The Territory: A Novel (31 page)

Otto pointed a finger at her. “The same day Red’s guns were stolen.” He shook his head. “That little bastard.”

Otto approached the trailer door, and Josie called him back. “I don’t trust this guy. He may have traps set. We need to get back and cook up a warrant and open this trailer up.”

They walked around the perimeter of the campsite, looking for something else that might tie the area to Fallow but without finding anything useful. Once back in the jeep on the side of the road, Josie stared out the window, thinking through the day.

“Why is Medrano spending so much time here? Coming in person? Pegasus saw the car at Red’s place several days ago. They know there’s nothing in Red’s house. They know the guns are gone.”

“Unless there’s something there we didn’t discover.”

“We’ve been through that house, thoroughly, three different times. Marta went out again and walked the property and searched the garage. Nothing.”

“What’s the draw, then, if it’s not Red’s place?”

“What if it’s Fallow?” she asked. “Maybe Medrano came to meet with him today, and I got in his way. Maybe Medrano wasn’t going to Red’s place at all. Maybe he was headed back the lane to meet up with Fallow.”

“He’s buying the guns Fallow stole from Red’s place.” Otto smoothed the flyaway hair down on his head. “That guy’s got more gumption than I gave him credit for.”

“Fallow is taking over Red’s business. Could be that Medrano was here for a lot more than Red’s guns.” She pointed past the camper toward the direction of Red’s house.

“You think Fallow could have killed Red, manipulated Bloster?” Otto asked.

Josie pulled out onto the gravel road with no answer, but she was positive they were getting close. She called the Loan to Own office and asked Cammie to notify her immediately if Fallow tried to return the storage unit.

*   *   *

The shift from 4:30
P.M
. to 1:00
A.M
. was Josie’s favorite time to work. Life did not really begin until the nine-to-five workday ended. It was when people fought and made up. After sunset, people let their guard down and said things that were not appropriate during the day. The dark gave people something to hide behind. Even as a kid, she had liked nighttime. Her mom would take off for whatever scheme she had cooked up, and Josie would have the house to herself—a relief from the tension of living with her mother’s mood swings.

She walked to the back of the office and pushed open the large windows to allow a warm, fresh breeze into the office. Otto would complain later that she had let out all the cool air, but it was worth his grumbling. She could hear the faint street sounds from below, the occasional laugh or yell from a kid riding by on a bicycle. Even with the past week’s hell, she would not trade her small town for the big city. She had lived in Indianapolis for two years and worked as a patrol officer in the downtown division. Too many people in too small an area.

Otto had been called out on a domestic dispute, and Josie had stayed back to catch up on the stacks of paperwork and phone messages that had gone unanswered the past few days. She had made the warrant request from the judge for the storage trailer and then settled in to wait for the response. She hoped to have an answer within an hour. She sat at her desk and sorted the stacks of paper into a top-ten to-do list for the night and felt her anxiety over the pileup begin to subside.

In the middle of replying to an e-mail from Jimmy Dixon from Border Patrol, Lou buzzed her on the intercom and said Sheriff Martínez was on his way up to see her. Josie felt sick. She had dreaded talking with him since the arrest of Bloster at the jail, and she had put off calling him despite her resolutions. She had no idea how Martínez might view the events that took place in his own jail.

Martínez walked into the office in uniform, looking pale and tired. He was a large-framed man who typically carried himself at his full height. He walked in the room slump shouldered, his black hair unkempt.

Josie stood from her desk and pulled out two chairs at the big wooden conference table. “Can I get you coffee?” she asked, hoping to gauge his mood.

He shook his head and sat, crossed a leg, and gave her his complete attention. “I came to apologize. Hack Bloster should never have treated you the way he did and got away with it. You were dead right with him, and if I’d responded correctly, some of what happened this past week would have been avoided.”

She was surprised at the apology. “I hope you understood my position. I hated to call Escobedo, not because of Moss, but because of you. I just didn’t know where else to turn.”

“You should have been able to turn to me, but I had my head stuck up my back end.”

She started to speak, and Martínez interrupted her with a hand.

“Dillon brought the paperwork to me this morning. I appreciate him bringing it directly to me. He sat down and explained everything. Bloster scammed close to twenty thousand dollars over the past six months right under my nose. Our budget can’t take that kind of hit. I just finished a meeting with the mayor. I gave him everything.”

Josie winced. “What was his response?”

“Typical Moss. His first instinct was cover it up, keep it from the voters, what’s done is done. I asked him, How do you cover up sewage? Bloster’s already in jail. What’s the point in covering up at this point? You could see his shifty little eyes calculate. Pretty soon he’d flipped. He decided he was the one who ferreted out the dirty cop and closed the connection with the cartels. Saved our town from anarchy. No doubt, you’ll see the headlines in the paper this week.”

Josie’s jaw dropped before she laughed, the first good laugh she’d had all day. “Our hero.”

“At this point, I’d let about anyone take the credit.”

“Have you talked to Bloster since his arrest?”

“Briefly. I had some questions for my own piece of mind. I couldn’t figure out why Red, a guy who hates Mexicans, goes into business selling them guns.”

“You don’t think Red would sell his principles for a profit?”

“Bloster claims he sold the cartels guns so they’d kill each other off. So, yeah, his so-called principles were a joke.”

“What happens now?”

He closed his eyes and rubbed them with his thumb and forefinger. The silence stretched for some time before he finally looked up, his cheeks sagging and eyes bloodshot. “It won’t matter what happens. Hack Bloster has ruined my standing in this community. There will be people who can’t wait to see me fired, guilty or not.”

“Come on, Martínez, buck up. You don’t let those people get to you on a normal day. Why now? There’s always buzzards waiting for the carnage. Just like there are people that support you every day.” She paused and reached across the table to tap him on the forearm. “We’ll still support you. The people who hated you before will hate you still.”

“Except now I’ve given them reason.”

Josie banged a fist on the table. “Listen to yourself! You sound like one of those women who won’t accuse a rapist because she thinks it’s her fault somehow! Bloster scammed the system. He scammed you, the commissioners, the mayor, the whole town for his own selfish gain.”

“If the sheriff can’t control his own department, how can he control the town? That’s the question people will ask.”

She lowered her voice. “You aren’t the criminal,” she said. “You’re trying to run a twenty-bed jail and the department on your own. You need help.”

He tipped his head to concede the point. “You’re in no better spot either. We can’t keep this pace up. We’re both undermanned by fifty percent.”

“We need a reserve force,” she said. “We need people on the border with guns to hold the line. At least for the next few months. We have good people in this town who can help us. We don’t need to do this alone.”

The phone on her desk buzzed and Martínez stood to leave. He waved and thanked her for listening and walked out of the office. Josie buzzed Lou back. She said Judge Lewis was on the line.

“Chief Gray?”

“Yes, Judge. Thank you for getting back with me so quickly this evening.”

“From everything I’ve heard, you people are doing an excellent job down there, considering what you’re up against. You’re fighting the good fight. Just keep that in mind.”

“Yes, sir. I appreciate that.”

Lewis had been a judge in Arroyo County for thirty years. He was a gray-haired, stooped man who pulled no punches with anyone. She appreciated his faith in her.

“Paul Fallow is trespassing on federal property. No need for a warrant from me. His belongings can be seized immediately.”

SEVENTEEN

Josie and Otto drove separately and met in the parking lot of the Loan to Own at 11
P.M
. The business was located in a white cinder block building surrounded by a large paved parking lot and half a dozen trailers and storage units. Cammie Brown, the owner’s daughter, pulled into the lot after them, driving a bright blue Mustang and got out of the car wearing flannel pajama pants imprinted with big red hearts and a matching sweatshirt, her hair in a ponytail tied neatly with a white ribbon.

Josie shook Cammie’s hand and introduced Otto.

“Did you notice my lights? Everything is working perfect. And I just got my license plate renewed.” She flashed a bright smile and bounced into the store to retrieve the paperwork and the keys to the unit. She gave everything to Josie, who thanked her and said she could leave.

“Why don’t you let me go back out to the field and check the trailer out? That way you can talk with Fallow and we can be sure he won’t show up. Tell him we’re confiscating his belongings and see what he gives you. If I find the guns in the trailer, I’ll call you,” Josie said.

*   *   *

After leaving the rental store, Otto stopped by the police station and grabbed the policy manual for the Gunners. He pulled into Paul Fallow’s driveway at midnight. All the lights in the house were off. He rang the doorbell, hoping to wake Mrs. Fallow as well. Otto had not talked with her yet, and he was curious what she would say about her husband’s trailer rental. After ringing the doorbell a second time, he watched through the side window beside the front door as both Fallow and his wife walked down the stairway together wearing two-piece burgundy-colored pajamas. Mrs. Fallow was cinching a matching floor-length robe around her waist as Fallow looked through the window. He recognized Otto under the porch light, deprogrammed the alarm, and unlocked the door.

“What is it? What’s happened?” Fallow asked.

“Dr. Fallow, I apologize for waking you, but I have police business I need to discuss with you.”

“It can’t wait until morning?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not.”

He stepped back, his eyebrows knit together in worry, and introduced Otto to his wife, Karen. Otto nodded hello. Scowling, Mrs. Fallow wrapped her hands around her arms as if she were cold and walked into the formal living room. Otto followed her and sank into a puffy beige couch facing her. Otto leaned forward and set the Gunners’ binder on the glass coffee table.

“What’s this about?” Fallow asked.

“I’m sure you’ve heard that Hack Bloster was arrested.”

He nodded. Karen sneered.

“That puts you in a special place,” Otto said.

Fallow wrinkled his forehead, looking confused.

“With Red out of the picture, and Hack in jail, that means you take over the business.”

“I have no desire to take over the Gunners.” He glanced at his wife. “I’m through with the Gunners.”

“He should have never joined them to begin with. Bunch of grown men acting like animals.” Karen squeezed her arms tighter.

“It’s not the organization or the men’s club I’m referring to. It’s the business.”

Fallow looked to his wife, then Otto, his expression still confused.

Otto sighed. “Dr. Fallow, we found the trailer you rented behind Goff’s house. Your belongings are being confiscated as we speak. Parking the trailer on federal land wasn’t a good idea.”

His eyes were wide now, and he sat down on the couch by his wife as if his legs had given out from under him. “What in the world are you talking about?”

Otto looked between the two of them. Karen’s expression turned from confusion to anger. Her lips were thin, pressed tightly together. “So help me, if you bought more guns, or gave more money to that group without my knowledge, we are through. Finished, Paul.”

He looked at his wife but pointed at Otto. “I don’t know what he’s talking about!”

Otto opened the binder on the coffee table and handed a piece of paper that lay on top over to Fallow. “Here’s a copy of the rental agreement for the U-Haul trailer. There’s your name.”

Fallow grabbed the paper and studied it, his face turning pale.

“You son of a bitch.” Karen’s voice was low and steady. Her eyes were filled with rage, and it made Otto remember her serene expression during her yoga pose.

Otto pointed to a list on the front page of the binder. “Here’s the hierarchy, Mr. Fallow, right in your manual. Number one, Red’s gone. Number two, Hack’s gone. You’re next. Number three man on the totem pole. That gun-trading business with the Medrano cartel? You take the reins, now the others are out of the way. I’d say that’s pretty good motive for murder.”

Fallow stared at Otto, then down at the manual, then back at Otto. “Where did you get this?”

“This is the Gunners’ manual we confiscated from Red’s house.”

“No! That’s not right!” His look of confusion had turned frantic. Fallow stood and walked quickly from the room.

“Dr. Fallow. Fallow!” Otto yelled after him. He and Karen both stood and ran after him. Otto pulled his gun. He’d misjudged Fallow. Accusing a murderer at night alone? He suddenly felt stupid.

The doctor walked down the hall and into a small office area, where he pulled a binder off a bookshelf that sat next to a messy desk.

Fallow’s eyes were wide and unfocused. He opened the binder to the front page and held it up to Otto. “See! This is the hierarchy you’re talking about! That manual you have is wrong. We never changed it after Kenny left. Bloster refused to move me up the list.”

Otto leaned in and read. It was a typed list, not the handwritten one they had. The list read: