Nightzone (30 page)

Chapter Thirty-six

Undersheriff Estelle Reyes-Guzman was deft and gentle as she released the cuffs and untangling the tow strap, but the dripping gasoline lent an urgency that even spurred on the wounded rancher. He pushed his soaked carcass off of me and scrabbled away like a wounded spider, dragging his leg behind him. Lynn Browning appeared and hoisted him to his feet, letting him lean on her shoulder as they hobbled toward the gate.

“We need to get us all out of here, Padrino,” Estelle prompted.

“Gladly,” I managed. “But something doesn't work too well.” I rolled onto my butt, sat up and winced as somebody stuck a row of needles in my left knee. “Shit,” I muttered, and heaved like a wounded whale onto my right side. I managed to rise to my hands and knees, left leg awkwardly splayed. I stopped and looked out toward the road, catching my breath.

Elliot Daniel lay on his back, arms outflung. Looking like wisps of fog, tendrils of smoke rose from around his body. Deputy Thomas Pasquale stood a short distance away, the muzzle of a short magazine-fed rifle unwavering and pointed at Daniel. The handgun the young man had used to put holes in both Waddell and the gasoline drum lay two yards from the young man's feet.

“Everybody who's anybody is on the way,” Pasquale said with forced jocularity. His single shot had been perfectly timed and saved lives, but I knew that looking down at your score was still a soul-jarring, sobering experience. Waddell was still hopping north with Lynn Browning, putting himself behind the lights, and well away from the explosion threat.

I stopped when I reached Elliot Daniel.

“What's smoking?” I asked, but I already knew. Tommy Pasquale needed any reinforcement he could get at the moment, and knowing how perfectly justified his shot was would help…a little.

“He fell backward on the flare, sir.” A phosphorous highway flare was designed to stay lit come wind, snow, or rain. The damn thing was a danger, no matter what. Being muffled by Daniel's body was somehow appropriate. The second flare lay in the dirt, still capped.

I hobbled close enough that I could reach the deputy and shook him by the shoulder. “Thanks, Thomas.” There was no need to check the victim for signs of life. The heavy .308 bullet had plowed into Daniel's body through the right armpit as he turned and reared back to throw the flare. The large wound high in his left side, and then through the muscle of his upper left arm, told me that the slug had smashed through lungs and heart before exiting.

“There are four drums of gasoline on that truck, and he put four bullets in one of 'em, so pay attention.” I turned to Estelle, whose strong little hand was still clenched on my right elbow. “You have the girl in custody?”

“Yes, we do. A little bit of a surprise.”

“In what way?”

“Julie Warner, sir.”

I looked at her sharply. “Curt Boyd's girl?”

“Well, sometimes, apparently. She claims that she was trying to talk Daniel out of this,” and she turned to look at the truck.

“Didn't work too hard at it,” Pasquale said.

“She was doing her best,” I said. “We found 'em in Finnegan's barn, and from the looks of things, she was giving it her all.”

Far off in the night, the symphony of sirens reached us. “Fire and rescue is on the way to nail this place down.” He pointed a finger pistol at me. “And they found your vehicle and secured it, sir. It's kind of battered up.”

Estelle urged me toward the lights. “We need to put some space between us and that gasoline,” she said. “Tom, will you get a tarp and cover him up?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Don't turn him over yet…and can the gun.”

“You got it.” He seemed relieved to have something to do.

She added, “And
nobody
goes near that truck until Fire and Rescue have secured it. Nobody.”

Both back doors of Estelle's car were open, and I took the side opposite Miles Waddell. I reached out and shook hands with him. “Be thinking about this escapade of ours,” I said. “Both you and I are going to be writing depositions for about the next week.”

“Two weeks, more likely,” the undersheriff said. She walked around the car and knelt, examining Waddell's punctured leg with a flashlight. “Nice clean nine-millimeter hole,” she said. “Any grating when you flex it?”

“I try not to do that,” Waddell said. “But no. Just aches like hell now. Didn't hurt when he did it.”

“We'll get you taken care of here in just a minute or two.” She touched his shoulder as she stood up. Lynn Browning had been standing behind her, looking over the undersheriff's shoulder at Waddell. He ducked his head and looked up at her, and she knelt by the car to make it easier for him.

“You sure you want to work for me?” He laughed weakly. “And we haven't even started yet!”

“It gives me pause,” Lynn said gently.

“First thing I want to know,” Waddell said, “is
why
he did it.”

“I think we all do, sir. For one thing, he wanted a job with us. Now, whether he thought that would give him insider information so he could play more games, I don't know.”

I watched Pasquale spread out the black tarp and drape it over Daniel's body. He waited until Estelle had snapped several digital photos of the weapon, then nudged the gun into a plastic evidence bag, and then, because it was still loaded and cocked, into a stout ammo can half-full of Styrofoam peanuts. He marked the can with bright tape and label so some careless idiot wouldn't grab the gun out of the can and touch off a round.

My intent was to hobble around a little until my knee started working half normally, then hitch a ride back to my bashed SUV. Various folks had other ideas. It was Estelle who sliced open the bloody rip in my left pant leg and frowned at the impressive gouge below my knee.

“How did you do this, sir?”

“I guess bailing over the side of the truck. I don't know.” As I spoke I noticed that a couple of slender fingers had a grip on my wrist, counting the pulse. With a grimace of impatience, I pulled away. “Come on, now. We're fine. What I really need is someone to run me over to my own vehicle before somebody makes off with keys, guns, and who the hell knows what else.”

“It's secured,” Estelle said. “It'll be back in town before you are.” Headlights stabbed toward us, and in a moment Sheriff Robert Torrez's Expedition slid to a halt immediately beside Pasquale's. The sheriff got out, walked halfway toward the covered corpse and stopped. For a long moment, he gazed at the scene, then finally sighed and turned back, finding Miles and me where we now sat with legs splayed, feet on the ground.

The sheriff said something, his soft voice not carrying the twenty feet to me.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why am I not surprised?” he repeated. He ambled over and regarded me, eyes invisible under heavy brows and the brim of his baseball cap. “You all right?” He ducked down, one hand on the roof, and looked past me to Miles Waddell. Without waiting for my answer, he said, “How about you?”

“I'll live,” Waddell said. He sounded tired. Who knew why.

“He'd appreciate it if you had a morphine amp in your pocket,” I said, and Torrez made a little snorting sound of amusement.

“Ambulance will be here in a minute,” he said, and slapped the roof. As he pushed himself away and started to turn back toward Estelle, he added, “Don't head out anywheres.”

I laughed, and Miles shifted position painfully.

“He sounds like he might be a little pissed,” he said.

“If he was pissed, he wouldn't say
anything.”
I nodded as we watched the big man approach his deputy and slide a hand across Pasquale's shoulder to grip him by the back of the neck, give a gentle squeeze, and turn him loose. “Pasquale is the one who pulled the trigger, and Bobby knows what's going through the kid's mind.”

“Torrez never struck me as the compassionate kind.”

“Don't underestimate the sheriff,” I said. A brilliant array of flashing lights approached, diving up and down along the dips of the county road. “Our ride,” I said.

“Oh, come on,” Waddell exclaimed. “We're not going to ride all the way back in that…”

“Relax and enjoy,” I laughed. “Beautiful nurses, soothing IV, warm blankets…it doesn't get better than that.” As the ambulance pulled to a stop, I saw that Fred Romero and Paul Moore were the two EMTs on call. “Well, two out of three, anyway.”

The warm blankets felt wonderful, the IV went unnoticed, and the pneumatic knee brace hurt like hell. The big pad of bandaging on the scrape below my knee would hurt worse when it was removed, along with the hair on my leg. I had been captive in an ambulance a number of times in my various careers, and hated every adventure. But this time, I didn't argue about anything. The gurney, cramped as it was, felt soft and wonderful. I was sound asleep before we reached the pavement.

Chapter Thirty-seven

Julie Warner had been crying like a lost puppy, but she was still cute enough to take my breath away. Not beautiful, mind you. Just plain
cute,
with freckles, dimples, a nose close to aquiline, thick auburn hair that swooshed back into a ponytail, and fair skin that hadn't been toasted to crisp wrinkles by New Mexico sun.

The photo of her that I'd seen at the Boyds' hadn't done her justice. But now she sat in one of the old oak captain's chairs in the first floor conference room, right wrist handcuffed to the hardwood arm. Sergeant Jackie Taber had been keeping her company, escorting her through the myriad interviews. She had told her story probably ten times.

As Undersheriff Estelle Reyes-Guzman and I entered, Sergeant Taber stood up, one hand on Julie's shoulder. She introduced us, not explaining who I was or what the hell I was doing there. The high-tech hinged knee brace was awkward, and the two stitches below ached, but otherwise I was fit enough to pass muster as maybe someone who should matter to Julie Warner.

“Ms. Warner, we have identified you as being in Elliot Daniel's company earlier tonight at the Finnegan ranch north on County Road 43.” The girl nodded, and Estelle added, “Is that true?”

Julie's voice was hoarse. “Yes, ma'am.”

“And why were the two of you there?”

Julie swallowed hard. “Elliot was preparing the truck.”

“For what?”

“He planned to blow up the electric substation down south.”

“The one near the development, on the county road
?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“And why were you present?”

“I was trying to talk him out of it.”

“Why would you do that?”

Julie's head sank down until her forehead touched the table.

“Julie?”

“Because I knew…I knew what had already happened.”

“What was that?”

“About…about Curt. Curt Boyd.”

“And the police officer?”

“I didn't know about him until this evening.”

“Ms. Warner, when the police talked to you earlier—for the first time the day before yesterday, I believe it was—why didn't you tell them that you knew what Curt Boyd and Elliot Daniel had been planning to do?”

She didn't bother to wipe the tears away. And she didn't answer.

“Ms. Warner, why did you accompany Elliot Daniel tonight?”

The girl nodded wearily. “I told you…I thought I could talk him out of doing any more harm. I mean…” and she snuffled. “I mean, before, when they talked about dropping the power line, it sounded like just a crazy stunt. It would bring attention to a project neither one of them believed in, and Elliot kept talking about how after all this he'd be able to get this great job with a security company. And then after everything went wrong, Elliot was so dead set…so
determined.
Like he could make everything all right again.
”

“And even when you learned that he had shot a police officer, you still chose to do nothing. You chose not to call us.”

“I thought…” She shrugged helplessly. “I thought I could persuade him. I'm
so
sorry.”

“When you were outside the rancher's barn, did you see any vehicles parked on the county road?”

“I told them I did. I went inside and warned Elliot.”

“Why would you do that?”

“When we talked on the phone, he'd made this grandstand speech about how everyone was after him. But how they weren't going to be able to stop him.”

“You believed him?”

“Yes.”

“You knew that he was armed?”

“Yes.”

“So you drove all the way up from Las Cruces just because he told you to.”

“Yes.”

“The thought never occurred to you to call the police instead? Wouldn't that have been simpler? You knew where he was hiding, you knew that he was alone.”

Julie released a great, choking sigh. “I knew…I knew they'd kill him.”

And sure enough,
I thought.

Estelle looked across at me, and then beckoned. We stepped outside the conference room, and she took a moment to make sure the door was securely shut. “Do you recognize her, Padrino?”

“Ah, no. I mean, it could be the girl with Daniel. But it was dark, she was wrapped in a blanket. When I heard her speak, she was calling to him, she outside, he in. So no. I can't swear it's her. But
she
says she is, so there you are.”

“She didn't sound worried, or distraught when she talked to Daniel?”

“No. If I had to guess, I'd say they might have been having a pretty good time in there.”

“No arguing?”

“None that I could hear. What charges are being filed against her?”

“Conspiracy, among other things. If she's linked to any of Daniel's activities before tonight, it'll go worse for her. We just don't know yet.”

“Too bad. Nice kid.”

“She could have been,” Estelle said, “except she had the hots for the wrong guys.” She stepped farther away from the door. “Is Miles all right?”

“Just sore. The slug was full-metal jacket. Nice ugly hole, no fractures, no nerve damage. He'll use a cane for a while…a fashionable one, of course.” I reached out and touched her elbow. “I wanted to ask you. Are you guys still going to drive over to Texas to see the Dos Pasos concert next weekend?”

She smiled that deep, lovely smile that she didn't offer up very often. “We were considering it. Assuming you can behave yourself for the week between now and then. We don't need any more bodies littering the landscape.”

I held up both hands in surrender. “My best behavior. I wanted to ask, though. If you do drive over there, I'd like to ride along, if you can stand it. I never got the chance to talk as much as I'd like with Francisco.”

“Of course. Carlos will be in seventh heaven to have you along. He
might
forgive you for bailing out of the reception.”

“I appreciate that, but I was more worried about what mom and dad wanted, sweetheart.”

She smiled again. “We'd appreciate your company.”

“We'll talk about it, then. Do you need anything else from me tonight? I'm against the wall at the moment. I'll be in first thing to write up the depositions, though.”

“Go get some sleep. You managed half an hour snoozing on the gurney. Go dive for cover now before Frank Dayan finds you.”

I would have had to have put a garbage bag over my head to achieve that, since the newspaper publisher was standing at dispatch when I rounded the corner.

“Who the hell called you out?” I said with mock impatience.

He shook his head in wonder and thrust out his hand. “Are we going to be able to straighten this all out? Jeez…”

I glanced at the wall clock and saw that it was coming up on five. Fernando Aragon would be at the Don Juan prepping for his day. “Tell you what, Frank. Buy me a quick breakfast and I'll fill you in.”

His eyes lit up. “You're kidding. The sheriff…” and he lowered his voice to a husky whisper, “the sheriff just told me that he wouldn't have anything until tomorrow. Maybe not even then.”

“This
is
tomorrow, and I'm not the sheriff. And I can be bought with a green chile omelet.” I held out a hand toward the door. “Lead on.” Frank looked skeptical, but he fell for it.