Come Dark (6 page)

The sheriff nodded with irritation, and Jackie Taber unlocked the right side. She held onto it as the two EMTs arranged LeeAnn on the stretcher. As the patient was strapped down, Mattie patted her shoulder. “There now. You can faint all you want. And it's about two minutes to the ER. They'll fix you right up.”

“You process Elvis,” Torrez said to Pasquale, and to the sergeant added, “and you're going to stay with the woman?”

Jackie nodded.

Torrez started to turn away. “I'll give Stub Moore a call to come and get the Fusion.”

“What about Stewart's wagon?” Pasquale asked.

“Ain't likely she's going to walk out the door. But we'll see.” Torrez ambled back toward his truck, and Pasquale turned to Jackie.

“We'll see what?”

“He probably wants to wait and find out what the undersheriff has going at the hospital with Mr. Stewart and CYF.”

“Well, Stewart could just come over and pick it up.”

“Unless there's more going on than we think,” Jackie said. “Let's get your catch booked in. Then we'll see.” She rested a hand on Pasquale's left shoulder. “So what precipitated all this?”

“The license plate on their Fusion has a dent that doesn't make sense.”

“Really.”

“Like what always happens when you want to hitch up a trailer and overshoot the ball? The trailer hitch always smacks into the license plate.”

Taber grinned. “Good catch, my friend. Good catch.”

Chapter Seven

It took Todd Stewart five minutes to excuse himself from a mortgage meeting at Posadas State Bank and hustle out into the autumnal blast furnace to drive the two blocks to the Posadas General Hospital Emergency Room. His breakfast kept trying to rise in his throat, even though he told himself that clearly
someone
had made a mistake, and no matter how soothing the explanation and apology might be, the episode terrified him.

He walked to the ER's visitor doors head-down, cell phone glued to his ear. He paused as the doors slid open, but turned and surveyed the ER parking lot one more time before entering, searching for his wife's car. Two police units were parked nearby, and that caused his gut to clamp all the harder as he forced himself not to sprint for the ER doors.

From inside, Undersheriff Estelle Reyes-Guzman watched him. Maybe calm and cool were part of a banker's toolbox. She did not know Todd Stewart well, having met him only on occasion, usually just a casual greeting at the bank where Dennis Mears, twin brother of Sheriff's Department Lieutenant Tom Mears, was bank president.

Stewart was dressed for the heat, his trim, athletic frame in light blue seersucker jacket over light blue shirt and dark blue-and-red tie, with dark blue summer slacks. He took off his dark aviator glasses and looked up at the various signs directing visitors and patients this way or that. He might have chosen the ER waiting room had Estelle not stepped out from the nurses' station to intercept him.

“Good morning, sir,” she said. His handshake was clammy, and the undersheriff could smell the heat-stirred apprehension overpowering his cologne. He nodded, ignoring the two other officers who lingered in the ER office and waiting room.

“First of all, Ginger is just fine,” the undersheriff said. “A little dehydrated, more than a little frightened, but officers responded before things got out of hand.”

“What do you mean a little dehydrated?” Stewart snapped. “What's going on?” Estelle pushed the button on the waiting room inner door, and in a few seconds, one of the nurses pushed it open, allowing access to the non-surgical treatment rooms, the white curtains assuring privacy.

“She's in the last one,” Estelle said. “Just for a little while to make sure she's all right.”

“My God, what happened?” His gaze was riveted. “Where's Stace?”

Estelle could think of a dozen ways to answer that, none of them helpful. She settled for blunt. “We don't know, sir. I was hoping you could tell us that.” She reached out for his elbow, dark eyes sympathetic. “But come see your daughter.” She ushered him past the ER nurses' station, to one of the curtained cubbyholes.

The ER nurse, Marilyn Michaels, greeted Stewart with a bright smile. “What a sweetheart,” she said. “She didn't like the IV one bit, but I mean, who does? She's
so
brave.” The one-year-old looked lost in the sea of white bedding, pillow-bolstered in the pediatric crib. The crib sides were down, and a teenaged nurse's aide, whose name tag announced only “Tammy,” stood by the head of the crib, arm resting on the pillow, fingers lightly stroking the child's forehead.

Ginger's little legs had been pumping, but she stopped when she saw her father. Estelle gave them several uninterrupted minutes together, and it didn't take that long before Todd Stewart had coaxed a giggle from the child. Even as he did that, Stewart glanced at his watch. Estelle shifted her position so that she could more clearly see the man's face. A doting, worried father, sure enough, but one on a schedule. He made no effort to pick up Ginger, perhaps apprehensive of the IV tubing and the swath of tape that held it in place near the cavity of her left elbow.

He straightened up, Ginger's tiny right hand glommed onto his left index finger.

“What…?” he started to say, then gently disengaged his hand. “Sheriff, is there somewhere we can talk?”

“We'll give you a few moments,” the nurse said, and nodded at the aide, who followed her out of the exam room. The curtains didn't do much sound-dampening, though, and Estelle stepped close to the bed. As she did so, Ginger kicked again and burbled, then said a single word that could have been translated as “da-dee!” Estelle stroked the infant's silky left cheek, her swarthy fingers in sharp contrast with the baby-blond complexion.

Even though the other ER cubicles were empty, their curtains open, the undersheriff kept her voice low. LeeAnn Bond and her broken finger were still in the ER treatment room through the swinging doors, and when the orthopedist was finished with her, she'd enjoy the county's hospitality at the lockup along with her husband.

“Deputies were called to The Spree
parking lot by a passing civilian who was concerned about the barking dog and a fretful infant, locked in a vehicle, sir. She had no way of knowing how long the child had been inside the car, and its windows were closed. So she did the right thing and called the SO.”

Stewart's mouth moved as if he were trying to make words, but nothing came out.

“Actually, the sheriff himself responded,” Estelle continued. “He was just a block away at the time of the call. The vehicle was your wife's blue Volvo, and it's still parked over at The Spree. With the ambient temperature today, being locked in the car with the windows up is a real danger to both child and pet.”

“Well, God, yes.” His deep blue eyes searched Estelle's face.

“Your wife was observed entering The Spree by one of our deputies, who happened to be in the parking lot at the time on other business. Just moments later, when the abandoned child complaint was called in and the sheriff responded, the deputy searched the store for Mrs. Stewart, and could find no sign of her, even with the cooperation and assistance of the store's staff. As it turns out, no one else remembered seeing her come or go. Of course, they're busy, and had no reason to notice.”

“Abandoned child?” Stewart gasped. “I don't understand this. Ginger wasn't
abandoned.
Come on.”

Estelle straightened up but allowed her right hand to remain on the pillow nearest the child's head. She had heard that familiar
Not in my family
hundreds of times before
.
“Did your wife have other errands today? Especially errands that she might walk to when she finished at The Spree? Maybe she was preoccupied with something?”

Todd Stewart shook his head in confusion. “No…well, I mean not that
I
recall.”

“Do you know what she was planning to purchase?”

“No idea. I didn't even know that she was going there. Maybe she told me. I don't know.” He settled in one of the small plastic chairs, elbows on his knees.

“Did the two of you have an argument this morning?”

He scoffed and straightened up. “Come on.”

“That happens, Mr. Stewart. Was your wife upset about anything when you saw her last?”

“No, she wasn't upset. A little tired this morning, is all. She was at the volleyball game last night, and went out afterward with a couple of friends. I didn't want to go, so Ginger and I stayed home.”

“Most likely she'll turn up here in a few minutes with a logical explanation for all this, but at the moment, we're concerned.”

His pleasant the-customer's-always-right face hardened. “
You're
concerned? How do you think I feel about all this, Sheriff? I mean, it's just not possible. My God, how long was Ginger locked in that car?”

“Thankfully, probably just a few minutes. Fortunately, the civilian who made the first call used her best judgment. You can understand her concern, I'm sure. She did the right thing by not hesitating for an instant before calling the SO. When he arrived just moments later, the sheriff could see that the child was in some distress, and he made the decision to call the EMTs. In this weather…”

“You should have called me first.”

And waited yet another ten or fifteen minutes?
“Immediate medical attention for the child is our first concern, sir. Sheriff Torrez was not about to wait.” The name was a wonderful defuser.

Stewart nodded quickly. “Of course. Of course. And what about little Rascal? The pup?”

“As a matter of convenience, he was dropped off at the Mesa View Animal Clinic. They know your puppy, and will be happy to keep him for you until it's convenient for you to pick him up.” She offered a slight smile. “I didn't think it would be appropriate to just drop him off at the bank, sir.”

The man looked vexed. “All this just because Stace takes a walk to have coffee with friends.”

“No, sir.” She waited a moment until she knew she had his attention, and he turned to look her way. “All this because an infant and puppy were left unattended in a closed car on what's working to be the hottest day of the year.”

“Now, wait a minute. You make it sound like some big neglect case here. Stacie would
never…
” Stewart stopped. What a wife would
never
do was open to conjecture. What Stacie Stewart had
done
was now painfully evident.

He waved a hand helplessly, rose, and put a hand on each hip. “Look, you said that the deputy actually
saw
her go into The Spree
?”

“
That's correct. She saw him, as well. I'm told she waved a greeting at him.”

“Which officer was that?
”

“A civilian made the original 911 call, sir.”

“But you said one of the deputies saw Stace go into the store. Which officer?”

Let's all grasp at straws,
Estelle thought. “Actually, Sheriff Torrez responded first to the citizen's complaint of occupants closed in the vehicle.”

“But you said someone actually
saw
Stace walk into the store,” Stewart persisted doggedly. “That must have been before the sheriff arrived.”

“That's correct.”

“And who was that? I mean, who's working days right now? Is that Sergeant Taber?”

Estelle looked at Stewart carefully while she framed an answer. Stewart was looking for excuses, anything to shift blame somewhere else. “At this point, that witness information is part of an ongoing investigation, sir.” Somehow, some way, the man would find a way to blame the deputy, or the sheriff, or even Miss Barber, the retired school teacher who had had the presence of mind to dial the police without a moment's hesitation. But in all likelihood, if charges were ever filed against Stacie Stewart, Deputy Thomas Pasquale's testimony would be central.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Stewart muttered in a most unbankerly tone. “You're talking as if Stacie committed some big crime, for God's sakes.”

“Sir, by the time the child was removed from the car, EMTs recorded her body temp at one hundred three degrees. The facts are simple, at least on the surface. Your wife parked her Volvo at The Spree
,
locked the doors with the windows up, and walked into the store, leaving behind Ginger and the puppy. The sun was baking directly through the rear and side windows. Some time afterward, a short time afterward, fortunately, a shopper noticed the child and the puppy in some distress, and immediately made the call. Sheriff Torrez responded, along with an EMT crew.”

“Stacie knows better than to do any of that.”

“Of course she does, sir. We don't know
why
she did it until we talk to her.”

“Nobody just
forgets
that they have a child in the car.”

“Unfortunately, it happens more frequently than we would like. Folks get distracted or preoccupied. Children and pets are left in unvented vehicles, kids are left behind at highway rest stops while the rest of the family drives away. Kids become a forgotten audience as their parents fight over some little frustration.” She smiled gently at Stewart.

He drew a huge sigh. “Sheriff, we didn't fight, we didn't argue.” He looked hard at Estelle. “When you find Stace, you'll let me know immediately? You'll keep me in the loop?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Can I take Ginger home now?” The child jangled a large set of colorful plastic keys. Stewart smoothed his tie and bent down, nuzzling the child's forehead. The soft-toned bell that alerted the nursing staff to ER visitation chimed, and in a moment, Sheriff Robert Torrez held back the curtain.

“Hey,” he said, and offered a huge paw to Stewart. “Looks like she's doin' just fine.”

“We think so,” Estelle said. “Mr. Stewart was just asking if he could take Ginger home now, and he needs to understand that decision is up to the medical staff here.” She rested a hand lightly on Stewart's forearm. “There's a line of protocol now, sir. Just as we turned Ginger over to the EMT crew,
they
in turn delivered her to the hospital staff. I'm sure they'll let you take her the minute they're convinced her health is out of any danger. I would advise you that there has been a referral to Children, Youth and Families as well.”

“Good God, what for?”

“It's standard procedure in these circumstances, sir. I'm sure Mrs. Benedict will be here shortly. You have someone at home who can care for Ginger today, or will you take time off from work, or what? She will ask you that.”

“I'll take the rest of the day off, but here you're sounding as if Stacie isn't coming back.”

“I wish I could give you an answer to that, sir.”

“If somebody forced her into another car, the deputy would have seen it,” the sheriff said bluntly. “What he saw was that she walked into the store. From there, we don't know.”

Stewart's eyes searched first one face and then the other, as if trying to decide what tact to take—the sheriff's blunt, untempered assessment, or the undersheriff's calm understanding. “And now? We can't just sit around and wait.”