Steven Havill - Statute of Limitations

“Wouldn’t work,” Torrez scoffed.

“He might have thought it would. If he thought Eduardo had kept a file on that incident between Hank and Janet, then what’s to lose? Janet might have been just as happy to see the file go away as anyone.” She shrugged. “That’s a thread cut, Bobby. If nothing about Hank’s little recreation with Janet came to light, then the odds are better that nobody is going to wonder about another drunk who just skipped town one day. Nobody cared enough about Brad Tripp to wonder one way or another. It reminds me of the vagrants we see working the interstate interchanges with their ‘gimme money’ scams. Who’s going to miss them if they don’t turn up one exit farther down the road?”

“She wouldn’t do it,” the sheriff said.

“Evidently not. He took her key, thinking that she might have stashed some records or something in the apartment.”

“That didn’t work, either.”

“No, it didn’t. If Hank had known more about the chief’s recordkeeping habits, he wouldn’t have bothered in the first place. The odds are that if Hank Sisneros had just stayed in Deming, and kept out of his son’s affairs, none of this would ever have come to light. Monica Tripp thought her father had just left them. It wouldn’t surprise me if Janet thought the same thing.”

“Well, he did leave ’em, so to speak,” Torrez said. “I wonder if Brad Tripp found out about his daughter and Hank.”

“Maybe. Or maybe it was just a continuation of a fight over a piece of decorative fencing mowed down by an old dump truck. When Hank sobers up, he’ll talk.”

Torrez made a wry face. “Don’t bet on it. He ain’t that stupid. It’s one thing to have a body,” and he nodded over the arroyo edge where Tom Mears and Eddie Mitchell were working with Dr. Alan Perrone. “It’s going to be somethin’ else again proving what happened here.”

“Hank Sisneros doesn’t have to know that,” Estelle said. “When he knows that we have Brad Tripp’s remains, he’ll sing.” She watched as Linda Real maneuvered for another shot as Mitchell rearranged the body bag to collect the pathetic jumble of bones and rotted clothing.

“Interesting,” she said. “Hank managed to accomplish exactly what he was trying to avoid.” She turned away. “Have you been in to see Mike this morning?”

“No,” Torrez said. “Not yet.”

“He’s going to need some company. I was going over now for a little bit.”

“You’re going to take the deposition from Bill?”

“Yes. Later today. I want to let him get some rest first. He took some nasty thumps, and he was floating in sedative last night. Plus he’s irritated at being stiffed for dinner.”

“As long as you’re headed that way, take care of him, too,” Torrez said, nodding behind them toward the street. Estelle turned to see Frank Dayan’s little blue compact car turning onto the dirt. “He finally has his big story on a Monday morning.”