Steven Havill - Statute of Limitations

“Is she able to come for the service?”

“I think so.”

“A fountain of information you are.” Gastner laughed at the unadorned answer, and then his face sobered. “Too many goddamn funerals,” he said. “Rosary for Eduardo is at four tomorrow afternoon. I think Mass is Tuesday morning at All Saints.”

“Ten o’clock,” Estelle said. “ Mamá wanted to go.”

“You’re going to take her?”

“I think so. I’d like to see what faces show up.”

“Ah,” Gastner said, nodding. “Mind if I tag along?”

“Of course not, sir. Essie will appreciate it.”

“Maybe so. And speaking of Essie,” Gastner said, “I’ve been thinking. We need to talk to her, sooner rather than later.” He leaned forward on the stool, with one hand on the counter, looking as if he was about to put his head between his knees. He twisted as he bent, backbone letting out a symphony of satisfying cracks. “We don’t know what they talked about, you know.”

“They?”

“Essie and Eduardo. In the wee quiet when they couldn’t sleep. In unguarded moments. You know, Eduardo was just as willing to turn a nasty investigation over to us as not. He didn’t worry about turf, and I don’t think that was a weakness. But you know, not everyone saw it that way, fair or not.” Gastner reached out and picked up the clipping again, scanning through the story. “I’m curious what he would have said about all this.”

“Which part?”

“All of it, sweetheart. I wonder what he knew about Janet Tripp-beyond that she was Mike’s flame. And I wonder…” He looked up from the newspaper. “I just wonder, is all. Eduardo knew this town, Estelle. Make no mistake about that. He wasn’t an aggressive cop, and he didn’t put himself in people’s faces. He was more apt to let someone off with a gentle warning than a ticket. He considered it a successful day when all the teenagers were home by nine o’clock. But he knew the town. He knew the people. And in that sense, it’s probably a good thing that some of our beloved hot rods like Tom Pasquale and Mike Sisneros broke in with him. I’m not sure I’d have had the patience.”

“Not likely, sir.”

“Well,” and he waved a hand in self-deprecation. “It was different. I roamed the county like some old dog who couldn’t fall asleep. I know every rancher, every back road and trail. But the village was Eduardo’s turf. He lived with ’em every day. Saw ’em in church, talked with ’em at the service clubs, all that stuff. Everybody in town was his neighbor, in some way.”

“Maybe he didn’t talk with Essie much about his day.”

“Maybe so. Maybe not.” Gastner ducked his head in agreement. “Maybe Janet Tripp was just a name to him, nothing else. You know, I’ve been racking my brain about her, and my file is damn near empty. I can remember vaguely that she was in the army, but hell, I don’t remember if she lived here before that, or after, or what. I remember that her folks were in town for a little while, and then moved-I don’t know to where. I’m not sure when.” He got up and fetched a cup from the cupboard above the coffee maker. “Want some?”

“No thanks, sir. Bobby says the village files are a mess.”

He nodded and closed the cupboard door, then filled the cup slowly. “Yes, they are. But there’s good stuff there for the finding. You think that there’s some connection between Janet’s murder and the attack on me.” He paused and spooned in three heaping teaspoons of sugar. “I would have liked the opportunity to talk with Eduardo about that. ’Cause we sure as hell don’t have anything else.” He turned to regard Estelle. “Do we.”

“You want to talk with Essie?”

“Yep.” Gastner settled onto the stool. “That’d be a good thing to do, something constructive to do in an otherwise totally frustrating case, sweetheart. We need to take those files apart, piece by piece. We have only one name so far-Janet Tripp.” He shrugged. “Hell, it’s kinda ironic, in a way. Little place like this, and nobody knows nothin’. Unless you’re withholding secrets.”

“I wish I were,” Estelle said.

“It’s like one of those thousand-piece jigsaw puzzles,” Gastner said, thumping his hands onto the counter a couple of feet apart to form a frame. “You have this huge, yawning hole in the middle and you can’t find a single piece to get things going. Then one drifts into place, and before you know it, you’ve got this neat island that grows and grows.” He grinned. “You’ve probably heard me say all this before.”

“It bears repeating,” Estelle said, and Gastner laughed.

“God, that’s what I love about you,” he said. “You help the mantle of senility rest so gently.” He patted his belly. “I get goddamn poetic when I’m hungry. Do you have time right now to go over and have a chat with Essie? I think it would be worth our while. Tomorrow’s going to be tough on her, with the Rosary service and all.” He frowned and glanced sideways at Estelle. “Listen to me. I sound like I’m still working.”

“You are, sir,” Estelle said. She tapped her right temple. “And you’re right. We need connections, Padrino .”

“Don’t hold your breath on my account,” Gastner said. “And here I am, rattling along, and I never asked you why you came over, other than to chew me out about this thing.” He nodded at the clipping.

“I wanted to talk with Essie,” Estelle said. “And I wanted you along. Nobody is going to be able to prod her memory any better than you.”

“And you’re one step ahead of me, as usual. I’m flattered you asked me along, but like I said, don’t hold your breath. Essie might remember yesterday, but I’m having more and more trouble remembering where the next meal is coming from.”

“What makes me doubt that, sir? Do you want lunch before we go?” She glanced at the wall clock and saw that it was after two. “Late lunch? Something to hold you until dinnertime?”

“Nah,” Gastner said halfheartedly. “I eat, and then I’m going to want to take a nap. Hunger keeps me sharp. Let me take this mug of coffee along. That’ll be enough.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course not.” He waved her toward the front door.

As they drove through Posadas, up Grande to Bustos, then west to Sixth, and then south toward the modest, flat-roofed adobe Martinez home, Estelle found herself scrutinizing every passing car or truck, every pedestrian, even every loose dog.

“I don’t think he’s still in town,” Gastner said, as if he could read her mind. They saw the fleet of vehicles parked along Sixth Street, and Estelle slowed the county car. “And I don’t know why I say that,” he added. “You ever had a feeling like that?”

“ Por supuesto, Padrino. That’s what I’m living with at the moment.”

“I just don’t know what to do about it.” He surveyed the Martinez’s front yard, now more of a parking lot since there was no sidewalk to define where the street ended and the brown grass began. “Quite a crowd.”

“When you have eleven grown children and their families all under the same roof, that’s a crowd,” Estelle said. “I called her earlier and asked if we could meet with her for a few minutes. I didn’t know if she’d be willing at this point, or not. She’s got enough to think about. But she agreed.”

“I think you’ll find that Essie Martinez has a steel rod in her spine,” Gastner said. “She always reminded me of one of those Schmoos from the cartoons. But that’s only until you talk with her. She’s got a tough streak. Of course, with eleven children, I guess she’d have to.”

They parked behind a Volkswagen Jetta with Wisconsin plates, and by the time they had gotten out of the car and were walking across the gravel toward the front door, Essie Martinez had appeared from inside, purse in hand, obviously on her way somewhere. Behind her, Estelle could see a number of people, and for a moment the chief’s widow turned to speak with someone in the shadows. She nodded emphatically and held up a hand, cutting off the conversation.