Fatal Divide (2 page)

“Dylan and that Rick guy. Anson, I think. They couldn’t give me statements because they weren’t authorized or something. But Dylan said he’d feed me what he could.”

“Good,” Paul answered. “But why can’t this stuff ever happen on a Tuesday, so we can get a jump on the gossip mill?”

Alex rolled her eyes. Her dad’s dream story was a bus full of children overturning in the middle of town at ten minutes ‘til deadline on a Wednesday morning. Not that he wanted to see children hurt. He just, once in his life, wanted a spectacular story his weekly paper could break first. She dropped a kiss on the top of his head.

“I don’t know, Dad. I guess we could schedule the next murder, if that’s what you want. I’m going to make the ad calls. Do you want anything before I start?”

“Is there anything for lunch at home?” he asked. “I haven’t had a chance to break, until now.”

“Fish soup,” she deadpanned. Alex’s dad’s loathing of fish in any form was second only to his desire for a big story, and she never missed a chance to tease him with it.

As she made her calls, Alex kept one ear open for traffic on the police scanner on her desk. She and her dad were taking turns fielding phone calls, but so far nothing was in the wind about the murder at the park this morning, on either the police band or the faster word-of-mouth grapevine that was the paper’s main news rival.

By three, she was watching the clock for Dylan’s quitting time. He’d better call her from the ORPI visitor’s center, where he had cell phone reception, no later than three thirty-five, if he knew what was good for him.

At three-fifteen, Paul left his office, waving to Alex at her desk and calling, “City council meeting.” He covered all civic events and most of the civic and social club events as well. As much as he wanted a spectacular news story, she knew he didn’t really have the stomach for it. Since her mother had left their home fifteen years ago and never returned, Paul’s involvement with anything spectacular had, by his preference, been second-hand. He had stringers for that stuff, at least until recently.

Alex had stepped willingly, even eagerly, into the reporter role. She even wrote the front-page story of her kidnapping and near-death experiences, twice at the hands of a cartel clean-up operative. That story was nominated for consideration in next year’s Newspaper Pacemaker contest, an honor that excited her, more because her journalism professor had nominated it than anything else. It would be a real feather in her cap if she, as a sophomore at a community college, could win. She wouldn’t know until the following year, however.

At three-thirty Alex began tapping her foot nervously. There wasn’t any real hurry for the paper, which wouldn’t come out until day after tomorrow, but she’d been trying to persuade her dad to try an online presence for news like this story. If they had fast-breaking news up online before the back-fence talk could mangle it, townspeople would use it. If they had a big enough following, they could do a smaller print run, which would save money for the struggling business.

She already had some experience with her own blog and website, NamingtheNameless.com. It was her baby, something that her dad and Dylan were convinced had put her in danger last July, but she would do it anyway. It was a labor of love.

Alex had switched feet for tapping by the time Dylan’s call came in. She grabbed her phone as if she were drowning and it was a lifeline.

“Dylan?”

“Yeah, baby. Listen, I can’t talk about this on an open line. I’m sorry. Can you meet me at the square in forty? I’ll go home and change, meet you there with coffee, and then I’ll give you something the sheriff doesn’t even know yet.”

With a promise like that, how could she refuse? “You got it, see you then.” Only when she was off the phone did Alex consider the implications of what Dylan said. How could he know something that Thurston didn’t? Shouldn’t he have given the deputy everything he had?

A feeling of dread collected in her solar plexus. This was the way it had started out for the last case. Were she and Dylan never to have any peace? Why did mystery cling to him like a wet cloak?

Sighing, she gave up on the ad calls. She made her quota, barely, but she couldn’t concentrate, knowing that Dylan could be dropping a bombshell in her lap in less than an hour. While she waited, Alex decided to go ahead and search for a decent website name, in case her dad finally said yes to the online version of the Dodge Desert Times. She wanted it to be shorter, but DDT.com didn’t seem like quite the thing. DIN for Dodge Instant News? No, that still had an unfortunate connotation.

At last it was time to walk over to the park to meet Dylan. She still didn’t have a website name, but she’d narrowed it down to two or three candidates. She’d ask Dylan what he thought. Ten minutes later, she forgot all about it, as Dylan explained who the victim was.

“You won’t be considered a suspect,” she said, though it was more a question than a statement. This just couldn’t happen again. It was too soon since the last time. There were only so many coincidences a small town could stand before the rumors and speculation started to stick, even to an innocent man.

Dylan had gone through so much already - coming back to a town he tried to escape because his dying mother needed his help, only to find his brothers gone, taken by DCS. Then looking in vain for his stepdad to sign papers waiving his parental rights to the boys, and being considered a person of interest in the man’s murder. It seemed he couldn’t stop being in the wrong place at the wrong time, with the right motive.

Dylan’s arm came around her shoulders as they sat watching the sun creep lower in the western sky. “It will be okay, baby. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Of course you didn’t! That doesn’t mean Thurston won’t hassle you. He hates you.” She mentally kicked herself for stating the obvious. The truth was, he hated both of them. It was completely unfair, since Alex had been the innocent victim of one of Thurston’s under-deputy’s criminal activity, but she was beginning to understand that people often blamed the victim. Thurston had been cut out of that investigation on the grounds of conflict of interest, or it would probably have gone much worse for her. Even so, what she’d had to go through she wouldn’t wish on anyone, especially on Dylan.

His arm tightened around her, and she looked up at him to find him gazing tenderly at her lips. With a sigh, Alex settled into him and turned her face further up to receive the kiss. After a few moments of utter bliss, she pulled away. “What are you going to do?”

“I needed to tell you first. Now I’m going to call Thurston and let him know. I think it will be better if I come forward. But I guess I should ask Rick first.”

“Your partner?” she asked, confused.

“No, Rick Englebright.”

She nodded, understanding dawning. Englebright was Dylan’s lawyer in his adoption case, but he’d also represented Alex from the moment Joe Hendricks began to harass her. Joe’s justice had come at the hands of a cartel fixer, but she was still angry. Now this new threat would bring it all up again. She shook her head to clear it.

“I know, baby, it stinks, but I don’t think I can wait for them to come to me. I’ll look guilty, and if time of death is too big a window, it will look like I had opportunity as well as motive.”

Alex crossed her free arm to hold him around the waist. “It just isn’t fair.”

A voice came from behind them, making both jump. “I’ll tell you what isn’t fair. The council has asked Wanda Lopez to step down.”

Alex recovered first, recognizing her dad’s voice a split second before Dylan apparently did. As one, they turned to watch Paul come around the end of the bench and sit on Alex’s other side.

“Why?” she asked.

“The man Dylan found dead this morning is her grandfather,” Paul said.

Alex’s hand flew to her mouth, as Dylan gave a puzzled frown. “He can’t be. Wanda told me a while back that she was the oldest of her family. She was talking about what a huge responsibility she had because of it, and how hard it was not living on the rez to take care of them.”

“Dylan, you know as well as I do, The People don’t count relatives the way we do.”

Alex interrupted. “What difference does it make if he was her grandfather or some other relative? Why would that be grounds to ask her to step down?”

“I’m not very clear on it,” Paul said. “I got there a bit late, and it was like a pack of wild dogs trying to bring down a javelina.”

Dylan smiled at the comparison of his sort-of aunt to one of the truculent wild pigs of the area. It was a perfect analogy when Wanda was upset about something.

“I tried to talk to Wanda after she walked out of the meeting, but she waved me off. All I know is that she absolutely refused to step down. She looked each council member in the eye and said, ‘You have no grounds to fire me and I will not be railroaded.’ Then she walked out. I can’t understand why being related to a murder victim is a reason to dismiss her.”

Alex and Dylan looked at each other and both tried to speak at once. “Go ahead,” she said.

“We’d better go see her,” he answered.

“That’s what I was going to say.”

Four

6:00 p.m.

Wanda Lopez lay on her bed, the lights out and curtains drawn. After storming out of the city council meeting and making her way home, she broke down when Hector met her at the door. Someone had called him already, and his expression revealed bewilderment. Her husband of over forty years had never doubted her before, but his eyes took her in warily, and she felt the tiny doubt he’d done his best to stifle.

He said he understood when she begged for some time to process what happened. She’d barely had time to process Grandfather Herman’s death before Thurston began questioning her about anything he could have been involved in that would lead to him being shot in the heart that morning. Thurston didn’t believe her when she said she hadn’t seen him in months, probably because she wasn’t a very good liar. But, how could she tell him what she knew, until she understood it herself?

Dimly, Wanda heard the doorbell ring, and fervently hoped that it wasn’t Thurston there to question her again. He’d already made good on his threat to tell the city council that she was withholding information, if not evidence, in an active murder investigation. She couldn’t even defend herself against that claim. She did have information, though she wasn’t at all sure it was evidence.

The bedroom door squeaked slightly as it opened, bringing a waft of fry bread aroma. Hector, bless his heart, must be making it, to try to entice her to eat. She needed to tell him; he deserved to know what she did. She just needed a few more minutes to figure it out.

“Wanda, honey. Dylan Chaves and the Ward girl are here.”

“What do they want?”

“You should get up and ask them. I’m busy in the kitchen. Dylan...”

“I know. Dylan found him. He’s probably here to offer condolences.” She choked back a sob. How could this have happened? Her grandfather, brother to her own mother’s father and counted also as grandfather in her people’s estimation, was a wise and gentle man. That he could meet I’itoi, Elder Brother, before his path was complete was a tragedy she could not fathom. “I will come. Thank you, husband.”

Hector closed the door gently as he left, allowing her the space to regain her dignity. Later, he would hold her, and she would take comfort in his arms. Thus it had been for nearly forty-five years. Thus it would be until one of them reached the center of the maze and was welcomed by I’itoi. At the moment, Wanda Lopez, raised in both Tohono O’odham and Catholic beliefs, was comforted most by the way of her Native forebears, Him-dag. She stood, squared her shoulders, and opened the door.

In the living room, Wanda greeted Dylan, a distant relative, and Alex, the daughter of her old friend Paul Ward, with as much grace as she could muster, knowing her eyes were red and swollen. Alex gave her a quick hug, and her young relative gave her a longer one.

They had not been close when Dylan was a child, though he’d always addressed her correctly as Tia ‘aunt’ Wanda. Dylan’s mother had left the tribe under a cloud before he was born, but Wanda was trying to restore Dylan’s good standing, to help him adopt his younger brothers. Now the young man’s thirst for knowledge of his extended family exceeded his ability to absorb her lessons, though he was trying.

“Sit down, both of you. Thank you for coming,” Wanda said, with a hitch in her breath.

Alex looked at Dylan, and then sat in a chair near the seat Wanda had chosen, while Dylan sank to an ottoman snugged up against Wanda’s chair, taking her hand.

“We heard what happened,” he said, surprising her. “What was that all about?”

Wanda’s thoughts were so full of her sorrow that at first she was confused. Then she realized Paul must have told them of the council turning on her. “Thurston,” she said. It was enough. Both of the young people knew of the animosity between Thurston and her, long-simmering over what he perceived as her interference in police matters.

Wanda had campaigned and won her mayoral seat on a platform of bringing law enforcement agencies together for a solution to the illegal problem. Because of her tribal connections, for the first time there was cooperation between the Nation and Homeland Security, resulting in a slowdown of the leaks at the border. Thurston’s regional office lost funding for two deputies because of it, and for some reason, had chosen to hold that against Wanda.