Cool in Tucson (13 page)

They started their tour of the used car lot with Grimes’ long left arm draped over Rudy’s shoulder, his seersucker-jacketed right arm making generous sweeps around the glittering acre of rolling stock at his disposal.  Rudy, watching behind his reflective lenses, decided this was the phony of his dreams, and went to work.  They strolled and talked in the sunshine for an hour, paying less and less attention to the cars.  By the time they came back inside, the checked sleeve of Rudy’s western shirt was draped possessively around Pappy’s neck.  Pappy’s shoulders had rounded somewhat, sweat was rolling off his chin onto his clean white shirtfront, and his condescending smile had faded.  His freckled left ear was tucked under Rudy’s big black Stetson, listening with rapt attention to every word of the shorter man’s proposition. 

Grimes had two huge lots that sold thousands of cars a year.  Rudy’s money-laundering capabilities took a quantum leap.  For a while, he had much more capacity than he could use.  Then he hired a couple of go-getters, pushers with previous experience in larger markets who for one reason or another wanted to live in Tucson now. Soon Pappy was transferring funds to offshore accounts in the Caymans, and Rudy, on one of his trips to the islands, found a vacation home Steffi agreed was just precious. 

By the time he found Ace Perkins, he was set up to make the most of an   enterprising dealer, and Ace did not disappoint.  Sitting in the old tire store on Fourth Avenue, Rudy watched his wealth begin to grow like prickly pear cactus in a wet year.

He still didn’t let it show.  His family lived comfortably but quietly in a solid home in South Tucson and drove ordinary cars; his children went to trade school or Pima College and became plumbers and medical technicians.  But the money was piling up in the Caymans and one of these days he was going to disappear like a Mexican ex-president, tucked away safe in a country that couldn’t afford to turn him down.  All he had to do was hold everything together for a couple more years and he’d be set for the fat life forever.

Tilly called late Tuesday afternoon.  He never identified himself on the phone, just said, “I’m down by Food City,” and hung up without waiting for an answer.  They met in the parking lot and sat in Tilly’s car because his air worked better. 

“Ace wasn’t at the Congress Hotel for lunch,” Tilly said.  “I checked the gym where he usually works out, he hasn’t been there today.  Sent Brody to his apartment, he called and said there’s cops in there.  I went up there and watched for a while.”  Tilly rubbed his cheeks, which were hot and irritated from too much time in the sun.  “They were detectives, a good-looking woman and a man.  I still can’t believe women cops, can you?  I mean, what a crazy idea.” 

“Fix the police department some other day.  What else?”

“Just what you’d expect.  About an hour ago they started carrying stuff out of there.  They made several trips, took boxes of records and so on, and a laptop.  The broad carried her share, I’ll give her that.”  What he didn’t tell Rudy was that she had looked straight at him as she drove away, in a way no woman had ever looked at him before—not provocative, more like she was measuring him for a suit.  “Now there’s a lockbox on the door and a sign says it’s a crime scene.”

“Okay.  I called my
boca
.” That was the name he used, mouth, for his man inside the police station.  Only Rudy knew who he was.  The deal was, call from a pay phone, and never say his name any other time.  “I left a message two hours ago.  Haven’t heard back yet.  He has to get to an outside phone alone.  What about that kid Ace’s been working with, what’s his name?”

“Hector.  Sanchez went to his house.  His mother hasn’t seen him.  I’m asking around.”

“Gotta find him.”  Rudy frowned thoughtfully at the grackles strutting around the crumbs in the parking lot.  “I got till next Monday with suppliers.  But dealers, I’ll have to start warning them tomorrow if there’s something
¾
” He tapped his upper lip a couple of times with his right index finger.  After he thought a while he put his hand back on the steering wheel and nodded.  “If the cops are in Ace’s apartment it means they got him, in jail or in the morgue.  I need to know which it is.  If he’s dead they might not know what they got.”

CHAPTER TEN

“All that fancy work you did with the fingerprints,” Greenberg asked, getting ready to start the autopsy, “you prove anything with that?”  In his voluminous plastic robe and cap, with his shiny lab tools around him, he looked more like a doctor and less like an action figure that’s been wound too tight.     

“Yeah, we ID’d him off his prints like I was hoping.  He just got out of Florence last winter, three to ten for dealing.” 

“That so?  Well hey, mark up extra points for Sarah, huh?  Anybody keeping track of those?”

“What, my extra points?  Not likely.  Right now I’d be happy just to see a match to that fingerprint Gloria lifted off this victim’s leg.” 

“That would really turn you on, huh?” 

“Well yes, it would be way beyond cool to have the high-tech stuff work the way it’s supposed to, for once.”

“You know what would be cooler than that?”  He treated her to an evil, sneaky smile. “If you just left the guy who killed this pusher alone.”

Sarah laughed.  “You want me to let a murderer go?”

“Why not?  Stall for time till he gets away.  He did us all a favor.”

“Ssss.”  Sarah hissed through her teeth. “Rotten attitude.”

“Just common sense.  These outlaws want to kill each other off, I say hand ‘em the weapons and get out of the way.”

“Uh-huh.”  Sarah pulled on gloves.  “You’re the one was telling me yesterday this killer was such a dangerous man, right?  You said, ‘You’ve got to be bold to cut a man this way.’ ” 

“Oh, you got me now, girl, I love being quoted.” 

“Bet you do. Delarosa agrees with you, by the way.  He said I should be careful because I’m looking for a dangerous man.”

“Who’s Delarosa?”

“Didn’t he have to ask you to view the body?”

“Oh, that curly-haired narc that was here yesterday?”

“Uh-huh.  This victim was his snitch.”

“Now, see, a pusher
and
a snitch.  Good riddance, I say.”

“Nevertheless,” Sarah was brooding over the con with the improbably noble face,   “I’d sure like to get his killer off the street.” 

“There’ll just be another one to take his place.  You don’t expect to make a difference, do you?  Come
on
—I haven’t puked since my first year in medical school.”

“You’re feeling extra hard-nosed today, aren’t you?”

“Just about average.  You ready to start?” He stepped up to the table, carrying scissors.  She hurried to grab an evidence bag, and help him cut off the blood-soaked garments.

                                                            ##

“Well, you called it about the artery,” she said, three hours later.  “That’s what killed him, right?”

“In about a New York minute.  He was in excellent health till it happened, too.  I rarely see a heart and liver this good.”

“All buffed up on the outside, too.  A hunk, really, except for the tats and some scars.  Well, and broken fingers.”

“But no needle marks.  His arms say he wasn’t shooting anything and his nose says he wasn’t snorting anything.  And I can’t prove it till the tox screens come back, but looking at his liver and kidneys I’ll bet you twenty right now he wasn’t ingesting anything much stronger than an occasional beer.”

“Why would I bet against you?”  Sarah flexed her back, which hurt from standing so long.  “A clean-living drug dealer, go figure.  A neat freak, too, by the way.  Those scars on his chest, though, you think they’re burns?” 

“From a cigarette, probably.”

“And his hands…what did we see on the X-rays, three fingers broken?”

“Four.”

“Plus marks on his back that could be from a whipping.  Or more than one?”

“Probably two.  Some of the scars don’t quite match.”

“So torture.”

“I’d sure call it that if it was happening to me.”

“And all the marks are old?”

“Old enough so they’re completely healed over.”

“But are we talking years or decades?”

Greenberg shrugged.  “Two or three years to whenever.  It could date back to adolescence, but I’m betting not childhood.  He’s a big strong man, all his muscles well developed.  Abused children don’t usually grow the way they should.”

“So this could have happened in prison?”

“Anywhere.  In a police station, for instance.”  He cocked an ironic eye at her.  “You using much torture in interrogations these days?”

“No, and I don’t know anybody who does if that’s your next question.  Okay if I send Detective Ibarra over to look at these scars?”

“Sure, fine.  That other guy you sent over, what’s his problem?”

She cleared her throat.  “Delarosa?  Why do you ask?” 

“Got a mean streak, if you ask me.  You think maybe he’s dipping his nose in that white stuff himself?”

Sarah laughed.  “He’s nobody’s huggy-bear, but no, he’s not a user, he’s a narc.”

“Who says you can’t be both?  Never mind,” Greenberg said, holding up one long-fingered hand in a peace gesture, “I mostly see cadavers, what do I know?”

“Too much, is my guess.”  She looked around, thinking.  “Let’s see, what else?”

“Well, if you’ve got your ID on this victim, you’re not in any hurry on the DNA, right?”

“No, DNA can take its own sweet time, I guess.”

“And boy will it ever.  Be a couple of weeks for my reports, too—I’m snowed right now.”

“Everybody is.  I’ll try not harass you.”

“That’ll be a switch.”  He was already looking at his watch.

“Pleasure to work with you, Doctor,” Sarah said, zipping her briefcase, “when I can stand the pace.”

“Likewise,” Greenberg said, absent-mindedly.  Sarah thought he was already calculating the time to his next task. 

One thing about working with The Animal, she reflected as she walked out, it makes everybody else seem easy-going for a while. 
I wonder what Delarosa did to make him think…probably that tapping thing.  Narcotics must be a bitch.
 

She hadn’t known how stiff she was till she started the long walk along the cold tiled hallway.  At the door she took a deep breath before she stepped out onto the asphalt parking lot.  The change to the bake-oven temperature of afternoon felt shocking, even dangerous for the first minute.  Heat waves rising from the desert floor turned into dust devils that whirled across the horizon, throwing off stinging pellets of sand.  She left her car door open while she started the motor, to let the fan blow some of the hot air out.  Heading home, she kept all the vents aimed at her face, blowing her hair back.  The intense hours of concentration, standing in a cold room by a tall steel table, had tired her, and now the sudden heat drained the little energy she had left.  She longed to take her shoes off in her small, orderly house, eat a quiet meal and go early to bed. 

Mid-town was filled curb-to-curb with rush-hour traffic.  Sarah, fretting through two rotations at a light on Oracle, looked north to where the late afternoon sun slanted across Mount Lemmon, making it glow like some improbable pink jewel.  She took a deep breath and told herself to relax. 
The first day of autumn light
. 
Beautiful
.  The mountain turned lavender as she headed home on Grant.  By the time she walked into her house, it was purple with slate shadows in the canyons.