Flash Flood (30 page)

“And couldn't this be an example of his ruthlessness?”

She thought a moment. “I suppose. It could have ruined everything, his chances to get what he's always wanted. Small towns aren't very forgiving.”

“What did he say when you told him?”

“That he'd take care of it. Guess that takes on new meaning now, huh?” She blew her nose again before going on. “He took the letters, read two or three while I was there. He asked me who else knew about the affair, and did Eric know that I was coming to see him. I told him I didn't think anyone else knew and, no, Eric didn't know I was there. I didn't know for sure, but Eric always assumed I was in the dark.”

“Did Phillip say anything about Carolyn?”

“Only that he found it hard to believe, thought that she wanted the same things he wanted. Couldn't believe she would throw it all away.”

“Did he give you any idea how he would take care of things?”

Elaine was silent.

“He told me that if I had been a better wife, it wouldn't have happened.”

“Nice guy with just a little free advice. That sounds like Phillip, holier than thou.”

“He was hurt. I was the messenger. I couldn't blame him for lashing out.”

“What happened next?”

“Nothing really. Eric was suddenly attentive, back home playing baseball with Matthew, helping with homework. Honest.” She made a feeble attempt at a scout's honor. “Absolutely nothing was ever said.”

“And Eric was the model husband after that?”

“I didn't say that.” The smile was rueful when she turned to look at him. “Sex was…maybe, still is…an addiction for Eric. Somewhere along the line, I realized that I was the wife, probably the only wife there'd ever be, but never the only woman. I suppose we should have sought help. Realized that he needed help. There are clinics that treat those kinds of problems. But I'm not sure he would have gone.”

“So, you looked the other way.” It was a statement. She just nodded and worked at the rug with a bare toe.

“My shrink would like me to explore fear of abandonment some more. Eric and I both had pretty awful childhoods…. I think I tried to be understanding…there was a sensitive little boy under all that impulsive behavior.”

Dan didn't want this to be a third degree on spousal indiscretions, but he had to ask, “Are you saying there was someone after Carolyn?”

“Yep. Sandwiched in between baseball and homework. But not someone who really counted according to Eric, really was threatening. Just one of his usuals.”

“Which was?”

“This time a domestic at Judge Cyrus's. I found a scarf in his truck. He had smuggled her into the States on one of his trips down South. When I asked him about her, he said he was teaching her the alphabet, teaching her English, and sex was the only way she knew how to pay him. You have to admit that's novel.”

“What happened to her?”

“She disappeared, I guess, probably went to Albuquerque or over to Dallas. It's easier for illegals to find work in big cities. Then, the drug bust. You know the rest.”

“Did you ever think that Phillip might have had something to do with the bust?”

“No. It looked like Billy Roland was the one to suspect. But, I thought Eric saw a way to get money, made a deal with a drug lord, acted on his own. Things were too easy flying in and out of South America. He would have made contacts, that sort of thing.”

“The transcripts of the trial are in the garage?”

Elaine nodded. “Do you think they might be helpful?”

“I don't know. I thought I might look through them.”

“Tonight?”

“Why not?”

“Want me to help?”

They dragged the first of seven heavy cardboard filing boxes in from the garage. They were dated and a brief description of what each contained was outlined on their lids. Elaine took the one marked “Testimony on seizure; detailed account of drug findings.” Dan picked “Character references: Phillip Ainsworth, Judge Franklin Cyrus, Mr. Billy Roland Eklund, and the names of several people not familiar.”

“Sure you're up to this?” Dan asked.

Elaine was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a pile of folders in her lap. “Couldn't make me go away if you wanted to.” She smiled and opened a folder with a transparent blue tab.

“Listen to this.” Dan had been leafing through the testimony of Judge Cyrus. “Eric Linden was ‘detained' for possession of marijuana at age sixteen, not arrested; caught with a gang of kids in a stolen car at seventeen, again not arrested but the use of drugs was suspected…then, later represented the coalition to legalize the use of marijuana for the terminally ill….”

“Believe me, it didn't help his case. At the time I felt it was wrong to dredge up all that old stuff but that always seems to be a part of it, our legal system, I mean.”

“And here, Billy Roland had fired him?”

“Eric worked summers at the Double Horseshoe and ‘borrowed' a plane without permission. Eric was only twenty-three at the time, last year of law school, had his pilot's license. He took a crop duster on a joy ride that ended with a crash landing. His aunt bailed him out, and then, of course, by that time I was around. No one wanted to give the bride away to someone in prison. How's that for irony?”

“Did you feel that the judge, Aspen, wasn't it, was too strict? Eric didn't have a record. A lot of near misses, but not a record exactly.”

Elaine pushed the folders aside and leaned against the couch. “I always thought so. Yes, all the youthful pranks came out, but a man almost thirty-four was on trial, not a kid. It seemed like a lot of things were brought out that were purposefully hurtful to his case.”

“Who was the prosecuting attorney?”

“Albert Reyes. Still practices in Albuquerque. You saw him at J.J.'s funeral. He was standing beside Dona Mari.”

Dan shut the folder and excitedly leaned forward. A link. It might mean something.

“Were they related?”

“J.J. and Albert Reyes?” Dan nodded. “Cousins, I think. The sons of Dona Mari's sisters.”

“But J.J. wasn't on the scene yet?”

“Still in law school, I think. I don't remember meeting J.J. until after Eric was in prison. He took over the job that Eric had had with Phillip's company.”

“It might prove interesting to pay Mr. Reyes a visit.”

Chapter Eleven

Dan got up at six, left Elaine asleep, and grabbed a cup of Circle-K coffee on his way downtown. The minute he got to the office, he was glad he'd come in early. Five phone messages from Roger. At six-thirty, Dan rang Roger's motel.

“Too early? You've got to be kidding. I do five miles at least three times a week. Only good thing about pulling duty in the sticks, I stay in shape out of absolute, total boredom.”

Dan couldn't think of anything more boring
than
running and fought back a vision of a taut-stomached Roger racing along the back-streets of Roswell in flashy trunks, and said, “You've been trying to reach me?”

“Yeah. Finally caught up with the sheriff. He was in San Antonio visiting the sister.”

“Did you pick him up?”

“Well, there really isn't a reason to.”

“Now, wait, I saw the man chasing a car that got washed away. He must have been doing eighty. He was
shooting
at the Cadillac. You have the fucking proof, and you didn't bring him in?” Dan hadn't meant to raise his voice, but he heard himself almost yelling into the receiver.

“He doesn't deny it.”

“What? What doesn't he deny?”

“That he was shooting at the car.”

“And that isn't reason to bring him in?”

“Calm down and listen for a minute. He says he was shooting at the car to stop it.”

“Stop it?”

“He had been contacted about the flood waters. Dam burst above Caprock. Says he knew the bridge was in bad shape, that it could go any minute and was patrolling County Five to warn people. Makes sense to me. Says there's always someone parked out there smooching it up, someone who wouldn't be paying attention to the weather. Our friend Eric fits the description of someone out to have a little fun with jail-bait.”

“She was twenty-three.”

“That's young when you're forty.”

Obviously, Roger's morals were coming into play. He better get him back on track.

“Did he say anything else?”

“Only that that's what he thought when he saw the Lott girl's car. He'd seen her with Eric Linden at the Double Diamond dancing. When he was leaving to begin his patrol, he saw them turn onto County Road Five, figured they'd be going that way to spend a little time in the back seat.”

“So, why was this great savior shooting at them? What's wrong with a little horn honking? Blinking of headlights? I bet old Ray has a portable siren and light on the Dakota.”

“I guess he tried to catch up with them. Says they acted like he was chasing them. Acted scared. He hadn't meant to turn it into a race, but he was concerned as hell they'd get into trouble because of the water.”

“So he shot at them?”

“Said there wasn't anything left to do. Admits up front that he took the tire out, but they were too close to the bridge, didn't do any good.”

“All done in the name of a warning.”

“Come on, Dan. It makes sense to me. How else you going to save someone's life going eighty in a car headed for disaster?”

“Makes a good story.”

“Dan, the man was all choked up. Took the death of that girl real hard. Blames himself. Says if he was only there sooner.”

“And you're convinced?”

“And you're not?”

“I was there, God damnit. I was there heading in the direction of the washed-out bridge and nobody warned me. You understand? Mister do-good Sheriff didn't stop, didn't honk, blink his lights, nothing.”

“Maybe he didn't see you.”

Dan thought of that rainy evening and could recall the sheriff passing him. He had almost run Dan off the road. Was he absolutely positive that it was Sheriff Ray? Yes. The fact that he hid the tire and rim at the station made him look guilty. But it wasn't going to make a difference to Roger. So, he just said, “Could be” and hung up.

Then picked the phone back up and called Elaine. It rang four times before the answering machine kicked in. She was probably still in bed; they had read transcripts until almost three.

“I'm going to run up to Albuquerque to talk with Albert Reyes. I'll be late again.” And then he added something he'd been thinking about. “Get the locks changed on the front and back doors. On the garage, too. Humor me, I'll feel better about leaving your sexy body in bed alone. See you tonight.” It was just a precaution. Maybe nothing more than something to make him feel better. But he'd learned a long time ago to trust his sixth sense. And since he'd talked to Eric, he hadn't felt very secure.

The trip to Albuquerque took a little under three hours.

He'd gone up to Vaughn and took the interstate from Clines Corners on into the city. Only about sixty miles of the drive was interesting. Roswell to Vaughn was nothingness, cactus, sandy soil, stubby vegetation; but he had made good time. It wasn't heavily patrolled. The last leg was through the mountains on a good four-lane highway. But he could have been driving the Alps and wouldn't have known the difference.

He had no idea what Albert Reyes could tell him and felt he was chasing leads that kept evaporating. Was it still so important to prove that Billy Roland wasn't involved? Moot question. He was doing it for lots of other reasons, too; not the least of which was to satisfy his own investigative curiosity. He was taking a chance that Mr. Reyes would be in, but again, a call ahead would be a warning. And he couldn't risk it. He couldn't help thinking this was probably going to be the best thing he'd done so far—or a bust—no in between.

He filled up with gas on the outskirts of Albuquerque and called the offices of Reyes and McCandless. For some reason, the second name rang a bell, but he couldn't place it. Mr. Reyes would be out of the office until eleven, would he like an appointment then? Dan said yes, and ducked having to say what the visit was concerning when the receptionist had to answer another call.

The offices were modest, efficient more than a statement of self-worth. Reyes and McCandless shared a receptionist who was seated behind a circular desk with a bank of lighted buttons. The first floor foyer was the only trendy spot in the somewhat austere highrise. But possibly offices on the ground level had a little added prestige.

Dan wasn't kept waiting. Albert Reyes appeared at exactly eleven to personally usher him back to a conference room that opened onto a small enclosed patio containing a tree, sculpted bench, and tiered planting area. Brown and lifeless this time of year, it was probably a delightful spot spring and summer. This was obviously the plus for rooming on the ground floor.

“I don't believe we've met?” Albert Reyes held out his hand. He was tall and handsome, reminiscent of Jorge rather than J.J., dark hair parted on the side. He wore the navy business suit with ease.

“I was at your cousin's funeral.”

A small flicker of recognition, then, “May I ask how you knew J.J.?”

“I'm Carolyn Ainsworth's brother, but met J.J. while doing some work for Billy Roland Eklund.” Dan was brief but gave Albert Reyes a little background. “I'm here today because I think your cousin might have been murdered.”

Albert Reyes didn't flinch but also didn't say anything, just returned Dan's gaze. And in that instant before he said, “Why do you think that?”—Dan knew that the possibility of it not being an accident had crossed his mind, too.

Dan filled him in on his conversation with J.J. the day before he died. How he had not denied being involved with the promise of the two million, meeting with Eric Linden, pretending to be someone else, using a false name on a document.

When he was finished, Albert Reyes shook his head. “I don't know what to say.” He paused. “I guess I'd like to be able to say it doesn't sound like J.J., but I'd be lying. Our practices were very different. He got involved…represented some people with questionable backgrounds here and there. I honestly thought he'd stay out of trouble working for Billy Roland and Phillip Ainsworth. It doesn't look like he did. But I don't see how I can be of help?”

“You were the prosecuting attorney at Eric's trial. Someone, I'm guessing J.J., provided you with damaging information about Eric, played law clerk, helped you build a case, encouraged you to make him out to be a menace to society.”

“That really wasn't necessary. Eric dug his own grave trying to represent himself.”

“But why the stiff sentence?”

“Keep a misfit out of the community. Those were close to Judge Aspen's exact words.”

“Misfit doesn't equate to dangerous. Someone wanted him put away, put away and set up to keep him quiet. What do you know about that part of it?”

Albert didn't answer right away. Dan waited; he wasn't in a hurry.

“I believe Judge Aspen was encouraged by friends.”

“Who?”

“The circuit court judge down your way, Franklin Cyrus.”

Judge Cyrus. This was getting interesting.

“What makes you say that?”

“I overheard a conversation. Judge Cyrus can be pretty convincing, convinced Aspen, anyway, that Eric shouldn't get a light sentence.”

“But why? First time offender. You know the user charges were teenage offenses that he wasn't cited for.”

“It was morals, if I remember correctly. Judge Cyrus said Mr. Linden suffered from a sexual addiction, probably needed clinical treatment for chronic promiscuity. I remember the judge saying that such problems are usually caused by abuse or neglect as children. Eric had just cited his dysfunctional childhood in testimony that morning. He didn't know it, but it worked against him. I remember Judge Cyrus saying it was only a matter of time before the charge would be rape.”

“Strange that Judge Cyrus would use something like that. What was that to him? Promiscuity didn't have anything to do with the trial.”

Albert shrugged. “There was something about him having a mistress, no, ‘coercing' was the term used, someone underage. Judge Cyrus made it sound like it was a child, or at least a teenager. If you knew Judge Aspen, it wouldn't take much to put an errant lawyer away, especially one suspected of drug smuggling
and
sexual misconduct. He really had a thing for cleaning up the profession. A fellow Yale alumnus seemed to be a double black eye.”

“Do you remember if any more was said about this child?”

“No. I wasn't supposed to overhear as much as I did. I just happened to be in the lunch room outside Judge Aspen's chambers.”

“So, J.J. didn't need to help you with the case?”

“I didn't say that. He provided some…insights into the defendant's character like what you mentioned earlier. All on the up and up, all on the books. He was apprenticed to Judge Cyrus at the time. Did some clerking for him before he took the bar.”

“Why Judge Cyrus? I wouldn't think a young man would find Tatum very interesting.”

“Judge Cyrus has always been a supporter of the family. My family and my wife's. The judge has been generous by making school possible for us. My wife even clerked for him.”

McCandless. The farm couple who took in the refugees from Haiti—the Voodoo priest. It was becoming a small world.

“Was there anything else unusual about the trial?”

“Other than all of Roswell was in shock. Eric was a hometown product. Local boy makes good, goes back East to school. Everyone knew his great aunt, the one who raised him; she was a pillar of the community…the wife was well liked. Believe me, it was the talk of Roswell for months.”

“Do you know of a reason that anyone might have had to kill J.J.?” It was time to ask again. Bring the focus back where it needed to be.

“I'll admit I've thought about it. It was ruled an accident. Of course, there wasn't much left of the car.”

“I don't think you believe it was an accident.”

“I guess I believe it might have been intentional. He could have taken his own life.”

“Why do you say that?”

“J.J. had been despondent recently. His practice was struggling and he could have just wanted out. Maybe he was in over his head.” Albert paused, then shrugged. “I just don't know.”

Or maybe he knew I was close to finding out what really happened eight years ago, Dan thought. Knew, and couldn't face the consequences.

***

Why would Judge Cyrus try to influence the sentencing in Eric's case? Say that he had an addiction, a teenage mistress? According to Elaine, there had been a young girl, one of Eric's stowaways. But she had disappeared. Disappeared. Somehow the word bothered him. She seemed to have vanished about the time Eric was busted. Was that a coincidence or was there a chance that she'd never made it up north to work in Albuquerque? Or any place else, for that matter.

Dan had the three-hour drive back to Roswell to decide on his next move, and that was to stop by the coroner's office at the courthouse. Dan wasn't sure what he'd find, but if his hunch was right, it would suddenly be a whole new ballgame.

The office, tucked away in a back corner on the second floor, proved to be an efficiently run archive of clinical records, masterminded and protected with gusto by the tall, gray-haired woman standing in front of him, arms crossed over a flat chest.

“I usually need a little more identification than this. What you're asking for is highly confidential, highly volatile information.” She was peering at the card that said he was a senior investigator with United Life and Casualty but was also an independent contractor. Her lips were tightly pressed together, not a good sign.

“It has some bearing on our investigation of the deaths of several cows owned by Billy Roland Eklund. One, as you might have heard, died by mutilation.”

She pursed her lips and frowned, but he'd bet she knew what he was talking about.

“And you think these sacrifices of humans might, in some way, be connected?”