Come Dark (7 page)

“No, we won't do that.” Estelle glanced at the wall clock. “Take some time to be with your daughter, then when you've had a chance to think your morning through, talk with Mrs. Benedict. On top of that, try and remember all the details of what was done, what was said in your household this morning. Any little thing.” She handed him a business card. “I'll want some details from you. Stacie will probably have called by then, or gotten in touch with you. We can take it from there.”

“You're not thinking of charging her or anything, are you? That's what it sounds like.”

“That would be premature, sir. First, we need to
find
her. That's all that matters right now. Then we have to understand the circumstances. As I said, anything else would be premature, sir. In the meantime, we'll start the search process.” She made an effort to sound more hopeful than she felt. “Just this one thing to get us started, sir. When did you last talk with your wife? Either in person or by phone. Be specific about the time.”

“When she got home last night. Maybe eleven. And then this morning, at breakfast. I suppose, what, seven-thirty?”

“And the mood?”

“Just fine. See, Stacie just dotes on Ginger. Well, we both do. We were having fun at breakfast.” He smiled, the proud dad. “See, Ginger just discovered that the puppy is a bottomless pit. She'd dribble some food off her high chair, and Rascal was right there to clean up. Ginger thought that was the funniest thing she'd ever seen. And her laugh. She has this big, bawdy laugh that just…well, it's impossible not to just melt, watching and listening to her. Anyway, Stace said that she and Ginger were going shopping down at the new store. That's right, she
did
tell me that. She said that she might meet one of her friends for lunch. Dana Gabaldon? Dana has a daughter, Adrianna, about Ginger's age. Maybe a year older. Dana was at the game, too. Girls' night out sort of thing.”

“Where do they like to eat when they do lunch?”

“At the Don Juan. As far as Stace is concerned, that's the only restaurant in town.”

Estelle grinned. “There are folks who agree with her.”

He nodded vigorously. “So, that's what I know.” He avoided Sheriff Torrez' expressionless gaze and fished his cell phone from its small belt holster. “I'll call Dana.”

Estelle held out a hand, covering his and the phone. “Actually, sir, let me have a chat with Ms. Gabaldon first. You need to spend some time with Ginger, make sure she's all right. I'll get back to you. And you have my card.”

“You're going to be able to follow up on this today?” He looked off into the distance, beyond the painted wall of the ER, at a horizon that was suddenly more bleak. “My God, what am I going to do? I mean, she
has
to be okay and coming back, right?”

“We'll follow up on this right now, sir.”

“You don't have to wait twenty-four hours or anything like that? For missing persons and things like that?”

“No. Was Ginger scheduled to be in daycare today?”

“Well, sure. Stace had to work. No, wait…she didn't, either. Friday is her day off. Jeez, listen to me. I don't know whether I'm coming or going with all this. She had Ginger all day. See, she and Dana had been thinking that Dana might take Ginger. It's tough for the Gabaldons to afford daycare, and by taking in Ginger, there'd be both some extra income and company for little Adrianna.”

“But they hadn't started that yet?”

“No, she and Dana were thinking of starting next week, maybe. They were going to talk about that today.”

She pushed the curtain to one side. Stewart didn't move. He looked down at the floor, shaking his head slowly. When he looked up at Estelle, his eyes were moist. “I just don't believe this,” he murmured. “I don't know what the hell to do.”

“Think hard about the last few days, the last few weeks. If anything that Stacie did or said jars your memory, don't hesitate to call me. Even little things can be important. And as we come up with questions, we'll be calling or visiting.” She smiled encouragingly. “Take your time. Keep a cool head, sir.”

Torrez nodded curtly at Stewart, then looked expectantly at his undersheriff. “Got to talk to you for a minute.” He stepped back out of the way as one of the nurses entered. “Outside?”

Estelle followed the sheriff outside to the portico used by incoming ambulances. One of the units waited off to one side, ready to take LeeAnn Bond back to the county lockup.

Torrez lounged against one of the portico uprights. He didn't seem to mind whether he stood in the shade or not.

“Let's put everybody who ain't tied down on this,” he said. “If we diddle around waitin' for the girl to show up, first thing you know, we'll find her dead in a ditch somewheres.”

“It's hard to imagine that she was abducted, Bobby. Pasquale said that when he saw her going into the store, she waved at him, cheerful as can be. And if someone tried to grab her
inside
the store, there'd be all kinds of witnesses.”

Torrez nodded. “She split.” He said it as if it were a statement of fact. “Either that, or her husband knows
exactly
where she is, and ain't talkin'.”

Chapter Eight

Before she had the chance to offer other possibilities, Bob Torrez added, “Clayton Bailey is dead.” Estelle Reyes-Guzman looked up sharply at the sheriff. For a moment, the name didn't register, and clearly Torrez expected her to take the abrupt change in subject in stride. “The SO in Cathay said he was hit once in the back of the head. Don't know with what yet.”

“The Illinois couple,” Estelle supplied, and Torrez nodded. “When?”

“They think he's been dead a couple of days at least. And there ain't no wife, by the way, and they weren't at no family reunion out in North Dakota like Bond claimed. Bailey's been a widower for twenty years. A neighbor found him lyin' in the barn out behind his house. At the foot of an old stairway goin' up into one of the lofts. Somebody didn't look close, they might think he took a tumble, but the M.E. says no. Took a hit first.”

“Bond, they think?”

Torrez shrugged. “Ain't going to be hard to figure out when Elvis left the building.”

“They'll want him back.”

“Yep.”

“So was he surprised in the act of taking the license plate, and grabbed a handy two-by-four or some such?”

“He don't seem the type,” Torrez said. “More of a talker. Seems to me like he'd try to charm the old man into lettin' him borrow the plate.”

“He was type enough to make a grab for that BB gun you said was in the center console of the car.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe him, but more likely the wife. She could do it.” He made a wry face. “And the Cathay SO hadn't noticed that the plate was taken off the truck. Didn't notice it was missing.”

“You're kidding.”

Torrez shrugged again. “Anyway, it's
their
problem, not ours. My bet is that Bond is enough of a wuss to give the wife up just to save his own ass.” He shrugged. “They'll let us know when they can spring a couple of guys free to extradite. I don't much feature spendin' our budget feedin' these two any longer than we have to. Or listening to 'em, either.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “We'll already end up payin' for a finger.” He nodded toward the emergency room door. “So what are you plannin' now?”

“Stacie was supposed to have lunch with Dana Gabaldon. That's what Stewart said. On the way, I want to check with Posadas Electric and see what Stacie told them
yesterday
, if anything. See if she just walked away from there, too. Then I'll check with Dana.”

“You think he knows anything he's not tellin' us?” Through the door, they could see Todd Stewart talking with Susan Benedict, the matronly representative from the county's Children, Youth and Families Department.

“I'm not sure. He's a hard guy to read. He's not exactly frantic, Bobby. At least not yet.”

She opened her phone, scrolled through the directory, and then touched in the number for Dana and Eddie Gabaldon. Dana's friendly voice announced, “We can't come to the phone right now, but if…” Estelle hung up. “Not home. Or maybe outside.”

“Eddie'd be over at the post office.”

“Then that's what I'll do. I'll swing by the Stewarts' house in case she's out in the yard, and the Gabaldons', the post office, and then the Don Juan, and Posadas Electric. A quick loop to see if anything turns up.”

“She ain't sitting around in her yard, that's for sure. Maybe she lied to her husband about meetin' somebody.” He tipped his head to one side. “Or about
who
she's meetin'.”

“She could have, Bobby. Or Todd could have lied to us.”

Torrez nodded without much enthusiasm. “Good luck with that. In the meantime, we got enough charges to keep the Bonds off the street, but I'll talk to the DA. If the Cathay SO has any evidence that'll stick in a good murder case, they'll want to extradite sooner rather than later.” He offered a rare smile. “We sure as hell don't want to hold things up, if they do.”

***

The Gabaldon home on North Twelfth Street, a modest concrete block ranch stuccoed to look like adobe, sat quietly under the punishing September sun. The single-car-garage door was closed, the driveway empty, all the house curtains closed. Having driven by the address a hundred times over the years, Estelle knew that the Gabaldons' car had been preempted from the garage by Eddie's collection of bikes, including a new tandem with a baby bob behind. She also knew that one of Eddie's fervent dreams was to beat fellow cyclist Tom Pasquale in a major mountain bike race. That would only happen if Tom lost a leg or a lung.

For a moment, the undersheriff parked several doors down and opened the computer. The Gabaldons had one registered vehicle, a silver 2013 Kia sedan. She jotted down the license plate number, then turned around and retraced her route, bumping over the steel bridge that crossed the arroyo just north of the intersection with Bustos. The Don Juan was handy, right on the corner of Twelfth and Bustos, and Estelle turned into the parking lot. No Kia.

She parked near the side of the building and got out. Inside, the Don Juan was a cool, dark cavern, with murals of the now-controversial Spanish explorer Don Juan de Oñate painted on three walls. A girl who looked so young that she should have been enrolled in middle school greeted the undersheriff with a tentative smile and raised eyebrows, but said not a word.

“Is JanaLynn on shift yet, Bonnie?”

“She's off today.”

“Ah.” Yet another of Sheriff Bobby Torrez' endless parade of cousins, JanaLynn knew every regular customer who frequented the Don Juan. Estelle took a step beyond the cash register and surveyed the restaurant. The early lunch crowd was sparse. “Do you know Dana Gabaldon?”

“I even babysit for her sometimes,” Bonnie said brightly.

“Has she been in for lunch today?”

“I ain't seen her at all.”

Estelle smiled at the girl. “You have the whole place to yourself, huh?”

Bonnie brightened. “Just me until right at noon.” She glanced at the clock, still fifteen minutes shy of the lunch rush. “Then Claire comes in.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

But it is a problem,
Estelle thought on her way back outside. For a moment she stood in the sun, letting it chase the remains of the Don Juan's frigid air conditioning, and then slid into her car, opening all four windows wide. The short drive a few blocks east on Bustos to Pershing filled the car with hot Southwest, a blanket of aromas that Estelle found more refreshing, mixed with the icy air pumped by the car's efficient air conditioning compressor.

Eddie Gabaldon's bike of the day was chained to the natural-gas meter on the side of the post office. He wouldn't have gone out to lunch, being the natural food fanatic that he is. The post office was empty of customers, and Estelle rapped a knuckle on the staff entrance off the end of the lobby.

“Eddie? It's Estelle Guzman.”

“Just a second!” he shouted from somewhere in the back. In a moment the lock to the inner sanctum of the post office rattled and Eddie Gabaldon pushed the door open. “Hey, Mrs. Sheriff.” He grinned widely, showing square, even teeth. Burly in build, Gabaldon hardly fit the image that Estelle conjured of professional bikers, those riders with thunder thighs topped by otherwise rail-thin bodies and hawk noses perfect for splitting the slipstream. Of course, neither did Tom Pasquale. But the deputy won races on the downhill sections, where his fearless lack of common sense ruled the race.

Eddie beckoned with a rubber-tipped finger, the little red thimble obviating the need to lick fingers for traction. “Come on in.”

“I don't want to take your time, Eddie. Actually, I needed to talk with Dana for just a little bit, but she wasn't home.”

“She took Adrianna down to Cruces to visit the mom.” His heavy face scrunched up in resignation. “When
the mom
summons, you gotta go. I think she's going to stay overnight.” He smiled indulgently. “Grandparents got to have their baby time, you know.”

“Did she have company?”

“Who, Dana? Just the little monkey. Adrianna
loves
to ride in the car. Why? Which company are we talkin' about? Who are you lookin' for?”

“Actually, I wanted to chat with Stacie Stewart, Eddie. Todd said that she might be having lunch with Dana today.”

“He be wrong.” Eddie smiled. “Which, for a husband, isn't all that uncommon, you know. Did you call her?”

Estelle had tried Stacie Stewart's cell phone number a dozen times, earning the same brief, cheerful voicemail message each time. If it had chirped from the depths of the woman's purse, Stacie had proven immune to the “telephone imperative,” that odd behavior that even prompted people to leap from the shower to answer, only to hear an ad warning that the warranty on their car was poised to expire.

“I haven't been able to reach her,” Estelle said easily, and offered a smile. “But who knows? How's little Adrianna doing? I haven't seen her in a while.”

“Wonderful. I'm afraid one of these mornings I'm going to wake up and find out that she's a teenager.”

Estelle laughed. “That'll happen, Eddie.”

He shook his head in bewilderment. “We got another one in the pod…did we tell you that?”

“How exciting!”

“Grandparents are nuts enough with one. Imagine with two, huh?”

“And due when?”

“Early spring. I don't know how you do it with those two of yours. They must keep you hopping!”

“They make life easier for me, actually. You'll see.”

“Is the concert kid coming home for the big party?”

“We thought he was. But it turns out he has a recital at school that he can't miss, a bunch of paperwork, all kinds of things. He really
wants
to come, you know. Both he and Carlos are really close to their grandmother. And a hundredth birthday is a rare event. He hates to miss it, but…” she shrugged… “he has to do what he has to do.”

“Wish your mom my best, all right?”

“I will do that.”

“Do you want me to have Dana give you a call when she gets home?”

“Yes, please. And if you have the phone number for her folks, I'd appreciate that, too.”

“And ditto Stacie, if I see her? I mean, usually I do, but not always.”

Estelle smiled. “Sure. Why not.”

With one more base to cover, Estelle drove back to the Sheriff's Department and woke up her computer, then called Todd Stewart. He answered on the first ring.

“What'd you find out?” he asked immediately.

“That Stacie did not have lunch with Dana, at least not at the Don Juan, sir. I'm told that Dana and her daughter went to Las Cruces to visit her mother. I'll be checking in with her in just a minute. What I need from you is Stacie's e-mail address.”

“Her e-mail?”

“She isn't answering her cell phone, but who knows? We might get lucky. Some folks live with their e-mail.”

“Well sure. I'm probably one of 'em, in my business.” He rattled off the address. “What if she doesn't answer? I mean, what do we do in a case like this? I mean, if she doesn't come right back?”

“Then we try to find her.”

His silence sounded miserable. Finally, voice diminished, he asked, “When these things happen…I mean…is there…?” that was as far as he could marshal his thoughts.

“Mr. Stewart, it isn't rare when someone decides to take a walk, for whatever reason, or whatever complicated flock of reasons. I know that sounds harsh, but you need to know that.”

“Somebody might have…abducted her?”

“That's also a possibility. I personally think, given the circumstances, that an abduction is unlikely. The store was reasonably crowded, and the staff witnessed no altercation of any kind. Stacie is fit and strong. And she knew her child was outside in the locked car. Her being abducted just isn't likely.”

“Then what
is
likely?”

“At this point, I wouldn't want to speculate, sir.” It would be easy enough to tap into the small-town gossip vine, where some helpful soul might supply several possible answers to Stewart's question.

“She might have just left, you mean?”

“That is a possibility that we're exploring.”

“But she left Ginger in the car.”

“Yes, she did. But we don't know the
why,
Mr. Stewart. We know that the child and puppy were left in the car, that's right. But we don't know all of the circumstances.”

The phone fell silent for a moment, and Estelle let the man think. “What should I do?”

“Stay home with Ginger. Stay near the phone. Keep your e-mail open. Be available to us.” In the background Estelle heard a sudden burst of a child's laughter—Ginger's hearty roar of approval at something the puppy had done. She hadn't missed her mother yet.