Dooley locked the door behind her, and she turned and noted that he remained close, within her line of sight. The sheriff ran a tight ship. Other than petty grievances and minor fights, there had never been a serious altercation against a prisoner or a guard since he took the reins when the jail opened five years ago. Martínez allowed very minimal contact with outside visitors, and absolutely no physical contact. Prisoners were searched daily, and metal detectors were in place throughout the facility. For a small jail, it was run very efficiently. Josie wondered what kind of firepower would be necessary to reach the prisoners.
“Mr. Gutiérrez, I’m Chief Josie Gray with the Artemis Police Department.” He opened his eyes and turned his head to stare at her. “I’m your arresting officer. I have a few questions to ask you.”
He said nothing, seemingly uncomprehending.
“Do you speak English?” she asked. Nothing.
She kept going nevertheless. After several minutes of Mirandizing in English, telling him who she was and telling him briefly about his situation in the U.S., Josie confronted him with his identity, his mug shots, his deportation record, and his testimony at trial. He finally broke his silence, apparently convinced it would no longer serve his purpose.
“When will I be deported?” he asked, his English good.
“You killed a man on U.S. soil. You may be deported, but only after you serve your time here for first-degree murder.”
His face grew angry, his eyes suddenly bright, and the man she faced at gunpoint two days ago showed through. “This should not have been a problem for your soil! You were the ones who took a Mexican problem and made it your own. You cannot lay that on my shoulders. I was simply following my orders.”
“From who?”
He turned his head from her and looked at the gray concrete wall to the right of his bed.
“Are you associated with La Bestia Cartel?”
He said nothing.
“Is the man referred to as ‘the Bishop’ your cousin?” she asked.
He stared at the block wall.
“Because in this jail cell, with the entire Medrano cartel ready to blow you to pieces, you are quite a target.”
No response.
“Okay,” Josie said, nodding. “Here’s your situation: This is your second offense. You get to rot in an American jail. I will monitor your progress as you serve your life sentence. I don’t like you, or what you stand for, and you will serve maximum time.”
He continued to stare at the wall, saying nothing.
“I don’t know how prisons in Mexico work, but here in the U.S., we despise pedophiles. They don’t get treated well. In the world of prisoners, men who screw around with little kids are the bottom feeders. A guy could blow up a church full of nuns, and he’d still have the moral high ground compared to a guy like you. You can request the hole, but I hear solitaries are full up at federal penitentiary. All the filthy kiddie lovers already have those beds taken, so you’ll be in with the biker boys, the skinheads. And a Mexican pedophile? The Aryans dream about guys like you.”
Even with Gutiérrez partially covered under the hospital sheets, Josie could see his body was rigid, his jugular vein swollen and pulsing on his neck.
“Maybe you decide to share information, talk about La Bestia. Tell me why they want to move through Artemis so badly. What their connection here is. You might get out of jail before your family forgets you’re alive.”
SIX
Josie drove back to Artemis and parked one street north of the square in front of a small brick building with a sign that read
OFFICE OF ABACUS.
Dillon Reese, a forty-two-year-old accountant, had opened the business several years ago. A messy, very public divorce from a TV news anchor in California had caused him to seek out solitude in the smallest town he could find that would still support an accountant. He found his solitude, and Artemis gained a sorely needed financial advisor who was a sucker for pro bono jobs, including an occasional consult with the local police.
Josie had dated Dillon for six months before he got tired of waiting for her to decide if things would ever move forward. They were great friends, great lovers, but Dillon said the part that mattered most to him, the
marrow,
he had called it, was nonexistent. He told her he was done waiting and asked another woman to a Marfa art gallery opening. Josie had not spoken to him since. It hadn’t ended nicely for either of them, and Josie sensed he felt as bad about the end as she did. At least she hoped he did. Now she intended to provide them both with an opportunity to at least speak again on the street, although in view of the contractions in her throat, she obviously hoped for something more. She missed him intensely.
Josie walked into the office and found Dillon’s secretary on the phone. Where Josie was wiry,
MS. CHRISTINA HANDLEY
, as the nameplate read, was willowy and graceful. She wore a white short-sleeved shirt that brought out the deep Mediterranean glow of her skin. She had dark eyes, black hair cut in an expensive shoulder-length pageboy, and pouty lips. Her head was cocked as she talked into a headset and typed on the computer in front of her. She paused, glanced Josie’s way and winked, then gave her an
I’ll be with you
smile.
Christina pointed a red fingernail to a waiting area with maple furniture that matched the glossy maple floors. The office was painted in earthy shades of brown and red and yellow, each wall a different color, with black-and-white Japanese etchings grouped around the room. Josie’s attention moved from the art back to the receptionist.
The woman sat back in her chair and tucked her silky hair behind an ear with a small diamond earring that glinted across the room. The secretary was a new addition to the office.
Josie’s uniform pants scratched at her thighs, and the bulletproof vest smashed her chest. She adjusted her gun belt. Never one for makeup, if she’d had lipstick in the jeep, she would have walked back outside and applied it.
The woman looked toward her suddenly, the call on her headset apparently complete, and smiled brightly. “Good morning! How can I help you?”
“I’m Chief Josie Gray. Is Mr. Reese available for a few minutes?”
The woman pressed a button on her computer and talked into the microphone near her lips. “Chief Gray is here to see you.” She smiled, pressed another button, and turned to Josie. “Do you know where his office is?”
There was only one office and a storage room beyond the secretary’s desk. Josie refrained from sarcasm and just smiled. “Yes, I’ve been here.”
“Go right on back, then.”
Dillon was standing up behind his desk when she walked in. He was a little over six feet tall, slightly stooped, and wore khaki pants with a white shirt and yellow tie. He had sad eyes that turned down at the corners, but the blue was bright and intense, as if backlit. He kept his salt-and-pepper hair cut short, and Josie considered him one of the most handsome men she knew. She had never met another person so at ease with himself in the world.
He smiled warmly at her, displaying none of the awkwardness she felt. She tried to appear at ease. Looking professional, in charge, or angry were all looks she had mastered, but she could never fake relaxed.
Dillon walked around his desk and shook her hand, placed the other hand on her shoulder. “It’s good to see you.” He pulled back a comfortable chair in front of his desk and sat beside her rather than moving back behind his desk. “What brings you by? Social, I hope, not business.”
“A little of both,” she said.
“Business out of the way first, then. What do you have?”
Josie opened an accordion file she’d brought with her. It was stuffed full of paperwork, bank statements, receipts, handwritten ledgers, and outstanding bills that they had found at the house.
“I’m working on Red Goff’s death.”
Dillon nodded, his brow furrowed. “I heard about his murder.”
“I wondered if you could take a cursory look at his files to get some sense of his debt versus income. I think most of the important information is in there. But it’s just a jumbled mess. Would you have time to take a look?”
“Is this where we mix the personal with the business?” he asked, offering a crooked smile and a raised eyebrow.
“How about you bring the information to my house tomorrow, say seven o’clock? I’ll provide the lasagna.”
“And a bottle of merlot?”
“Absolutely.”
He smiled broadly, and she restrained a ridiculous urge to stand up from her chair and kiss him.
“I’d like that,” he said. “I’ve missed you.”
* * *
At 3:30
P.M.,
Josie, Otto, and Marta met around the department’s conference table with case files and notes to debrief on the Medrano and Goff murders. At least once each week, schedules were adjusted so they could meet and discuss current investigations and share information. This week, unfortunately, was not typical.
Josie opened the manila folder at the top of her stack. “Let’s start with the murder at the Trauma Center. The man I killed has been identified through DACS as Thomas Brema, a member of the Medrano cartel.”
Marta groaned. “Has the organization released a statement yet?”
Josie nodded. “What you’d expect. They released a statement in the newspaper in Piedra, saying they will get revenge. ‘The Americans have blood on their hands.’ That kind of garbage.”
Marta covered her mouth, obviously troubled by the news.
Josie frowned. “Here’s some irony: The Medranos claim we worked with La Bestia to kill Hector Medrano. We allowed La Bestia to enter our Trauma Center and shoot up our hospital in order to kill Medrano. They claim we have partnered with the devil.”
“Josie, I hope you are taking this seriously. Your life is in serious jeopardy over this. Pride alone would make them go after you,” Marta said.
“You might be wise to stay elsewhere for a week or two. Stay at Manny’s and see what shakes out,” Otto said.
Josie nodded, aware of the danger but determined to move forward. She continued, “Here’s the story on the shooting: Hector Medrano, referred to as ‘the Pope’ in Mexico, has been confirmed as the patient who was killed at the Trauma Center. His nephew, Miguel Gutiérrez, was one of the three shooters. Gutiérrez had gotten into a feud with his cousin, the Bishop, who is Hector Medrano’s son. After the feud, Gutiérrez left the family drug business about a year ago and joined La Bestia.”
“You want to draw us a diagram?” Otto said.
“What caused the feud?” asked Marta.
“Gutiérrez caught his cousin, the Bishop, in the swimming pool with his wife, naked and entangled.”
“Entangled?” Otto said.
“He came home early from a weekend business trip to Spain and caught them in the act. Gutiérrez shot and killed his wife in the pool but left Medrano to swim to safety. The pool boy fished her body out of the water the next morning,” Josie said. “This all came from a conversation with Agent Dixon.”
“Why didn’t he kill his cousin?” Otto asked.
“Killing his wife allowed him to save face. Killing his cousin, who is second in command of the Medrano cartel, would have been suicide before he allied himself with La Bestia.”
“Gutiérrez couldn’t kill Medrano, so he defected and joined the rival gang, La Bestia?” Otto asked.
Josie nodded.
Otto said, “I’m surprised somebody from Medrano didn’t pop the cousin after he left the family. You don’t do that over there.”
“That’s exactly what I thought,” Josie told him. “But they have this code of conduct. I guess the Bishop messing around with his cousin’s wife was in violation of the code, so they went easy on Gutiérrez.”
“Until now,” Otto said. “But if Gutiérrez was willing to come over and kill Hector Medrano in our jail, then why didn’t he just kill the Bishop after he was screwing around with his wife?”
Marta wagged a finger at Otto. “It’s all hierarchy. His cousin having sex with his wife? That was bad, but pardonable. He left the organization because his pride required it. Now, he’s in La Bestia, he’s showing his allegiance to the organization by killing the leader of his former cartel. This move was designed to move him high up in the La Bestia organization.”
Josie raised her eyebrows at Otto as if to ask,
Got it now?
He shook his head and shrugged.
“Here’s our issue. Now that the Bishop knows that his cousin was one of his father’s murderers, will he retaliate while Gutiérrez is up here? This doesn’t leave this room, but I’m concerned the Arroyo County Jail is in jeopardy of attack,” Josie said. “I’ve already talked to the mayor about getting a National Guard presence here until we can get Medrano moved.”
“I say, ship the son of a bitch back to his own country and let the Mexicans deal with him,” Otto said. “Leave him for fish bait or drop him on his cousin’s doorstep. Just get him out of Texas.”
“What message does that send? You put enough pressure, enough of a threat on the Americans, and they’ll give you what you want?” Josie asked.
Marta stood from her chair and walked away, obviously shaken. Josie stood and poured three cups of coffee from the coffeemaker in the back of the room to allow her time to compose herself.
Marta sat down again at the table. “My country is imploding, and the people who care are terrified. And now we face the same terrorists here in Artemis.” She shook a fist at Otto. “This is how they operate! They terrorize the good people of the city into leaving, and they fill in the voids with crime.”
“Marta, we’re not going anywhere,” Josie said. “They will not get the best of us. This is our town. We have rules and laws that work, and we’ll move forward accordingly.” She paused to let her words stick. Josie had no time for philosophy or politics.
“We have questions we need answered. First, has either gang infiltrated Artemis? Any contact with those organizations, no matter how small, is too risky. We end it now. I talked with an ICE case agent who said there’s evidence the Medrano family has confirmed ties to both Houston and Atlanta. We knew they’d moved into Arizona, but they’re spreading out faster than I’d thought. I don’t think we’re anything more than a portal into the U.S. for either group, but they’re using us to get through. I hate to admit it, but Moss is right. We have to plug the hole.”