Steven Havill - Statute of Limitations

“Who had access to your apartment, Mike?”

“Access?”

“I’m talking about the missing gun. People don’t just lose guns, Mike. And I’m not suggesting that your gun was used as the murder weapon, either. But it’s a loose end. Do you see? We have a weapon missing that’s similar to what might have been used in a homicide.”

“Janet had a key for the apartment. She was living with me.”

“I understand that. And I find it hard to believe that Janet took the gun.”

“She didn’t take it. She didn’t like guns.”

“Well, then. Someone did, unless you took it out of its plastic case, diddled with it, and then put it somewhere else and forgot about it.” She grinned. “Somewhere safe where you wouldn’t lose it.”

“ Diddled with it?”

“ Con permiso, Mike. I’m sorry. I have two little boys.” She smiled at the deputy. “Sometimes these things slip out.”

“I didn’t put it somewhere else, Estelle. I kept it in the original box. I never shot it much.”

“How long have you had it?”

“I got it for my twenty-fifth birthday. My dad gave it to me.”

“Ah. This is Mr. Cruz?”

“No. Not my stepdad. My dad. Hank.”

“And he lives in…”

“Deming. He moved there about fifteen years ago when him and my mom split up.”

“You get over to see him a lot?”

“No.” He didn’t amplify, and Estelle saw the muscles of his jaw twitch. She hazarded a guess.

“The pistol was a peace offering of sorts, then? From him?”

“A peace offering?” He shrugged. “Yeah. I guess you could call it that. He gave it to me when I signed on with the village PD.”

“It didn’t work, though? It didn’t work as a peace offering?”

“No, it didn’t work. I was going to sell it, but I never got around to it. It just sat in the box in the back of my drawer. I maybe took it out once or twice. I haven’t shot it for five years.”

“But you still kept it.”

“Well, it was from my dad.”

Estelle took a small, tentative sample of the burrito’s aromatic filling and chewed thoughtfully, letting the essence of the green chile waft up through her sinuses. “What was the deal between you and your dad?”

“We don’t have to go there,” Sisneros said.

She hesitated. “You know we do, Mike.” She let him have a moment to think. “What was the deal?”

“The deal was that he’s a drunk, Estelle. Was and still is. He made my mom’s life a living hell, that’s what the deal was. You’ve rolled on enough domestics that you know the story. Well, my dad’s one of the statistics. Let me put it that way. Just about classic. He’d be the example in every chapter on family disputes. Drink, and a temper to light it with.”

“So you don’t see him much now?”

“I don’t see him at all.”

“You must have seen him when he gave you the gun, what, about six or seven years ago?”

“Yeah. I saw him then. For all of maybe five minutes. I told him at that time that I didn’t need to have him in my life.”

“But you kept the gun.”

“It wasn’t quite like that. He left it behind. I didn’t notice that he’d done that. And yeah, I should have taken the trouble to return it. I didn’t. I just shoved the case in the dresser drawer, and that’s that.”

“Does your dad have a key to your apartment?”

He frowned with surprise. “Of course not. Why would he?”

“Is this because of your mom?”

“Is what because of my mom?”

“The reason you don’t talk.”

His face darkened. “I don’t see how that would have anything to do with any of this.”

“Does he ever talk to your mom? Do you know?”

“No.” His answer was out almost before she had finished her sentence.

JanaLynn appeared by the serving station, hesitant to intrude. Estelle looked at her and nodded, and she stepped up to the table. “Not much in the mood for eating, huh,” JanaLynn said sympathetically. Both dishes looked as if an ambitious mouse had attacked one corner. “How about a take-home box?”

“That’ll work,” Mike replied.

“How about you?” JanaLynn asked Estelle.

“Sure. Why not.” The plates disappeared.

“When was the last time your mom talked to your dad, Mike?”

“I have no idea how I would know something like that. You’d have to ask her.” His tone was clipped and contentious, and Estelle hesitated.

“What year were they divorced?”

“Nineteen ninety-two,” he said without hesitating to calculate.

“Long time ago.”

“Yeah, it’s a long time. Life goes on.”

Yes, it does , Estelle thought. “Tell me about Janet’s friends,” Estelle said. “She’s lived with you for how long now?”

“A couple of months.”

“And in that time, who’s come over to the apartment?”

“Oh, she has a couple of friends that we see now and then. Nobody that has a key.”

“No one she’d lend a key to?”

“What for? You don’t just lend house keys, do you? And there’s the timing thing, too. I don’t know for sure when the pistol went missing. I told Mitchell that, too. I don’t take it out and fondle it on a regular basis, you know. It could have been taken yesterday, or last week, or last month…even last year.”

“Do you have anyone come into your apartment on a regular basis? Cleaning lady, someone like that?”

“Mitchell and I went over every inch of that. No, I don’t. I can’t afford a cleaning lady. The gas guy reads the meter from the outside. So does the electric company.” He grinned and, except for the fatigue, might have looked five years younger. “The Jehovah’s Witnesses knock once in a while, but I don’t let ’em in.” He took a long swig of coffee and grimaced. “The last person in the apartment, other than me and Janet, was Tommy Pasquale. He borrowed the Mustang to take Linda out for a swank dinner in Las Cruces. He didn’t want to take her in his Jeep.”

“When was that?”

“I don’t remember exactly. Sometime in early December. I told him that he could just let himself in and toss the keys on the table when he came back.”

“And that’s what he did?”

“That’s what he did. Said ‘Howdy’ to Janet, and went on his way. And if I can’t trust him, then the whole damn world can just come to a stop for all I care.”

“Sure enough,” Estelle agreed, and then she sat back abruptly. A realization stabbed through Estelle’s head like a mini-stroke, so simple and obvious that she felt the surge of blood up her neck. She hadn’t blushed in years, but her face burned now. Everyone was tired, everyone had worked too many hours, everyone-well, she -was preoccupied with a dozen other things, and it all boiled down to missing the obvious.

She pulled her cell phone off her belt and punched the speed dial for Sergeant Tom Mears.

“You have reached voice mail for Sergeant Tom Mears. If this is an emergency, please dial 911. Otherwise, leave a message at the tone.”

“And your call is important to us,” Estelle said to the robotic voice. She punched another set and waited.

“Posadas County Sheriff’s Department. Sutherland.”

“Brent, this is Estelle. Do you know where Sergeant Mears is right now?”

“I think he’s home, ma’am. I’m not sure. He worked most of the night, I know. He logged out this morning about four or so.”

“How long have you been up?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sutherland said. “But Ernie is coming in a little later to relieve.”

And he’s the swing shift , Estelle thought. The department organization was going to pieces. “Okay, thanks.”