“How do you plug a hole that’s surrounded by a thousand guns?” Marta asked, her face still tense with worry.
“We gather information first. Marta, you make every contact you can tonight with anyone even slightly connected to the drug trade here in Artemis. Look for connections to the cartels. Otto, you concentrate on Red’s guns. Start checking with pawnshops and running the serial numbers from the Gunners’ policy manual.”
“You think Red’s death is connected to the cartels?” Otto asked. He stood from the table and stretched his back.
“Both groups are heavily involved in the gun trade, and Red had more money than a heavy equipment operator ought to have.” Josie pulled the photo of Red out of her folder and pitched it into the middle of the table. “We also have the photograph with Red standing next to a confirmed member of La Bestia.”
“I get he was involved, but what’s their motive for shooting him?” Marta asked.
“Almost three hundred guns.”
“I’d like to talk with Fallow again,” Otto said. “That guy wants to squeal to someone, but Bloster has him terrified.” Standing behind Josie, he reached over her shoulder and grabbed the photo of Red and the cartel members. He studied it, looking for missed details.
“Bloster is the one who has me worried,” Josie said. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to the sheriff yet. If he’s not connected to Red’s death in some way, I’ll be shocked. At the least, I think he knows who killed him.”
Marta pointed at Otto. “I think you’re right. Fallow is the weak link. Tell him about the beheading last week in Piedra Labrada. The police officer who was doing his job and had his head cut off for not accepting the payment offered by La Bestia. Ask Fallow what he thinks will happen to him with no protection from us.”
“I want all three of us back out at Winning’s tonight,” Josie said. “I want to reexamine the blood evidence at her trailer. I’ll try luminol to see if the blood traces match up with Winning’s story. Smear marks, drops of blood, shoe imprints, a fingerprint from a blood smear. I feel like we’re missing something there.”
Josie’s cell phone vibrated on the table. She picked it up, didn’t recognize the number, and set it back down again.
“Marta, I’d like you to take photos of the crime scene and look at them with a fresh eye. I’m going to take Red’s nude pictures of Winning and check the angle, establish where they were taken. I can’t figure why Red would keep the pictures down in the basement with his guns and ammunition. Wouldn’t you keep naked pictures in your bedroom?”
Marta broke in. “Maybe they’re blackmail pictures.”
Josie frowned. “She’s got nothing.”
“So, maybe Red was blackmailing her brother.” Marta winced. “With pictures of his sister.”
“Otto, I want you to spend some time at Red’s place, get more prints, dig through every drawer and envelope you can find. I’ve got Dillon going over his accounts. I’ll find out tonight some preliminary information on debt and assets.”
Otto grinned. “That’s good,” he said.
“What’s good?”
“Dillon Reece going over the accounts.”
“Don’t start with me, Otto.”
Marta put both hands in the air. “Wait a minute. Go back to Red’s connection with the cartels. You think he was selling them guns? That’s pretty bold. You don’t connect with them easily.”
“It makes sense. He got his money somehow. I’m guessing he was buying guns cheap and reselling to the Mexicans. With the feud between the Medranos and La Bestia, maybe Red got caught in the middle,” Josie said. “It makes sense with Fallow, too. I think he knows about a gun deal between Red and Bloster and the Mexicans, and he’s scared to death their lives are in jeopardy.”
“Ole Red’s guns are supporting a drug cartel south of the border. Wasn’t his shtick that he wanted to protect the women and children of Texas? Sure accomplished that, now, didn’t he?” Otto walked around the conference table again, scooted his chair out, and sat down grumbling about his back.
Josie looked doubtful. “Here’s what I can’t figure. The cartels have more guns and money than we can even imagine. Red’s three hundred guns would be nice, but let’s face it, not worth much effort on their part. And if they were killing him for his guns, why move the body? If they were just after the guns, wouldn’t they just shoot him and leave the body where it fell? Why take him into Pegasus’s trailer? I’m betting the cartels are involved, but what’s their angle?”
SEVEN
“Don’t look through the sights yet. Get used to raising the gun and shooting. If a lowlife draws, you think you’ll have time to stop and aim? Find the sights?”
Pegasus faced the hill, sweat rolling down her neck and between her shoulder blades. It was almost six o’clock and she was irritated, hungry, and her hands were developing blisters from the awkward way she was forced to hold a pistol built for a man. Her fingers weren’t strong enough to pull the carbine back and flip the locking mechanism in place in the smooth motion Kenny had demonstrated a dozen times. She could get it, but she had to hold the gun lopsided, the barrel facing up and out. If speed were an issue, she would be dead before she ever advanced a bullet into the chamber.
“You know how to load and unload the bullets. You’ll never get speed with either of these guns, but they’re the best I’ve got for you. Turn around so I can mix them up again,” he said.
Pegasus turned her back to the tailgate of Kenny’s pickup and faced the hill as he mixed two calibers of bullets and set out both magazines and pistols. They were on a patch of federal land miles from town, where he poached for deer. He had made a crude frame out of two-by-fours he had pulled from a trash pile behind Red’s place. He duct-taped a large trash bag in the middle of the frame for her to shoot at. Masking tape outlined the shape of a man’s head and chest.
After he shuffled the pieces, Kenny said, “Show me a quick load and shoot. No aiming.”
Pegasus turned back to the tailgate and surveyed the guns and bullets.
“You’re in the trailer, by yourself. You see a light outside the door, hear several men’s voices. Talk me through what you do. Go.”
She took a deep breath and surveyed the guns. “I’ll use the Smith and Wesson pistol. The magazine holds ten bullets instead of six. Good if there are several people outside.” She picked up the correct magazine and loaded ten .45-caliber bullets, shoving them into the spring-loaded chamber with quite a bit of effort. She popped the magazine up into the butt of the gun. “I heard the bullet advance. I’m putting my finger just above the trigger and turning to focus on the chest area of the man in front.”
Pegasus pivoted, planted her feet, and brought both hands up in a smooth level motion, aimed at the target, looked over the gun sight, but did not stop to focus.
“Shoot!” Kenny yelled.
She leaned into the shot, tensing her muscles to prepare for the kickback, and pulled the trigger without thinking. The shot landed dead center of the trash bag.
Kenny smiled and patted her on the back. “Nice work, sis. Very nice.”
She laughed out loud.
“How’d it feel?” he asked.
“My ears are still buzzing. The sound’s caught in my head like a bee.”
“And?”
“It felt good. I can do this.”
“Now empty the cartridge into the hillside and watch where the bullets hit. Go.”
Pegasus turned, shot until she fired one empty round. Her ears pounded. She had shot nine bullets but had little sense of where they landed in relation to her aim.
“Eject the magazine into the trunk and load up again,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “It is ninety degrees and I’m hungry. I need a supper break.”
“Damn it, this isn’t a joke! You think the people who stole Red’s guns won’t come back for you?” Kenny had the wide-eyed look that had made her nervous since they were kids. His hair was sweat-soaked, and he looked like he needed a shower. He seemed to realize he was coming on too strong and dropped his voice. “Life is seriously messed up out here. You need to move on if you aren’t willing to prepare.”
She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of both hands and sighed. “I have thirty-six dollars in my purse. Where exactly do you think I’m headed?”
“Then you better get serious. No more screwing around.”
Pegasus looked up at her brother. She was five foot eight and he stood over a foot taller than her, thin, with a swagger she had always admired. She appreciated him checking on her and staying a few days, more than she could ever tell him. He refused to stay in the trailer, or tell her where he was staying, but that was fine. His presence was enough.
Ignoring his lecture, Pegasus quickly reloaded five bullets, spun, and faced the target again, discharging all five rounds. She finished, counted multiple holes within a one-foot radius of the center of the trash bag, and turned back to face Kenny with a look of triumph, her ears now completely numb, her hands tingling and sweaty.
Kenny smiled. “I’d say those son of a bitches ought to think twice before knocking on your door.”
* * *
Josie sat at Winning’s picnic table with a set of six photos, all taken from basically the same angle. She had started at Red’s house, holding each photo up to compare the picture to the scene in front of her, but the angle was too far to the left. Josie matched up the picnic table just outside Winning’s trailer, and found an exact match with her own digital camera. Red had sat at the table, probably nursing a beer, she imagined, and taken pictures of Winning through her curtainless windows.
Josie’s stomach growled and she realized she had skipped lunch again. She glanced at her watch. At four o’clock, with at least another two hours’ worth of work, there was no way she could pull off lasagna for Dillon by seven. She would settle for spaghetti as a backup and hope she made it to her house before he did. The image of her mother’s car, parked at Manny’s, crossed her mind. Josie just hoped she could hold her off one more day.
She retrieved her evidence kit and toolbox from her jeep, where they had already gotten almost too hot to handle. She was setting her equipment on the picnic table when Pegasus Winning pulled down the lane and parked beside Josie’s police vehicle. The rusty car door squealed as she slammed it shut and faced Josie. Winning was wearing a white V-neck T-shirt and cut-off jean shorts. Her hair was in a ponytail behind her back, and her face was sunburned and dirty, with streaks of sweat down her cheeks and neck.
As Winning approached her, Josie lifted the photos up but didn’t show them to her. “Were you aware Red had been taking pictures of you inside your trailer?”
Winning rolled her eyes. “Ask me if I’m surprised. The sick bastard.”
“Had you noticed anyone hanging around outside your trailer?”
She shrugged.
“Any trash in your yard, that kind of thing?”
Pegasus shook her head no.
Josie leaned back against the picnic table and crossed her arms. “Here’s the plan, then. Officer Marta Cruz will be here shortly. She’ll be taking pictures, both inside and out. She’ll help me tape up your windows inside so we can get your trailer dark. I’ll be spraying a solution over your walls and carpet to check for bloodstains. The solution won’t hurt your fabric, and it isn’t harmful to humans. We hope to finish in about an hour. Do you have somewhere you can go for an hour or so? Or you’re welcome to stay in the trailer.”
She smirked. “I’ll stay.”
Josie shrugged. “Suit yourself. Any word from your brother?”
“No. Why?”
Josie considered her. “Well, he’s your brother. He invited you here and then left. I thought he might have found out about Red getting killed in his trailer and come home. Doesn’t seem like an unreasonable question.”
“I never said it was,” Winning said. She turned from Josie and walked toward her trailer.
Josie noted the anger in her abrupt departure, and wondered what secrets she was hiding.
Turning away from her, Josie looked under the trees and picnic table for evidence that Red may have left behind. As she turned, she noticed the trees weren’t uniformly green. The tips of one of the tree branches, at eye level to her, were a deep brown. She stepped back to view the tree from a distance. The brown coloring was primarily on one branch, in a small area. She looked at the coloring up close and was certain the color lay on top of the pine needles; it didn’t seem like an illness or disease that caused the branch to change color. She gently pulled the branches apart and peered into the trunk of the tree, where she saw the bark was cut and something appeared to be protruding.
She forced herself to step back and think through the steps. If she moved ahead too quickly, she might disturb evidence that could be crucial to the investigation. She retrieved her 35-millimeter camera from her evidence case sitting under the picnic table, where it was slightly shaded.
She snapped a dozen pictures of the tree, which looked about twenty feet high with a fifteen-foot spread and deep green needles that were stiff like a bristle brush. Josie backed up twenty feet, then snapped pictures from several angles, showing the tree’s relation to the house, and finally took close-up pictures of the branch and the brown covering. By now she figured it was Red’s blood.
As she began to part the branches again, Marta drove up the road in her jeep and parked beside Winning’s car. Josie waved and called her up. She was glad to see her; Marta’s attention to detail in an investigation made her excellent in processing a crime scene.
Marta walked up with her hands on her hips. “Find anything yet?”
Josie smiled. “That I did. Give me two minutes.” She pushed through the branches and dug at the trunk of the tree with a screwdriver she had pulled from her toolbox.
Josie finally emerged, cursing the sticky pine needles, and handed Marta a small plastic bag. Josie dusted the needles off her uniform as Marta smiled in sudden recognition of her discovery.
“Think this is the bullet that killed Red?” Marta asked.
“I’d lay money on it.” Josie labeled the evidence bag and locked it in her jeep along with the branch from the pine tree that contained what she assumed was blood on the needles.