Red Man Down (15 page)

‘It’s not broken. I’ll be out of this lash-up in a couple of days. Just … would you mind bringing me a glass of water? No, wait – can you find me a pitcher? With ice cubes. I’m dehydrated all the way to my ankles.’ He brought it, tinkling, and she drank one whole glass before she said, ‘Thank you,’ and poured a second glass. He was still standing there, wanting to do something. ‘How are you doing with that computer?’

‘Genius Geek has it. I told him I was looking for whatever he could find that looked like what you need to run a life, and he carried it away with glad little cries.’ He quit looking sorry as his good news bubbled to the surface. ‘Then I went ahead with a routine search on Angela’s driver’s license and found when she changed it from her maiden name. Which was Goodman, by the way. Then it was Upshaw, for a couple of years, before it was Lacey. As soon as I had all that, I started finding school records and library cards, work records and apartment rentals – all that jazz. You know what? She first worked for that store more than fourteen years ago, and this is the second time she’s gone back to work there since then.’

‘I don’t know what to make of that.’

‘I don’t either. Just saying … it seems to be some kind of a home base.’

‘If I can get that manager to talk to me, maybe we’ll find out.’

Phone messages and emails were stacked up as if she’d been away from her desk a week. Prioritizing, her eye almost passed over ‘Marjorie Springer.’ Then she saw the subject line – Angela Lacey – and opened the message. ‘Got a helper starting today. Might be able to get away by tomorrow,’ it said. ‘Call me.’

She replied, ‘Out tomorrow. Will call Monday,’ and dialed the number for Teresa, the second wife of Vicente García, whom she had begun to think of as ‘the little woman.’ She had not been able to form a mental picture of the mother of two daughters as different as Pilar and Cecelia, but had an impression of Vicente, the duster-off of sons, as a dominating patriarch.

A woman answered, her musical voice retaining just a suggestion of antecedents south of the border. She listened while Sarah explained her job and reason for calling. Then she said she would be willing to come to the station someday soon, ‘when my daughter has time to give me a ride.’

‘How can you live in Marana without a car?’

‘Oh, I have one, but … you know that I’m a recent widow? Well, in the confusion of this first year, so many things to consider, I let my driver’s license lapse, and I haven’t got around to getting it renewed. It’s ridiculous, I know … but right now I can’t drive.’

Sarah said, ‘Oh, well, Mrs García, I would be happy to come to your house.’

‘Oh? Well … perhaps that would be all right.’ Her voice said she had grave doubts.

‘I got your address from your daughter, Pilar, and I could be there within the hour,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ll show you my credentials so you’ll know you’re totally safe with me, OK?’ She hoped her tone indicated that they both knew this was a joke. When the silence continued on the other end of the line, she added, ‘Or if you prefer I could send a patrolman in uniform, in a black-and-white patrol car with a light bar on top, so you’ll know you’re totally safe on the journey, and he can bring you downtown. He’ll bring you right up to my office and take you home again after we’ve finished talking.’

The more I talk, the more I sound like a crazed rapist’s evil henchwoman.

Teresa could not quite buy the deal over the phone from a stranger. She said, ‘Maybe tomorrow my daughter can bring me.’ Rather than try to explain that four ten-hour shifts meant she would never work Friday except in an emergency, Sarah said, ‘Tell you what. I’ll call your daughter Pilar and explain that I’ve talked to you and you seemed to need reassurance. Then she can call you and tell you it’s all right. Will that work for you?’

Assured that it would, Sarah called Pilar, who delivered a blistering tirade forbidding Sarah to ‘pester’ her widowed mother. Sarah listened for two minutes before she delivered an ultimatum: ‘If you want to bring her in yourself and wait while we talk, feel free. But if it’s easier to have me out there on the pavement, call your mother now, because I need to talk to her today.’

That worked, and soon Sarah was back on I-10, driving northwest to Marana again. The sky was now the color of pewter, the forecast was for possible rain with snow at higher elevations.
Promises
,
promises
, Sarah thought, though the radio voice hadn’t actually promised her anything but more of this cold wind.

Teresa’s house was in a development closer to the town center than Pilar’s, surrounded by houses exactly like it, distinguished from each other only by the size of the attached garage and the color of the front door. You would not want to get lost out here at night without a GPS, Sarah decided.

The woman who opened the door was as round and bosomy as you’d expect Cecelia’s mother to be, but quiet and self-contained like Pilar. Her salt-and-pepper hairdo hung at a neatly brushed midpoint between Cecelia’s Big Hair and Pilar’s short wedge; her shirt was pristine white like a schoolgirl’s and her shoes were polished and discreet.

Sarah explained her own odd choice of footwear without ever quite admitting she had simply let herself get stepped on. Then with the suggestion of a ‘broken foot’ hanging in the air, she went after the red meat: how well had Teresa known Frank Martin and Ed Lacey?

‘At first, hardly at all,’ she said. ‘It was a large family and there was a lot to get used to. I was younger than all but two of Vicente’s children when we married, and at first the older ones didn’t take me very seriously … I believe they thought if they ignored me I would soon go away.’

‘How did your husband find you?’

‘We found each other – quite by chance. I was keeping house for my father on his ranch near Patagonia after my mother died. Our house was damaged in a storm and Vicente came to bid on the repairs.’

‘He was a builder?’

‘Amongst other things. My husband was self-taught at most of the trades he practiced, but he was very intelligent and strong, so he always had work.’

‘How old was he then, when you met?’

‘Forty-eight. I was twenty-two. I know, it sounds extreme. I should explain that he was a vigorous man’ – she blushed and looked at her hands – ‘and I was somewhat mature for my age since my mother died when I was fifteen and I had been helping run the ranch and raise the other children since then.’

But today you couldn’t decide by yourself to get in a police car and come downtown. What happened to you?

‘Vicente got the job, and since he was repairing the spaces where I worked, we began to talk. He moved a cupboard to make my work space more efficient. I asked him for a cutting board I had always wanted and he built it. There was a strong attraction between us from the start, but because he was so much older he felt it was unsuitable and didn’t make … what my children call “the moves.” So on the last day, as he was preparing the bill at the kitchen table, I sat down beside him and said, “I think we need to talk.”

‘My heart nearly failed me when I said that, but he turned to me right away and said, “Your father may try to kill me but I think so too.” After that it was all settled very quickly. My father wasn’t surprised at all. He said, “I wondered what was holding you back.”

‘I was never sorry; I had a wonderful marriage. But the last years – he died a year ago at Thanksgiving – well, at the end he was very dependent. He didn’t want me out of his sight for long, and he had to be in charge of everything. I checked every little thing with him first, and I got out of the habit of making my own decisions. I’m trying to regain that skill now.

‘But to get back to your question … I never paid much attention to Frank Martin and Ed Lacey. I couldn’t understand the relationship. Luz’s son lived with an uncle who wasn’t even related by blood? Why? Anyway, I had my hands full – Vicente had seven children. The youngest two, Eduardo and Marisol, still lived at home. For a while, those two tried to turn me into their slave. And the ones who had started independent lives still came home whenever they chose, took anything they wanted and stayed as long as they pleased. It was some time before I felt like the mistress of that house.’

‘Where was your house?’

‘In the barrio in Tucson that was torn down before the convention center was built. We had a big old house, not modern and convenient like this one, but comfortable, with a garden and fruit trees. And then I got pregnant right away. When Pilar was born, I said, “This household needs sorting out.” And Vicente said, “Tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll fix it.” That was when the really good years began. For me, that is – some of the children didn’t see it quite the same way. Luz and Guillermo were particularly outraged at the idea that they couldn’t come into my house and help themselves to whatever they wanted there. Since their mother’s death they had had the run of the place, under the pretext of helping out. Luz would say, “I’ve come to weed the garden,” and go home with whatever was ripe.’ Remembering, she shook her head ruefully.

Sarah used her momentary silence to get back to what she wanted to know. ‘Everybody else in the family seems to be sure Frank Martin would never steal. Do you have an opinion about the embezzlement?’

‘I’m afraid not. To me he was always completely mysterious.’

‘How so?’

‘All those favors he did for people, and yet he didn’t really have
friends.
He would do the good works, then roll up his apron or put his tools in the box and go home. If there was a meal afterward, he hardly ever stayed for that.’

‘And Ed? Did you know him better?’

‘Not in the early years. I thought it was terrible that he lived with Frank.’

‘Really? All the other Garcías have said how much they loved each other.’

‘Maybe so. But what a life, being this quiet, creepy kid who followed his uncle around to all the charities and then went home. After he got into games, made some teams and then got on the police force, he had a more normal life. When he married Angela, though, that’s when he blossomed.’

‘Yet when his uncle killed himself, it seems he fell apart.’

‘Yes … I’m not a psychiatrist, so I guess my opinion about that is not worth much.’

‘Oh, so far I think your opinions are right on the money.’ Sarah smiled encouragement, waited, and finally said, ‘You think maybe Frank was a little … too possessive?’

‘To put it politely, yes. After Ed grew up and had that great career with the police force, I used to look at him and wonder how he had managed to escape that smothering embrace. But when he went to hell I realized he had not made it all the way out after all.’

Sarah sighed. ‘I’m raising my niece because my sister became addicted to drugs and other foolishness. It seems to me that parenthood is very humbling.’

‘Indeed – the perfect word. I used to say to Vicente, “Why didn’t I try something easy, like hiking the Arizona Trail in bare feet?” And he said, “Imagine how I feel, Dovey. I raised seven children before I met you. I swear I treated them all the same, and I’ve no idea why are they all so different.”’

‘He called you Dovey?’

She nodded, smiling. ‘He said I reminded him of a little brown Inca dove, the one with spots on the sides and the gentle call.’ She sighed, remembering. ‘The grand thing about marrying an older man is that in his eyes I was always young and beautiful. I miss that, of course. I went from young and beautiful to old and useless overnight.’

‘Oh, I don’t think you should consign yourself to the dustbin quite yet. May I ask – do you have any idea why Angela would kill herself? I mean, I know Ed just died, but—’

‘But he was her ex-husband, wasn’t he? And she could not have grieved over his death any more than I did when Vicente died, but I never thought of killing myself. I didn’t know Angela well, but honestly I can’t imagine her hanging herself in a closet. I think she must have surprised a burglar in that apartment … it’s not a very nice neighborhood, you know.’

‘I guess not. Burglars don’t usually stay long enough to make nooses, though, do they?’

‘Perhaps not. You know more about burglars than I do.’

‘Next question: your daughters are indeed very different. Do Pilar and Cecelia get along?’

‘They pull together sometimes when they want to win a point against the older siblings. By themselves, they fight like sharks.’

‘And with their brother?’

‘Pilar will have nothing to do with Joey. Cecelia seems to find him amusing, off and on.’ She sighed. ‘I suppose you’ve heard that Joey is the family bad boy. My fault, I guess. He was adorable when he was small and I could never say no to him and make it stick. Vicente was equally hopeless, just putty in his hands.’

‘The youngest in such a large family, I suppose …’

‘Yes. They get so much love when they’re small … maybe it gives them unrealistic expectations. He has always believed that everything should come to him easily – he’s never worked hard for anything.’

‘Does he still come home? Would I find him sometimes in your house?’

‘No, now that he’s not so pretty and often smells bad, I find I can resist him. He’s an impossible house guest – he can reduce a nice clean room to a pile of trash faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. Anyway, he won’t be visiting anybody for a while, because as of yesterday afternoon he’s back in the Pima County Jail.’

‘Oh?’ Sarah picked up her pen. ‘Has he been arraigned yet?’

‘Yes. You know, they do it right there in the jail now, on an electronic hook-up. Very sophisticated.’ She made a face. ‘Thanks to my son I know a lot about how Pima County Jail works.’

‘What’s the charge?’

‘Several charges this time – and rather severe, I’m afraid. Criminal trespass and home invasion … he inadvertently broke an expensive dish so they are charging him with, I don’t know, is it willful destruction? And several other property crimes. Then he tried to run, so there’s one about resisting arrest. This is his third arrest in three years and he drew Judge Mary Kahler, who is determined, they say, to teach recidivists a lesson.’

‘What was he trying to do?’

‘Somehow he became convinced there was no one home at a certain house in El Encanto. But the owner was right there, in his studio, painting. When he glanced out and saw a poorly dressed stranger breaking the lock on his back door he went into a bathroom with his cell phone and called the police. Joey walked out with an armload of electronic gadgets and met the patrolmen who were waiting for him.’