Widows' Watch (27 page)

Tuesday, October 12, 11:05 A.M.

“Did Leo get the warrant?” Elena asked Manny Escobedo.

“Yep. He didn't find anything in the truck, but he's had it towed.” Manny swiveled away from the litter of paperwork on his desk. “The address is a fake. The apartment complex exists, but the apartment number's for a floor they don't have, and Tyler never lived there.”

“Did Leo check it against the address Tyler gave the center?”

“Same fake. Mail goes to a P.O. box. Turns out he has a room at one of those fleabag hotels downtown. Used to live at the Y, but he had to move when they closed down the living facilities.”

“How did Leo find out?”

“By going back to the jail and yelling at the old man. He's getting another warrant now.”

“Why would Tyler lie about his address? Unless he's got something to hide in that room.”

Manny shrugged. “You'll find out pretty quick, and if there's evidence in his room, he won't have had a chance to get rid of it since his arrest. He never called anyone from the jail.”

Were they about to close this case at last? Maybe they'd find the gun that killed Boris. Or if—and she still considered this a long shot—T. Bob had got a weapon from Lydia Beeman and given it back after the murder or left it for Dimitra to get rid of, still, they might find the czar's medal. “I'm working overtime, you know,” she said to Manny. “I wasn't supposed to be in until noon, but we wanted to talk to Tyler.”

Manny nodded. “You're cleared.”

“Got it,” said Leo, coming in from Reception, waving the search warrant. “I can't believe that old s.o.b. let me go after a warrant for premises that didn't exist.”

“He didn't know we wanted to search his place,” said Elena.

“Well, hell, if being lied to and wasting most of the morning doesn't bother you, you can get the warrants next time, and I'll talk to the old ladies.”

“No way. I had bran muffins and homemade plum jam while you were hanging around some judge's chambers.”

“Stop arguing and go toss his room,” said Manny. “Beltran's getting antsy about this case. Since that demonstration, both Stollinger and the chief keep asking him if we've closed it.”

They had to climb four floors, up stairways and through corridors that smelled of urine and dust, unwashed clothes and bodies. “I can't believe he lives here,” said Elena. “He always looks neat and respectable.”

Leo opened the door with the key the manager had given them. The room was clean and bare: narrow bed with a worn quilt over patched sheets; a dresser with a round mirror whose silver backing had long since disintegrated and left blurred patches in the reflection. The closet contained two Western-style suits, two pairs of worn jeans, two pairs of polyester trousers, one with snags, and three shirts, all with yokes and studs down the front. In the dresser they found tattered underwear, one pair of flannel pajamas—”I hope he doesn't have to wear these in the summer too,” muttered Elena—and a picture of a blond woman who must have been young in the late thirties if the clothing and hairstyle were any indication. “His wife?” Elena wondered aloud. The picture was in a small oval frame—white enamel and gold.

In the bathroom they found a chipped toilet with a cracked seat, a sink whose porcelain was wearing thin, a shower curtain encrusted with soap scum, two shirts hanging from the shower

rod, an ironing board without legs, an old iron with a frayed cord, carefully preserved slivers of soap, straight razor and shaving brush, comb and hair oil sitting on the sink. That was it. No TV, no extra pairs of shoes or boots, no reading material, no weapons, no czar's medal, nothing in the waste basket or lower drawers of the dresser, nothing on the shelf above the closet rod.

Only when they opened the door to the empty medicine cabinet did they hit pay dirt. Scotch-taped to the wood were pictures of women and in some cases obituaries of their husbands. The couples Elena had investigated, except for the Stoltzes, were there, not to mention obituaries of men who had died of natural causes and pictures of their wives. Elena and Leo exchanged glances.

“So we go back and talk to him,” said Leo.

“And take the door with us,” Elena agreed.

“My God,” said Leo. “What a way to live.”

Tuesday, October 12, 3:05 P.M.

“Look what we found,” said Leo, displaying the door they had removed from T. Bob's medicine cabinet.

The old man, who usually looked neat and healthy, was now rumpled and pale. No women, no sunshine, no ironing board explained it, Elena surmised. It was sad really, thinking of him in that awful room, washing his clothes in the sink, drying them on the shower rod, and ironing them on that little board, probably set up across the sink. All so he could look spiffy for the ladies at the center. But it would have seemed a lot sadder if he hadn't killed their husbands.

T. Bob stared at the door with its load of obits and women's pictures. “How'd you git that?” he asked, face reddening. “If Ah'd known you was goin' to tear up mah room, Ah'd never a tole you where Ah lived.”

“It's evidence,” said Leo.

“Of what?”

“You killed the four guys, didn't you? Saved their obituaries? Got pictures of their wives?”

“Ah tole ya. Ah ain't never killed nobody. Even in the war. Ah was stuck in a supply depot stateside.”

“Why the obits, then?”

T. Bob shrugged.

“All these women were abused by their husbands,” said Elena, leaning forward. “I think a jury would understand that you killed the husbands to protect the wives.”

“Ah didn't do no such thing. Ah was at the center when Potemkin died.”

“But you did know what he'd done to Dimitra, didn't you? Broke her hip?”

“Ever'one knew,” T. Bob muttered.

“I imagine you felt guilty about it, didn't you?”

“Ah don' know what you mean.”

“He didn't like her dancing with you, so he saw to it that she couldn't dance anymore. How did that make you feel, T. Bob?” Elena asked sympathetically.

“Bad,” T. Bob admitted.

“So you picked a day when she wouldn't be home and killed him,” said Leo.

“No!” the old cowboy exclaimed.

“And started courting the widow before he was even in the ground.”

“She din' mind.”

“Don't be so hard on him, Leo,” said Elena. “If the woman you loved were hurt, you might want to kill the man who did it.”

“Ah din'—”

“And Mercedes Castro. Such a pretty woman,” said Elena to T. Bob.

“She sure was. Prettiest Mex Ah ever seen.”

“And when her old man cut her like that, you killed him. Right?” said Leo.

“No. Why would Ah? She wasn't never interested in me.”

“You asked her out,” said Elena.

“Well, yeah, but she wouldn't go out with no Anglo. Kin you beat that? You'd think she'd be glad of the chance.”

“And the other two, Chantal and Marcia. You asked them out too.”

“After you killed their husbands,” Leo added. “What did you do with the guns?”

“Ah don' have no guns. Sold mine long since. An' Ah din' kill no one. Ah was at the center.”

“I've asked every single person who was there that afternoon,” said Elena. “Not a one of them saw you.”

The old man turned pale. “Well, don' matter. Ah was there,” he said stubbornly.

“Maybe you got the guns from Lydia,” suggested Elena, just to see how that would fly. “Are you and Lydia Beeman friends?”

“Beeman?” he echoed. “She wouldn't give me the time of day. Ah asked her out once.” T. Bob looked hurt. “She laughed.”

“So where did you get the guns?” asked Leo.

“How come you've got the obituaries of all those men who were shot? Why keep them if—”

“'Cause of their wives,” said T. Bob desperately. “The obituaries tell where they live, so Ah kin git their telephone numbers. Jus' cause Ah want to git married an' have someone to take care of me in mah old age don' mean Ah'm a murderer. There's other widders on mah board. Din' you see that? Ah need a woman to support me an' take care of me. Ah'm gittin' old. Ah gotta marry before Ah cain't take no more day work to pay for courtin'. Nothin' wrong with that. A man needs a wife.” He looked to be on the verge of tears.

“Ah lost mine,” he mumbled. “Lost mah ranch. Now Ah gotta git me a new wife. It ain't that easy when you're mah age. Wimmen, they ain't so anxious fer a man. Ah been workin' real hard at it. Ever since Ah moved here. Ain't had no luck a-tall. But Ah had me a good chance with Dimitra. Then you went an' arrested me. If you'd jus' let me out, Ah might could go over to her house an' tell her the only reason Ah hit him was ‘cause Ah love her, an' Ah din' want her goin' out with some furriner. She's maybe mah last chance. Ah gotta git outa jail.”

“Where were you the day Boris Potemkin died?” asked Leo.

T. Bob Tyler brushed a fist across his eyes. “Ah ain't talkin' to you no more. Why should Ah? You ain't listenin'.”

Once the guard had taken their suspect away, Elena asked, “What do you think?”

“Hell, I don't know. He wants a wife. I guess one way is to make a widow and then court her.”

Elena sighed. “I hate to think about giving this case to the D.A.'s office.”

“It's the best one we've got. Unless you think that old lady with the guns did it.” Leo laughed. “Try to sell that one to the D.A. War Hero's Wife Kills Off Old Men. He'll love it. Well, I'm off shift. You can type this one up.”

“Thanks,” said Elena.

At a little after seven Elena had just returned to her desk from the investigation of a freeway assault that occurred after an accident in rush-hour traffic. She found a message from the jail. T. Bob Tyler wanted to see her. Not Leo, just her. Maybe playing good cop-bad cop had paid off, and T. Bob wanted to hear what she had to say about a jury sympathizing with his championship of battered women. She asked Bob Allency, her partner on the freeway assault, to do the report. “I've got a murder suspect ready to confess,” she explained.

“Be sure he's been Mirandized,” said Allency.

“Thanks, Bob,” she retorted dryly as she picked up her handbag. “Do you give that reminder to the guys too?”

“You broads are so touchy,” said Allency, grinning.

“You guys are such sexist pigs,” replied Elena with good-humored relish, and headed for the jail.

“I hope you've been thinking about what I said, T. Bob. About juries understanding a man who feels called upon to defend women,” she began as soon as he was brought in. “You might be able to cut a deal with the D.A.”

“Ah tole you,” he said reproachfully. “Ah ain't a murderer. So Ah'm gonna tell you where Ah was that afternoon, but you gotta promise you won't tell no one.”

Elena frowned. “If you really have an alibi, we can't very well keep it to ourselves.”

“Look, Ah wanna git outa jail. Ah gotta go see Miz Dimitra. Ah ‘splained all that.”

Telling her where he'd been when Boris died wasn't going to absolve him of the assault charge filed by Omar, but Elena didn't mention that. “So where were you?”

“At the cemetery.”

“Which one?”

“Fort Bliss. Ah go to different ones, but Ah was at Fort Bliss that day.”

Great. Maybe he saw Lydia there. They could alibi each other. “What do you mean you go to different ones?”

“Fer the flowers. You think Ah can afford flowers fer mah dates? Ah watch the paper fer funerals. Then Ah go later an' pick up some flowers. The dead folks don't care, an' ever'one knows ladies like flowers.”

“The ones you hit Omar with—the lilies?”

“Got ‘em at Evergreen. Wish folks wouldn't send them lilies, though. They're too much like funerals.”

“They're for funerals.”

“Don't mean folks can't send somethin' else. Hell—'scuse me—heck. Five years ago it was a lot easier. Now folks give the money to some charity. If the death notice says to do that, Ah don't bother to go. Just save mah gas.”

“Anyone see you at the cemetery that Monday?”

“Guard prob'ly did. Ah don't call attention to mahself. Gotta sneak out with the flowers. Say, you're not gonna arrest me fer—”

“For stealing flowers? Not until I've checked it out, anyway,” said Elena.

“You don't believe me?” he asked incredulously. “Would Ah admit to a thang like that if it warn't true? Now jus' you remember, you ain't tellin' nobody about this.”

“I never promised.”

“Ah mean any a mah lady friends at the center. Like Dimitra. You ain't gonna tell her them lilies come from the grave of some lady named Pearl Abbott, are you? Ah said a prayer for Pearl before Ah took the flowers. Prayers, they're worth more to the dead than flowers, Ah reckon.”

“Probably,” Elena agreed. She'd check the cemetery tomorrow. For right now, it was almost eight, and she was going home before she accumulated any more crazy information.

Tuesday, October 12, 8:20 P.M.

Elena came in the back door to find her mother watching a program on TV. “I wish I had more time to spend with you, Mom,” she said. “Here I just worked a twelve-hour shift and left you by your—”

“Oh, my dear, no one needs to tell me about policemen's hours. Come into the living room. I have a surprise for you.” Harmony grabbed Elena's hand and tugged her out of the kitchen.

Elena gasped. Her love seat was finished. She'd seen the material growing on the loom but never clearly envisioned how it would look. A stylized desert-and-mountain scene in navy, Hopi green, coral, and beige repeated itself across the cushions of the love seat. It was beautiful! And it was hers! “Oh, Mom. It's—it's—”

Harmony smiled. “There'll be solid-color pillows in different sizes matching the colors in the design. I plan to hand sew the fourth sides on those tomorrow. And I should think we'll have the sofa and the drapes done in a week to ten days.”

“It's fantastic.” Elena hugged her mother. She was used to life on the Spartan side. Now she was going to have one room that anyone could envy. She wondered how her friend Sarah would like the design. A bit unconventional for Sarah's taste, but still Sarah'd have to see how beautiful it was. Elena would invite her over to dinner, preferably before Harmony left so the food would be up to Sarah's standards.

“Now for the bad news,” said Harmony. “Do you want to eat first?”

“Oh, what the heck,” said Elena, getting a beer from the refrigerator as her mother put leftover caldillo on the stove. “I might as well hear the bad news. Then I won't have to wonder what it is while I'm eating.”

“Your guitar's gone again.”

Elena's first, elated thought was that she wouldn't have to sing in the talent show. She manufactured a look of indignation. Then she realized that Frank must have taken it. “How did he get another key?”

Harmony sighed. “The truth is, I was playing it on the patio before I left for the center this morning. Then I got a call from Juanita Ituribe about the drapes. I did put your guitar in the case before I answered, but then I forgot it. Someone must have taken it while I was away teaching my class. It might not have been Frank, although I suppose he's irritated about the curandera, especially since I got her an ACLU lawyer who's going to say the police have interfered with the practice of her religion after Frank specifically asked for the ceremony.”

Elena started to laugh. “Irritated” was too mild a word for the emotions her ex-husband must be feeling. “Mom, you're the best. The very best,” she said, hugging Harmony.

“I am? I thought you'd be upset about the guitar. I'll get you another, of course, but—”

“No, you won't. You weren't the woman who was dumb enough to marry Frank after your father told you not to.”

“Well, Elena, my father told me not to marry Ruben, and our marriage has been a success. Just because your father—”

“Father knew best in this case. I'll buy my own guitar, and be more careful if I marry again.”

“So you should. Now sit down and eat your caldillo. I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything,” said Elena. “The ACLU, huh? Frank must be livid.” She picked up the spoon.

“I've been thinking about heredity,” said Harmony. “If I can see auras, there's a good chance you can if you'll just try.”

“Mom!” cried Elena.

“You did say anything.” Although she had already eaten, Harmony sat down across the table and broke a piece off Elena's roll. “The first thing we'll try is the easiest—a mirror. The pale walls in your room are the right color; we can get soft lighting by using only lamps, no overheads.”

“My room doesn't have an overhead.”

Harmony nodded abstractedly. “What you have to do is look into the mirror, focusing two feet behind your image and—oh—six or eight inches above your head. Then relax and wait. Before you know it, you'll see your own aura. If you're very calm, it will be blue. If you're being stubborn, gold. And just remember, Elena, you promised, so I don't want to see any angry red.”

“Mom, how can I see something I don't believe in?”

“As Coleridge said, I expect a ‘willing suspension of disbelief.'”

“He was talking about fiction.”

“Just wait till you see that aura! It's very exciting, dear.”

“Then how come we haven't tried this before?”

“The curandera told me what to do when we were chatting after her conference with the lawyer. Your aura, or any human aura, is strongest at seven Greenwich mean time.”

“The curandera told you that?”

“No, Elena, I got that information from the library. Unfortunately, I don't know how Greenwich time corresponds to mountain time. I didn't think to ask. But if we fail tonight, I'll call the library reference department tomorrow. Did you know you can ask them questions and they'll look up the answers for you? What a delightful service.”

Elena sighed. If she actually saw an aura, she'd probably jump out of her skin. But if she didn't, Harmony would be disappointed.