Part 9 (1/2)
”Sam said n.o.body could know. He didn't even tell Aunt Morgan or Uncle Nate. That way n.o.body could be forced to tell Kevin or that JJ guy where we were.” More expression in her voice now, and her earnest manner convinced Danny that she bought the logic of it. She even made eye-contact with him for a couple of seconds.
”But Sam knew.”
”Sam said they'd never hurt him 'cause he signs the checks,” Beth said.
”Interesting logic,” Danny said. The kids looked insulted. He gathered that they held Sam in high esteem. If Sam says so, it must be true. Okay.
”Beth,” Danny asked quietly, ”why didn't you just phone Josh and tell him you couldn't make the mall that night? Why would Sam fly the both of you out of town?”
”It was Greyhound.”
”Huh?”
”We didn't fly. We went by bus.”
Were they evading his question? Who gave a rat's a.s.s how they got there? Why did they both have to go? It was almost as if Sam had been thoughtful enough to supply them both with an alibi. Now, if only Kevin's time of death...
An efficient-looking Asian-American nurse entered the room. Time to check his vitals. He wanted some answers first. The blips on his screen were speeding up. The nurse, Miss Ko, started to usher the kids out. ”No, I'm not through--”
”For now you are,” said Miss Ko.
The kids wasted no time in finding the door.
”No, wait,” Danny started out of the bed, dragging the IV on its wheels.
The kids paused in the doorway while Miss Ko did her best to restrain him. She didn't need to be very strong. He flopped back on the bed like a beached ba.s.s.
”Later,” said Josh as he started down the hall. Beth gave him a little wave and smile.
Danny managed a half-a.s.sed wave back, noting the looks they gave each other as they pa.s.sed from his view. So familiar. He'd been there. Please don't let them turn out like Dee and me. He wasn't sure who he was asking. Prayer hadn't been a part of his daily experience in a very long time.
”Veronica Sanchez on line one, Sergeant.” The clerk's words landed the blow Emily Wehr had been dodging for a week following her initial conversation with Sanchez. Seven calls on her direct line. Now Sanchez had used the main line and Susie, unaware of the situation, had just made call number eight the one that nailed her.
”Hey, Detective Sanchez, sorry about the telephone tag.” Wehr's tone aimed for conciliatory but came out uptight.
”Telephone tag implies calls returned.”
Wehr tried to hang a face on the crisp, in-your-face reply, but she'd never met Veronica Sanchez though their respective jurisdictions were adjacent and relatively small.
”Right. Sorry about that. What can I do for you?”
”There's been a development in the Deidre La.s.siter case, so we've reopened it. Mrs. La.s.siter's son is dead. Based on statements from family members, we're thinking JJ Camacho looks good for this.”
Wehr instinctively lowered her voice. ”I can't help you there.”
”Sure you can. I know your Metro guy's had Camacho's machine shop staked out. I've driven by, myself, and seen him in his Crown Vic sucking on a Big Gulp.”
Wehr felt her resentment level rise. Anger shoved to the fore by guilt. But it wasn't her fault. She didn't want to know what she knew. Honest to G.o.d. Fold and run.
Instead she asked, ”Isn't that a tad out of your territory, Detective?”
”Come off it, Wehr. There's a dead woman who claimed she was raped, tortured and held for ransom. She was so Stockholmed that she wouldn't even accept our help when we offered it. Now her kid is dead, too. The kid implicated Camacho to his aunt a day or so before he died. I don't care whose snitch Camacho is, you can't just make him disappear-along with the vic's car.”
Wehr, facing the wall of her cubicle, squirmed in her chair, then turned to see who, if anyone, might be observing her conversation. The aisle was bare. A hum of voices from the outer office signaled business as usual.
”I wish I could help you. As far as I can tell, they've lost him. Why do you think Navarro has the machine shop under surveillance? Would he still be there if Metro had the sc.u.mbag stashed someplace?”
”Might, if it suited their purpose.”
Wehr swallowed hard before continuing, ”Word is, he may have jumped the border into Mexico. In case they're wrong, Navarro's still keeping an eye on the shop.”
”We're pretty sure Camacho's still around,” Veronica said.
”How so?”
”We have the dead kid's cell phone. There are texts on it from Camacho as recent as last week. They trace to a tower not five miles from Golden.”
What could Wehr say? That she suspected Navarro was a lying b.a.s.t.a.r.d? So she changed the subject. ”I heard the kid was a crack-head like his mom.”
”Why else would he hang with Camacho?”
”So, he OD'd, too?”
”Tox screen's not back yet.”
Wehr heard a stirring behind her and turned to see a specter in her doorway-Reggie Navarro. She hadn't seen him face-to-face in weeks. His a.s.signment to Metro had pretty much kept him out of the office. Never in the best of moods, he now looked like a bear with a burr up his a.s.s.
”Something's come up,” said Wehr into the phone. ”Can I call you back?”
”Right. Like you returned my other ten calls.” Crisp was fast turning to scorched.
The computer in Wehr's brain cranked out a response before she'd actually processed the reasons behind her words: ”Well, okay. Then give me your cell number.”
”Ooh-kay.” And Sanchez gave it to her in a curious tone of voice, ending with, ”I won't hold my breath, Sergeant.”
Wehr hung up the phone and put on a cop face. ”Hey, Reg, you back with us?”
Reggie Navarro shook his head, along with his three or four chins, and settled into the side chair in her little cubicle. Fat cops can't run, she thought as Reg's bulk engulfed the small chair. But she knew this to be untrue in Reggie's case. Like a big brown bear, Reggie Navarro could move at a pace that took her breath away. She knew this from working with him. And, like with a bear coming out of hibernation, you didn't cross him.
”I heard Veronica Sanchez's been nosing around about the La.s.siter thing.”
”It's her case,” replied Wehr. ”La.s.siter died in Lakewood.”
”But the kid bought it in Golden. County jurisdiction.”
”She wants Camacho.” You didn't lie to Reggie.
”Don't we all.”
”No s.h.i.+t? You really don't have him?”