Steven Havill - The Fourth Time is Murder

The manila envelope from the Catron County Sheriff’s Department was folded into the undersheriff’s mailbox. With the time-consuming investigation pending down in Regál Pass and the sticky situation surrounding the accidental discharge of Deputy Collins’ handgun, Estelle’s first impulse was to leave Catron’s problems for later. She already had the feeling of looking uphill at a huge snowball that was perched on the brink.

She pulled the envelope out of the box and was about to open it when she saw a civilian push himself out of one of the chairs in the foyer beyond the dispatch island.

“Undersheriff Guzman?” The man approached her, skirting Brent Sutherland’s workstation and stopping by the electrically operated half gate that blocked access to the offices behind Dispatch. Neatly dressed in a dark business suit, he looked like a successful salesman who had had a bad night’s sleep.

“Good morning, sir. How may I help you?”

He extended a hand, and his grip was perfunctory. “I’m Elliot Parker. I understand that my son’s arraignment is this morning at nine?”

Estelle glanced at Sutherland, who nodded agreement. “Mike scheduled it,” Sutherland added.

“Anyway, I’m here for that,” Parker continued. “The sheriff was in here earlier, and was good enough to allow me to talk with my son. May I have a moment of your time? The sheriff suggested that I might talk to you.”

The sheriff didn’t suggest that to me, Estelle thought, but she was thoroughly used to Robert Torrez’s ways. “It will have to be a brief moment, Mr. Parker.” She had no trouble imagining what the abrupt sheriff had actually said.

“This is important, officer.”

“I understand that you’re concerned about your son, sir. But at the moment, there’s nothing I can do about the schedule of the arraignment, or even about the fact that he’s going to be arraigned.” She saw the muscle of Parker’s right cheek twitch.

“The others have all gone home. My son is still locked in that cell. Now I can understand you all being a little unsympathetic about this sort of thing, and no one wants to tolerate underage drinking, but-”

“It’s not a question of sympathy,” Estelle said evenly. “The others are all minors, Mr. Parker. They are under eighteen. For them, Juvenile Probation has jurisdiction. Your son is not underage. On top of that, there’s more here than a question of underage drinking. Your son will be treated like any other adult.”

“I think that we need to talk, young lady,” Parker snapped.

Estelle stepped closer and rested her hand on the gate’s polished wood. “Thank you for that thought, Mr. Parker. A forty-year-old mother of two always appreciates a compliment.” She saw his eyes narrow a bit. “But at the moment, we have an active homicide investigation ongoing. Even if that were not the case, there isn’t much that the sheriff or I can do for you until after your son’s arraignment. Or even then, for that matter.” She tapped the edge of the manila envelope on the rail. “It’s a matter for the district attorney now, not us.”

“I assume you have an office?” Parker’s tone was heavy with condescension, and Estelle did not reply, waiting for him to continue. “May we talk in private?”

Did you ask the sheriff if he had an office? she thought, but kept her tone civil. “Go ahead, sir. I’m listening.” Parker looked across at Sutherland, who was doing a credible job of ignoring them.

For a moment Parker regarded Estelle, and she could hear his index finger tapping on the counter. “I spoke with my son,” he said finally, as if that summed up the whole issue. When Estelle didn’t reply, he added, “He tells me that the officer fired a shot from his weapon.”

No question mark followed Parker’s remark, and Estelle remained silent.

“Is that true?” he persisted.

“Like the rest of the incident, that is under investigation by both our department and the State Police.”

“I want to know how this could happen.”

“So do I.”

“I should be able to talk with the officer,” Parker said. “If what my son says is true, and I have no reason to doubt that it is, your officer’s behavior put everyone in that parking lot in jeopardy.”

“And that means that you should be the investigating officer?” Estelle snapped. “Is that what this all means? I don’t think so.”

Parker appeared to swell and Estelle watched the color wash up from his white shirt collar.

“Now look,” he said, and then hesitated as he groped for words.

“Mr. Parker, unless there is something urgent that I can help you with at this particular moment, I have other issues that I need to attend to. Your son’s arraignment is at nine in the court chambers down the hall in the main building. I’m sure he’d appreciate you being there.”

As if on cue, the door of the officers’ workroom opened, and both Deputy Tom Pasquale and State Police officer Richard Black appeared. Black walked past them and nodded curtly at Parker. “Morning, sir.”

Deputy Pasquale had a thick folder of paperwork in his hand, and paused at the dispatch counter. “Are you headed out to the pass?” he asked Estelle, and nodded politely but without any apparent interest at Parker, who appeared to deflate a little at the abrupt appearance of the two uniformed officers.

“Yes. I’m running behind a little,” Estelle said.

“So all of this is just going to be swept under the carpet?” Parker said.

“No, sir,” Estelle said, “I imagine it will be all over the front page of every newspaper that will carry the story. I’m sure it will be the lead story on News at Five. I’m sure it’ll be the central topic of conversation for every group that gathers to discuss the behavior of today’s kids, or the ineptitude of today’s cops.” She cocked her head, appraising Parker. “And you’ll do your share, I’m sure.”

His eyes narrowed still further. “And I’m not sure that I care for your attitude, young lady.”

“Well, I tell you,” Estelle said, “I’m tired, you’re tired, and we’re both asking for the impossible, sir. Go get yourself some breakfast, and take one matter at a time. Your son’s arraignment is at nine. He’d appreciate your being there.” She rapped the divider again with the folder. “Excuse me.” Deputy Pasquale lingered near the door, and she nodded at him. “I’ll be out in a couple of minutes, Tom.”

Without waiting for a final parting shot from Elliot Parker, Estelle returned to her office and closed the door. Parker’s reaction was predictable-a man grasping at something that might take the public spotlight off his son’s behavior.

Settling into her chair, she opened the envelope and pulled out a sheaf of photocopied reports, along with a set of digital photographs that wiped Elliot Parker from her thoughts. Someone else had their own share of troubles, and Estelle was immediately curious about what tendrils might connect an incident in rural Catron County with her own border community.

The Catron County deputy’s incident report listed the victim’s name as John Doe. The death had occurred sometime Thursday afternoon, and had been discovered late in the day by a firewood contractor, Anthony Zamora. The preliminary report was handwritten in the investigating deputy’s tight, angular script:

Landowner Lucencio Zamora says that he gave permission to his brother Anthony and his crew to cut firewood on the Zamora ranch. Anthony Zamora states that he left the victim and another man alone to cut piñon and cedar in the woodlot near the ranch road off County 18-A.

When he checked at approximately 4:15 p.m., Anthony Zamora discovered the victim dead, apparently as a result of bleeding to death from a chain-saw injury to his inside left thigh. It appeared that the victim had been limbing when the bar kicked back. The chain cut the victim across the inside thigh on his left leg. It appears that the victim tried to stop the bleeding, but could not.