New River Blues (2 page)

In Tucson, they talked to a guy hawking newspapers at a stoplight, found a homeless shelter, got a meal and a free shower. They split up the next morning to look for openings for ex-felons.

Most people didn't want them around at all, Pauly quickly learned, but he used his mother's way of saying ‘yes, ma'am,' and ‘please,' to persuade an assistant manager at a fast-food stand to give him a trial. Passing out curly fries and Cokes was no fun, but he needed the food and the little bit of money that came with the stupid shirt and hat.

He was able to smuggle out burgers and slaw enough to keep Nino alive, too. Nino didn't get a job right away because, he told Pauly, he was cruising, looking for an edge.

In Yuma, Nino had seemed like the natural leader of the two, but on the outside Pauly began to see that Nino had something in his face, a sneaky, feral look around the mouth and eyes, that put people off. Small-business types looking to hire hamburger flippers or help with yard work looked into Nino's face and said they'd just filled their last opening. Pauly, on the other hand, given a fresh shave and a clean shirt, projected the kind of clueless muscle that could get him a dead-end job anywhere in half an hour.

Pauly didn't mind being the worker bee, supporting them both for a while. It pleased him that Nino needed him for a change – friendship should be a two-way street, he thought. And when they met after work Nino brought back good stories, never two days the same. He was drawn to fast-talking, tricky types like himself who were always on the prowl, looking for an angle. Sometimes Pauly wondered why they got along so well – everybody else Nino hooked up with seemed to be looking for a soft spot. Or was already in one, like the crinkly smiling man at this party, sitting on the stairs surrounded by young dancers and actors.

Madge, they all called him – Madge baby. He seemed to be kind of a groupie at the theater, had cute nicknames for all the actors. He never acted or directed but he knew all the plays, had wise humorous things to say when people blew their lines or lashed out about not getting a part they wanted. Madge was a patron, Felicity said. He helped people out in small ways, gave lifts around town, and was a big hugger.

Nino and Madge told varying humorous stories about how they met. ‘I spotted him copping a feel in the Spotted Pony,' Nino usually said, ‘and I knew right away he was my kind of a guy.' Or Madge would say, ‘All the waitresses assured me he was not to be trusted, so I asked them to introduce us.'

Pauly couldn't tell if they were a little more than friends. He knew Nino would swing either way – whatever floated the boat was Nino's motto – but he couldn't tell for sure if Madge was a fag. The girl's name seemed to suit him, but he made a big fuss over women, too, usually had his arms around a girl or two.

For whatever reason, he got Nino and Pauly these half-assed jobs as prop guys at the theater, with a room above the stage as part of the deal. Then he and Felicity recommended them to this caterer for part-time jobs, because the theater paid so little, and to get them started Felicity found black pants and white shirts at Good Will. It was all done with a lot of pats and hugs, which Nino said probably wouldn't do any permanent damage if they didn't inhale.

The bossy caterer named Zack let them into the pantry, prep room, whatever these rich people called the great clean space with all the cupboards and coolers behind their shiny kitchen crowded with killer appliances. Leading them under steel overhead racks where shining pots and spoons hung down like icicles, Zack said, ‘Your jackets are here, these aprons fasten in back, remember? Why are you standing there, you
have
worked parties for me before, right?'

Nino gave him the ice-cold look out of his colorless eyes and said, ‘Sure, Zack,' and you could see Zack go,
Whoa, are you going to give me trouble?
But guests were already arriving in the room on the other side of the kitchen, squealing and doing kissy-kissy with the hostess, so Zack had to launch right into his tray lecture. Pour the wine
this
full in
these
glasses, remember, a dozen only on
this
size tray. And the canapés go on
these
trays with clean doilies
every single
time . . . after that it was just a blur, for hours. A big party, rooms full of people, Zack humping to keep up in the prep room while Pauly, Nino, and Felicity hustled the food and drink out front. Felicity smiled and fawned on the board members who called out to her, ‘There's our girl, how's my baby?', the men starting to paw her after a couple of drinks. Felicity whirled around them smiling, making little jokes, doing her cute little winks.

They hauled in platters and baskets of savory, high-cost food and no end of wine and vodka, just keep it coming, nobody keeping track. As soon as they got used to the routine, Nino devised a signal system so they could take turns ducking into the help's bathroom to sample the goodies. They ate their fill of big shrimp, marinated mushrooms, tiny egg rolls with a wonderful sauce. Felicity taught Pauly how to say pâté. He spread that and several cheeses on wonderful buttery crackers, and washed it down with plenty of wine. Before long, Pauly figured, he probably felt as good as any of the guests.

About ten o'clock the party started to wind down. Women began to look for purses, men jingled car keys, a madly giggling group of actors surrounded the sparkly hostess and sang a hilariously obscene ballad of thanks.

By eleven, the front of the house was empty and the hostess was in the prep room saying, ‘Marvelous party, Zack, everybody had fun. Let's have a glass of wine while we clean up!' Pouring for everybody, turning her gleaming cheeks up to be kissed by Madge who of course was the last one there. He wrapped his arms around her, telling her she was still the best party-giver in Pima County.

She put a big white apron over her satiny-slidy dress and made little gestures, picked up a few glasses, and poured some nuts back in a can. Zack and Felicity kept saying, ‘No, no, don't get your dress dirty, we'll handle that.' But Pauly could see she liked being part of the crew, she wanted to stay here and share funny anecdotes about the party. Maybe she didn't want to be alone. Pauly began to wonder if there wasn't something sad, a touch of uncertainty behind her gleaming smile.

Madge found some dance music for the CD player and danced with her, chuckling, then whirled her back to the wine bottles when she said she needed another sip. He danced away with Felicity, who moved like a ballet dancer and made any partner look like Fred Astaire.

The hostess – Easy, was that what they called her? Or Weezy? – he couldn't tell, if he had to call her anything he'd call her ma'am. She poured another big glass of wine for herself and one for Pauly, drank half of hers, treated him to one of those blissed-out smiles he'd been watching all evening and held out her arms saying, ‘OK, let's dance.' Pauly wasn't much of a dancer but what were you supposed to do? He stepped into her arms, moving cautiously at first, hoping his hand wasn't leaving a mark on the dress. The flesh of her round arms smelled like flowers, though, and she was enjoying herself, humming with the music, so he began to relax. Her hips swayed under his hand and he moved closer.

Madge and Felicity pulled Nino and Zack out to dance, laughing, Madge whirling Nino around like a debutante. They danced close to Pauly and his luscious green armful, Madge looking a question at Weezy but she shook her head. When the music stopped, the hostess stood beside Pauly at the counter drinking wine. ‘Mmm,' she said, smiling, ‘good.' When the music started again they moved into each other's arms without a word.

He would never know how the rest of it happened. The lights dimmed gradually, as if by magic. The saxophones seemed to grow creamier as the laughter of the other dancers softened. Somebody passed around a J and after that for Pauly it was all vague and beautiful, there was only the music and the silky slide of her body in his arms.

At the end of one long song he realized the other four people had disappeared, and a bit later he found himself halfway up the stairs kissing his green-clad hostess, who groped him and groaned with pleasure.

In a bedroom that looked better than any dream he'd ever had, this woman who seemed to know no limits wound her arms around his neck and whispered, ‘Sweetie, you need some more wine?' Her jeweled hands caressed his back and sides and found his crotch. ‘No, I guess not,' she chuckled, and the shiny green dress slid off like magic as they sank on to her silky sheets.

The first time he came in her he was sure he was going to die of pleasure. But he didn't, and she knew exactly how to help him risk his life again.

The second time took longer but finally came to a great shuddering climax that left them both very tired. They lay curled together afterwards, making soft sounds that didn't quite reach the level of speech. Not really intending to but helpless to stop, they fell asleep.

Adrift in dreamless satisfaction, Pauly slept without moving until the lights went on and the world exploded.

TWO

I
n Tucson, darkness is more than just the absence of light. It's a highly prized commodity that enjoys environmental protection. Famous observatories cap the mountains around the city, and the discoveries of the world-class astronomers who flock to them add luster to the city's reputation and grants to its university. In pursuit of these benefits the city minimizes street lights, hoods the illumination it can't do without, and supports a Dark Sky Association whose function is to remind suburban dwellers that clear desert air, unsullied by artificial light, has a fat bottom line.

So at 4 a.m. in mid-November, most of El Encanto Estates was black as the inside of a boot. Sarah Burke found the house on Avenida Santa Teresa easily, by heading toward the light pouring out of all its windows.

Big floods were already set up in the yard, too. Yellow crime-scene tape was stretched across the driveway, enclosing a swarm of busy men. Take away a few blue uniforms, Sarah thought, this scene could remind you of an ant farm. She parked her department Impala behind the crime-scene van at the curb. Neat in business casual, she strode at the steady don't-mess-with-me pace of the street cop toward the uniformed officer behind the tape.

I know him, what's his name?
They'd worked street patrol in adjacent sections of south Tucson when they were both rookie cops, and backed each other up through many a long night.
Name, name.
Had a wife who sold real estate, twin boys . . . then she got it, Lopez, and stepped up to the tape, smiling. ‘Morning, Frankie. How're those twins?'

‘Hey, Sarah. They're wrecking my house, you want a couple boys?' He opened his metal posse box and asked her, ‘What's your PR?'

She gave him her five-digit payroll number. He wrote it on his sheet after her name, and entered the time, saying, ‘You must have really burned rubber, you're the first detective here.'

‘I live in Campbell-Grant,' she said, ‘just a few blocks north of here.'
A few
blocks north in a different world.
She liked her quiet midtown neighborhood, and didn't lust after million-plus mansions like this one.
But maybe just a few square feet of all this space . . .
Her family circle had recently expanded to include a ten-year-old niece and a frequently visiting boyfriend. They were all doing careful minuets around times in the bathroom and her two decent reading lights.

The Field Sergeant was already there, deploying patrolmen at the front and back doors of the house and around the yard. This was going to be an expensive crime scene to secure; there was much more property in back. Directly in front of her, a beautifully tiled fountain stood quiet on its night-time setting. Behind it, the house sat well back on perfectly manicured grounds, a classic Spanish Colonial two-story, buff-colored stucco, red roof tiles and wrought-iron balcony railings. Solid and spacious, it looked like an implicit promise of the good life. But if Delaney's first report was accurate, there would be no contentment at this address any time soon.

She pulled her phone off her belt, remembering the last thing he'd said: ‘You'll probably get there first, so go ahead and get the warrant, will you?'
Miserable time to call a judge, but what can you do?

Judge Peter Geisler answered on the first ring. At sixty-four, he had come to regard his worsening sleep dysfunction as a chance to catch up on his reading. He was halfway through the latest dismal book about Iraq, he said, and was not sorry to be interrupted. She told him she was investigating the double murder of a couple in their own bed and he said that sounded pretty mild compared to what our government was up to in foreign lands. She waited patiently while he ranted about the intellectual disconnect of people in high places.

As soon as he paused for breath she described the house, grounds, garages, and several vehicles that would need to be searched. He endorsed her choices and authorized his signature. Sarah got on well with Judge Geisler, who had a good memory for which detectives turned in complete paperwork.

Delaney was parking behind her car by the time she folded the phone. As she walked over to meet him, she saw Tobin coming half a block away, Menendez just rounding the corner. Delaney, who because he was grossly overworked always felt he was running late, jumped out of his car saying, ‘Morning, Sarah,' and walked right past her to begin questioning the officer behind the tape. ‘Frankie, you the first responder?'

Lopez nodded. ‘Yeah, I just happened to be turning on to Broadway when I heard the tone.' He swallowed when he said, ‘tone,' a delayed reaction to the jolt of adrenalin he'd received when the heads-up signal sounded in all the cars. ‘Dispatch said three 911 calls in a row from people in this block, saying they heard gunshots and screaming and a lot of dogs barking. Soon as Dispatch said this address I said, “I'm six blocks from there, I'll take it,” and then Tommy come on and said he was right behind me.'