Читать книгу Broken Lullaby - Pamela Tracy - Страница 8

“Looks like you’re stuck with me.” Mitch stood next to Mary on the front porch and watched Ruth’s cruiser disappear.

Mary didn’t looked pleased. “I wonder what’s happening.”

“Probably something with the kidnapping. Look, I’m going to run to my cabin, grab some stuff, then I’ll come back down and take you to the car lot. I’m going anyway, and it will take some time to unhitch your U-Haul.”

When they could no longer see the dust from the cruiser, Mary turned to face the shed and murmured a half-hearted, “Okay.”

He hurried, making it up the path to his cabin in just a few minutes. He grabbed his car keys and the folder that had had Alma’s picture in it, and rushed out the door to his car. Arriving back at Eric’s cabin, he tried not to appear rushed. It didn’t matter. No one noticed. Mary was at the shed door issuing dire warnings to Justin about what he could and could not do while she was gone.

Then, Mary turned and issued dire warnings to Eric. The best part? Eric soon had the same deer-in-the-headlight look Justin had.

What a woman.

When Mitch helped Mary into the car he figured driving her was a win-win-win situation. One, he got to sit next to a beautiful woman. And maybe he’d be able to shake his tongue-tied schoolboy feelings. Two, witnesses often remembered more details when in a relaxed environment like a car. The girl Mary called Alma might be more than a lead in the missing baby case. She might also be a missing piece from Mitch’s previous case, and he hated loose ends. Three, he was getting away from the cabin, away from his melancholy musings, away from feeling useless. In truth, being on the fringe of a case was better than having no case at all.

Still, far from opening up, Mary sat beside him in silence as they drove back toward Gila City. The most she’d said was something about hoping that everything went well because if it didn’t, she and her son would be sleeping on mattresses tonight since nothing would get unpacked before dark.

He recognized the bluster. She was worried about Justin, worried about Alma, mad at herself for sending the girl into the desert.

“They’ll find her. Quit worrying,” he advised.

“I’m mad at myself,” she said after a few minutes. “It’s just second nature to do any and all things to avoid the police. I wasn’t even thinking when I told that girl to scoot.” Her voice softened. “I wasn’t thinking that I was sending her into a desert with three-digit temperatures during a typical Arizona summer. Wrong, so wrong.”

“They’ll find her,” Mitch repeated. He wanted to believe it, too. The look she shot him said she knew the odds.

“She’s just a kid,” Mary muttered.

He nodded as the car bumped down Prospector’s Way. Finally, the gravel turned to pavement and they left Broken Bones behind and entered a two-lane highway. Mary elegantly crossed her legs at the ankles, looked out the window and didn’t say another word for miles. He so often dealt with uncomfortable silences. This silence actually felt good. It wasn’t the silence of a criminal with a cop but of a woman who’d made a bad decision and now intended to fix it. Not uncomfortable, just unfortunate. Finally, as if she’d reached some sort of impasse, she turned so she faced him instead of the window and asked, “New car?”

“I’ve had it five years.”

“Just drive it to church on Sundays?”

He laughed. He’d often been teased by the guys in the field about how sterile he kept his Taurus. Somehow the gibes never struck him as funny before. “No, I just tend to keep it clean.”

“Don’t cart kids around much,” Mary guessed.

“No, I don’t really know many kids.”

“You managed to bond with mine.”

“Justin and I had a mutual interest: finding Alma.”

Mary again looked out the window and finally muttered, “That girl kept up a running dialogue with God the whole time she was in my car.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Mitch said.

“Who?”

“Your brother.”

“My brother’s lost it.” Her tone belied the words.

Mitch understood the feeling. God was a little too abstract for his concrete way of thinking, yet his two best friends—Eric and Sam, both intelligent, savvy men—put all their faith in God. And it didn’t seem fake or hypocritical or simplistic. Their faith was part of their everyday lives in a way that made Mitch partly uncomfortable, partly envious. But logic told him it was crazy to believe in something he couldn’t see.

He needed tangible evidence: a fingerprint, a DNA sample, a bullet casing, an eyewitness, something.

“How long have you known my brother?” Mary’s words saved him from further self debate.

“I testified on his behalf almost a year and a half ago when he was cleared of murder charges. Then, I met him again last August when he found the bodies in the shed.”

“They called you to investigate?”

“Yes and no. Ruth’s partner, Sam Packard, and I have been friends for a long time. When it looked like his wife might be a suspect, he called in a marker.”

“Funny,” Mary said. “You cops have the same honor system the criminals have. Eddie was always paying off markers. Unfortunately, he seldom garnered any.”

“In my line of work, it’s easy to see how the two worlds, good versus evil, are merely inches apart.” If Mitch’s implication that Eddie was evil had any effect on Eddie’s widow, he couldn’t see it.

Mary turned to face him, this time all interest and poise. “If you’re Internal Affairs, how do you explain all your involvement in cases that don’t involve cops?”

“You don’t know about your brother’s case?”

“Sure, I know about Eric and the dirty cop that got him in trouble. It was in all the papers. But how can you justify your involvement with the bodies he found in his shed?”

Mitch smiled. “You didn’t study much about Broken Bones before you moved here, did you?”

“Didn’t need to. I lived here ten years ago. Not much has changed.”

“Who was the sheriff then?”

“Rich Mallory. Eddie didn’t think much of him, but then again the sheriff left Eddie alone. I always thought the sheriff worried about Eddie’s connection with my family.”

“More like the sheriff was worried about the fact that his brother Benjamin worked for Eddie who worked directly for and with the Santellises.” He glanced over to find her studying the scenery. Scenery that hadn’t changed in the past hundred years. Once he realized she didn’t intend to respond or react, he continued, “It was easy to justify my involvement since the sheriff’s brother was involved and the sheriff knew it and had contaminated a crime scene involving a dead cop. Benny’s in jail now. The sheriff resigned and moved. As for this case,” Mitch continued, “I’m not involved. When your brother showed up this morning, I knew nothing about the missing babies, still don’t. But I might know something about Alma.”

Without dropping speed, minutely swerving or even taking his eyes off the road, he reached for his back pocket, pulled out a wallet and, with one hand, extracted a white piece of paper.

Mary took it and unfolded it.

“Eric and I agree that’s your girl.”

The white piece of paper this time was not a police sketch. This time, Mary peered at a real photo of Alma. A picture of a definitely pregnant Alma.

Impossible. No way did Mary miss seeing a baby. There hadn’t been one at the used car lot; Alma didn’t hide one during the ride to Broken Bones.

“Where’d you get this picture?”

“Case I worked six months ago. We had a crooked border patrol officer. He was arresting his quota of illegals, but he was also working with a coyote, someone who takes money from illegal aliens to help them get across the border undetected. We finally nailed him. During the skirmish, the coyote got off a few shots. Two illegals were killed. One had this photo in his back pocket.”

“That must be what happened to Leandro then,” Mary said softly. “Alma said she thought her husband was dead.”

Mitch glared at her. “Leandro? You have a name? How about a last name?”

“No last name. But, yes, Alma mentioned a missing husband. She said Leandro crossed six months ago and that if he were still alive he’d have come for her. You mean nobody knew his name?”

“The guy who shot him probably knew,” Mitch said bitterly. “He got away.”

“What about your border patrol guy? Did he—”

“He’s in prison and no matter what we throw at him, he’s keeping his mouth shut.”

Mitch took out his phone, paused, and hit a button. After a moment, heard him repeat the information about Leandro. Then, she heard Mitch’s vehement promise not to get involved. She doubted he was a man who squirmed often, but after a few moments of listening to whoever was reprimanding him, Mitch started squirming. Finally, he growled a goodbye and hung up.

Mary didn’t ask any questions. She knew how to keep her mouth shut. She’d grown up with a mother who practiced a the-less-you-know, the-longer-you’ll-live theory. Mary was a bright child. She had learned that lesson well and, as a result, might live to see the ripe old age of forty.

Her mother hadn’t.

Her older brothers hadn’t.

And what about Kenny, the youngest Santellis? He’d be just thirty this year. She wondered if he had celebrated alone. Despite the fact that she knew Kenny was just as involved in a life of crime as her older brothers had been she still had a soft spot for the little boy she used to take care of, whose diapers she’d changed, who’d followed her around and took her stuff while shouting, “Mine!”

He hadn’t matured into a kind man, thanks to the influence of Tony and Sardi, but he’d always been good to her and Justin. He had even lived with them in Phoenix after she separated from Eddie. Then she had decided to disappear. Evidently Kenny had, too.

It would be a double-edged sword, finding Kenny. On one hand, she’d know he was safe. On the other hand, Justin was now old enough to understand what Kenny really was. Justin looking up to Mitch didn’t look nearly as bad when she pictured her son looking up to Kenny.

Eric was the only brother who escaped the life of organized crime. Maybe if she could change, come home, so could Kenny someday. When this mess with Alma ended, she’d remind Eric how diligently he’d worked to find her. She’d suggest they do the same for Kenny.

Mitch drove silently for a few minutes, the expression on his face changing so often she knew he was at war with himself. Finally, he muttered, “You’ll hear soon enough. Small towns seldom keep secrets. I’m on administrative leave, which is why I’m at the cabin. On Sunday I was involved in a shooting. I killed a fellow officer. Until the investigation is over, I’m supposed to abstain from duty.”

“That will be tough,” Mary sympathized. No doubt being inactive was the one thing Mitch Williams wasn’t good at. Then, she had another thought. “So that’s why you let the Santos brothers continue the search for Alma and got stuck with me.”

“I don’t consider myself stuck,” Mitch said, and something crackled to life between them.

Mary sat up straighter, uncomfortable now and wondering why. She cleared her throat and said, “Did whoever you were talking to have any ideas about Alma’s baby?”

“None.” Mitch hit the steering wheel.

Mary smiled. Her brother Eric hit his steering wheel a lot, too. It was a good habit; steering wheels never cried, never bruised.

Never wished they could hit back.

The used car lot hadn’t improved during the hours she’d been gone. The wind and the tumbleweed were long gone. The drab buildings remained. Two police cars looked right at home in the parking lot.

“So all this is yours?” Mitch said as they pulled into the parking lot.

“Lock, stock and barrel.”

He turned the car off but made no move to exit. He looked at her. “Have much experience with selling used cars? Did you help Eddie with the books or anything?”

“No experience and no intention of selling used cars. I met with the lawyer yesterday. The car lot’s actually been mine for quite a while, something Eddie and my family neglected to tell me. Surprise, surprise, the gas station’s mine, too. Also, my grandfather included an interesting stipulation in his will. If I keep the place a car lot, I’m on my own with it. If I change it into something else, I get additional money to turn it into any kind of business I want.”

“That’s an odd stipulation. I don’t remember Eric saying anything about any stipulation for him when he inherited the cabin.”

“I think Grandfather figured if he added a stipulation, Eric would just say no thanks and turn his back on it. Plus, it’s a great cabin. No need to make changes. It’s perfect the way it is.”

Well, that wasn’t true, but it had been perfect at one time. And Mary wondered if Eric hadn’t gotten rid of the antiques, who had.

“Did anyone else get stipulations?”

Mary thought back. “I read the will. My older brothers were left money, not things. Their families are taken care of for life. And Kenny—”

“The baby,” Mitch remembered.

“Kenny inherited land, a ghost town actually. I don’t remember a stipulation for him, either. I remember my father saying Grandfather always thought Kenny was useless and so left him something useless.”

“There’s no better investment than land,” Mitch said.

“Yeah, but according to the lawyer, this land’s pretty worthless. Just lots of old, broken-down buildings in the middle of nowhere. No roads near it and no water.”

“You know, Eric inherited a broken-down cabin, which he fixed up. You’ve inherited two buildings that are in a prime location. You could really make a go of something here.”

“I don’t have to make any decisions today.” Mary chewed a fingernail. Mitch Williams probably didn’t realize just how scared she was about meeting the caseworker, about the chance that Justin could be taken away from her while she served a jail term. How could she think of a new business when Justin was the only future she cared about? Mary swallowed hard and tried not to let her fears show. Mitch climbed out of the car, came around and opened her door.

Side by side, they entered the main building, to find Ruth sitting at the dusty desk adding words to her notebook and talking on her cell. The door to Eddie’s office was open and another cop stood inside. He turned when Mitch entered the main room.

The officer grinned boyishly and said, “Hey, long time no see.”

Mitch grinned back, shook the officer’s hand and turned to Mary. “This is Sam Packard, Ruth’s partner. If I remember correctly, Mary, you hung around with Sam’s wife, Rosa, when you were young.”

Next to reuniting with Eric, Mary was most excited about hooking up with Rosa again. They’d gone to Catholic school together, ridden bikes, sat at the same lunch table and dreamed lots of schoolgirl dreams. Mary lost her best friend after Tony got Rosa’s older brother hooked on the drugs that eventually killed him. Rosa’s family moved and Mary’s world got smaller, emptier.

Sam smiled. “You must be Mary Graham. Rosa’s gonna be more than annoyed that I got to see you first. She’s stuck at the house with our son, Jimmy.”

Sam said “stuck” like part of him would trade places with his wife in a heartbeat.

Mary immediately liked him. “I’m looking forward to seeing her again and your new son. I don’t know why everyone gushes about girls. Boy babies are much better.”

“Not!” Ruth called, still on the phone and without looking up.

Unfortunately, it was not the time for chitchat. Mitch mentioned the possibility that Alma had a child with her and Sam frowned. “Two plainclothes officers and I have been here for about twenty minutes. We haven’t found anything that looks connected to our girl so far.”

They began going over every move Mary had made when she found Alma.

“How long has this place been in your family?” Mitch asked.

“Decades, but it wasn’t always a used car lot. At first it was a garage that evolved into selling cars.”

Yesterday morning, Mary and Justin had sat for an hour waiting for the lawyer to finally see them. He’d graciously had his secretary hand her a folder containing her inheritance information. She and Justin had gone over every word. They knew more about the car lot than Eddie probably ever had.

“Was your grandfather crooked? Did he start the chop shop?” Sam asked.

“Yes, he was crooked. Whether or not he started the chop shop, I’m not sure. He died when I was little.”

Mitch studied the top of the desk. Then, after getting gloves from Sam, he opened and closed the drawers. “Nothing.”

Mary took off for the back room, Eddie’s office. It was crowded with stuff. File cabinets took up one wall. Three full trash cans lay against each other. Green garbage bags, loaded with stuff, mostly paper, leaned against them. Sam put on a pair of gloves and bent down to where Alma had been lying.

“This place is a fire waiting to happen,” Mitch muttered.

“Might be a blessing,” Sam said.

Mary shook her head. “In 1953, when this was built, they made things to last. This place has potential.” She moved toward Sam. “We took the blanket with us that Alma was using. It seemed she needed it for security. I’m not sure if it was already here in the room when she arrived or if she brought it with her. It was brown, black and tan striped. You can find them for under ten dollars at just about any tourist trap.”

“Is the blanket still in your car?” Mitch asked.

“No, she rolled up food and stuff in it before slipping away.”

“Too bad.” Sam kicked at something on the ground. Then he stopped. He took a pair of gloves from his back pocket, and then carefully, almost in slow motion, bent down and extracted something from behind a clump of dirty towels. “Seems our girl likes blankets.”

“What do you mean?”

The tiny blanket Sam held up said it all. It was light blue flannel with Winnie the Pooh on it, exactly the kind of receiving blanket a mother would wrap her newborn son in.