Deadly Sanctuary (32 page)

“Of course,” I said, moving past him.

“Wait a minute. What’s that you got there?” he demanded, pointing to my hand.

“It’s a camera,” I answered coolly.

“I can see that,” he snapped. “What were you doing before we got here?”

His accusing tone of voice disturbed me. I’m gonna nail you this time I thought scornfully. Ignoring his question, I said, “This is a very curious situation, Sheriff. I’ve seen this girl before.”

His eyes widened and he plucked nervously at his downy eyebrows. “You go wait over by Doug Sauers’ car. I’m gonna take a statement from you after I’ve questioned him and the Bosworth boy.”

In the clearing, I noticed Duane cordoning off the site with bands of yellow police tape. When he was finished, he gave me a grim salute and disappeared into the trees to join Roy. The headlights from both police cars coupled with the pulsing glare of their red and blue emergency lights, lit up the desert like a garish stage setting.

I joined Doug and Lester and we all expressed our shared shock, then fell silent. The hiss and crackle from Roy’s car radio filled the void.

I was still trying to make sense of what I’d seen. I’d only seen her once, and it had been two months ago, but I felt positive this was the same girl who’d hitched a ride with me.. Hadn’t she said she was headed for Texas? So, why had she returned to Castle Valley?

My stomach felt numb. Something was terribly wrong. Roy and Duane returned, looking grim. Roy got on his radio and called Dr. Garcia. Duane summoned Dr. Crane, the medical examiner.

Lester was questioned first, and then Doug. When Roy finished, he announced, “You fellows can go now. Duane, you better follow them back to the Delgado place and get statements from the others.” He turned to me, his lips lifting in a crooked smile. “In the meantime, Ms. O’Dell and I will have a little talk.”

A shiver of apprehension ran through me as the car lights faded in the distance.

“Get in,” Roy ordered, holding the car door open. I hesitated for a fraction of a second before obeying. Roy sauntered around and got in on the driver’s side, leaving his door open and the dome light on.

For a time, he said nothing, just sat drumming the steering wheel and then turned to me. “You and Doug Sauers should have known better than to tramp around back there,” he said in a harsh voice. “Your careless snooping might have destroyed important evidence.”

His critical behavior rankled me. It was probably my high emotional state, but I suddenly felt reckless, defiant, confrontational.

“That seems to be more your department.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked sharply.

“I’m not the one who makes a habit of misplacing important evidence, Sheriff. It’s my job to obtain facts, not lose them.”

His eyes were pinpoints of fury. “I don’t think I like your inference, Ms. O’Dell.”

“It’s obvious to me there is a connection between this murder and the previous two. This will be treated as a homicide, right?”

“A statement will be issued to the press when I’m good and ready.”

“Since this is the third murder, will you be calling for assistance from the county attorney’s office?”

“No, I won’t, and if you don’t mind, I will ask the questions. If you had done your homework, you’d have seen that the first death was ruled accidental, and that appears to be the case with the second girl too. There isn’t one shred of evidence to indicate either of them met with foul play.”

“You can’t say that about this one. It’s pretty clear this girl was murdered.”

“I’m not going to make that determination until the autopsy’s been performed and all the evidence has been collected.”

“Oh, give me a break, Sheriff. You think she shot herself in the back?”

That hit home. As his face took on the consistency of granite, I suddenly realized the vulnerable position I was in. Whatever happened, it would be his word against mine. “You’d be wise to just let me do my job,” he said softly.

“And I’ll do mine.”

We glared at each other and then he said, “Let me see your camera.”

My pulse leaped. “Why?”

“Let me see it!” He held out one hand.

I craned my head around hoping to see a sign of anyone coming, but saw only the gloom of the desert. I hesitated, fingering the case, and decided that in a physical confrontation, I would be the loser. Reluctantly, I handed him the camera.

With deliberate care, he removed the film, fanned it open, then pocketed it.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

He tossed the camera back and I read the triumph in his eyes. “Looks like the catch is broken. The film just fell right out.”

“You may not get away with it this time, Sheriff.”

“Get away with what?” he asked with an air of innocence. “I’m simply collecting critical evidence from an uncooperative witness. It wouldn’t be wise for you to say anything to the contrary. I hope we understand each other?”

“Better than you think.” I could have kicked myself a dozen times for not having my tape recorder with me.

I felt a distinct sense of relief when Duane’s car skidded up beside us. Dr. Garcia emerged from a second car and disappeared into the clump of trees.

Then, with Duane taking notes, Roy grilled me repeatedly for details. Were we sure we heard gunfire, or could it have been a car backfiring? What kind of noise had Doug and I heard coming from the bushes on our approach to the site? Had it been an animal, or was it something else? Was I positive I hadn’t seen anything? He repeated the last question three times in different ways. The great rings of sweat under Roy’s armpits and the sheen on his forehead, alerted me to the fact that he was worried that perhaps I had seen someone. He also questioned me endlessly about the girl’s identification. How could I be sure it was the same girl?

Duane drove me home. I felt tense and exhausted. Sleep was nearly impossible and, once again, I had a series of fitful dreams.

I was in a dark, resentful state of mind when I left for work the next morning. In town, I stopped behind one of the white vans that traveled daily to and from Serenity House. The sight of it gave birth to instant irritation. To me, it was a physical reminder of the unapproachable Dr. Price, and his decision to ignore me.

Instead of taking my usual route to work, I followed the van to a rundown warehouse in the seedy section of town south of the railroad tracks. I concealed my car behind a flatbed truck piled with melons. The driver of the van honked twice. Double doors to the warehouse swung open and another man came out.

They exchanged greetings in Spanish and when the driver opened the back of the van, four young Hispanic women climbed out. They headed across the road to what looked like a Mexican shanty town consisting of dilapidated shacks and sagging rusted mobile homes.

So, that’s where the hired help lived, I thought, remembering what Bud, the tow truck driver, had told me. I returned my attention to the two men. They loaded what appeared to be boxes of supplies into the rear of the van. Ten minutes later, three different Hispanic women appeared from the cluster of shacks and climbed into the back of the van. Then, with a friendly wave to the warehouse employee, the driver jumped in and left.

There appeared to be nothing sinister afoot. It was a simple procedure to pick up supplies and collect the next shift of workers. What had I expected?

I decided my imagination was working overtime, and dismissed it from my mind as soon as I got into work. Tugg needed to be told about Roy’s threatening behavior, so I headed straight for his office. It was empty.

“Where’s Tugg?” I asked Ginger.

“He said he’d be in about twelve. Something about taking care of some personal things.”

“I see.” Discussions of the dead girl in the desert dominated all conversations that day and the story spread quickly throughout the town. Ginger must have been on the phone all night, because the news that I had resigned was mentioned almost in the same breath.

I felt certain that Roy would somehow sabotage the investigation of the girl. For a minute, I entertained the idea of marching over to the shelter and confronting Claudia. I had a pretty good idea how the conversation would go, so why waste the time?

When Tugg finally came in, he called a meeting with Rick, Jim and me to explain the distribution of responsibilities during his absence. His surgery had been scheduled for Monday.

“Tugg, I need to talk to you about last night,” I said as Rick and Jim departed.

“You got your copy ready for me to read?”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about.” I told him of my confrontation with Roy and watched his face harden with anger.

“Goddamn him,” he grumbled. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Tugg, I want to run with this. I’m more convinced than ever that John Dexter was on to something. The fact that he left town doesn’t erase that. This girl’s death simply can’t be dismissed as coincidence.”

Tugg looked troubled. I could almost see the battle raging inside him. “I agree with you, but, what do you have to link Roy or Claudia with her death?”

“Nothing yet, but I still think our editorial stance should be that Roy is deliberately suppressing evidence involving not only this case but the previous two. I think we should call for Roy’s resignation and demand that the county attorney be brought in. All hell’s going to break loose when my article comes out on Saturday. Are you prepared for the consequences?”

He grimaced. “Am I prepared for the repercussions this will have on my family? Am I prepared to hold myself responsible for having this paper fold after a hundred years in business? Am I willing to go out on a limb and print our accusations about Roy when we still don’t have a leg to stand on? Sure. Sure I am. Go for it. But,” he added, narrowing his eyes. “are you prepared? I’m going to be in the hospital for a week. If we do this, you’re going to be hanging out on your own.”

“I’m willing to take the risk. This article is bound to shake things up enough so that either one might make a mistake. I’m going to be watching both of them like a hawk.”

“Jesus, I hope you’re right about this. Okay. You’ve got my blessing.”

Energized by Tugg’s decision, I raced to my desk to begin the story. Several messages were waiting for me; one from Eric, and one from Yolanda Reyes.

I called Yolanda first. She was out to lunch, so I dialed Eric’s number.

“Kendall! Are you all right? I just heard the news from Mother. Why didn’t you call me?”

“I thought you were out of town.”

“I just got back. I’ve been worried as hell about you. Even if what happened to that poor girl turns out to be an accident, I feel uneasy with you out there alone.”

“It wasn’t an accident.”

“All the more reason to get into town immediately. I can arrange for you to stay in one of the casitas at the tennis ranch.”

At that point I told him about my interview in Phoenix and that I had accepted the job. He sounded thrilled. I also told him that I had to vacate the house by July anyway. The fact that I had no intention of moving in with him, I left out. That news I would deliver in person.

“Listen, I’m going to have to make one more short trip to Dallas, but I will be back Saturday afternoon. Will you hold that evening open for me?”

I hesitated. There was no telling what would happen when my story broke. “Give me a buzz when you get to town, I don’t know yet.”

“All right. I can call Doug Sauers right now and have him help you move your things.”

“Eric, that’s very sweet of you, and I will probably take you up on staying at the tennis ranch until I can find another place, but I’m not prepared to move today. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

He was silent, and then said with a sigh, “You are one stubborn woman. But, just to humor me, can’t you get someone to stay with you? I’d feel better.”

“I’ll work on it.”

“And lock yourself in at night. It wouldn’t be wise for you to be out tramping around in that area until they find the people responsible.”

I didn’t answer, so he said softly, “I think you know how strongly I feel about you, Kendall. Please be careful.”

“I will.” I hung up feeling troubled that I couldn’t return his affections. I, the stupid fool, was hung up on Bradley Talverson. For a minute, I tormented myself with lurid thoughts about him and Lucinda, then shook them away as I dialed Yolanda’s number again. She came on the line immediately. “What’s up?” I asked expectantly.

“I have done much thinking, and there is something…ah…not the same as the sheriff writes.”

My senses leaped. “What?”

“It is the time of the…what do you call it? The paper he writes?”

“The speeding ticket?”

“Sí.
When John goes, he tells me he must go first to the tire place. He cannot travel far on the…extra one.”

“The spare?”

“He says it will be ready at four o’clock.”

Bingo! My mind raced. If John was picking up his tire at four, how could he have been ticketed by Roy at two minutes after?

I grabbed my pen. “Where was he going?”

“To the place of Pinky Bodeen. It is north of here.”

My hand started to shake. North. Not south! “Thank you, Yolanda. I’ll follow up on this right away.”

“You will call me back?”

“You bet.” I scooped up the phone book and paged to service stations. The second call netted results.

“Where you off to, sugar?” Ginger called as I sprinted past her desk.

“Take messages,” I shouted.

Casper “Pinky” Bodeen was an American Indian weighing in the neighborhood of two hundred and fifty pounds and had several front teeth missing. When he smiled, he looked like a friendly Halloween pumpkin.

“How are you doing today?” I asked after I’d filled my tank with gas.

“Trying to make a dollar out of fifteen cents.”