Steven Havill - A Discount for Death

“We have an unattended death, Frank. That’s all I can tell you.”

The newspaper publisher glanced up at the hanging sign over his head as if the name on it might have somehow changed since he last looked. “George?”

Estelle nodded.

“My God. What, this morning sometime?”

“We don’t know.”

“Grand jury was supposed to convene this morning, wasn’t it?”

Estelle let a nod suffice.

“He had a heart attack, or what? Is this related to the jury thing, do you think?”

Estelle hesitated just long enough for the newspaper publisher to notice. “This is one of those times when ‘investigation is continuing’ works pretty well, Frank.”

“Oh, please,” Dayan protested with a roll of his eyes. “Now you sound like Bill Gastner.”

“Cheer up. It’s only Tuesday.” He looked pained, but the expression on Estelle’s dark, sober face held no hint of sarcasm. The undersheriff knew that the Register ’s inexorable decline from a prospering daily during the heyday of the copper mines to a biweekly and then finally to a single edition on Thursday was a sore point with Dayan. He answered to out-of-state owners who had been trying to sell the newspaper since the previous spring.

“You gotta give me a little more than that. Give me something to work with.”

“How about everything I know at the moment,” Estelle said.

“I’ll settle for that.”

“It appears that George, spelled the usual way, Enriquez, spelled with a ‘z,’ sustained a single gunshot wound to the head.” She stopped and regarded Dayan patiently.

“That’s it? You mean he shot himself?”

“He sustained a single gunshot wound to the head.”

“Come on. Was it suicide, or what?”

“We don’t know.”

“And you said ‘sustained,’ ” Dayan added. “Is the gunshot what killed him?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“Did he pull the trigger?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“They’re going to put that on your tombstone,” Dayan said, and Deputy Collins laughed. “Was the weapon his?” Dayan persisted, then saw the hint of a smile cross Estelle’s face. He held up a hand to fend off the inevitable. “All right. You don’t need to say it.”

Daniel Schroeder appeared at Estelle’s elbow. “Got a few minutes?”

“Yes, sir,” she said and smiled sympathetically at Frank Dayan. “Excuse me,” she said. “I’ll have more for you later in the day.”

“I’ll give you a call this evening,” Dayan countered quickly. “Or maybe first thing in the morning.” He switched his attention to the district attorney. “Today was the first day of grand jury, was it not?” he asked.

“Sure enough, Frank,” Schroeder replied.

“Those proceedings will be interrupted now?”

“Uh, yes,” Schroeder said, frowning as if to add and that’s a really stupid question .

Dayan nodded and turned back to Estelle. “I understand that no charges have been filed yet against Perry Kenderman, by the way. Is that correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“Are they going to be?” He looked at Schroeder, but the district attorney was content to let Estelle field the question.

“I’ll let you know, Frank. Give us a chance to sort things out.”

“Does that mean they might be? Dan, is your office considering filing charges? I talked with Maggie Archer this morning, and she said that Kenderman’s patrol car was right on top of the bike, practically. No lights, no siren, no nothing.”

Dan Schroeder smiled pleasantly. “Before you run with that, Frank, remember what screwy versions of events we sometimes have to work with when we talk to witnesses.”

“Mrs. Archer is wrong?” Dayan asked, and Estelle saw a flash of irritation on the district attorney’s face.

“We’d appreciate it if you’d wait a bit until we get things straightened out,” he said.

“You go to press tomorrow afternoon, right?” Estelle asked, and Dayan nodded. “I’ll keep you posted,” she added.

“That’s a deal. Can I go inside, or…”

“No, sir, you can’t. But if you wait here, you’ll catch the sheriff when he comes out.”

“Oh, that’s a help,” Dayan said.

Dan Schroeder fell in step with Estelle as she walked back toward her car. When they were well beyond Frank Dayan’s earshot, the district attorney said quietly, “I’m going to file against Kenderman, by the way.”

“I guess I’m not surprised,” Estelle said. She reached the car and paused with her hand on the door. Schroeder’s late-model SUV was parked directly in front of hers.

“I talked with both Bobby and the chief last night, and they haven’t changed their minds this morning. I’d be interested in your thoughts,” he said.

Estelle regarded the juncture of car door and roof, running her finger along the seam. “We have no way of ever knowing if Colette Parker would have crashed at that corner if Kenderman hadn’t been in pursuit,” she said finally.

“That’s not the issue,” Schroeder said. “He was in pursuit. That’s an established fact. And with no lights, no siren-hell, it was just a drag race. You heard the whole sorry episode.”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

“I can’t think of a better definition of reckless endangerment ,” Schroeder said.

Estelle’s gaze drifted off to the car dealer’s parking lot next door. The bright sea of metal and plastic and the gaggle of curious faces didn’t register. Instead, she saw Colette Parker’s small, delicate face framed by the scarred motorcycle helmet. “Charges of reckless endangerment and vehicular homicide would be appropriate,” she said finally.

Schroeder nodded with satisfaction. “In a way, I feel sorry for the guy,” he said. “I don’t know what he thought he’d accomplish, but whatever it was, it sure went to shit.”

“I feel a little uneasy about his state of mind right now,” Estelle said.

“That’s interesting.” Schroeder’s eyes narrowed. “Because he’s not in custody yet, is he.”

“No, sir.”

“You have plenty to hold him on, you know,” Schroeder said. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

“I understand that, sir. We’re a little bit tied up just now. He’s not going anywhere.” She glanced again toward the car dealer’s lot. Each of those faces represented a pending interview in the search to find someone who had heard or seen something related to Enriquez’s death.

“I can understand you giving him the benefit of the doubt, I suppose. But there’s not much doubt anymore, is there.”

“No, sir.”

“You said you felt ‘uneasy’ about him. You saw him this morning?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He’s got to know that charges are pending. He’s no rocket scientist, but the formula here is pretty simple. Don’t let it go too long before you guys move on it.”

“I’m sure he knows. He’s a cop, after all.”

Schroeder coughed. “Was a cop.”

“He’s worried about the two kids. Colette’s two.”

“Now, he’s worried. That’s nice. Would that that concern had surfaced before he decided to run their mother off the road.” Estelle remained silent, and Schroeder sighed and shook his head. “How old are they?”

“The little girl is two. The boy is four. I think Perry may be the boy’s father.”

“Ah,” Schroeder said. “The kids’ father.”

“Just Ryan’s. The boy.”

“Really?” The district attorney’s eyebrows arched. “She got around some, then. Who’s father of the girl? She’s the youngest, right?”

Estelle nodded. “I think the little girl’s father is Perry’s younger brother, Rick.”

“You’re kidding.”