*
By four a.m. Sam felt as if she’d only slept a couple of hours and she decided to get a head start at the bakery. When her employees began to arrive at six, she’d already baked three cinnamon coffee cakes, scones in four flavors, an assortment of cookies and there were three dozen muffins in the oven.
“I love coming to work here?” Sandy said, sniffing the air. “The smell is so wonderful?”
Cathy rolled her eyes. Sam got the feeling that of the two temporary hires, Cathy would be the one happiest to leave the job and her somewhat-irritating co-worker behind. Sandy would probably continue her strangely obsequious behaviors, but it would be somewhere else after today. Sam let them know that she would write their final paychecks before she left for the Fresques funeral at one o’clock.
While her employees stayed busy, keeping the oven filled and the customers happy, Sam checked her orders for the coming week and organized her workload. This afternoon and evening would be tough, being with a dying woman who was laying her only son to rest.
She stacked her small sheaf of order forms neatly and set them in the basket at the corner of the desk. It only took a few minutes to write the paychecks for Sandy and Cathy before she turned to the rack of chocolate cupcakes that awaited her attention. Piping thick buttercream frosting onto them and experimenting with various sprinkles and other decorator touches occupied her hands but not her mind.
The close call last night on the highway seemed to cap it for her—the pain of watching Marla’s condition worsen, the knowledge that Sam had not been able to find the missing son in time, the sight of that young girl who would soon have no remaining family, and her own ambivalent feelings about her cancelled wedding plans. Her chest constricted and Sam took a deep breath, shelving the thoughts once again. Sunday was her only day off and she felt herself holding the entire week’s emotional tide at bay, waiting for the one day when she could let herself release it all.
Meanwhile, there was nothing so pressing at the bakery that she couldn’t spare a little time away. It was only ten o’clock. She shed her baker’s jacket, put on her winter coat and went out the back door to her van. Beau had involved her in this case. She would damn well stick with it now.
Chapter 31
She arrived at the Sheriff’s Department to find Jonathan Ernhart and Rick Wells there when she walked into Beau’s office. They appeared to be in that chitchat phase of the meeting, before getting down to business.
“Samantha, darlin’, come on in.” Beau waved her through the open door.
Ernhart greeted her, but when Beau pulled up a chair for her the two agents didn’t say anything. Two deputies were working at desks in the squad room, but only Denny Waters had momentarily looked up before turning back to his paperwork.
“Sam has been in on this case, even before we officially reopened it,” Beau explained. “She’s talked to several of Tito Fresques’s old co-workers and might be able to contribute something today.”
Wells nodded, although Sam remembered both men’s earlier hesitancy at sharing information. They took seats around Beau’s desk. Beau leaned back in his chair as Wells began speaking.
“You both know that Tito’s job at Bellworth in Albuquerque was merely a cover. He’d been with Drug Enforcement since he got out of the Navy, and DEA regularly sent him into Mexico where he had infiltrated one of the cartels.”
Beau nodded.
“That particular gang had strong ties in northern New Mexico, even here in Taos. Of particular interest to us was a man named Javier Espinosa. You’re familiar with him?”
“The name has come up. Locally, he’s one of those with a mile long record of minor offenses—possession mainly—gang ties. Every town has ’em. What’s his connection to Fresques?”
“Tito had gathered hard evidence of Espinosa’s connections with Mexico, details about supply routes, names of underlings who moved the bulk of the stuff around. We’re talking cocaine by the truckloads and marijuana in the tons. Taos is ideally suited because we’re on the back roads leading to Colorado and from there they can cover all the Rocky Mountain states and channel the stuff to either the Midwest or the west coast without traveling the major interstate highways.
“Things were heating up. Tito assured me that he had enough evidence to put away Espinosa, plus at least two dozen others here in the States, and to grab some of the Mexican leaders as well. The raids were being set up, warrants would be issued as soon as Tito sent us his report. He vanished before it was ever received.”
“But DEA knew he had evidence. You couldn’t go ahead and make the arrests?” Sam asked.
Jonathan spoke up. “The law doesn’t work that way. A judge isn’t going to issue warrants without cause and even though we knew what we had, we needed the proof— spelled out. We could have pulled in most of these guys on suspicion and we might have gotten enough information out of them to put a few of them away. But the ones at the top, especially the Mexicans, they hide behind so many layers—we’d never have gotten them without the whole chain of evidence.”
“So . . .” Beau said, “rather than take the chance of spooking them, you wanted to wait.”
“Exactly.” Jonathan leaned forward in his chair and lowered his voice. “We also had reason to believe that we had a mole inside one of the agencies. Every time we got close to one of these higher-up dealers something would jinx the deal. He’d leave the state or he’d have an airtight alibi. After it happened several times, it was more than coincidence.”
Beau let out a low whistle.
“Tito was the only person on my team that I felt a hundred percent sure about,” Wells said. “We’d worked together for a lot of years. He was just one of those genuine guys, you know. The type that you know is being straight with you.”
“And you had no idea who this mole was,” Sam said.
“Still don’t know for sure. After Tito disappeared I watched everyone like a hawk. I looked for anybody who acted like they knew what really happened to him, anyone who seemed relieved that he was gone . . . that sort of thing. No hints at all. Whoever did it was good.”
“If they did,” Beau reminded. “Tito may have left voluntarily and no one else was responsible at all.”
“I believe he did leave voluntarily. But there was a reason. And there had to be a damn strong reason for him to stay out of touch all those years. I think he wasn’t sure who the mole was, so he felt like he couldn’t trust anyone. Maybe not even me. Otherwise he would have found some way to contact me and get me the evidence he’d gathered.”
“Makes sense,” Beau said. He’d picked up a pen and made a few notes. Now he tapped the pen restlessly against the pages in the folder.
Sam excused herself to go to the bathroom, mulling the information as she walked down the hall. Deputy Waters was coming out of the men’s room wafting an air of hand soap, rolling his sleeves down as he walked and he nearly ran into her.
“Oh, sorry Ms Sweet. Didn’t see you there,” he mumbled.
The man was like a fly, an irritating distraction that she wanted to swat out of the way. But she didn’t say so. Maybe she’d not given herself a chance to learn whether he actually had a personality.
“Nice art,” she said, with a nod toward the colorful marks on his arms.
“Uh, thanks.” He seemed more weasel-like than ever as he slunk back toward his desk.
Okay, be that way, she thought as she pushed her way into the women’s bathroom. By the time she got back to Beau’s office it looked like the three men were wrapping up their meeting. Ernhart stood near the door with his overcoat on and Wells had wandered into the squad room. Beau closed the Fresques file.
“Do we have time for lunch somewhere?” Beau asked as they watched the two federal agents walk away.
Sam checked the clock on the wall. “If it’s a very quick one. I obviously have to get home and change into something more appropriate for the funeral.” She looked up into his ocean-blue eyes. “I’m really not looki
ng forward to this.”
“I know.”
“It’s been devastating for Marla, this news, on top of her own health problems.”
They ended up taking both of their vehicles, eating a quick burger at McDonald’s and then heading their separate ways, with a plan to meet at the funeral home at a quarter to one.
*
The service was small and typical. Doleful music that brought tears before a word was spoken, a closed casket with an American flag draped over it, a large portrait photograph of a smiling Tito with a dated haircut. The congregation consisted of Marla’s neighbors whom Sam had already met and a scattering of younger people.
Marla looked like a ghost. Diane Milton’s husband wheeled her chair up the aisle and parked it beside the front-most pew. During the ride, Marla’s eyes never strayed from the silver box at the front of the room. Jolie, in a burgundy dress and matching coat, sat next to her grandmother. The other neighbors took seats nearby, a little cluster of comfort. At least Sam hoped so, for Marla’s sake.
Sam and Beau, feeling out of their ordinary milieu in dressy clothing, had taken seats near the rear of the group and she found herself gripping his hand. Jonathan Ernhart and Rick Wells arrived at the same time, just as the organist struck her final chords.
The priest, mercifully, kept his message short and Sam was thankful that Marla had opted for the memorial format, rather than a full-blown Catholic mass. The older woman was clearly losing energy as the minutes ticked slowly by. At the end of the formal part, the priest announced that a graveside service would take place, but in light of the cold weather it would be very short. Then Jorge and Camille stood and announced that everyone was invited to Marla’s where they had prepared a meal to share.
Sam chided herself for not thinking ahead and baking a special cake. As the mourners filed to the front, stopping to hug Marla and Jolie, she thought quickly. She could pop by the bakery and assemble a nice tray of cookies. She whispered as much to Beau, suggesting that she could meet him later, but he offered to drive her.
They arrived at the cemetery in time to hear the closing prayer. The small crowd was already beginning to disperse, Diane and her husband helping Marla and Jolie into their roomy Honda SUV. Sam noted that neither of the government men were there—they must have needed to return to Albuquerque. A few figures that she didn’t remember from the service stood off to one side—three men in casual black clothing, with shaved heads and visible tattoos. The encounter in the alley sprang to mind. The guy in the middle could be the one. She wasn’t sure.
She reached out to get Beau’s attention, but he had moved a few feet away and was speaking to one of the young couples they’d seen at the funeral home. When Sam turned her attention back to the three rough-looking men, they had already moved to the cemetery gate, toward the parking area behind a stand of evergreens.
“Sam, I’d like you to meet Jimmy McMichael and his wife, Callie. Jimmy was a good friend of Tito’s,” Beau said.
Sam didn’t recognize the name but she registered a clean-cut Anglo man in his thirties, inexpensive blue suit and patterned tie, short sandy hair, a straight nose and tiny gold stud in his right earlobe. His wife wore a navy blue dress of thin fabric that was inadequate for the weather and she shivered visibly in her cardigan jacket. They both greeted Sam with warm smiles.
“We won’t be able to go out to Mrs. Fresques’s house,” Jimmy said, running a finger around the collar of the fitted shirt. “Work. You know how that is. But I’ve got something for her, Tito’s mom. It’s a box of things Tito gave me that morning. The day he left.”
“You saw him that day?” Beau asked with a sharper edge than usual.
“Well, yeah. He stopped by my place. I remember I was working on my car. Had a gorgeous little Mustang back then.” His wife gave him a quick smile.
“What did Tito say that day? Did he seem worried or anything?”
Callie McMichael was clearly freezing and she nudged her husband.
“Let’s walk toward the car. I can get her out of this wind and I’ll give you the box of stuff.” They headed as a group toward the parked cars.
“The conversation that day?” Beau reminded.
“Oh yeah, well, not much that I remember. He had this carton with him, just a box of stuff. Said I should see that his mom got it if anything ever happened to him. I held onto it all this time. Kinda forgot about it, really. It was in our garage and I did some cleaning about six months ago and came across it. Meant to take it over there before now, but things just got busy.”
He opened the passenger door and Callie gratefully got inside and closed the door behind her.
“If you don’t mind taking it to Mrs. Fresques . . .” He unlocked the trunk and raised the lid, then reached for the box. It was a cardboard carton about twelve inches square. The top was taped down with clear packing tape and the single word TITO was printed in marker on one end. He held it out and Sam took it.
“Do you remember anything else about that day?” Beau asked. “Tito’s exact words, anything he might have mentioned about his plans?”
“Not really, man. Oh, he said he might try to come by to watch the game with me the next day, but then he didn’t come. I figured he’d just gotten busy with family.”
“But he seemed worried for his safety? Did he say that?”
“Sort of. Something like ‘if anything happens to me and I don’t come back’ . . . you know, words kind of like that.”
Chapter 32
Jimmy was starting to look a little cold, himself. Beau thanked him for the box and asked Jimmy to call his office if he thought of anything else. They watched the younger couple back out of their parking spot as Sam and Beau walked to his cruiser.
“Do you think he’ll come up with any new information later?” Sam asked as she fastened her seatbelt.
“Hard to say. But I definitely think we need to check out this box before we give it to Marla. If it contains personal mementos, that’s one thing. But if that were the case why wouldn’t he have just left it at her house?”
“Exactly,” Sam said, picking at the edge of the tape with a fingernail.
“Here.” Beau handed her a pocketknife and she slit the cellophane.
She raised the cardboard flaps and lifted out a sheet of crumpled newspaper. The page was dated the week Tito disappeared. Her fingers trembled a little as she picked up the topmost item. It was a folded sheet of lined paper. Dearest Mama, If you are reading this . . .
Sam looked up. “I’m not sure I should read this. It’s private.”
Beau held his hand out and she placed the page in it.
He quickly scanned the handwritten lines. “I don’t see anything about his work or his feeling threatened. It’s a goodbye.” He folded the page again and set it aside. “What else is in there?”
Sam picked out a rubber-banded packet of envelopes. Bank statements. Through the glassine windows she could see that they were solely in Tito’s name. She pulled one out, unfolded it and scanned to the bottom of the page. The savings account balance was a little over a thousand dollars. The second one showed several CDs, to be automatically reinvested. Ten years ago they had totaled about ten thousand dollars, back in the time when interest rates were considerably higher than present day. She handed each statement to Beau as she pulled out the next one.
“Looks like he’d squirreled away nearly fifty thousand dollars,” Beau said.
“Do you think it was legitimate money?” Sam asked.
“I do. For one thing, there are tons of rules about cash transactions with banks nowadays. And, I doubt he would have opened accounts under his real name if he were dealing with stolen money. Plus, it’s not a large enough amount to take that kind of risk against the cartel.”
“How do you mean?”
“If a guy decides to cross the bad guys, he’ll do it for a lot more than this. This whole box would be full of hundred dollar bills, or there’d be a roomful of them somewhere.”
Sam stared down into the box. “I don’t see any cash at all.”
“He probably just wanted Tricia and Jolie to have a little nest egg, maybe a college fund.”
“I still don’t see why he didn’t just hand this directly to them.” Sam pulled out a small box, like something jewelry might come in. When she opened it, she discovered a military medal and a key.
“Purple Heart.” Beau said, stroking the medal with his finger. “I’m surprised no one’s mentioned this. But then again, maybe he never made a big deal out of it.”
“There’s only one more thing,” Sam said. She held up a yellow plastic floppy disk. “I’m thinking his mother is not meant to be the beneficiary of this.” Across the front of the disk, written in black marker, were the words: Get this to the authorities
Beau took the disk and turned it over but there were no other notations. “What authorities do you think he meant? Jonathan told us that Tito had reason not to trust many people in his own agency.”
“Well, you’re the sheriff of this county,” she said. “That makes you qualified on some level, don’t you think?”
She could see common sense fighting with the bureaucracy that governed Beau’s daily work life.
“You can’t very well know who you should give it to until you know what it says,” she pointed out. “Besides, who can read one of these old floppies anymore? Hint—my computer at home has that drive.”
He looked up at her and chuckled. “Okay, you’ve made a good case. Shall we?”
It took Sam about three seconds while Beau started the cruiser and put it in gear to decide that it would be okay to show up late for the gathering at Marla’s house.
“Hit the lights, would you?” she said.
Getting through town went so much faster with benefit of an official vehicle, she thought as they zoomed through intersections and past lines of cars that pulled over for them. In under five minutes they were walking through her kitchen, heading for the computer desk in the corner of the living room. She set the cardboard box on the desk and pulled out the floppy disk.
Sweet Hearts Page 20
