Steven Havill - The Fourth Time is Murder

“Did Ms. Vallejos talk to you about any prospects?”

“No, ma’am,” Young said. “She seemed kind of down in the dumps when I first met her last night. But we hit it off. And then this morning…I don’t know. Maybe she’s having second thoughts.”

“That happens.”

“Yeah, I guess it does. I was going to make us some brunch or something, and all of a sudden, she’s all agitated about that video.”

“What were you looking for in the trunk of her car, Jack?”

“Jesus. What do you have, spyware or something? Christ, what is all this? Look, she said she thought that she had a loose mounting bracket on her CD changer in the trunk, so I looked for her. She didn’t. What’s she telling you?”

“She’s not,” Estelle said, and Young heard the implications in her tone. He seemed to slump a little, and leaned his back against the door of the truck.

“What’s happened? Is she all right?”

“Ms. Vallejos was involved in a high-speed chase on the interstate a little while ago. She lost control of her car over west of Deming.”

Young’s eyes grew large. “Are you shitting me? What are you saying?”

“I’m saying just that, sir. She took off westbound, and lost control after her car collided with a semi.”

“Just now, you mean?” he asked, incredulous.

“Just now.”

“My God, where is she? Is she all right?”

“No, sir, she’s not all right. By now she’s in Posadas General Hospital. I don’t know any more than that.”

“I don’t believe this. Why would she do that? She was going to return a video , for Christ’s sakes.”

Estelle hesitated, weighing how much to tell the young man. “We had a unit parked at each end of the street this morning,” she said. “That’s when we saw you opening the trunk of her car. I think she might have seen the officers and that tipped her off. The video thing was just an excuse.”

“An excuse?”

“That’s what I think.”

“You mean you guys had this house under surveillance ?”

Estelle didn’t respond and he fell silent, sliding back down the truck door to land on his rump, both hands beside his hips on the running board.

“What’s she done? You’re going to tell me at least that much?”

“Let me ask you this,” Estelle said. “What did you two talk about?”

“What do you mean what ,” he said with irritation. “Just stuff, you know? We were at a bar , for Christ’s sakes. You just talk .”

“About school?”

“Yeah, she mentioned that. She was studying political science, and hated it. She wasn’t going back.”

“What about her work?”

“I didn’t get the impression that she had a job,” Young said. “A couple of times, she said that she had plans. She never said what they were.”

“Did she ever talk about other friends?”

“No.”

“Or where she was from?”

“She said Chicago. She’s got a brother up in Canada somewhere. Look, I gotta tell you…we talked a lot about me , okay? She saw me limping and she wanted to know all about what I’d done. How this happened,” and he patted his leg.

“And how did it happen?”

He fell silent. “I was going to tell her this long heroic tale,” he said after a moment. “But I couldn’t.” He closed his eyes. “God, she’s an incredible girl, you know that?” When Estelle didn’t respond, he added, “So I just told her the truth.” He straightened up and lifted his shirt. The scar ran down the center of his body, thick and corded, disappearing below his waistline. “Changes your life, you better believe,” he said. “What do they call it? The young man’s cancer?”

“And the leg?”

“I managed that when I got drunk after I was diagnosed and drove into an arroyo on my way back to the base. Maybe I was trying to kill myself. Who knows. I don’t think I was. The shrink thought I was, though. Pretty glamorous, huh?”

“And that’s what the two of you talked about?”

“Mostly.” He looked off into the distance. “Is she hurt pretty bad?”

“I would guess so. We’ll know more here in a little bit.”

He looked back at Estelle. “You still haven’t told me what she’s done.” An LCPD patrol car pulled into the street.

“That’s Detective Nilson,” Abeyta said.

“I told you, you don’t need a warrant,” Young said.

“This is your house?” Estelle asked.

“No. It’s CJ’s.”

“Then we need a warrant. I’m going to ask that you remain here for a little longer.”

“I got all the time in the world,” he replied.

She reached out a hand and took his shoulder, giving it a gentle, sympathetic shake. “That’s what we always think,” she said.

A moment later, Estelle had time to open the front door and step over the threshold, breathing in the light aroma of deodorant and other potions and fragrances that lingered throughout the little house. In time, they’d all fade, leaving this address on Capulin just another empty shell waiting for a family.

As she had that thought, her phone chirped. Hearing Eddie Mitchell’s quiet voice, she instantly felt a wave of apprehension.

“You clear?” he asked.

“We’re about to go through the house, Eddie. What’s the word?”

“I’m not sure yet. Your husband says that it’s going to be several hours before we’re able to talk with her. Preliminaries show that her spine is busted in two places. Dr. Guzman thinks that she’ll be paralyzed from the waist down.”

“ Ay . Is she conscious?”

“Not yet. But he’s talking about transporting her to Albuquerque if we can get the medivac down here. But look, her car’s over in impound, and Mears, the sheriff, and I were going to head over that way right now. If you have a wrap down there, or if you can leave Tony to do it, you might want to pay a visit at the hospital. Just in case.”

“That’s a good idea. Leave someone in the room with her when you go over to impound, though. All right?”

“She isn’t going anywhere.”

“No, I mean just so that…just so someone is with her.”

“Yeah, I can do that. Taber came in, so she can swing by there.”

“That’s good. I’ll be there in an hour or so.”

“One thing, though,” Mitchell said. “You might be interested to know that she didn’t have so much as an overnight bag with her. But she had something like twenty-one thousand dollars in her purse.”

“Nothing else?”

“Just a newly issued New Mexico driver’s license, good for eight years. One or two credit card receipts. And four credit cards and two debit cards. That’s it. Oh, and a couple of family photos. One of what I would guess to be parents. Another of a good-looking kid that might be her brother. No names or the like on the back sides.”

“Okay. Thanks, Eddie. I’m on my way.” Estelle turned in place. “I see she has a computer and a pretty nifty printer. I’ll make sure Tony brings those along as well as anything else he might turn up. Maybe there are some answers here.”

“Take your time,” Mitchell said, still at ease with command, his days as chief of police for the village of Posadas recent history.

“We will.” She folded the phone and slid it back into her pocket. Walking through someone else’s home was always an odd experience for Estelle, and she took a few moments now to make a quick tour. Detective Nilson, a little wizened man who looked twenty years older than he was, stood outside the door, sucking on a cigarette, staring down at the cement step. Jack Young didn’t get up from the running board of his truck.

“I want that,” Estelle said to Tony Abeyta, pointing at the computer. “Maybe somewhere around here she’ll have an address book, some kind of record. Something. One connection we’re looking for is the brother. The boyfriend says that CJ mentioned a brother living in Canada.” Estelle lifted a small sheaf of bills from the desk. “Phone records, anything like that.”