Strangers (22 page)

“Number one suspect.”

“Yeah, but why?”

For a number of possible motives, my investigation being one of the triggers. My guess, whether the murder was premeditated or the result of a heated argument: Firestone was a loose cannon—taking those unnecessary shots at me in the desert was further proof of that—and not to be trusted despite the frame against Cody. Stendreyer covering his ass again by removing the last threat to him.

But all I said was, “Sheriff Felix will find out.”

Parfrey leaned forward and smacked the table for the second time, making Cody jump. “If you know what's good for you, you'll cooperate with the sheriff and the D.A. now. Tell them everything you've told us, hold nothing back.”

“Then I'll be off the hook for the rapes?”

“Eventually, yes.”

“What about the robberies? Will I have to go prison for them?”

“That's up to a judge.”

“Maybe you could get him to let me off easy? Probation, community service, or something? I never been in trouble before, you know that, not any real trouble, and I swear to God I'll never steal anything again. You think there's a chance, Mr. Parfrey?”

Parfrey didn't answer. But his eyes and the twist of his mouth said plainly enough what he was thinking when the door opened and Felix came striding in.

 

21

Frank Mendoza said, “No, I'm not going to drop the assault charges. Not yet, not until we have DNA evidence that Rick Firestone was in fact the assailant. Your client is a flight risk, counselor. He stays right where he is.”

“I wasn't going to ask for his release,” Parfrey said stiffly. Now that we were back in Felix's office with Mendoza and the sheriff, he was nervous and deferential again. “You believe he told the truth as he knows it, don't you?”

“His confession had the ring of truth, yes.” The admission was grudging; the Mendozas of the world do not like to admit their judgment has been faulty. “Pending corroboration.”

“So you're not going to file theft charges right away?”

“You know the proper procedure as well as I do, counselor. Or you should. The number of criminal acts involved and exactly what was stolen and from whom have to be established before any charges are filed.”

“If he can even remember.”

“He'll remember by the time Sheriff Felix and I are done with him.”

Felix said to Parfrey, “Don't worry about his rights being violated. We won't interrogate him without you being there.”

“When will that be?”

“As soon as we finish here.”

“The sooner the better,” Mendoza said. “Why do you suppose we left him in the interrogation room?”

The subtle dig wasn't lost on Parfrey; his big hands clenched briefly before he flattened them out against his thighs. “What about Stendreyer?” he said to Felix. “When are you going after him?”

“Too late to go out to Lost Horse tonight. He'll keep until tomorrow.”

“You can't be sure of that. He killed Firestone, didn't he? He might decide to run.”

“No reason for him to run. He has no idea we're on to him.”

“If in fact he's guilty of murder and other criminal acts,” Mendoza said. “That also hasn't been established yet.”

Parfrey's muttered, “Christ,” drew a harsh look from the D.A.

“Tomorrow morning's soon enough,” Felix said. “I want a search warrant before we brace Stendreyer.”

“I doubt Judge Inman will give you one,” Mendoza said. “We don't have enough probable cause.”

“I think we do. Or will once we finish interrogating Hatcher. You let me handle Judge Inman.”

“Gladly. Are we ready to proceed?”

“Pretty soon.”

None of them had been paying much attention to me since we'd come in, which was all right with me. But now Felix turned my way. “The way you handled Hatcher in there—good work. I want you to know it's appreciated.”

“Thanks.”

“Yes, good work,” Mendoza said, but his praise, unlike Felix's, had a false ring to it. Still miffed that the rules had been bent for an outsider. “But don't take it upon yourself to do anything more.”

“I won't.”

“You can leave now,” Felix said. “But you won't mind sticking around for another day or two, until we see how things play out?”

“Whatever you say. I'd like a few words in private with Mr. Parfrey before I go.” The “mister” was deliberate; my own little subtle dig at Mendoza, whom I hadn't formally addressed at any time.

Felix nodded. “Come on, Frank,” he said to the D.A. “We'll get some coffee before we talk to Hatcher.”

The two of them went out. When the door shut behind them I said to Parfrey, “Are you planning to see Mrs. Hatcher tonight?”

“I thought I'd stop in at the Lucky Strike later, yes.”

“She's working tonight?”

“Yes. Every Saturday night now.”

Well, that was good, because it meant she wouldn't call and ask to see me. I had no desire to face her tonight.

“I don't think either of us should say anything to her yet,” I said. “Not until Mendoza's ready to drop the rape charges.”

“I agree.” He added with some bitterness, “That'll soften the blow that her son is a damn thief.”

“When the time comes, if I'm still here, I think I ought to be the one to break the news to her. That okay with you?”

“Well, you're the one who convinced the kid to confess. I don't really want the job anyway.”

“Neither do I,” I said. “I'm not looking forward to it.”

*   *   *

I went to the motel and stayed there. No appetite, even though I hadn't eaten all day, and no desire to run any more gantlets of hostile locals. I felt lousy. Tired, stressed, saddened at the way things had turned out, angry at Cody Hatcher, sorry for his mother. Cheryl wouldn't have to bear the stigma of having a rapist for a son, but having reared a thief who'd teamed up with a violent rapist wasn't a whole lot better. She might not have to suffer any more harassment, but she'd still be the victim of suspicious minds as long as she remained in this fine, upstanding, compassionate community.

Cases like this made me dislike my job, and the personal connection increased the dislike twofold. But you can't always make an investigation turn out the way you want it to. At least the probable final outcome here was not as bad as it might have been; Cody was not going to go down for crimes he hadn't committed, only for lesser ones that he had. I'd done that much for Cheryl anyway.

I called home and spent fifteen minutes talking to Kerry and another ten to Emily. That was enough to temporarily dispel the gloomy feelings and take the edge off the loneliness I'd begun to feel. Lord, how I missed them. Tamara, too—in some ways she was like a second daughter to me—and the agency and my more or less ordered existence in a world I understood.

On impulse I called Tamara, and caught her at home even though it was Saturday night, but the call turned out to be a mistake. She was in one of her dark blue moods, for some reason she refused to discuss (Horace?), and the conversation, mostly an exchange of business news, didn't last long and left me feeling low again.

Melancholy and maudlin—a poor mix, and along with the rain that began to patter down in the middle of the night, a destroyer of restful sleep.

*   *   *

I was shaving when the knock sounded on the door.

Seven-thirty by the clock on the nightstand. Too early in the morning for the maid, pretty early for any sort of visitor. Frowning, I caught up a towel, swiped off most of the lather left on my chin, and padded out to squint through the magnifying peephole in the door.

Surprise. The man standing out there, with his hand upraised to knock again, was Sheriff Joe Felix.

I called out, “Just a second,” and went to put my pants on. Then I took the chain off and opened up.

“Morning, Sheriff.”

“Morning.” He was standing now in his usual military posture, his chiseled face as impassive as ever. He hadn't come alone; behind him on the wet asphalt—it was still drizzling a little—were his cruiser and a second one containing a pair of deputies, both vehicles with engines running and little puffs of vapor chuffing from their exhausts. “I wasn't sure you'd be up yet.”

“I don't sleep in much anymore, even when I'm not working. What can I do for you?”

“Deputies and I are about to head out to see Stendreyer. With a search warrant. I thought you might want to go along.”

An even bigger surprise. “How come?”

“Wouldn't be making the trip if it weren't for you,” he said. “I figure you're entitled. As an observer—no official standing.”

“Still against protocol, isn't it? The D.A. wouldn't approve.”

“Mendoza doesn't run the sheriff's department, I do. Besides, I've been bending rules ever since you showed up here. Might as well bend one more. Well?”

“Sure. I'd like to go.”

Sharp military-style nod. “Wait for you in the car. Make it quick.”

I finished dressing, marveling a little. I'd misjudged Felix at first, just as he'd misjudged me. Arrogant, despotic small-town lawman? That assessment missed the mark by plenty. A hard man, yes, and a hard man to know, but fair and honest and dedicated; once you passed muster with him, you became an equal worthy of his respect. And he didn't mind letting you know it.

Of all the strangers I'd encountered in this town, the one I'd expected to have the most trouble with, and to like the least, was the only one I'd come to respect in turn.

 

22

I rode shotgun with Felix in the front seat of his cruiser, the two deputies following close behind us. What they thought of the sheriff's decision to allow a civilian outsider to join their little posse I had no idea. When I locked my briefcase containing laptop, GPS unit, and .38 Bodyguard in the trunk of my car, I'd gotten close enough to their vehicle to identify the driver as Evans, the one who'd responded to the Jeep shooting, but the rain-streaked windshield had obscured their expressions.

Once we were rolling I asked Felix, “How did the interrogation go last night?”

“You opened Hatcher up pretty good. He confessed to half a dozen robberies—two petty larcenies, four felonies.”

“Any of the felonies major?”

“One. B&E on a Nebraska motor home parked on a side street last month. Laptop computer, iPad, some other valuables.”

“The D.A.'ll go after him hard on that one, I suppose.”

“All of them,” Felix said. “Count on it.”

The drizzle had stopped and the wind had slackened by the time we neared the second of the desert roads leading to Lost Horse. It had rained enough during the night to settle the dust on the roadbed, but not to turn it muddy or leave puddles. The sky was heavy with wind-whipped clouds, some of them dark-veined—more rain coming later on. The variegated clumps of sage on the desolate flats and hills glistened with moisture.

Neither Felix nor I had said anything since the brief exchange about Cody Hatcher. He seemed focused on the mission ahead; silent about it because there was no need for discussion with me since I wouldn't have an active role. But that was not all that was on his mind.

As we made the turn he said abruptly, “Stendreyer's been a thorn in my side a long time. Knew he was selling marijuana, just couldn't prove it. Occurred to me Cody Hatcher might be mixed up in the robberies, but not Stendreyer. Or that an organized ring was responsible. We get a spike in random thefts out here sometimes—kids like Hatcher, drifters.” Eyes fixed on the road as he spoke, his hands tight on the wheel. I could tell that the admission came hard for him, yet he seemed to need to make it to me.

“You can't figure everything,” I said.

“Should have figured this. You did in only four days.”

“Fresh perspective and no other duties to distract me. Plus some luck. I'm no better at my job than you are at yours.”

“Maybe not,” he said. Then, “But I learned something from you. I won't make that kind of mistake again.”

That was all he had to say. We covered the rest of the distance to Lost Horse in silence broken only by engine noise and the rattles and thumps caused by the rough roadbed.

I sat forward a little when we crested the hill and the ruins came into sight below. The heavy chain was padlocked in place across the track that led up to Stendreyer's trailer, but it was not until we neared the intersection that I could see all the way up to the bench. The dark red Ford pickup was parked in front of the Airstream, front end pointing downward. Smoke curled out of a stovepipe jutting from the trailer's roof.

Felix rolled to a stop parallel to the chain, the other cruiser stopping close behind. “Looks like he's here. Saves us a wait.”

“He'll have heard us coming,” I said.

“Yeah. No telling how this is going to go down. You stay inside here.”

“Right.”

He got out and Evans and the other deputy joined him for a brief conference. I kept my gaze on the trailer. The door stayed shut. Stendreyer was either still inside or he'd come out before our arrival and was somewhere up there where I couldn't see him.

Felix climbed over the chain and started up the incline, the deputy I didn't know a pace or two behind and to his right. Evans went to stand and watch near the front of the sheriff's cruiser. The stillness that pervaded this place was acute. The passenger side window was down a couple of inches, and when Felix accidentally dislodged a stone, I could hear the sounds it made rolling and bouncing downhill.

They were halfway up when Stendreyer's voice knifed through the stillness. “What the hell you want here, Sheriff?” The trailer door was still shut; he must be outside somewhere, maybe over among all that junk on the one side, but I still couldn't see him.