Come Dark (28 page)

“So you just decided to grab some coverage for yourself? Is that what Art wanted?”

“Somethin' like that.” He tried another smile.

“Who is Art trying to impress with all this?”

“I don't know, man.” He shook his head. “I just don't know. I know that it meant a lot to him, so I did it. That's all.”

“What Big Brother wants,” Estelle said softly.

“Well, he's had a hard time,” Efrin said. “Is all this going to get Coach Scott in trouble? Are you going to arrest him for what he done to me?”

“You think I should,
hijo?
It sounds to me like all he did was bump the ladder. That and take Art's gun away from him.
”

Efrin fell silent for a moment. “If I die, maybe.”

“You're not going to die, my friend. You may feel like it right now, but that'll pass, day by day.”

“Did you guys get the gun? I know that Art said he paid pretty good for it.”

“We'll see about that.”

Efrin closed his eyes. “I can't pay for all this.”

“Not to worry.”

“Does Coach Scott know I'm here? I mean, is he going to show up?”

“Not likely. What about Arthur, though? Where would your brother go if he didn't want to wait around home, or if he doesn't come up here?”

“He's got friends in Socorro, Cruces, Albuquerque…you name it.”

“Good gang friends?”

Efrin made a face. “He ain't in no gang. My brother, he made a mistake or two when he was younger. You know all about that. But he ain't touched the stuff since they sent him up a couple of years ago. He's straight now. We were going to see if I could get him a job out at the park, too.”

Estelle leaned close and whispered, “So you painted Mr. Waddell's train, you crawled up in the dish and vandalized that…that's all good thinking, Efrin. I'm sure Mr. Waddell is impressed. Those are all great ways to help somebody apply for work.” She straightened up and stepped away from the bed, pocketing the recorder. “And Coach Scott is dead,
hijo.”

Efrin cringed so hard that the pain made him gasp. He turned several shades paler. “What?”

“Somebody shot him to death inside the school, just minutes after you left. He's dead.”

“But he…”

“He's dead, Efrin.”

He reacted as if the words were hammers. When he could finally speak, his voice was small and distant. “You mean someone just went into the school and shot him? They broke in and did that?”

“They didn't have to break in. The back door was open. Besides the killer, you and your brother probably were the last ones to see him alive.”

Efrin didn't respond. His right hand drifted across his chest to rest gently on the bandages from his surgery, but he picked it up again immediately and covered his eyes.

“I need a more accurate time, Efrin. What time did you go there?”

“I don't wear no watch.”

“Did you go up on the mesa first?”

“That was the night before. That's when we did that. And then when Arthur heard they was going to run the train, he wanted one on that. So we did that down at the yard, before we went over to watch the end of the game.”

“So the school tagging was just later in the night, then. After the game.”

“Yeah.”

“What time? I want you to think about this.”

“Maybe half past nine, maybe ten.”

“And just before that, you two were at the game. That's what you're saying?”

“We went to the game to watch the chicks play.”

“And then after the game, you went to work tagging the school. How long did you work before Coach Scott came out?”

“Ten minutes, maybe. Maybe less.”

Estelle consulted her notebook. “The hospital in Posadas checked you in at ten twenty-three.”

“If you say so.”

“And your brother?”

Efrin's cheeks flushed, and he glared at Estelle. “Look, my brother don't have nothin' to do with
none
of this. He just held the ladder for me. He passed paint cans up to me. When we got attacked, he ran…just like I did. That guy…he's big and he's scary. But we didn't have nothin' to do with no shooting.”

“And he didn't really
attack
you, did he?”

“Well, I fell. That's his fault.”

“Where did Arthur go after you were taken to the hospital?”

Efrin tried to shift in the bed, a whimper escaping through clenched teeth. “I don't know where he went.”

“Does Arthur own any other guns, Efrin?”

“I don't know.”

“You don't sound convincing when you lie,
hijo.”

“
Well, yeah, okay…maybe he does, but…”

“But what? He had them before he went to prison?”

“Yeah. Long before that.”

“How long is long? He's only twenty-three now. He was sentenced to three years on a felony drug charge, and served sixteen months. When did he acquire this gun that you say Coach Scott confiscated?”

“I don't know. He traded a friend out of it, I think.” The boy glanced sideways at Estelle, loathe to open
that
door.

“When was this?”

Nurse Sturges appeared from the hallway and frowned at Estelle.

“Just a few minutes,” Estelle said.

“Not any longer than that,” Sturges admonished. “And there's another gentleman here who wants a few words with Efrin.” She left, shutting the door behind her.

“Is that gonna be Torrez?”

“No. Mr. Waddell said he wanted to visit you for a bit. When was this that Art traded for the gun?”

“He was going to give it to me for my birthday. But he didn't have no clip for it.”

“How nice of him. What were you supposed to do with it?”

“Just shoot it out on the mesa. You know. Just mess around.”

“Which birthday,
hijo
?”

“
When I turned eighteen.”

“So, recently.”

“I guess.”

“And
did
he give it to you for your birthday?”

Efrin's right hand beat a little tattoo on the bedding to counter the pain. “No. My mom told him to get it out of the house. She didn't want it around.”

“Smart lady. What kind of gun was it?”

“Just some cheap foreign thing. I don't know. And I don't know what the stink was all about. He just liked to carry it 'cause he liked the looks of it.”

“So…no birthday present for you.”

He closed his eyes. “That's okay. He bought me an old ATV instead. We'll get it running one of these days.”

“Your brother's good to you,
hijo
.”

“
Yeah, he is.”

“Would your mom know where Arthur is right now?”

That earned the smallest of shrugs. “I don't think…maybe. Probably home, watchin' television. Or hangin' out.”

“With?”

“Just the guys.”

“How about a couple of names? Who does he run with?”

“I don't know. Him and Iggy, a lot.”

“Iggy?”

“Mauricio Ignacio. We grew up together. My mom don't like him much. He's always gettin' into trouble with the cops. Ask that Pasquale guy.”

“You mean Deputy Tom Pasquale?”

“Yeah. He likes to bust Iggy for anything he can. But I heard that he's gonna get a job up on the mesa, too. His big brother works the gate nights.”

For a long moment, Estelle stood quietly, regarding the young man. “What?” he asked finally.

I think Mr. Waddell is going to have to tighten up his hiring practices
, Estelle thought, but she kept the opinion to herself. She reached out and patted Efrin's right knee. “I think Mr. Waddell wants to visit for just a minute,
hijo.
You do what you want, but this would be a
really
good time not to act like a jerk.” Efrin's one visible eyebrow lifted in surprise. “If you want your job back, if you want the chance to finish that wonderful mural, then play it right.” She nudged him again. “Apologizing wouldn't hurt.” She watched him mull that for a moment. “That would be a good place to start. And then, for the next few days, you do exactly what the doctors tell you,
hijo.
We'll be talking again.”

“Am I going to have to talk with the sheriff?”

“More than likely.” Whether Bob Torrez' reputation was deserved or not, there were times when it was a useful tool.

He grimaced. “You'll make sure my mom gets home okay?”

“Yes.” She gave his knee a final pat. “It would be nice if you'd think about your mom
before
you do stupid things,
hijo.
”

Chapter Thirty-four

“Where you at?” Sheriff Robert Torrez sounded completely unperturbed.

“Right now? We're just leaving Socorro behind.” Estelle leaned over and looked down through the several layers of haze and smoke. “It looks like a pretty good forest fire over by Mount Withington.”

That didn't earn so much as a grunt of interest from Torrez. “Look, Arthur Garcia showed up. How long before you're wheels down?”

Showed up?
Estelle turned and gestured to Marion Banks. “ETA?”

The young woman held up a finger and made her way forward. In a moment, she returned. “Did you see that nasty fire over to the west of us?”

“I've been watching it. How far out are we?”

“The pilot says sixteen minutes.”

Estelle returned to the phone. “I heard her,” Torrez said. “Look, when you land, come direct to the mesa ASAP. Over at the new theater. You know where that is?”

“Yes. But Garcia showed up
there?”

“Yup. Bring Waddell with you.” He hesitated. “We're just going to wait this one out.”

“What's going on, Bobby?”

“Garcia is makin' some interesting demands. See you in a few minutes.” He broke the connection. Estelle sat for a moment in silence, thoughts racing. She redialed, and was more than a little surprised when the sheriff answered.

“What?”

“What do you mean, he's making demands, Bobby? He's armed or something?”

“Yup.”

“Armed with what?”

“He's got one of them cheapo imported revolvers, and one of those little semi-auto nine-millimeter assault pistols with the big-ass magazine.”

Por Dios.
“And what's he doing?”

“Just a minute.” The phone cut off, and Estelle stared out the window, willing the miles away. The jet suddenly didn't seem so fast, the great expanse of the San Augustin plains taking their time to inch past. A tiny course correction brought the isolated mountain town of Reserve into view.

Torrez came back on the line. “Look, Mears and Taber are in there talkin' to him. Gastner is there as well. I'm about twenty minutes out.”

“They're the best.”

“Yeah, but he's got Christina Prescott, and he's got that gun to her head.”

Estelle groaned with frustration. The young man was clearly talented in at least one thing—making an already bad situation far, far worse.

“Does he have a phone?”

“Don't think so.”

“Tell Mears to get one for him, then have Garcia call me direct.”

“Be a minute.”

“And, Bobby—Efrin says that the night he was hurt, Art had a gun with him. Some kind of pistol without a magazine. Efrin says that when Coach Scott came outside to confront them, the ladder went down somehow, and then Art pulled the gun on Scott.”

“Well, shit. That's ain't too bright.”

“True, in this case. Efrin says that Coach Scott took the gun away from Art, and told him that he was going to turn it in at the Sheriff's Department. He never had the chance, obviously. It makes sense to me that Art would have tried to stop him from doing that.”

“You're sayin' he came back to the school with another gun.”

“One with all its parts.”

“That's what it looks like.”

“So how long 'til you're on the ground?”

“I'll get back to you.”

She twisted in her seat and saw that Waddell was deep in a briefcase full of paperwork, oblivious to the outside world. He could stay that way, she thought, at least until the tires screeched on the Posadas Municipal Airport pavement.

Marion Banks caught her eye, and one pretty eyebrow lifted. “Is everything all right?”

“No.” Estelle softened the cryptic answer with a weary smile. “The sooner we're on the ground, the better.”

Marion held up a finger. “Let me.” She rose and moved forward, leaning close to the pilot's left shoulder. Their conversation was brief, punctuated by a series of nods from both pilot and co-pilot. Marion returned to her seat. “He's calling Posadas to let them know that we're driving straight in, and we'll be fast taxiing in to the FBO. That's about the best we can do.”

“Good enough.”
Maybe.

Her phone vibrated. “Guzman.”

Jackie Taber's silky voice was soothing. “The sheriff filled you in a little?”

“A little. What is going on, Jackie?”

“LT is handing off the phone right now to Mr. Garcia. The kid's a space-case, so it might get interesting. He's holding a gun, and he looks comfortable with it.”

“Tell LT not to provoke him in any way.”

“He's clear about that. He's just leaving the phone on a seat next to Garcia and retreating. That's what the kid wants. Now he's saying he wants to talk to you and nobody else. All he has to do is press the auto-dial and you're on.”

“I got it. Thanks, Jackie.” She clicked off and waited, the phone poised.

After what seemed like enough seconds to fly halfway across the neighboring state of Arizona, her phone vibrated.

“Guzman.”

“You talked to my brother.” The voice was tight.

“Yes.”

“He's going to die, ain't he?”

“No. He's had one surgery to remove his spleen, and he's doing all right in post-op. He has surgery coming up on his left elbow later tomorrow or Monday morning. He'll be fine when it's all over.”

“You ain't lyin'?”

“No. Why would I lie about something like that, Arthur? Come on. Your mother is with him, and you should be too.”

“I got to talk to him.”

“Give the phone to Lieutenant Mears. I'll give him the numbers. But first, you need to let Christina go. She can't help you.”

“Yeah, she can. She ain't goin' nowhere until this is all over.”

“What is it that you want, Arthur?”

“I want to talk with my brother.”

“Done deal.”

“And I want to talk with Mr. Waddell.”

“He's here with me. We'll be at the airport in just a few minutes. But he's not going to go into that room as long as you're threatening Christina with a gun.”

“I lose the gun, you won't talk with me. They'll just shoot me.”

Probably true,
Estelle thought. Fortunately for Arthur Garcia, Sheriff Robert Torrez was still en route. That bought Arthur a few minutes, anyway.

“So why all this nonsense, Arthur? We know that you helped your brother do some extra artwork up on the mesa. And on the train. And at school. Busy as you guys were, that's all just a petty misdemeanor. It doesn't warrant any of this.” She paused as the nose of the jet lowered a degree or two. “Is that revolver that you're holding the same revolver that killed Coach Scott?”

“You better know it is,” Arthur said quickly, and Estelle caught the surge of sorry pride in his voice. “My brother ratted me out?”

The undersheriff almost laughed. “Way too many gangster movies, Arthur. No, your brother said you had nothing to do with his accident. He had no idea what happened later at the school. But you went back to the school later, didn't you, Arthur? Scott had threatened to turn in one of your guns to the cops. The one he took from you. When you went there, Scott was still there.”

“Yeah, he was. I caught him in the shower, man.”

“Brave of you.”

“Hey, that guy's psycho. I was just going to tell him that he had to give the gun back. Something like that was going to screw up my parole. He had no cause to do that.”

“Even when you stuck the thing in his face and threatened him?”

“It don't work.”

“But he didn't know that.”

“No. But I was going to tell him that he had to pay for whatever my brother needed, 'cause he was the one who knocked into the ladder. And then he knocks
me
down, and then he throws that ladder like some big spear into the back of the truck. I saw it go right through the back window. He didn't have cause to do that.”

“So you accosted him in the shower.”

“He saw me and started to come for me. He was comin' right at me, right out of the shower. I had to do something.”

“Four times something.”

“Yeah, well. I don't know about that. I just shot until he went down, man. It was self-defense, the way I see it.”

“So don't make it worse. Christina is no threat to you. She needs to be out of there. You hurt her, and you're dead, my friend. Just like that.”

“I talk to my brother and Waddell, and I'll let her go. You tell Torrez that.”

“We'll set all that up when I get down,” Estelle said. “Play it smart. Just a few more minutes. Let me talk with Christina.”

“You don't need that.”

“Yes, I do. Just hand her the phone. It's no risk to you.”

“You tell the cops to stay out of this room.”

“They will.”

A pause, a shuffle, and then a husky voice said, “This is Christina.”

“Are you all right?”

“Just scared.”

“Okay, you have every reason to be, but just wait it out, all right? Garcia isn't going to hurt you, and my officers aren't going to charge in and force a confrontation. They're content to wait it out. Everybody gets out of this safely, Christina. No heroics.”

“I understand,” Christina said calmly.

She pictured the girl, hardy ranch stock used to wrangling fractious horses, building fences, clearing storm-clogged culverts—even sweet-talking local drunks at the Broken Spur Saloon into peaceful submission. Christina Prescott was more than capable of making Arthur Garcia's day more memorable than he ever bargained for. But he hadn't hesitated in killing Coach Scott, and now, as a felon facing a murder and weapons charge? He would never again see the light of freedom, and he was smart enough to know it.

“Christina, I know you could probably break Art Garcia into little pieces. But please. He has a gun, and he's used it before. Just be patient. All right?”

“Yes.”

“Smart girl. I'll be back to you in just a minute.” She broke the connection and redialed Jackie Taber. “Leave Mears' phone with Garcia for now,” Estelle said. “He just admitted to killing Scott. He claims that he went to see Scott to get a gun back. Apparently Art was carrying it all the while they were roaming around the county painting things. Unloaded, but who knows that. Scott confiscated it after a confrontation at the school, and was going to turn it into us. Arthur went back to school, caught Scott in the shower. He says he shot when Scott charged him.”

“Dictate terms at gunpoint,” Jackie said. “Well, okay. That always works. But it's as good a line as any, I suppose. Right now the issue is one very frightened Christina Prescott who's got a nutcase holding a gun to her head.”

“We play it slow and easy,” Estelle said. “Nobody gets hurt.”

“Absolutely.”

“Thanks. We'll be on the ground in a couple of minutes. We're just north of Cat Mesa now. I'll bring Miles out with me.”

“Sounds good. Himself just arrived. He's talking with LT.”

“Ask him to be patient, Jackie.”

The sergeant laughed softly. “You bet. We can always ask.”