Steven Havill - Statute of Limitations

“The gun was gone,” Mitchell said mildly, repeating the obvious. His heavy-lidded eyes assessed Mike Sisneros without a trace of expression.

“I don’t know when that happened,” the deputy said. “I’ve said that a dozen times.”

“ Could it have happened yesterday?”

“I suppose it could,” Sisneros said, exasperated. “And it could have happened a year ago, too. But what sense does that make? He shot her, then took her apartment key, went to the apartment and stole my gun? That’s sort of backward for that little scenario, don’t you think?”

“What if Janet didn’t have her key with her yesterday.” Estelle voiced the possibility and waited.

“If she lost her key, why wouldn’t she have said something to me when she came here? Wouldn’t that have been the logical thing? Especially since I was going to Lordsburg, and she had decided not to. What’s she going to do, sit in the apartment all day?”

“But she didn’t do that, did she?”

Mike’s temper rose again. “What are you getting at, anyway?”

Estelle held up the evidence bag. “The apartment key is gone. That’s what I’m getting at. We don’t know why it’s gone. We don’t know when it went missing.” She dropped the plastic bag back on Mitchell’s desk. “I’ll feel better when I know the answers.”

“Well, so will I.”

“I’m glad to hear that. You ready to go back to work?”

He didn’t look ready for anything, but Estelle saw Mike Sisneros’s spine straighten a little.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Now that we know the key is missing, I want you to go back to your apartment and really look , Mike. Look through everything. All your papers. All your stuff. And Janet’s too. I know it’s hard, but you’ll know better than anyone what should be there and what’s not. Look at everything , Mike.” She paused. “When you’re going through Janet’s things, get the telephone number and address for her sister. We’ll want to talk with her.”

“Okay. I know where that is. You want me to call her?”

“I’d rather do that, Mike.” She nodded at the evidence bag. “And if I were you, I’d have the locks changed today.”

“A burglar’s not going to get much in my place,” he said.

“I’m not worried about burglars, Mike.”

When Estelle entered the hospital, the hustle and bustle of the day shift had overtaken the halls and offices. Medicine didn’t pause for rest on Sundays. There was no sign of the nocturnal Stacy Cunningham and his floor polisher.

In his room, Bill Gastner stood in front of the window, gazing out into the bright December morning. A small bandage covered the back of his skull behind his left ear. Estelle rattled the door knob so he wouldn’t startle, and he raised a hand without turning around.

“I saw you drive into the parking lot,” he said. “Goddamn gorgeous day, you know that?”

“Yes it is.”

“Have you taken any time to enjoy it yet?” He turned and grinned at her. “You missed Christmas, you know.”

“Actually, I have, Padrino ,” Estelle said. “And you look like you’re ready to go.” She had almost said huggable , since his brown Hush Puppies, russet corduroy trousers, and plaid flannel shirt made him look like a comfortably rotund teddy bear.

“ That’s for sure,” Gastner said emphatically. He looked at the hospital bed with distaste. “Thanks for agreeing to play taxi.”

“I bet you’re hungry,” Estelle said.

“Of course I’m hungry,” he replied. “Let’s go get a little something.”

“I just spent a half-hour with Mike Sisneros at the Don Juan, so…”

“Without me? How could you? I’m crushed.”

“Well, we could have used your touch, sir. JanaLynn says hi, by the way.”

“God, the love of my life,” Gastner said.

“I ordered a breakfast burrito, and didn’t touch it. We can go back to the house and nuke it for you.”

“Sounds good. Although their breakfast menu leaves a little something to be desired in the size department. But that’s a good start.” He went to the closet and pulled his jacket off the hanger. “Let’s get out of here before they show up with that damn wheelchair.” He patted his pocket. “And I have enough drugs to go into business.”

“Should I ask if the doctors actually checked you out?”

“Of course they did,” Gastner said. “Francis was here and left. That’s the same thing. I asked if I could get dressed, and your hubby agreed that was a good idea. I translate that as my ticket to freedom.”

A few minutes later, as they walked across the tarmac toward the car, Estelle noticed the care with which Gastner placed each step. As he reached the back fender, he stretched out a hand and stopped, leaning against the car. “The best thing about being stuck in that place is the getting out,” he said. “The only thing I’m going to be able to smell for a week is spray cleaner and bleach.”

A few minutes later, when Estelle turned south on Grande, Gastner looked puzzled. “I thought we were going to your place,” he said.

“You’re not ready for that yet,” Estelle said. “And we wouldn’t get anything done.”

“I appreciated the troops stopping by my room earlier this morning,” he said. “Sofía brought the urchins.”

“They were excited about getting to do that. They worry about you, Padrino . You know that?”

“Rodgers and Hammerstein,” Gastner mused. “How are they doing?”

She nodded noncommittally, and he reached out and closed the cover on the center console computer as if it might be listening. He leaned his elbow on it, slouching sideways in the crowded seat.

“You’re allowed to brag on ’em, you know,” he said. “Hell, I do.”

“Oh, sure!” Estelle laughed, well aware of Gastner’s aversion to inflicting photos of relatives and tales of their innumerable accomplishments on the unwary.

“Well, I would if the opportunity presented itself,” he added. “You worried about ’em?” That took her by surprise, and he reached out to point at Escondido when it appeared that she was going to drive right by the intersection. “I live down there.”

She braked hard and turned.

“You know, I have a granddaughter who plays the piano,” he said. “I think I told you that. Camille’s youngest? Sherri goes to the keyboard, and the rest of the family hightails to the woods. She absolutely has a passion for playing the piano…and she has absolutely no talent whatsoever. Go figure. Her mother does, but not the kid.” He shrugged. “I worry about number one son, though.” He turned and regarded Estelle. “Francisco, that is.”

When Estelle didn’t respond, he added, “It’s not going to be easy for him.”

“No, it’s not,” she said, and pulled to a stop in front of Gastner’s adobe. She pushed the gear lever into Park. “I’m not sure what to do, Padrino. ”

He relaxed back against the door, showing no inclination to get out of the car. “You have a list of options?”

“I suppose we do.”

When she didn’t elaborate, he beckoned with his fingers.

“Sofía made a suggestion that scares me,” Estelle said, her voice dropping almost to a whisper.

Gastner cocked his head. “Scares you how?”

“She suggested the Conservatorio de Veracruz.”

His heavy brows beetled a little. “For just him, you mean? Or the whole clan?”

“Either way. But I don’t think…,” and one of her hands fluttered hopelessly.

“Don’t think what?” he said bluntly, refusing to let her off the hook.