Adios Angel (3 page)

A search of twenty-four rooms, six lavatories, two
locker rooms, miscellaneous nooks, crannies and janitor’s closets took the team
exactly fifty-seven minutes.  Relieved that nothing was found, Sheriff Hanks
gave brief consideration to kidding the young principal about making her
students stay late to make up for the classroom time they had missed. The
stressed look on her face made his decision for him.  Something about the way
she carried herself told him she would not find his remark humorous--especially
under these circumstances. 

“The school is clear, Principal Newlin.  You can let
the students go back in now.”

“You’re absolutely certain there isn’t a bomb in there
somewhere?”

“Yes, ma’am.  We have searched the school thoroughly.”

“What am I going to tell the parents?  The school
board?  The superintendent?”

“Ma’am?” asked the sheriff.

“How do I explain a bomb threat?  Do you know how many
reports I’m going to have to file?”

“Yes, ma’am.  I believe I do.  Deputy Steele will be
talking with you.  If you need anything, do not hesitate to call us.  She can
help you with the specific details from our end of things on any reports you
may have to file.”

Sheriff Hanks knew all too well about report filing
rules and regulations.  He would have to file multiple reports.  Delbert and
Kate would have to do theirs.  Under new state regulations someone from his
office would have to interview the principal, vice-principal, superintendent,
and possibly the teachers, janitors and some students.  Plus, he would need to
get an official statement from Josh Diamond.   His head felt light.  His
stomach rolled with queasiness.  It was a bad day to have skipped breakfast.  
He searched his pockets for an antacid but came up empty handed.

“Delbert, give me your report in a one page summary.”

“Can I double space it?” asked Delbert.

“Sure,” replied the sheriff.  “Just get it done today
before you forget anything.”

“Right on, big boss man.”

“Kate, I want you to interview Principal Newlin.  See
if she knows of anyone who has made any threats against any of the teachers.
Get a list of recently expelled students.  If anything looks the least bit
fishy, check it out.  Josh, I want you to know we appreciate you volunteering
your time on this one.  Can you give me a paragraph or two for the record? 
Something simple, give Mutt and Jeff a little mention too.”

“No problem.  Federal regs I suppose?”

“State, Fed, County, local.  Hell, in the old days it
was just good enough to do your job.  These days it’s all paperwork.  And when
we nab the s.o.b., he’ll probably only get a slap on the wrist, if that. This
kind of crap, interference with the peaceful conduct of an educational
institution, is a class six felony.  But even more than that, it’s a waste of
county time and money.  Deputy Funke, Deputy Steele, I want your reports before
you go home tonight.  Josh, get your statement to me when you can.  I’m headed
back to the office.”

Zeb felt the acid in his stomach backwash against the
bottom of his throat.  Gastric reflux?  Is that what Doc Yackley had called
it?  A sharp stabbing pain in his grumbling gut led to a foul smelling belch. 
The belch contained enough bile to leave a harsh bitter taste in his mouth.  
Mental note, he thought, always have some food before you drink an entire pot
of black coffee.

“Sheriff, is everything okay? You’re looking a little
green around the gills.”

“Yes, Helen.  Everything is fine.  It was a false
alarm.”

Helen Nazelrod, long time sheriff’s secretary, eyed
her boss up and down.  He was looking like a horse that had been “rode hard and
put out wet”, as the local saying went.

“Why would somebody do such a thing, Sheriff?  It’s
just not right.  I mean scaring everyone like that.  What’s wrong with people
today?”

“That’s a loaded question.  Maybe you should write a
book and go on one of those daytime talk shows and make a million bucks.  I bet
people are just begging to know what’s wrong with everybody else.”

“Oh, Sheriff.  You’re kidding, aren’t you?  Me…on the
TV…with Oprah?”

Helen primped her hair for an imaginary camera.  She
was the perfect secretary, calm, tough, sassy and naive all rolled into one.  
Most of all, she was relieved.

“Before you head off to Hollywood, you got any other
bad news for me this morning?”

The attempted humor of the sheriff’s remark was
short-lived.

“As a matter of fact, since you asked, I do.  And, not
just a little bit of it either.  I’ve got the freshly compiled, county-wide
monthly report right here.”

Zeb placed his forehead in his hands, squeezing his
outstretched fingers against his temples, pressing against the rising intensity
of a sudden headache.

“Three more stolen vehicles were reported, a little
car, an old Chevrolet Vega--”

“A Chevy Vega?  I don’t know one Latino worth his
weight in tamales who would be caught dead in one of those babies.  I thought
they were all on the scrapheap.”

“At least one of them is still out there.  It looks
like you are going to get the opportunity to look for it.”

“It’s probably better off lost.  But, it does tell us
one thing.”

“What’s that, Sheriff?”

“The thief is probably a gringo.”

“That kind of talk isn’t politically correct,
Sheriff.”

“Neither is car theft.  What’s the second vehicle?”

“The second vehicle is a monster truck?”

“What?”  He knew what she meant but was surprised that
Helen knew.

“A monster truck.  One of those that sit way up high.”
Helen held her hand up as high as it would go.  “It has those great big tires. 
The owner uses it for going into remote hunting areas.  He also said one of the
taillights glows like a halo.  He thought that might help you spot it.”

“That’s what I call a conscientious citizen,” said the
sheriff.

“All told that makes for a total of six stolen
vehicles, county wide, in the last week.”          

“Not exactly a crime wave, but it’s more car thefts
than we’ve had in a month of Sundays. What about the third car?

“It’s a 1987 candy-apple red Corvette.  It was stolen
right off the lot.  It seems as though somebody came in for a test drive and
decided to keep it.”

“What kind of a jerk would do that?” asked the
sheriff.

“The guy at the car lot says it was your brother,
Noah.”

The sheriff rubbed his knuckles deep into his
forehead.  Zeb’s older brother was the polar opposite of the law enforcing
sheriff.  He had an embarrassingly long rap sheet, which included multiple car
theft charges.  He had even done time in the state prison. 

As far as Zeb was concerned Noah was nothing but
trouble.  If blood wasn’t thicker than water, he would have cut all ties with
him years ago.

“Noah, Noah, Noah.”

“A state trooper gave him a speeding ticket on the
interstate just outside of Tucson.”

“Did the officer arrest him?”

“No.  He wasn’t aware the car was stolen until after
the fact.”

“Noah has some drinking buddies up there.  I’ll
contact the locals to be on the lookout for him.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not the worst of it,” said
Helen.

Sheriff Hanks leaned back in his chair. There were
many things worse than his brother Noah being a car thief, but at the moment
Zeb was having trouble figuring out what.  Thank God his parents weren’t around
to know of this.

“Go ahead, make my day.”

“One of the vehicles stolen last week--Lorenzo García’s
classic 1982 powder blue LUV pickup--was found in Tucson.  The Pima County
Sheriff’s Office called about a half an hour ago.  They are sending over a
report for you.”

“Did they say when they were going to release it back
to the owner?”

“I don’t think that is going to be possible.”

“What?  Why not?  Lorenzo has been calling me every
day.  He is going to want to know when he can get it back.  I just bet it’s
going to get caught up in some big city paperwork mess.”

“It’s worse than that.  There is no more truck.  There
is only a pile of melted steel.”

“What happened?”

“Somebody torched it.”

“Lorenzo is not going to be happy about that.”    

“The truck went up in flames.  To make things worse
there were three five-gallon cans of gas in the back.”

Among his brother’s laundry list of crimes was arson. 
Could it be that Noah was involved in this one too?  Zeb made a mental note to
call Noah’s parole officer. 

“So the car thief was an arsonist as well?”

Helen’s expression turned dour.  Her voice became deadly
serious.

“There was a dead body inside it…burned beyond
recognition.”

“Was the victim ID’d?”

“No. Oh, and there was one more thing.”

“It just never ends around here does it?  What other
bad news do you have for me?”

“They found Lorenzo García’s truck in a part of town
called “The Village”.  The officer who called here seemed to think “The Village”
might mean something to you.  He told me to be sure and mention it.”

“Did he leave his name?”

“Detective Maximilian Muñoz.”

Sheriff Hanks had not heard that name in years. 

“He said you might remember him by his nickname,
Shotgun.  Is he a friend of yours? ”

“Yes he is.  He was my first partner when I worked on
the Tucson police force.  I haven’t talked to him in years.  How did he sound?”

“He was arrogant and long-winded.  Just like you would
expect a big city cop to be.”

“Now that is funny.”

“What’s so funny about that?”

“He’s from the booming metropolis of Double Adobe.”

“Double Adobe?”

“Heard of it?”

“No,” replied Helen.  “Should I have?”

“It’s a little watering hole on the southern Arizona
border, half way between Bisbee and Douglas.  Max used to say, if you count the
dogs, cats, skunks and coyotes, it had a population of a hundred and six.”

“I never heard of it.”

“No, I don’t suppose.  Max Muñoz.  Detective
Maximilian Muñoz.  Talk about a blast form the past.”

“A shotgun blast, maybe?”

“You mean his nickname?  He’s a funny guy, full of
baloney.  He tells one story right after another.”

“I gathered that from talking to him on the phone.”

“He liked to say that he and his brothers were the
best shots in all of Cochise County.  He claimed they would sit on their front
porch and practice shooting by holding a rifle barrel between their toes.  They
took pot shots at a ten penny nail pounded sideways into a board.  He claimed
he could clip the heads off nine out of ten of them at a hundred yards.  He
also claimed he could wing a house fly in mid-flight at fifty feet.”

“You believed that?”

“He’s a funny guy.”

“It sounds like he’s a little funny in the head.”

“Being a little bit loco is a prerequisite for
becoming a homicide detective.”

Helen gave him a look that said she had no more time
to listen to tales of days gone by and that perhaps the sheriff’s brief stint
working with a man who became a homicide detective had made him a bit loco.

“Do you have any antacids?” asked the sheriff.

“Is your stomach acting up again?  Look in the middle
drawer of your desk.  I put two brand new rolls in there yesterday.  I told
you.  Remember?”

“Oh, that’s right. I guess I forgot about them. 
Thanks.” 

Helen knew he had not been listening.  The sheriff
reached into his desk and popped three of the tablets.

“Deputy Steele is interviewing Principal Newlin up at
the school.”

“Hoping to find a bad egg?”

“Yes, something like that.”

“Did you get a recording of the bomb threat?”

Helen held up a cassette tape for the sheriff.  She
handed it to him without saying a word.

“Make a copy and give it to Deputy Steele.  I’m sure
she is going to want Principal Newlin to see if she recognizes the voice.”

“Here.”  She handed the sheriff a duplicate.  “I
listened to it again myself.   Sheriff, it sounds like someone much older than
a high school student.”

“That’s all I need, an adult with the brain of a
juvenile.”

“Criminals are like relatives,” said Helen.  “You
can’t pick them.”

Being second cousin to Helen, her thinly veiled remark
did not help his burning stomach.  She had made it clear from the start that
she did not approve of his upcoming marriage to a woman of Catholic upbringing,
even though Doreen was no longer active in the church.  He chose to let the
snide comment pass.  He had enough trouble as it was.  Besides, she was right. 
You can’t pick your relatives.

“When Delbert gets back, have him go out and tell
Lorenzo in person about his truck.  Old man García loved that truck.  For him
it was sort of like living his youth all over again.  He saved up for years to
get it. He told Delbert it took
all
his money to get the truck and
because of that he didn’t have insurance.”

“It seems like bad things always happen to those who
can afford it the least.”

“Delbert’s Uncle Donnie lives a few miles north of García’s
place.  Tell Delbert to stop there and ask around to find out if Donnie or any
of the neighbors have seen anything suspicious going on.  If anyone has, the
word would have gotten around by now.”

“Are you sure you want Delbert doing investigation
work?  You never know what kind of rumor he might accidentally start.  Don’t
you think it would be better if Mr. García heard it from you?”

“Lorenzo García is country folk.  Delbert’s a country
boy.  He understands folks up that way.  He speaks their language.  Delbert can
get better information and get it quicker than either Deputy Steele or me.  A
friendly face is always a better bearer of bad news.  Besides, my belly is
aching from too much coffee and not enough food.  I’m going down to the Town
Talk and grab a quick bite.  If I’m not back by the time Deputy Steele is done
talking with the principal, have her wait for me.”

Sheriff Hanks glanced over his shoulder at his
secretary as he headed for the door.  The look of disappointment covering her
face gave him pause.

“What?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing.”

It was mid-morning and Helen’s blood sugar would be
acting up.  He should have remembered to ask if she would like him to bring her
a muffin.  It was a matter of kindness.  How could he have forgotten,
especially after how well she handled the bomb threat?  The pain in his gut was
confusing his thinking, but the sheriff knew a little bit of gut discomfort was
no excuse for bad manners.

“I was just thinking,” he said.  “Do you like
blueberries?”

“I love them.”

“Doreen told me last night she was going to use fresh
blueberries when she baked this morning.  I was going to surprise you.  I kind
of figured you must like blueberries, but I wanted to make sure.”

“Shame on me,” said Helen.  “I thought you were going
to forget about asking me.  I’m glad Doreen is finally teaching you some decent
manners.  If she says the blueberries are good, well then that is what I will
have.”

Zeb pulled his cowboy hat snug onto his head
preventing the gusting wind from giving it a free ride down the street.  If he
lived to be a hundred, he might never have a handle on the way women think. 
God help me, he mused, if women ever become as criminal minded as men are, I
won’t have a chance.