Steven Havill - Statute of Limitations

“Someone needs to go over to the hospital,” Estelle said. “If there’s a chance that Eduardo can tell us something…and maybe Dr. Guzman saw something when he arrived. We need to follow up on that.” She knew deep in her heart that the odds of that weren’t good. If Francis had seen two desperate men charging out of the lot, he would have said something already. But Sheriff Robert Torrez didn’t need to become an added complication for them by puddling in the cold rain. Something as simple as wearing a cap would have helped, but Bobby Torrez had taken being miserable to a new art form. Sending him to the hospital would at least keep him out of the weather.

“Yep,” Torrez said, and his quick agreement surprised Estelle. “And I’ll take care of lettin’ Essie know,” he added. “She’s gonna want to be with him.” He turned to Bill Gastner, who had been standing silently near the passenger door of Estelle’s sedan. “You want to ride over with me, Bill?”

“Go ahead. I’ll drop by the hospital after a bit,” the former sheriff replied.

Torrez nodded dubiously. “Merry Christmas.”

“You be careful,” Gastner said.

Bob Torrez managed something that could have been mistaken for a smile. “That’s all I’ve been doin’,” he said as he turned and peg-legged back toward his pickup truck.

Another Sheriff’s Department unit jounced into the parking lot. “Mike, now that Jackie’s here, I’d like another sweep of this area,” Estelle said. “Any little thing. You know the drill. I’m going inside to talk with the desk clerk. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Estelle beckoned to Gastner to accompany her. “Let’s go have a chat,” she said.

Three other vehicles were parked in the side lot beyond the lobby and office, a scattering of travelers too tired to press on, so travel-weary they were willing to spend Christmas Eve in the efficient, sterile motel rooms of the Posadas Inn. An older model van was first in line, and Estelle detoured far enough out into the lot to see that the other two vehicles were a small sports car with a ski rack on the trunk, and a white pickup truck with contractor’s side boxes and headache rack.

As she and Gastner entered the lobby, Estelle saw the night clerk in animated conversation, cell phone affixed to the side of her head, her back turned to the door. Miranda Lopez, the daughter of one of the medical-records clerks at Dr. Guzman’s clinic, was a strikingly pretty girl with angular features accentuated by too much makeup. Estelle knew that Miranda was a high-school student, and no doubt was taking the opportunity to earn extra bucks during the holidays by working the long, odd hours that no one else wanted.

With her tangled black hairdo, curvaceous body poured into tight jeans, and a white, tucked-waist blouse that left three inches of flat belly and a diamond navel stud exposed, it would be difficult to mistake her for a him.

Miranda, turned, saw Estelle and Gastner, and quickly cut off her telephone conversation.

“Miranda, is Mr. Patel here?” Estelle asked.

The girl nodded vigorously. “I called him. He said he’d be right down?” Her voice was clearly teenaged and as feminine as the rest of her. Estelle wondered who had told the sheriff that a man had called dispatch…or if someone had just made an innocent assumption.

“You mean he’s coming from home? Or is he here on the premises?”

“No. He was home, like when…,” and Miranda trailed off doubtfully. “What’s happening? All the ambulances and stuff?”

Estelle smiled sympathetically but ignored the questions. “You’re working by yourself?”

Miranda nodded.

“Did you see Chief Martinez earlier this evening?”

Miranda nodded again and bit her lip. “Is that what…?”

Estelle gave the girl a few seconds, but the nod was apparently going to suffice, the question and thought left unfinished.

“You obviously know him, then. Did you talk to him?”

“He wanted to buy some aspirin?” Miranda said. She leaned over the counter and pointed down the hall beyond the ice maker. “That vending machine right there?” Miranda’s voice was a soft singsong, marked by her tendency to make sentences into questions, the tail end of the phrase rising like a little check mark.

“Did you see him buy aspirin?”

Miranda nodded. “He wasn’t feeling so hot, I don’t think. He asked if he could use the desk phone.”

“He just came in, bought aspirin, used the phone, and that’s it? When did he go back outside?”

“Well, I had to give him change? He was all…I don’t know…all kind of like confused, and stuff? He almost lost his balance, like when he went back out the door?” Miranda glanced outside. “He used the phone to call a doctor, I think. But then he kind of just wandered, you know? Is he okay? I was worried about him. And that girl was so pregnant I thought maybe she was having her baby or something. I thought may be the ambulance was for her.”

“Which girl is that?” Estelle asked. “There was a girl with him?”

“No, no,” Miranda said. “I mean earlier? The van people? They checked in a little while ago.”

“Ah. Okay. Did you happen to see what kind of car Chief Martinez was driving?”

Miranda shook her head. “He just came in? I guess he was parked along the side, there? I didn’t see him until he came inside, though. I mean, I was talking on the phone, and turned around, and he was just like, there?”

“So you couldn’t see his car? You didn’t see where he parked?”

“No. I couldn’t. I think he parked, like down there?” She gestured vaguely toward the north.

“After he used the phone, and then left, did you walk over to the door?”

“No.”

“Do you have any idea what happened after he left?”

“No…and then the police cars came, and the ambulance. I looked out the door then. They were all down at that one car.”

“Did you call 911, Miranda?” Gastner asked.

The girl shook her head, a quick little I didn’t do it expression.

“You’ve been here by yourself all evening?” Estelle asked.

“Sure,” Miranda said. “I called Mr. P, though, ’cause of the people in the van. He said he was coming down a little bit later? And then this happened, and I called him again. So he should be here pretty soon. You want me to call him again?”

“I don’t think so,” Estelle said. “But no one from here called 911? No one that you know of?”

“Well, I didn’t. That’s all I know. I didn’t like know anything was wrong and stuff until all the cops started showing up? I mean, maybe one of the guests saw something out the window. You think?”

“We’ll talk to them,” Estelle said. “Did you happen to see the owners of the little blue Dodge sedan that’s parked over around the side?”

“I don’t think so. Well, maybe…I’m not sure. One guy, he like came to the door? It looked like he was going to come inside? And then he didn’t? He was talking to someone else?”

“What did he look like, Miranda?”

“He was like a big guy, you know?”

“Tell me what you mean by big.”

“Well, he was just big , like huge . He had on this funny little cap. All peaky and stuff?”

“Like a welder’s cap?” Gastner asked gently, but Miranda just looked puzzled.

“He pulled the door open a little? And then it like sounded like someone yelled to him outside. I think he went back down the sidewalk?” she said.

“And you could hear someone else talking?” Estelle asked.

“You said it sounded as if someone called out to him. This big guy in the funny cap?”

“I think so. Oh, and he had this real long ponytail,” Miranda said, a trace of pride creeping into her voice. “When he turned and stuff, I could like see it? It hung right down his back.” She pivoted and reached around to touch her own back with her thumb.