03_Cornered Coyote
Read 03_Cornered Coyote Online
Authors: Dianne Harman
Cornered Coyote
By
Dianne Harman
Copyright © 2014 Dianne Harman
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form without written permission except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Website, Interior & Cover design by
Vivek Rajan Vivek
Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9889349-8-6
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I want to thank all those who have read
Blue Coyote Motel
and
Coyote in Provence.
You are the ones who encouraged me to write another book in the series. I’m constantly asked, “What happens to Maria?” I believe
Cornered Coyote
answers that question.
As always, I could not have written this without the help of my husband, Tom. He has become a master chef and gardener, as well as king of the laundry! Thank you!
To Vivek, Michelle, Noelle, Jackie, Stephanie, and all the rest of you who so willingly helped me and gave me feedback, thank you! Your support and friendship are greatly valued by me.
And to all of you who have read my books and taken the time to contact me and give me your input, please know how very much it’s appreciated.
And to my dear readers, none of this would be possible without you.
Thank you!
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
The silver bird gleamed in the blue sky as the early morning sun bathed it in soft golden hues. Flight 714 was on the last leg of its journey, having burned close to fifty thousand gallons of jet fuel on its trans-Atlantic flight from Paris to Los Angeles.
The intercom sprang to life. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Armand speaking. We have been given permission to land and we are starting our final descent into LAX International airport. The temperature is 61 degrees with 65% humidity, bright sunny skies with no clouds. We hope you had a pleasant flight and we hope you’ll fly with us again. Thank you."
Maria looked out the window. Her breathing became shallow and her tongue dried out. Her body had goose bumps all over it. She couldn’t believe she was coming back to the U.S. She’d thought she would never return to the United States, but a strange twist of fate had brought her back. Memories of the last few years overwhelmed her and she began to sob silently, sobs that shook her delicate frame.
As the giant A380 prepared to land, the undercarriage opened, and the landing gear swung out harmoniously, like the arms of a conductor leading an orchestra. The eight hundred and fifty thousand pound bird came to a slow roll in less than sixty seconds… a miracle taken for granted, in a world that had little time for gratitude.
As she prepared to disembark from the plane, Maria retrieved her black roller bag secured with a red Velcro belt from the overhead bin. Exhausted and suffering from jet lag as a result of the long trip from France, she was oblivious to people looking at her. The stunningly beautiful woman had become immune to the stares she received wherever she went and now they didn’t even register.
She looked nervously at the swirling mass of humanity hurrying to get through immigration and customs. People came to Los Angeles from all over the world; some with faces the color of the darkest black of the African jungles, while others had pale skin which had never been touched by the sun. The scene in front of her was a kaleidoscope of colors: bright tribal clothing from Africa and the Mid-East; sedate colors that people from the northern European countries seemed to prefer; and everything in-between.
She’d thought of little else but Jordan and called him on her cell phone as soon as she landed. Her spirits soared when he assured her once again that he’d made arrangements with law enforcement authorities and there was nothing to worry about. She would breeze through immigration hassle free and soon they could start their new life together.
Maria wore a red wrap-around dress which hugged her curves and dipped down between her breasts, allowing onlookers a view of her generous cleavage. Large gold earrings and a bracelet played against her pale olive skin. It hadn’t been easy, but she’d lost the twenty pounds she’d deliberately gained when she went to Provence in an attempt to escape being detected by the police. All she wanted now was to lose herself in Jordan’s embrace.
She had been terrified of being identified as "a person of interest" by the ferret-faced woman at the security podium in France. She was wearing a starched white blouse and black slacks, and her menacing laser like eyes bore into Maria. She’d held Maria’s passport a little longer than necessary, looking back and forth, between it and Maria. But that was nothing compared to the fear she was feeling now as she got ready to go through U.S. Immigration.
When her turn came, a surly fat immigration officer was seated behind the counter. As he scanned the RFID tag on her passport, his computer screen flashed a red alert. He deftly pressed a button and then turned his attention towards Maria. With his yellow-stained teeth and Cheshire cat-like smile, he made her feel like she was nothing more than a piece of Swiss cheese. She’d forced herself to smile at him instead of openly shivering with revulsion. Every second seemed like an hour.
He returned her passport to her and she stepped away from the counter. Less than a minute later an immigration officer approached Maria from behind, startling her. "Ma'am, please follow me."
She went weak in the knees and could barely walk as she followed him, trembling with fear. Her hopes for a happy future with Jordan came crashing down. Whoever had told Jordan she was free to travel under the name of Maria Brooks must have misled him.
The immigration officer led her to a small detention room and asked her to take a seat at a table. Seated across the table from her was a man who identified himself as a detective assigned to the homicide unit of the Riverside County Sheriff’s Office. Stone-faced and in a voice as cold as steel he said, “You’re under arrest for the murder of Jeffrey Brooks. In a few minutes you’ll be taken to the Robert Presley Detention Center in Riverside County,” and then he got up and left abruptly.
Maria was stunned when she heard those words. She went into a state of shock, wondering how this could have happened, and thinking how naïve it had been for her to return to the country where she had killed someone… her husband.
CHAPTER 2
As soon as the doors to the police car were securely closed, Lt. Ganz turned to Maria to advise her of her legal rights under the famous
Miranda
Supreme Court case. She saw the hungry look he gave her. She’d seen it on almost every male’s face since she’d been twelve years old. He took a small card from his wallet that had the
Miranda
rights printed on it. He slowly read Maria her rights and when he’d finished, he asked her if she understood them. Sobbing, and in a barely discernable voice filled with fear and despair, she whispered, “Yes.”
Lt. Ganz changed positions, adjusting his large belly so it fit under the steering wheel, and drove the police cruiser away from the curb, merging into the heavy traffic created by travelers and drivers who were coming and going from one of the world’s busiest airports. Maria sat in the back seat of the police car between two uniformed and intimidating deputy sheriffs and silently cried. She pressed her eyes tightly together, willing the tears to stop, and gulped. When she felt that she could control her voice, she asked, “What’s going to happen to me now?”
The fleshy faced lieutenant looked at her in the rearview mirror and said, “I’m taking you to one of the county jails. Since the murder of your husband occurred in Riverside County, we have jurisdiction to investigate and file charges in connection with the crime. You’ll be booked for murder, your prints and mug shot will be taken, and they’ll run you through the national criminal identification database to see if you’ve got a record. You better get a lawyer if you can afford one. You’ll be arraigned day after tomorrow. At the arraignment you’ll plead guilty or not guilty and see if the judge will grant you bail. That’s probably not an option since you’re being charged with murder. Oh yeah, you’ll get to make one phone call when we get to the jail.”
Maria looked out the window at the palm trees lining the street.
I wish I'd never met Jordan and come back here. I don’t know any lawyers. Jordan probably does. If they let me see him, I’ll tell him to hire one, and then I can use my phone call to call my parents and tell them. I don't want
them to hear about it on TV. I suppose the good news, if there is any, is that I didn’t see any cameras when I was arrested.
* * * * *
Jordan was pacing in the upper level arrival area, waiting for Maria to clear immigration and customs and walk up the long ramp. “She should have been here by now,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s been an hour since the plane landed.”
He was intercepted by a young brown-eyed woman wearing a black burkha. "Excuse me, sir, you must be Jordan Kramer. I’m Mahsa and I work for Darya Rahimi. She wanted to welcome Maria back into the United States with these flowers. I know Maria landed an hour ago, but it always takes so long to go through immigration and customs."
Jordan stared at the bouquet of pink and white roses wrapped in green floral paper she was holding. "Please thank Ms. Rahimi, but my gut feeling is that something has gone terribly wrong. Maria hasn’t come up the ramp and I spoke to her just as she landed.”
His ringing cell phone stopped him from saying anything further. “Jordan Kramer here.”
He listened for a few minutes, hung up, and looked at Mahsa. “That was a police detective. Maria’s been arrested and is on her way to the Robert Presley Detention Center in Riverside. Maria told him I was waiting for her and he felt sorry for me.”
Mahsa saw the rage in his eyes and took several hesitant steps backward. "I'll call Ms. Rahimi immediately and advise her of this development."
"You do that and while you're at it, ask her if she knows what in the hell happened. I know she’s been in touch with Maria. I called Maria ‘my little coyote’ because she was a loner in Provence. I can’t even imagine how the coyote will do now that she’s been captured,” he said bitterly. He turned on his heel and headed for the parking lot.
Mahsa sat down on a nearby stone ledge surrounding the luggage carts and took her phone out of her purse. Cars and people made it almost impossible for her to hear anything. She punched in Darya Rahimi's private cell phone number.
"Miss Rahimi, it's Mahsa. Something terrible has happened. Maria’s been arrested and taken to the Robert Presley Detention Center in Riverside. I spoke briefly to Mr. Kramer. I’ve never seen anyone so angry. He was red in the face and looked like he wanted to kill someone. He asked if you knew anything about this. Obviously, I didn't have a chance to give her the roses."