36: A Novel (11 page)

I shook my head, playing the role of aggrieved, upstanding citizen.  Standing up, I headed for the back of the car to retrieve my belongings.

“Don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what that was all about,” I said, shoving my property into pockets.

“There was an incident a few miles from here,” he said.  “We’re looking for people that might have been involved.”

“Un huh,” I said, shaking my head and turning to continue my way into town.

“Hang on,” he said before I’d taken more than a couple of steps.

Heart falling, I stopped and turned to look at him.

“Saw your VFW card.  Sandland?”

“Iraq.  Two tours,” I said.

“Did two myself.  With the Corps.” he said, meaning he was a Marine.

I nodded, unsure what he wanted.

“Look,” he said.  “That fucking haboob is going to hit any minute.  Where were you supposed to meet your wife?”

I looked at him for a long moment, trying to decide if this was a trick or not.  Making my decision, and hoping it was the right one, I named a truck stop adjacent to the one Monica was waiting at.

“Hop in back,” he said, nodding at the car.  “I’ll get you there in five minutes.”

“I’m good,” I said.  “I was infantry.  I’m used to walking.”

“In that?”  He asked, pointing at the front edge of the storm which was now within a couple of miles of where we stood.

“Actually, yes,” I said, and couldn’t help grinning.

He grinned back and gestured at the car.  Nodding, I opened the rear passenger door and got in.  And was immediately claustrophobic in the confines of the rear seat of a police car.  He came around and shut the door, which had bars over the window and no handle on the inside.  Fuck me, I hope I didn’t just make the second biggest mistake of my life.

14

The storm hit a minute after we started driving.  Wind buffeted the cruiser, rocking it violently.  Dust and sand were driven against us so hard it sounded like the paint was being blasted off the sheet metal.  Visibility was poor, but we were still in the leading edge of the cloud and it hadn’t dropped to zero.  Yet.

Gunning the powerful engine, the cop navigated the empty streets of Casa Grande with ease.  All the locals had already found a place to button themselves up and ride out the storm.  Wind driven debris tumbled down the roads, actually passing us at one point.  The older traffic lights that were only suspended from cables swung wildly, one of them twisting all the way around before snapping free and crashing to the pavement.

“Going to be a bad one,” the cop said. 

“Looks like,” I answered, just to be saying something.

“You ever miss it?”

“Miss what?”  I asked, even though I knew what he meant.

“The war.”

“No,” I lied.

“Me either,” he said, and I couldn’t tell if he was telling the truth or not.

We were silent for the rest of the drive.  It didn’t take long, despite the steadily diminishing visibility.  He had the radio turned up and I could already hear calls going out to units being sent to accidents on one of the two freeways in the area.  Then we pulled into a massive truck stop.

“See your wife’s car?”  He asked, slowing to a crawl.

“No,” I said, pretending to look around what I could see of the lot.  “She might have heard about the storm and be waiting for it to pass before she drives down.  Thanks for the ride.  I’ll hang out inside while I wait.”

He nodded and steered for the large store-restaurant combination on the far side of the gas pumps.  Pulling in to a handicapped spot, the only one not occupied, he jumped out and ran around the back of the car to open the door for me.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said, reflexively sticking my hand out when I was standing.

“No worries,” he said, shaking mine briefly.  “Take care.”

With that, he dashed around the back of the car and jumped behind the wheel.  Ducking my head and squinting my eyes, I ran for the entrance.  An employee was manning the doors, trying to keep the wind from ripping them off their hinges.  When I appeared out of the storm, she pushed one open and moved aside.

I stepped into clean, air conditioned comfort.  Turning, I could just make out the shape of the cruiser as it backed out of the spot.  A moment later it disappeared into the storm.  Wanting to give the cop plenty of time to clear the area before I went to find Monica, I bought two bottles of water and drained both of them in less than thirty seconds.  Buying two more, I shoved them into a plastic bag and moved back to the doors.

The storm was in full swing.  The wind howled and the girl that was watching the doors was struggling to keep them from being torn out of her hands.  The first row of pumps, no more than twenty yards from where I stood, were invisible.  All I could see was brown dust.

An idea struck me and I turned and went back into the store.  I asked at the counter, the old man working the register pointing out the aisle I was looking for.  A couple of minutes later I was back at the doors, brand new goggles firmly seated on my face.  I helped the girl control the door as I stepped outside, then pushed as she pulled to get it closed again.

It was an adventure crossing first one, then another large parking lot in the storm.  The wind was a physical force, a fierce creature trying to knock me over and carry me away.  I had the collar of my shirt pulled over my mouth and nose, but was still pretty sure I was inhaling a good quantity of dirt.

Ten minutes later I reached Monica’s aging Honda.  It was still parked in the same spot where I’d met her earlier in the day.  Stumbling up, I banged on the window and a moment later slipped inside when she reached across and unlocked the door.  As soon as I was seated, she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed as tightly as she could.

“What happened,” she asked after several minutes of holding each other.  “A few hours ago there were sirens going off everywhere.  I was starting to think I’d never see you again.”

I sat back in the passenger seat and opened one of the bottles of water.  The Honda was idling, the air conditioning on high.  As it blew across my bare arms I realized I had a bad sunburn.  I may work outdoors in the sun all day, but I wear long sleeves to protect my skin.  When I got dressed in the wee hours of the morning, I hadn’t expected to be wandering around the desert.

After I had finished half the bottle, I started talking.  Told her everything.  Even about the cop who’d given me a ride.  As the story progressed, she began crying.  Softly.  Tears running down her face.

“What’s wrong?”  I asked when I finished.

She reached out and pulled me into a hug, burying her face against my shoulder.

“They will find you,” she said, her voice muffled.  “They will find you and take you away from me.”

We talked as the storm raged, buffeting the small car so hard it felt like it was going to flip us over.  I stated my case, arguing as much with myself as her that there was no evidence to link me to the murders.  She listened, but I could tell she wasn’t convinced.  Finally, we were talked out.  Unable to keep rehashing the events and possible outcomes. 

After a few minuets, Monica dried her eyes, drank some of my water and picked up her phone.  She dialed a number from memory and had a brief conversation in Spanish that I couldn’t hope to follow.

“What was that about?”  I asked when she ended the call.

“Making sure Manny could stay over again tonight.  I don’t want to sleep alone.”

The storm had passed by now, moving on to the Phoenix metropolitan area.  Half an inch of dust had been deposited on the exterior of the car.  As we pulled out of the parking lot and accelerated onto the freeway, it was blown away.  We drove in silence, frequently having to slow for traffic as the DPS worked to clear accidents from the roadway.

I was exhausted from the stress of the day and my panicked flight across the desert.  Within minutes of leaving the truck stop, I was asleep.  It should only have taken an hour to reach our apartments from Casa Grande, but with the snarled traffic in the aftermath of the storm it wound up taking close to three.

Pulling in and parking near our doors, I realized I was starving.  I had worked all day yesterday, with only a sandwich for lunch.  There hadn’t been a dinner with the events of the previous evening, and today hadn’t exactly presented many opportunities for a meal.

“I’m starving,” I said.  “I’ll get cleaned up then let’s go out to dinner.”

Going out to dinner was an extremely rare luxury for me.  I just didn’t have the money.  But I still had some of the cash the dirty cops had given me and I couldn’t think of a better use for some of it at the moment.  Monica nodded and told me to meet her at the car in an hour.

We each went to our own apartment.  I shaved and showered, dressing in my last set of clean clothes.  Only half an hour had passed and I was ready, but knew Monica wouldn’t be.  She was probably showering, putting on fresh makeup and I expected to see her in one of the sexy little dresses she liked to wear.  As tired and hungry as I was, all I wanted was to see her.

  Leaving the hot box apartment, I stepped out into the evening to wait for her.  It was still hot, but the sun had gone down so it was tolerable.  Better than the furnace inside and listening to the wheezing air conditioner.  Leaning my ass against the front fender of her car, I pulled out my phone and dialed my parent’s number.  My dad answered on the fourth ring.

He was glad to hear from me, as he always was, and I didn’t let the conversation drift into discussions of the latest political news.  I knew that once he got started, there would be no stopping him.  Getting his attention, I told him about Tim’s current predicament.  I answered the questions I could, but didn’t tell him anything about my involvement.

“How much do you think it will take?”  He asked.

“I don’t know, Dad.  Probably a lot.  You and I should drive down there tomorrow morning.  You stay on the US side and I’ll go talk to the warden.  When I have a number, I’ll call you and you can go to the bank.  When you’ve got the cash, I’ll come back across and get it, then take it to the warden.  And hopefully come back with Tim.”

There was silence on the other end for a long time.  So long that I thought the call had dropped.  Not unusual with my shitty prepaid phone.

“Dad?  You still there?”

“I’m here,” he said, sounding older than I’d ever heard.  “I’ll pick you up in the morning.  Six too early?”

“No, that’s good,” I said.  “I’ll be ready.”

With nothing else to discuss, I hung up and let out a big sigh.  I turned my head when I heard a door open.  It was Monica, looking even better than I had predicted.  Her thick hair was pulled back, spilling across her shoulders.  Her make up was fresh, applied carefully to accent her nearly perfect features.  And the dress.  Low in front and short in hem, it was enough to stop traffic two streets away.

I straightened up to meet her, smiling.  She saw me and started to smile, her face suddenly registering fear as she saw something behind me.  I whirled in time to see a dozen cops dressed in black, wearing body armor and carrying rifles.

They were only a short distance away and immediately began screaming at me to get on the ground.  My stomach dropped and I slowly sank to my knees as they surrounded me, weapons trained on my heart.  By the time I was prone on the crumbling asphalt, a helicopter was overhead.  A brilliant spotlight illuminated the whole area as about a hundred cop cars screamed into the parking lot with roof lights flashing.

15

“It was the fucking lighter,” I said to Agent Johnson.

“Yes,” he said, flipping a page.  “I saw that was the key piece of evidence used to convict you.  Your prints were on a plastic butane lighter found in a ditch next to the truck you torched.  That was a grave mistake, leaving it behind.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” I said, with as much sarcasm as I could put into it.  “So, did I tell you anything you didn’t know?”

“Only the part about Monica Torres,” he said.  “She’s not mentioned anywhere in the records.  You did a good job of protecting her.”

“She didn’t do anything,” I said, suddenly realizing the stupidity of having told the complete story.  “I held a gun on her and made her drive me.”

“No need to worry, Mr. Whitman,” he smiled.  “I’m not the least bit interested in what Ms. Torres may or may not have done.  That’s ancient history, as far as I’m concerned.  I’m much more interested in the here and now.”

“Tell me something first,” I said.

“If I can.”

“Those two dirty cops.  I told my story to my defense attorney.  At first he said that should be enough to get me off.  A clear case of self defense.  But nothing ever came of that.  It didn’t come out at trial, even though I told that reporter I gave the interview to.  And even when I fired my lawyer and got a new one, nothing ever came of it.  Why not?”

“You didn’t know?”  He looked surprised.

“Know what?”

He leaned back and took a moment to check the crease in his pants.

“The judge that presided over your case.  And sentenced you.  Do you know what became of him?”

I shook my head.

“He’s now the governor of Arizona.  In his second term.  There’s talk that he’s going to be a candidate for the White House in the next election.  And guess who his staunchest supporters are?”

“I have no idea,” I said.

“Law enforcement unions.  They very nearly bankrolled his first campaign.”

“Motherfucker!”  I exploded.  “You mean my trial was fixed?”

“I don’t know that I’d use that term,” he mused.  “But when we began looking at you, there were several things that jumped out.  Evidence that was suppressed at the prosecutor’s request.  A prosecutor who, by the way, is married to the Sheriff’s sister.  Too much evidence ruled inadmissible by the judge.  Then, there are bank records that show way too much money floating around the sheriff’s department, and the two men you killed in particular.  Money that can’t be accounted for. 

“Certain prisoners being released after the investigators “lost” key evidence against them.  Prisoners that were facing very long sentences for everything from drug and human trafficking to murder.  It’s a tangled web and there’s a whole team of federal and state agents about to descend and start going through everything with a fine toothed comb.”