Adios Angel (13 page)

“Sheriff Hanks. Are you there?”

Deputy Steele’s voice coming through his two-way radio
took the sheriff away from his pondering of Felipe Madrigal.  He snapped to
attention quickly, knowing that perhaps Kate had found out something new from
the Garcías.

“I’m here.”

“Find anything interesting?” asked Kate.

“I think I have a better feel for Mr. Madrigal.  But
as far as evidence goes I have found nothing that I can piece together at the
moment.  But I do have a question for you.”

“Yes?”

“Remember when Mr. Madrigal called to have us come and
pick him up?”

“Yes,” said Kate.  “He said his truck was broken.”

“That’s how I remember it too.  Would you consider two
flat tires a broken truck?”

“No.  I would call them flat tires.  A broken truck
would indicate something mechanical to me.”

“Well he’s got two flat tires and a flat spare on his
truck.  It looks like they have been flattened on purpose.  But I believe
Felipe Madrigal was telling the truth.  This truck is broken.  Somebody yanked
the wires to the distributor cap and removed the cap itself,” said Zeb.  “This
thing couldn’t run if it wanted to.  Somebody saw to it that Felipe’s truck was
staying put.”

Zeb thought of the meek, gamy-legged Mr. Madrigal
sitting in the jail cell looking forlorn and lost.  He was either far more
cunning than he let on or he was hiding some deep, dark secret in his soul.

“Did Mr. García remember anything new when you talked
with him?” Zeb asked.

“Yes sir, he did.  He said it was Mrs. García’s tea
leaf reading that helped him remember something.  But I think it was the dead
body they found in his truck that jogged his memory,” said Deputy Steele. 

“What did he recall?”

“Mr. García remembered a young Mexican male stopping
by the house a couple of days before his truck was stolen.  The young man was
having car trouble a few miles up the road.  His radiator hose was leaking. 
Mr. García gave him a bucket of water and a lift back to his car.  He even
helped him put some duct tape on the leaky hose.”

“What made Mr. García suspicious?” asked Sheriff
Hanks.

“Two things.  First, he said the young man went on and
on about his Chevy LUV.  He asked him all sorts of questions about it.  Mr. García
didn’t think much about it at first because everyone who sees it asks about
it.  You could really tell how much he loved his truck," said Deputy
Steele.

“He certainly did.”

“When they got the overheated car running, Mr. García
headed back home.  He looked in the rear view mirror and waved, you know,
friendly like.  The young man waved back.  Then, when Mr. García went to adjust
his rear view mirror, he saw something odd.”

“Yes, go on,” said Sheriff Hanks.

“He saw something run out of the bushes toward the
car.  At first Mr. García thought it might have been an animal, a coyote he
supposed.  He slowed down and took a look over his shoulder.  He couldn’t see
clearly because of all the dust that had been roiled up by the other car taking
off down the road.  But Mr. García swore he saw two people in the little car. 
He pulled over to see what the deal was, but when he did, the driver of the
other car made a fast U turn and headed off the other way.  I guess he just
sort of forgot about it until today when I was talking with him.”

“Did he say what kind of car the young man was
driving?” asked Sheriff Hanks.

“Yes, he most certainly did.  I don’t think I need to
tell you he is quite an expert when it comes to cars.”

Sheriff Hanks knew it for certain having talked to
Lorenzo García many times since his Chevy LUV had been stolen.

“The car was a Chevrolet Vega.  Mr. García said he
even mentioned to the young man that he should get a different car because the
aluminum engine in the Vega is nothing but trouble.  He said the young man
laughed and told him he was thinking about getting a new pickup, maybe one just
like Mr. García’s.”

“Did Mr. García say what color the Vega was?” asked
Sheriff Hanks.

“He said the name of the color of the car in Spanish. 
Amarillo.”

The sheriff knew that meant yellow.

“Did he say what kind of shape the Vega was in?”

“He called it a real rust bucket.  Mr. García said he
couldn’t believe anyone would let a car get in as bad of shape as that.  He
figured it was probably all the young man could afford.”

The wheels spinning in Zeb’s head gripped like the
traction on a firm road.  The description of the vehicle, yellow and rusted,
was a perfect match to the recently stolen Vega.  What were the odds Mr. García’s
truck was stolen by the young Mexican man in the Vega?  Could there be a link
between the young Mexican and the dead girl in Mr. García’s burnt out truck. 

“Deputy Steele, are you still in the vicinity of the García
place?”

“Six or seven miles back toward town,” replied the
deputy.

“I want you to go back and get a detailed description
of the driver of the Vega from Mr. García.”

“I have a decent one, but I can get a better one.  I
will do that right now.”

Kate was starting to put the same pieces together as
the sheriff.  Stolen yellow Vega, young man, stolen Chevy LUV pickup that the
young man in the possibly stolen Vega had seen as an easy opportunity.  And, a
dead young Mexican woman in Mr. García’s stolen pickup.  It was a long shot,
but it had to be considered.  It was the hottest lead they had.

“Did you find out anything else?” asked Sheriff Hanks.

“Nothing specific.  I did talk with four or five
people out that way who complained about fast traffic.  It seems an oversized
pickup, a high rider with an elevated cab, has been seen speeding down those
roads at what some of the people said was over a hundred miles an hour.  They
asked me to set up a speed trap out there.  I told them that would be
impossible but that we would be on the lookout for speeders, especially in big
pickup trucks.  I believe some of the older folks are quite scared about it,
especially after Mr. García’s truck was stolen.”

A crosswind carried a trail of dust into the wooded
dale behind the Madrigal place where it settled restlessly.  Overhead, the
squeaking from the windmill ceased, replaced by a constant droning hum as the
wind became steady.  The faint odor of dried sage surrounded Zeb as he stared
at the disabled truck pondering the old man’s motive.  What did Felipe Madrigal
have to gain by calling in a bomb threat?  Why risk what little he had? 

“I will see you back in town,” said Sheriff Hanks,
clicking off the two-way radio.

He returned to the house and grabbed the pictures from
the table.  Maybe being surrounded by pictures of his family would loosen the
old man’s tongue.  It was a long shot but he needed something.  Maybe Kate would
find something as well.

Back in town Zeb made an official stop at Josh
Diamond’s gun shop.  The clanging cowbell signaled his entrance as Josh’s
bloodhounds eyed him curiously.  The proprietor was nowhere to be seen.

“I’ll be right there,” shouted the store owner.  “I’ve
just hard wired the place with a new security system.  So don’t try and walk
off with anything.”

Josh peeked over the swinging doors.  He greeted his
old border patrol buddy with a broad smile.

“Zeb, welcome back to my home away from home. I’m
cleaning up an old Winchester repeater.”  Josh reached out to shake Zeb’s hand
but withdrew, noticing just how filthy his hands were.  “This rifle is a real
beauty.  Come on back here and have a look.”

Zeb slipped around the edge of the counter.  The
broken glass had been replaced and a new set of guns had been placed in the Elk
antlers.

“Look at this.  It’s a Winchester 94.  It’s one
hundred percent original, right down to the gold inlay.  There aren’t many of
these old gals around anymore.  It even has John Ulrich’s name engraved.  Want
to see?”

Josh’s infectious enthusiasm was catching and
calming.  Zeb found himself feeling light and happy as he watched his old pal
softly run his hand along the stock and barrel of the rifle.  This time his memories
of the border patrol days were better ones.  He remembered how Josh liked to
take his weapon apart, clean it and put it back together, blindfolded, just
like in the movies.  It had been a difficult morning trying to dig into Felipe
Madrigal’s psyche.  Zeb was glad for the distraction.

“Nice thirty-caliber,” said Zeb eyeing the weapon.

“I’m impressed,” exclaimed Josh.  “I didn’t know you
knew these old-fashioned guns.”

“What sort of a western lawman would I be if I didn’t
know about the most famous deer rifle in history?”

“Tell me more,” said Josh, egging on Zeb.  “I didn’t
have you pegged for the collector type.”

Zeb held the gun and eyed down the sight line.

“Lever action, one of the first made, known as the
true personification of the romance of the old west.  Twenty-six inch barrel,
forty-five inches in total length.”

“Forty-four and a half.”

“I was rounding up,” said Zeb.  “If you know so much,
maybe you can tell me where the gold was mined for the inlay.”

“Just north of San Francisco.”

“Touché.”

As he passed the gun back to Josh, Zeb eyed Josh’s
injuries.

“Isn’t it a little tough working with a wrist cast and
broken ribs?” asked Zeb.

“When a man loves what he is doing, there is no such
thing as pain.” 

“Amen,” said Zeb.

The men stood quietly for a moment as Josh wiped the
rest of the grease off his hands.

“Zeb, from the look in your eyes this isn’t a social
call.”

“Actually, it is business,” replied Zeb. “I was hoping
you found something which might lead me to the thieves.”

“Well Zeb, actually I did find something.  Here, let
me show you what I found.”

Josh led him to the back door.  The big two inch by
four inch beam still kept the door secure.  But Josh had replaced the old latch
with a new, complex key lock.  As they passed through the door into the alley
Zeb observed Josh’s careful, almost measured movements. He had not changed one
bit when it came to his unique eye for detail.

“Your deputy, Kate Steele, came by a few hours after
you were here. She dusted for prints and made some castings of the boot prints
left behind by the alleged perp.  She is very competent.”

“You would have to search pretty far and wide to find
someone who didn’t think the world of her,” replied Zeb.  “And I just bet you
find her appealing in many ways.”

“She is all right by me,” said Josh.  “As to how all
right she is, time will tell.”

Zeb nodded.  He wasn’t about to press the private side
of Josh Diamond.

“We talked a little. While she was casting the
footprints I stood around to watch.  Standing there, looking at the boarded up
building next to mine, I noticed something I hadn’t previously seen.”

Josh pointed to a piece of plywood covering a busted
out basement window in the adjacent abandoned building.

“This is what I called Deputy Steele about.”

Zeb looked down at the sun beaten lumber.  The curled
piece of wood was cracked, faded from exposure and covered with pigeon
droppings.  Near the center of the warped board he noticed was a brown
discoloration.  Beneath the stain a dried drip line ran for a few inches.  It
looked like a dirty board covering an old window frame.  No different in
appearance than when he’d originally noticed it.

Josh crouched near the window.

“Right here.  This is what struck me as odd.”

Zeb squatted.  He ran a finger over the wood near the
brown stain.

“Now take a whiff.  You’ll see what I’m talking
about.”

Zeb’s furrowed eyebrows caused Josh to snicker.  Zeb
was well aware Josh knew things about tracking that he could only imagine, but
sticking his nose next to a brown stain amid a pile of pigeon droppings seemed
a little silly.  Zeb did it anyway.

“What do you smell?” asked Josh.

“Pigeon shit,” replied Zeb pulling his head away from
the wood. 

“Did you get a good smell of the brown stain?” asked
Josh.

“Tobacco?  It has the foul odor of chewing tobacco. 
Spittle, my dad used to call it.”

“Very good,” replied Josh.  “You pass the test.”

“I think I see what you’re getting at, but isn’t it
sort of a stretch connecting it to whoever burgled your store?” asked Zeb.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” said Josh.  “I found some
tobacco spittle, as you so aptly put it, in my back office, next to the
ammunition.  Let’s go back inside.  I’ll show you.”

Zeb examined the tobacco stain.  Using a pocketknife
he scraped it into a borrowed baggie.

“You haven’t taken up the chew, have you?” asked Zeb.