivia did, and Olivia took the two girls. Brad, he stayed in that house for a while by himself. But then he moved away. For a while there, we had nothing but bachelors around us. A couple of lost men.”

  “Do you know where Brad went?”

  “No idea whatsoever,” Essie said with finality. “That was kind of funny, too. He packed up, and Eduardo thought that he was putting things in storage. He was really in a mess when Olivia left him.” She almost smiled. “Eduardo said that it was going to take a bulldozer to clean out all the beer cans.”

  “Brad Tripp had a drinking problem?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “And apparently Hank Sisneros did, too.”

  Essie nodded in resignation. “Awful, isn’t it? Eduardo used to say that half the time, he felt like a rehab counselor with those two. Fight, fight, fight. You know,” and she nodded at the memory, “it was a good thing that they lived across the street from each other. If they had lived side by side, no telling what might have happened. Fight, fight. They’d yell at each other...,” she tsked. “When that truck got away from Hank, we were sure World War Three was going to break out.”

  “Tell me about the truck.”

  “Oh, that,” Essie said dismissively. “That old thing shouldn’t even have been on the road. That’s what Eduardo said. The brake failed, or some such silly thing.”

  Estelle opened the folder containing Hank Sisneros’s history and scanned the report again. “Nothing much came of it all?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your husband said there was an altercation.”

  “That’s for sure.” She smiled, and her eyes grew sad. “Eduardo broke it up.”

  “What did Tripp say when the truck crashed into his yard, do you remember?”

  “I just don’t remember,” she said. “A good thing that no one was hurt.”

  “It wasn’t long after that incident when Eduardo arrested Hank Sisneros for driving while intoxicated. Do you remember that?”

  Essie heaved another sigh. “I suppose so.” Her eyes drifted down to the report that Estelle held. “May I look at that?”

  “Sure.”

  She took her time, occasionally bringing the report closer to scrutinize her husband’s tiny handwriting. “You said this was the last time?”

  Silence enveloped the office for a moment. “No. I didn’t say that,” Estelle said.

  “Well, I think it was. You know,” and she reached across and handed the folder to Estelle, “Eduardo and I used to talk about these things. We were so fortunate, I guess.”

  “Fortunate?”

  “Our children were such a joy to us. It was hard to imagine it any other way. You know what I mean with those two dear little ones of yours. And you,” she said to Gastner. “You have four grown ones, with grandchildren.” She smiled when Gastner didn’t respond. “You know, Eduardo and I didn’t disagree very often.” Estelle found it hard to imagine the two gentle souls raising their voices about anything. “But we argued that night.”

  “About what?”

  “Eduardo came home that night and I could tell that something had happened. You know, I didn’t like to intrude, but we sat in the kitchen for a long time. I remember that. We sat and talked. Eduardo wasn’t sure that he had done the right thing.”

  “And what thing was that? You mean when he arrested Hank?”

  “That was only part of it,” Essie said, and then fell silent for a moment. She looked up at Gastner. “This is like scratching open an old cut,” she said, and hesitated. “You didn’t know about this?” Gastner shook his head. “Eduardo never talked to you? He said that he would....”

  “Not about any of this,” Gastner said. “It’s not like he’s going to come to us about every DWI in the village. And for every one that makes it into the file,” and he nodded at the report folder, “there’s probably a thousand drunk drivers that make it home without incident. That’s why they always figure that they can, Essie.”

  “This wasn’t about a drunk driver, Bill,” she said, and added with finality, “Eduardo wouldn’t lose any sleep over a drunk driver.” She reached out and tapped the folder sharply with an index finger. “This was about a deal.”

  “A deal?”

  “Yes, a deal. And I told Eduardo that he shouldn’t have anything to do with it. But you know, he liked to keep things...” She made a smoothing motion with her hands.

  “Tell us what happened, Essie,” Estelle said, but the expression on Essie Martinez’s face said that the telling wasn’t so simple.

  A long moment of silence followed, and Estelle could see the moisture forming at the corners of the older woman’s eyes. “When Eduardo stopped him, Hank Sisneros had the Tripp girl in the car with him,” Essie said, and her hands settled in her lap as if in relief. “Janet...the older one.” She took a deep breath as if to say, There, I said it.

  “Janet Tripp.”

  “Yes.”

  “She would have been what, about fourteen then?” Gastner asked.

  “I th
ink so.”

  “What did Eduardo do, Essie?” Estelle asked.

  “He thought that they had only been drinking together,” she said. “At least that’s what he hoped. That’s what I think. He hoped. But he knew better. I know he did. Anyway, Hank Sisneros offered to move away if Eduardo wouldn’t press charges against him. If he wouldn’t tell Brad Tripp. Or Olivia—except that she wasn’t living with Brad at the time. Maybe Janet had come over to see her dad. Maybe something like that.” She looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, can you just imagine what that old drunk Mr. Tripp would have done if he found out that his neighbor across the way had his little girl....”

  “And Eduardo agreed to that?”

  Essie nodded slowly. “He agreed. And he never should have. If you ask me, that Hank should have ended up in jail. But Eduardo thought that wouldn’t do any good.”

  “And Hank did move away shortly after that?”

  “Yes. He did.”

  “And the Tripps?”

  “You know, I don’t remember. But Brad Tripp moved away, too. I know that. He moved things into storage and then he went away. And Hank, he moved away too, just like he said he would. And that was that.”

  “Essie, do you know whether or not the Tripps ever found out about the incident?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t. All I know is that after a while everyone went away. And after that, it was a much quieter neighborhood. But you know, I’ve often wondered...” She let it hang unfinished. “We’ll never know, I suppose.”

  “And maybe just as well,” Gastner said, pushing himself out of his chair.

  “A small world,” Essie said. “Eduardo thought the world of the boy, you know. Of Mike. That boy is nothing at all like his father. But I worried a little when I heard that they were going together... Mike and Janet. Do you think Mike knew about his father and the girl?”

  “I don’t know,” Estelle said. “Kids are sometimes pretty good at keeping secrets from their parents—it works the other way around, too.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Estelle’s first effort to reach Monica Tripp resulted in a busy signal, and even while she was reacting with a grimace of irritation, the cell phone on her belt chirped.

  “We’re at Mike’s apartment,” Sheriff Torrez said without greeting. “Are you finished up?” He didn’t bother to elaborate.

  “I just tried to reach Monica Tripp, with no success. I’m going to drop Padrino off so he can pick up his truck,” Estelle replied. “He claims he has work to do.” She glanced across the office at Bill Gastner, who shrugged in apology. “We left Essie’s a few minutes ago. What she remembers jibes with the reports. I think it boils down to something pretty simple—she didn’t want to embarrass Eduardo. Or at least tarnish his memory. So wait for me. I’ll tell you about it when I get there. We may be barking up the wrong tree, Bobby.”

  “Yeah, well,” the sheriff said, obviously not awash in sympathy. “Swing this way, then. And keep the old man with you.”

  “I’ll tell him you said that,” Estelle laughed.

  “See you in a couple of minutes,” Torrez said, and there wasn’t any responsive note of humor in his tone. “You on the way?”

  “Yes, sir.” The phone connection broke without further comment from Torrez, and Estelle snapped her own unit closed. “Bobby wants you over at Mike’s,” she said to Gastner, whose shaggy eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  “Moi?”

  “A ti.”

  “What’d I do?”

  “I have no idea, sir. It sounds like he’s talking to Mike right now. So we’ll see. Can the State live without you for a few more minutes?”

  Gastner laughed. “Oh, I’m sure. They can live without me for months and years at a time, no doubt.”

  A moment or two later, just beyond Posadas Hardware and Lumber, they swung onto the broken macadam side street that eventually wound behind the high school’s athletic field. Before they reached the school property, they saw two county units pulled into the Mesa View Apartments parking lot, on the far side of the building, out of sight of Mike Sisneros’s red Mustang—and the apartment window above it with the commanding view.

  “He looks terrible,” Gastner said, nodding in the sheriff’s direction as Torrez slid down from the driver’s seat of the Expedition, moving slowly as if the slightest jar when his boots touched the pavement would send shock waves up through his system.

  “Agreed,” Estelle said. “The more people who tell him that, though, the more stubborn he gets.”

  “You know,” Gastner said as he pulled himself up and out of Estelle’s sedan, “when he married Gayle, I was willing to bet that she’d be able to reform him in about a month. No dice. Not even in five years. Not a dent.”

  “It’s when Gayle turns grumpy that I’m going to start worrying,” Estelle replied.

  “Hey.” Bob Torrez’s standard greeting was augmented by an expression that Estelle couldn’t differentiate as a smile or a grimace. If he had overheard Gastner’s comment, or hers, he gave no indication. Moving slowly to the front of Estelle’s Crown Victoria, he settled his left hip ever so gingerly on the front fender. He glanced at Estelle, and she saw his gaze fix for a brief instant at the base of her throat, where the black margin of the vest showed.

  With one hand braced on the fender, Torrez turned and nodded at Gastner, pointing with his free hand at the tangle of gray chest hair that peeked out around the top button of the older man’s plaid shirt. “Vest,” he said.

  At the same time, Eddie Mitchell slammed the back door of the Expedition and appeared holding a large, well-used vest that he extended toward Gastner. “This was still in the equipment room,” he, said. “It has your name on it.”

  “And I’m sure it still fits,” Gastner said agreeably. He took the vest and laid it on the hood of Estelle’s car, then shucked his own jacket. With practiced ease, he slipped the vest over his head, pulled it down so that it covered at least a portion of his belly, and slapped the Velcro stays in place. “So,” he said, patting the center of the vest’s reinforcement pocket. He slipped the jacket back on. “What’s up? Where’s Mike?”

  “We don’t know,” Mitchell said. “That’s what’s up. That’s his car, but no Mike.”

  “Not upstairs in his apartment?”

  “Nope.” Torrez said. “Eddie went up and rapped on the door. No answer, and the door’s locked.” His dark brown eyes were locked on the shadow where the interior foyer opened to the sidewalk. “I don’t like it much. He could just be sittin’ inside.”

  Or worse, Estelle thought. “Or he might be out for a Sunday stroll, Bobby.” She touched the phone that hung on her belt, but Torrez had evidently reached his own decision. “We found out why Janet didn’t want to spend Christmas with Mike’s mother and stepfather.”

  “No shit?”

  “It looks like years ago, Eduardo cut a deal with Hank Sisneros, back in 1990. The chief caught Hank and young Janet together, half sloshed. And maybe doing more than just drinking. The girl was fourteen at the time.”

  “Essie said this?”

  “She remembers it well. Apparently Eduardo cut Hank a deal. Hank offered to leave town, and the chief didn’t pursue the charges. Hank must have been persuasive.”

  “Christ,” Torrez muttered. He moved slightly, shifting his weight from a trouble spot on his hip. “Hank Sisneros.” He said the name and fell silent, staring at the pavement. “That’s one person who wouldn’t want an old piece of paperwork to go public.”

  “But Chief Martinez didn’t make a report,” Estelle said.

  “Hank wouldn’t know that, would he?” Torrez said. “And he probably doesn’t know that the statute of limitations puts him in the clear, the dumb shit. It’s just like I said.” He turned to glare at Bill Gastner. “The two old guys would remember, and that
’s what he’s afraid of.”

  “One of ’em, anyway,” Gastner said. “I didn’t.”

  “And he don’t know that,” Torrez persisted. “Only thing we don’t know is how Mike figures in all this. I can see that daddy wouldn’t want the son to find out who’s been bangin’ the kid’s fiancée.” He jerked his head toward the apartment building. “We were waiting on you.” He patted his jacket pocket. “We have the paperwork to go in upstairs.”

  Pushing himself off the car, the sheriff reached out and locked a hand on Gastner’s left shoulder. So rarely did Robert Torrez ever reach out physically to anyone that the gesture startled Estelle. “Until I know where he’s at,” Torrez said. “Until we know what the hell is going on, I want somebody with you.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” Gastner said affably. “And I don’t think Mike Sisneros is a threat to anyone.” He paused and cocked his head, looking askance at the sheriff.

  “It’s beginnin’ to sound like it ain’t Mike that we got to worry about,” Torrez said. “And as far as threats go...well,” and he let the rest of the sentence hang as he removed his big paw from Gastner’s shoulder. “We don’t know, do we? Mike’s car is here, and he ain’t. We don’t know where the hell he is. He ain’t in Lordsburg with his mom, and if he’s in town...well, we ain’t found him yet. And we’ve been lookin’, too. He might be sittin’ up there,” and he nodded at the stairway, “holdin’ a shotgun on the door. Or maybe he’s already used it on himself. No way to know.”

  “Who talked to him last?” Estelle asked. “I had breakfast with him this morning, about nine or so. Did anybody see him after that?”

  “Don’t think so,” Torrez replied.

  “Does he have a bike or something? Maybe he went for a ride. To clear his head.”

  “He don’t ride a bike,” Torrez said impatiently. “That’s Pasquale does that.”

  “Look,” Eddie Mitchell said, “it’s his weapon that’s missing. It’s his girlfriend who got whacked with a gun of the same caliber. And Bill’s conference room key was taken.... Mike didn’t have one of his own. And now we know something about his daddy that we didn’t know before. Maybe Hank’s made a deal with his son. ‘You get those records for me, and we’re square.’”