Steven Havill - Scavengers

“You decent?” Torrez asked. He blocked the doorway with his body, holding the door against himself with his right hand. “You’ve got company.” His eyes drifted to the stainless steel pan and the welter of stained gauze pads on the tray beside Oliver, the cotton swabs, the topical anesthetic, the antibiotic-and then to the long forceps in Oliver’s hand.

“We could just sell tickets,” Jolene Oliver snapped. “Now close the door, preferably with your bones on the other side.”

Torrez grinned and pulled the door still closer to his own body as he leaned against the jamb. “Captain Naranjo is out in the hall,” he said.

“Look,” Jolene said with the withering patience of someone talking to a thick-headed twelve-year-old. “We’ve dug out thirty-six of these little bastards.” She nodded at the stainless steel pan and its collection of cactus thorns. “And we’ve got at least another dozen to go, some of ’em hiding in pretty interesting places. So give us a break. Go find yourself a cup of coffee or something.”

Estelle reached out and touched Jolene on the shoulder. To the sheriff she said, “What’s the word on Eurelio?”

“Still in surgery. The gunshot wound was a raker. Broke two ribs, blew some bone chips where they’re not supposed to be, and then took a chunk out of his triceps. No major vessels cut, though. He’s lucky. I’m sure it looked like they’d killed him. The damage from the cactus is the hard part.”

“I can sympathize a little bit,” Estelle said.

“A little bit,” Jolene sniffed. “Sweetheart, you’re a mess.”

Estelle managed part of a laugh until Jolene approached another thorn with the forceps, and then she sucked air through her teeth in anticipation. “I really need to see Naranjo, though, Bobby.”

“Well,” and he turned his head, leaned backward, and looked down the hall. “He’ll wait. He’s too much of a gentleman to come in now.”

“See?” Jolene said. She pointed an accusatory forceps at Torrez. “Out.”

“Yes, ma’am. We’ll be in the coffee shop, Estelle.” A frown darkened his broad face. “And I’m sure you’ve done dumber things than this border-jumping stunt. I can’t remember exactly when, though.” He started to close the door but thought better of it. “By the way,” he said, “some interesting developments with the Popes. Jackie said you told her that you really wanted to arrest somebody? You might get your chance. I’ve got a meeting with the district attorney this afternoon.” He saw the curiosity lift Estelle’s eyebrows and grinned. “I’ll tell you all about it when you’re thornless,” he said, and closed the door.

It was nearly an hour before Estelle Reyes-Guzman was thornless. She slipped into a set of clean clothes that Jackie Taber had delivered, consigning the ripped, pierced, and thorn-studded blouse and slacks to the hospital incinerator.

Tomás Naranjo saw her as she entered the coffee shop and immediately rose from his seat, his dark, lean face bearing a broad smile touched with sympathy. He stepped to one side and pulled out a chair for Estelle. “And what a night you’ve had,” he said.

“Not as bad as Eurelio Saenz,” Estelle replied.

“Of that I’m sure,” Naranjo said. “Perhaps something to eat, then? Coffee?”

Estelle shook her head. “No, thanks. I don’t have much appetite.” She glanced at the thing that Torrez had been eating, a small, damp, and gooey creation that the menu optimistically called a breakfast burrito.

“Ah, perhaps later.” Naranjo placed both hands around his Styrofoam coffee cup. “Tell me what you were able to discover.”

“For one thing, I saw and heard the car. It’s an older Ford station wagon, just like Paulita Saenz said. Only one parking light works, on the left side. It’s the kind with the parking lights right on the end of the fenders, outside of the headlights.” She pulled a napkin out of the dispenser and rapidly drew a front view of the car. “Like that,” she said. “Its fenders look like cheeks, sticking out past the headlights. The headlights are stacked, not side by side.”

“’Seventy-six Ford Crown Vic,” Torrez said.

“With a bad muffler and bald front tires,” Estelle added. “One of the two men called the other ‘Benny.’ Paulita said that she thought the two men might have been Benny and Isidro Madrid. I have the piece of cholla cactus that they…or someone…used as a whip on Eurelio.”

“I saw that,” Naranjo said softly.

“I’m sure there’s enough blood on it that a DNA match won’t be hard,” Estelle said. “It’ll either be Eurelio’s or mine. And I found an expended shell casing, recently fired, of the same caliber as the one found earlier in Eurelio’s truck. I’m sure it carries some prints.”

“I saw that,” Naranjo repeated, nodding.

“It won’t be hard to do a match,” the sheriff said. “We already looked at the primer indentions under the stereoscope. I’d be willing to bet they’re the same. We’ll see what the state lab says. We lifted a couple partials as well.”

“But we do not have the rifle,” Naranjo said.

“No, we don’t.”

“Deputy Taber tells me that she heard at least four shots.”

Estelle nodded. “That’s correct. I was running across the open, and they shot at me several times. Four sounds about right.”

“That was a considerable risk,” Naranjo said.

“I guess so. Not as much of a risk as it would have been if I’d let them catch me.”

“You had no weapon?”

“No. Well, that’s not true. I had the azote . That would have been good for a swing or two.”

Naranjo grimaced. “So tell me…do you think that this young Mr. Saenz will be able to identify his attackers? Are we sure they’re the Madrid brothers?”

“Yes.”

“He’s still in surgery,” Torrez said. “A real mess.”

“And whether he will talk to us or not is another question,” Estelle said. “He was pretty stubborn before.”

“But the azote is a great motivator, don’t you think?” Naranjo said.

“Certainly.”

Naranjo idly turned his coffee cup, marking the rim with his fingernail as he did so. “Let me tell you what I have been able to establish since I saw you last. The Madrid brothers live in a small apartment in Asunción, but were nowhere to be found. Although there are many neighbors, I hesitated to talk with them just yet. Once you express an interest, you see…you understand how it goes. But the Madrids know that Eurelio Saenz is in your hands now. They know they have made a mistake. He can identify them. So…” He spread his hands. “They’re going to be most careful. I would not expect that they will remain at their home, waiting for us to knock on the door.”

“If they were smart, they’d be in Texas already,” Torrez said. “Get rid of the car, cut their losses, and split.”

“If,” Estelle muttered. “But there’s one other thing.”

“And that is?”

“They don’t know that Mexican authorities suspect them of anything. You spoke of the murder of Juan Carlos Osuna. If the Madrids were involved in that, and faked their way through the interview with your officers, then they think that they’re home free.”

Naranjo nodded. “Unfortunately, the officers discovered nothing of suspicion.”

Estelle nodded. “My point is that if it is the Madrid brothers who are involved with the homicides both north and south of the border, they have no way of knowing that we’ve made the connection…that we’re working together.”

“In fact,” Naranjo said gently, “your little incident last night might help in that regard. That was not the sort of thing that a joint task force would undertake.”