Bad Penny (30 page)

30
Anything You Say

FRANK COULD RUN. Not very well with his wound, but he could. A lot of men would. But Frank wasn’t the running type.

He looked over at Sam. There was a big red area above his brow where he’d done the forehead of death on Hector.

“We’re almost there,” Frank said. “But keep your eyes peeled for stray Gorozas wanting honor and glory. I don’t want to get shot yet again after having won the battle.”

“Amen to that,” Sam said.

Tony pointed at the house. “She’s got them!”

Carmen was exiting the building, leading a number of children out of the door. He saw the older girls that had been at the stash house. Saw others. He waited. The last two out of the house were the little boy and the little girl. They were holding hands like brother and sister. Like the fact that they had each other made them more safe.

Hallelujah
, Frank thought.

One of the cops used the bullhorn atop the roof of his car. “Lay your weapons on the ground, then walk into the field toward us.”

Carmen was looking out toward the field, looking back toward the woods. Frank knew she was thinking about running. It would be cleaner that way. It would be safer. She had a bounty on her head. The last thing she needed was to be identified and then detained; it would be like big flashing arrows over her head, letting those hunting her know exactly where she was. They’d all be waiting for her when the authorities released her. If they released her. She could be tied up in court for some time. She could be deported back into the arms of the Mexican police that she thought so highly of. If not, she would be sitting there in jail for anyone with connections to take a crack at.

Her testimony would have been valuable for his case, but her testimony just might also get her killed.

“Carmen,” Frank called. She looked at him, and he motioned for her to leave.

She hesitated.

“Sam, Tony, go help those children,” Frank said. “Double-time!”

Tony and Sam ran toward the children.

“Go!” Frank called.

Carmen held Frank’s gaze for a moment, and then she nodded. She slipped around the corner of the bunk house, hopped a white fence into the wide ostrich pasture, and ran for the pines.

“Lay your weapons on the ground!” the cop ordered. “Come to the field on this side of the house.”

Frank turned, scanned the buildings. The children needed to get to a safe area. Needed to get away from the houses that might be hiding someone who just might think this was the end, and a hostage would be his ticket out.

Back in the field the ostriches spooked and took off running. Beyond them a handful of officers with rifles filtered through the trees.

Frank looked for Carmen and saw her disappear into the pines.

He turned back to the situation at hand.

“Lay your weapons on the ground,” the cop with the bullhorn repeated.

Frank held his gun up for the cops to see, then placed it on the ground. Over by the children, Sam and Tony did the same.

Frank walked away from the shed. He stopped by Flor. His side was really beginning to hurt, but he hauled her to her feet. “I think you’re going to enjoy this party,” he said.

It’s astounding just how much can be communicated through the eyes. Flor smoldered a black malevolence straight from the pits of Hell. She was definitely going to want payback. He probably should have killed her when he had the chance. No, not probably. He
definitely
should have killed her.

Sam and Tony pointed the way for the girls and escorted them over the fence into the riding field toward the police cars.

“Hey!” Frank shouted after them. “Wait for our lawyer to make your statement.”

They didn’t respond.

“Tony!” Frank called. But Tony and Sam were focused on the children and the multitude of flashing lights.

The girl who had been riding with Flor came out of the house with her hands up and walked toward the field with the others.

Frank scanned the windows of the Goroza’s fine home and bunk house and barns and wondered how many more were there. Then he escorted Flor forward. He kept her right in front of him, turning as he walked to keep his eyes on all the structures, using Flor as a shield. It was like they were dancing, except it was nothing nearly so graceful or quick. And every step cut his side.

Frank walked her out to the gate of the field. Walked her through. Nothing but the peacocks and horses moved. He walked her all the way through the field until they were almost to the other side where the line of police waited with their flashing lights. By the time he got there, he was having to grit his teeth against the stabs of pain.

“Stop there,” the cop with the bullhorn said.

Frank stopped.

“Step apart from each other.”

This was the moment anyone back in one of the Goroza buildings with a high-powered rifle would have his shot.

Frank stepped a few paces away.

“Now turn around slowly with your arms raised.”

This was all standard procedure. They just wanted to make sure he wasn’t hiding anything behind his back.

Frank tried to raise his arm but could only do it halfway. “I’ve been shot in the side.”

“Turn,” the cop said.

Flor and Frank turned. It really was like Dancing With The Stars.

“Thank you,” the cop said. “Please kneel and wait as the officers approach.”

They had done the same with Sam and Tony and the children. They pretty much had to. The police had no idea what was going on here and who the bad guys where. Many criminals tried to evade arrest by playing the victim or innocent bystander. For all the police knew, Frank was a killer with a gun hidden in Flor’s pants.

Frank knelt and put his hands on the top of his head. Flor, of course, was constrained.

Two officers approached. One to take Frank into custody and the other to cover with his gun should Frank try anything funny.

The officer who approached Frank said, “We’re detaining everyone until we know the area’s safe.”

Frank said, “Ms. Goroza there is the one you want to be careful of.”

“Put your hands behind your back.”

Frank did.

The officer cuffed him. “Let’s get you back behind the cars and look at your wound.”

“You’re going to have to clear the buildings,” Frank said.

“We have a SWAT unit coming.”

“Did you get the three that were north of here?”

“We’re looking.”

“And officers Lyman and West?”

“You can tell me all about what happened here when we get you to a safer area.”

“You don’t need these cuffs,” Frank said.

“Maybe not. Now come this way.” The officer led Frank over the fence to the patrol cars. The other led Flor Goroza toward a different vehicle.

Frank walked past a couple of officers holding their rifles and then alongside the car where Sam sat cuffed and alone in the back. Tony was a few more cars down in a nice white SUV, but the officer led Frank across the road to a third patrol car. They wanted them all separate for safety, but also to get separate stories. The officer asked Frank to stand, and then he lifted his shirt to assess his injuries. “Your side is pretty beat up,” the officer said. “I assume the tape is covering the gunshot wound?”

“Yes,” Frank said.

“We’ve got paramedics coming. Do you feel dizzy, light-headed?”

“I’m okay,” Frank said.

The officer opened the passenger’s side door so Frank could sit down. Then he scooted around the front and slid into the driver’s side. “While we’re waiting for the paramedics, let me get your story. What’s your name?”

“Frank Shaw.”

“Is there anyone else on the property?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. I think there might be.”

“Why were you holding that gun when we came up? Had someone threatened you?”

The officer seemed concerned for Frank’s welfare, and he probably was, but Frank also knew the officer was digging for information. The more time that passed, the more the quality of information from a suspect dropped until the attorneys showed up and advised their clients not to say a word. Right now this was an official detention, not an arrest, which meant the officer didn’t have to read Frank his rights. But they would move toward arrest soon enough.

Anything he said or did could and would be held against him in a court of law. He had the right to remain silent. He had the right to an attorney. If he couldn’t afford an attorney, one would be provided.

“Mr. Shaw?”

The officer’s name plate said “Banks.”

Frank said, “You recording our conversation?” Being a patrol car, it wasn’t considered an invasion of privacy to make such a recording because it wasn’t reasonable to expect you would have any privacy in such a car. All of which meant that the officer didn’t have to get permission to record.

“This patrol car can record what occurs inside.”

Frank said, “Did you get a 911?”

“We received a call from a pilot.”

Behind them, the sound of a buzzing airplane motor grew loud. A white Cessna roared over their heads. Close enough you could see the rivets on the underside of the wings and the two yellow stripes running down the sides. Two men in the front. A happy canine in the back.

Frank nodded and watched as Pinto banked Yolanda above the pines. Out in the fields the horses and ostriches looked on, watching the spectacle.

The officer with Frank said, “Mr. Shaw, you want to tell me what happened here?”

The district attorney would make the decision to charge Frank based on the reports of the officers. And while Frank had nothing against Banks, he’d heard far too many stories in jail about incomplete and inaccurate police reports. Yes, the stories were from criminals, but not all were lies. Cops made mistakes. They had their biases. And there was the fact that Lyman and West had been corrupted.

Frank said, “I want to tell you exactly what happened, but we’re going to have to wait for a lawyer. We need to make sure everything gets in the report.”

Banks nodded. “We need to get this situation under control. It will help us if we have more information.”

“I understand that,” Frank said. “What you need to know is that the Gorozas were running a slave operation. There were at least twelve armed people when we arrived. There might be more. Two others working with the Gorozas were officers Lyman and West.”

“And what brought you here?”

Banks was smooth, unassuming. Frank assumed he easily got most people to talk. Frank said, “That will be in my official report.”

Banks nodded. “Let me look you up in the system. What’s your current address?”

Frank gave him his address and social security number. A moment later Banks whistled. “Manslaughter, Pleasant Valley, California?”

“That’s me,” Frank said.

“You know I’m going to have to take you in. If nothing else, we’ve got a felony possession of firearms.”

“Yeah,” Frank said. He wondered how many Goroza associates, or those wanting to please them, were already in the system.

“Are you sure you don’t want to get your side of the story out? I think it will help your case. A show of cooperation goes a long way.”

Frank sighed. If the officer transcribed something wrong, misunderstood, or missed a part, it could give the complete wrong impression. “I want to comply. I just want to make sure it’s full and accurate,” Frank said. “I think I’d better wait. What you need to know is that you guys need to be careful going in.”

Office Banks nodded. He clearly wasn’t pleased, but he didn’t push. “I think it’s best if you wait in the back seat. Can you get up?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’ll come around and open the door.”

Officer Banks came around and opened his door and helped Frank into the back. It was much like the back of Officer Lyman’s and West’s car. A steel and plexiglass wall between him and the front seats. Officer Banks reached over and buckled him in, and for the second time today, Frank had the pleasure of sitting on a plastic seat. Except is wasn’t a pleasure—every other move to get here had sent a stab of pain through his side.

Banks shut the door, then went to confer with other officers.

Frank craned his head around looked back at the vehicle Sam sat in. Sam was nodding and talking, gesticulating with his hands, the officer with him writing it all down.

Frank sighed. Sam obviously hadn’t gotten the memo back at the shed. Or maybe Sam, being the honest fraud dog he was, would never imagine how things could go wrong.

Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law. Please, Sam, say the right things
.

An armored SWAT truck rumbled down the road. It was black and large and looked like it belonged in the Army. “Sheriff” was written on the side in huge fat white letters. The driver stopped momentarily, talked to an officer in charge. Then he proceeded forward and turned into the drive and approached the house.

Frank risked more pain and turned in his seat again, hoping to catch Sam’s eye, but he was focused on his conversation with the officer.

As Frank waited, the SWAT team lined up in good order and cleared the house and outbuildings. More police arrived until it seemed like the Goroza’s house had become the venue for a cop convention. There were state troopers, folks from the county sheriff’s office, municipal police in cars, municipal police in SUVs. There was the SWAT, a K-9 unit, and, of course, the game warden, who’d been joined by two park rangers.

Down at the house, an officer walked out the door carrying a computer. Another hauled away a small filing cabinet. Meanwhile, the officer with the dog went inside. That was a drug dog, for sure. Despite his situation, Frank smiled to himself. This place was going to be a beehive for quite some time.

Four ambulances showed up. Officer Banks led one paramedic team to Frank. The man and woman pulled Frank’s shirt up, peeked beneath the tape. A few moments later they were helping him into the back of their truck.

Officer Banks got in the back with him. He said, “We’ll get you patched up, but I think you all are going to be spending at least a night or two at the El Paso County facility in Colorado Springs.”