Adios Angel (16 page)

“Boog Alou? 
Never heard…”  Suddenly the sheriff caught the inside baseball joke.  “Good
one, you got me.”

“Just
keeping you on your toes, Sheriff.  Actually I stole the joke from my grandma,
who stole it from Gramps.”

“Keeping on
the subject of baseball, Felipe listens to the games on that Spanish speaking
station.  I also told him I would bring him some car and truck magazines.  He
likes them.  He uses them to help practice reading English.  Speaking of
baseball, are you going to visit your grandmother over at the nursing home and
watch the World Series game?”

“That’s
where I’m headed right now,” said Kate.  “Who do you like?”

“Yankees, of
course,” replied Zeb.  “I like Jeter and Jorge Posada.  You a Yankee fan.”

“Actually, I
do like the Yanks,” said Deputy Steele a bit sheepishly.  “I’m a big Derek
Jeter fan too.”

 “How about
your grandmother?”

“Grams, she
loves the Yanks.  She says Soriano reminds her of the way Grandpa used to play
second base.”

In the years
since her move to Safford, Kate had made it an annual event to watch as many
playoff and World Series games as possible with her grandmother.  Tonight the
rest of the world would be put on hold for a few hours while she carried on the
tradition.

“Kate, enjoy
yourself.  Say hi to Grams.

“I’m glad
you’re in a little early today, Kate.  Did you catch the game?”

“Man, oh man, Jeter was out of his mind.  I thought the
Yanks had it when Giambi smacked that homer.  The nursing home gals went
crazy.  They even brought out a bottle of fake champagne to share--but in the
end it went to Florida.  It’s do or die for the Yanks at this point.”

“Sounds like you and Grams and the gals had fun,” said
Zeb.  “Even if the Yankees took it on the chin.”

“We had a great time.  Did you and Doreen watch the game?”

“You bet we
did.  But after I fell asleep, Detective Muñoz called me at home.  I was so
tired I didn’t even hear the phone ring.  He and Doreen talked for half an
hour.  He wanted me to call him about the autopsy findings on the dead woman in
Lorenzo García’s truck.  I’m going to call him right now.  I’ll put him on the
speakerphone.  I want you to listen in.”

The
switchboard at the Tucson Police Department was expecting the call.

“Detective Muñoz. 
How may I help you?”

“You can
start by covering my behind next time a brick comes flying my way.  That is
what you can do.”

“What the?  Zeb?
Zeb Hanks?  Is that you?”

“It sure as
hell is, pardner.”

“You should
be glad it wasn’t a bullet you were trying to duck.  That little buttercup of a
gal of yours said last night you could have been hurt bad.  Sorry to hear about
your deputy.  That has to be tough.”

“It was.  It
is.  But life goes on.”

“Amen,”
replied Detective Muñoz.

Kate
listened as the two men tossed feigned barbs and old stories back and forth
before getting down to business.

“Max, I’ve
got one of my deputies sitting here with me.  Her name is Kate Steele.  She
lived for a while in the neighborhood where the truck and the body were found. 
I’m putting you on the speaker phone.”

The lawmen
exchanged greetings.  Kate explained to Detective Muñoz that the body had been
found three blocks from the house she once lived in. 

“Give us
what you’ve found out, Max,” said Zeb.

“Let me
begin with something Doreen brought up last night.  That gal of yours is quite
a talker.”

“You can say
that again.”

“We’ve had
some luck in identifying the dead girl.  Her name is Juanita Melindez.  She’s a
twenty year-old Mexican-American.  She had no permanent address.  We know about
a month ago she was staying with a girlfriend in Tucson.  The roommate moved
back to Mexico.  We have tried contacting her.  No luck yet.  According to the
roommate’s landlord, Juanita was a quiet girl.  She had no social life that he
knew of.  He heard her mention a boyfriend but never saw one, though she did
receive regular letters postmarked from the prison in Florence Junction.  That
could be a pen pal relationship, a brother or relative, or even a boyfriend, we
don’t know.  Ms. Melindez worked as a waitress at a Chinese restaurant in the
Village.  The owners were pretty mum about her.  At first I thought it was a
bit of a language barrier, but it didn’t take long to figure out they were
paying her off the books.”

“I bet I
know how you got them to talk.” said Zeb.

The two men
began to laugh like boys in a private world.

“Do you two
care to share your little secret with a fellow officer?” asked Deputy Steele.

“You tell
her, Zeb,” said Detective Muñoz.

“The one
thing a restaurant owner hates is surprise inspections.  The easiest way to get
information is to send one city health inspector to the restaurant during
breakfast, another one during lunch and another during supper.  You get the
idea.  Normally we can get all the information we need, and then some, in less
than twenty-four hours.  In the big city it’s called inter-agency cooperation,”
explained Zeb.  “Here in Safford elections are won and lost over little things
like that.”

“I’ll
remember that,” replied Kate.

“Go ahead,
Max.”

“It turns
out the guy was paying her cash under the table,” said Detective Muñoz.  “I
could care less.  That’s business for the revenue boys, not the police
department.  When he decided we weren’t the enemy, he gave us some interesting
facts.”

“Such as?”
asked Zeb.

“Such as the
last anyone saw of Juanita Melindez was the night she disappeared.  She was
seen getting into a blue Chevy LUV pickup with a white male described by the
Chinese man as big as an ox, uglier than a pig and wearing a military buzz
cut.  The truck matches the description of the one we found her in.  It matches
the truck belonging to Lorenzo García.  When I talked with Doreen last night,
she seemed to know all about Lorenzo García.  When I mentioned the truck had a
stolen plate on it from the San Carlos Reservation, the name of Eskadi Black
Robes came up.  Doreen suggested I talk with Deputy Kate Steele about that
one.”

Sheriff
Hanks turned to Deputy Steele and pointed to the receiver.

“I know
Eskadi Black Robes quite well.  What do you need to know?” asked Deputy Steele.

“We got the
information in a roundabout way from the State Highway Patrol.  Eskadi Black
Robes had called to get a vehicle ID.  He wanted to get new plates for a
previously non-registered vehicle.  The VIN drew a match to the plates on
Lorenzo García’s truck.  When the highway boys put that together, they called
us.  The discrepancy is that Lorenzo’s truck is a Chevy LUV and the plates were
from a Ford F-150.  In my mind there is a pretty high certainty the plates on
the burned up truck were indeed stolen from somewhere on the reservation.”

“I think I
can clear this up, Detective,” said Deputy Steele. 

She
explained how Eugene Topy’s plates had been stolen and because he had not
changed registrations when he bought the vehicle he now knew he needed to get
some license plates.  He was worried about getting fined because he did not
have current plates.  She further explained how Eskadi was going to help him
work his way through the system.  Deputy Steele didn’t mention anything about
Eskadi’s political beliefs.  She didn’t have to.

“Mr. Eskadi
Black Robes doesn’t seem to have much respect for authority,” said Detective Muñoz.
“Trying to get anything from him was like trying to pull hen’s teeth.”

“He can be
difficult when it comes to dealing with what he refers to as the White man,”
said Deputy Steele.

“Did he tell
you anything about the stolen plates?”

“Did he
mention that someone saw a White man stealing plates up on the reservation?”
asked Deputy Steele.

“He didn’t
mention it.  But like I said, he wasn’t real free with the information,”
replied Detective Muñoz.

“The second
set of stolen plates was taken from a car up near Diamond Butte. That happened
four or five days after Eugene Topy noticed his plates were missing.  A woman
gathering herbs saw a White man steal her plates.  She got a pretty good look
at him but she is awfully scared.  The man she saw pointed a large hand gun in
her direction and frightened her.”

“Did this
get reported to the police?” asked Detective Muñoz.

“I assume
the reservation police took care of it.  But I don’t know for certain,” replied
Kate.  “There is a bit of a jurisdictional issue.”

“Of course. 
You said she got a decent look at him.  What sort of description do you have?”

“I got the
description second hand from Eskadi,” said Deputy Steele. “He got it from a
very frightened woman.”

“I’ll keep
that in mind,” replied the detective.

“She
described a big man who was scary and ugly.  She said he had a cap on but it
looked like he had short hair, maybe a shaved head.  He did have one
distinctive trait.  His left hand was missing some fingers.”

“Did she
notice how many?”

“Two,”
replied Kate.  “Maybe three.”

“Can you
give me her name?”

“I don’t
have it, but I will try and get it for you.  Do you want to talk with her?”

“Yes.  I
want to find out how sure she is about the missing fingers,” said Detective Muñoz.

“She was
very certain about the fact that he was missing some fingers on his left hand. 
She just wasn’t certain of the number.”

“The Chinese
restaurant owner’s wife told me she thought the man who picked up Juanita
Melindez in the blue Chevy LUV truck had a deformed left hand.”

“So you
believe our murderer is a tall, not good looking, White male with a deformed
hand  and a buzz cut who stole a truck and switched the license plates?” asked
Sheriff Hanks.

“That’s what
we have been able to put together.  Because the truck and the plates are from
your area and the girl is from mine, it sort of looks like we are working
together again, doesn’t it?”

“I guess it
does,” replied the Sheriff.

“Do you have
anything else on the dead girl?” asked Deputy Steele.

“Not much. 
I hope to have more once we locate her family or her roommate.  The autopsy had
one other sort of weird thing.   The young woman’s neck was broken and her
windpipe crushed.  She was strangled before she was torched in the truck.  She
wore a necklace with a fairly large silver cross.”

“There’s
nothing strange about that,” said Zeb.  “About half the people around here wear
a cross around their necks.”

“Just hold
on a second.  The doctor who did the autopsy is an ambitious young buck, just
out of school.  He is slow to get us our reports and a real pain in the ass,
but he is as thorough as they come.  In this case his pedantic behavior may
have big dividends.”

“How so?”
asked Zeb.

“The broken
neck was compressed down hard against her breast bone.”

Zeb unconsciously
pressed his chin against the top of his chest.                

“The chin
bone ended up resting right on top of the silver cross.  The immense heat from
the fire seared an impression of the cross into the breast bone and protected
the metal.  Although the autopsy also noted that silver melts at 1764 degrees
Fahrenheit and a car fire generally can only burn at a maximum of 1300
degrees.  Because the chin was resting on top of the silver cross, instead of
melting, it was sort of protected in a way.  It was fairly intact upon
autopsy.  The doctor was able to use a small scalpel to remove it in one
piece.  Using a high powered microscope he was able to see the cross in
detail.”

“What was he
looking for?”

“I don’t
know.  The guy is so obsessive about his work he does some pretty odd things. 
My guess is he was just curious.  But who the hell knows?  When he was looking
at the cross, he noticed some words.  Evidently the back of the cross had been
inscribed and the inscription was legible.”

“What did it
say?”

“Three
words…‘Ángel loves Juanita’,” said the detective.  “We know who Juanita is. 
Now I’m looking for an Ángel.”

Detective Muñoz
was hedging his bets in hoping the proximity of the stolen car to the stolen
plates would eventually tie into someone else who had seen the white male with
missing fingers.  Max made it clear his belief was that the killer was tied
both to the Tucson area and to the specific area between the north central part
of Graham County and the south central tip of the San Carlos Reservation.   Zeb
and Max ended their conversation with an agreement to keep each other closely
informed. 

“What do you
think of the detective’s theory?” asked Zeb.  “Do you believe we’re dealing
with a creature of habit who is tied to both Tucson, Graham County and the San
Carlos Reservation?”

“I certainly
would like to know who the big brute with the bum hand is.  But the odds of the
car thief and the murderer being the same guy, based on what we know now, are
nothing short of fantastic.  With the evidence we currently have, Detective Muñoz’s
theory is little more than wishful thinking.  Our job is based on facts not
wishes.” 

“But
theoretically speaking, a White male with a deformed hand last seen with a
murder victim in a stolen truck with stolen plates, and also a White male with
a mutilated hand seen stealing plates on the reservation does have the
potential for being a good starting point in an investigation,” countered Zeb.

“Your theory
might have a few holes in it,” Kate cautioned.

“I didn’t
say it was anything more than a theory.  And, hell yes, it’s full of holes. 
There is certainly more than one guy with a mangled left hand walking around, but
we’ve got the same description from two different people and a stolen vehicle
with stolen plates,” explained the sheriff.

“Putting
together times and places of the truck and license thefts and the murder is going
to be difficult.  To begin with, the plates on the Chevy LUV were from Eugene
Topy’s truck,” said Kate.  “He lives a good fifty miles from the Garcías.  Why
would someone steal a truck out in the middle of nowhere, drive it fifty miles
onto an Indian reservation, steal some plates, and then drive it over a couple
of  hundred more miles to pick up a young girl, break her neck, leave her in
the stolen truck and burn it?  It could only make sense if we had any kind of a
motive, which we don’t.”

“Well,
Deputy Steele.  Why don’t you get to work and see if you can figure out exactly
what the motive is?  It’s called doing your job.”

The
uncharacteristic cynicism in the sheriff’s tone did not go unnoticed by his
subordinate.

“The truth
is, Sheriff, I am having a little trouble with motives in general these days. 
Sitting in our own jail we have a man who confessed to making the bomb
threats.  His motivation is completely lost on me,” stated Deputy Steele.

Sheriff
Hanks made no attempt to hide his irritation.  Deputy Steele eyed the normally
easy going sheriff.  Maybe his gut pain was affecting his personality.  Perhaps
he was trying a little too hard to help an old friend solve a murder case when
there was really nothing he could do.