Steven Havill - A Discount for Death

Estelle glanced in the rearview mirror as she eased the county car to a stop just south of the Highland Court-Twelfth Street intersection. Chief Mitchell’s sedan idled up behind hers, followed by the sheriff’s rumbling, disreputable pickup truck. Kenderman rode with the sheriff, and Estelle knew that the village officer’s mood wouldn’t be soothed by comfortable small talk. Torrez favored silence.

The intersection was illuminated by a single streetlight on the northwest corner. Estelle switched off the ignition and sat quietly. If Colette Parker had been westbound on Highland Court, racing pell mell toward the intersection, she would have clearly seen Kenderman’s village patrol car head on across Twelfth Street. That the girl would blast right through the intersection, ignoring the village patrol car and inviting a chase, was not beyond the realm of possibility. But that didn’t jibe with what Estelle had heard.

She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the huge form of Sheriff Torrez, followed by Kenderman’s slender shadow. Estelle got out of her car and closed the door. Chief Mitchell had been jotting something on his clipboard, but after a moment he tossed it on the seat. He glanced at Kenderman as he stepped out of his car but said nothing. “This is as good a place to start as any,” Estelle said.

Across the street, a porch light flicked off. “That’s nice,” Mitchell muttered but didn’t elaborate.

“Show us exactly where you were when you first saw the motorcycle,” Estelle said to Kenderman.

His gaze shifted across the intersection, flicking this way and that as if he was uncertain about which version of the incident to embrace. “Right there,” he said. He walked to the middle of the street and pointed at the eastbound lane of Highland Court. “I was just pulling up to the stop sign here.”

“You hadn’t stopped completely yet when you saw the bike?”

“Well, hell…I guess I was just comin’ to a stop. I was putting on the brakes when I saw it.”

“And where was she?”

Kenderman turned and looked over his right shoulder. “Comin’ that way.”

“So she ran the stop on the east side of the intersection?”

“Yes.”

“And then?”

“Well,” Kenderman said, “she turned on down this way,” he pivoted in place, looking back down Twelfth Street the way they had come. “Right for the bridge.”

“And that’s when you initiated the chase?”

“Well, I wasn’t pushin’ it too hard,” Kenderman said lamely. He glanced at Chief Mitchell.

“How well do you know Colette Parker?” Torrez asked. He tossed the question out casually, as if he really didn’t want to know.

“I know who she is, all right.”

“But you didn’t know it was her when you started the chase?”

“No.”

“You didn’t recognize her bike, or anything like that?”

“No. The light wasn’t all that good, and she was movin’ kind of fast, anyways.”

“I see,” Torrez said, sounding as if he clearly didn’t see.

Estelle’s telephone chirped. “Guzman.”

“Estelle,” Sergeant Mears’ matter-of-fact voice said. “We’ve got us a little tangle here. I’ve been talking with Marion Archer, and she tells me that she knows Colette Parker. In fact, Colette was one of her students about five years ago.”

“Okay.” She turned her back on her three companions and walked toward the rear of her car.

“The thing is that according to Mrs. Archer, Colette has two little kids.”

Estelle groaned. “Where are they, Tom.”

“With the grandmother, apparently.”

“ The grandmother?”

“Colette’s mother. Her name’s Barbara Parker. Lives over on Third Street, north of the park. That’s the address on Colette’s license, too. They all live there together, apparently. Mrs. Archer said that she’s known the Parker woman for years. She’s got some counseling job at the school.”

“You’re going over there now?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How old are the two kids, did Mrs. Archer know?”

“She guessed that the oldest might be four. Something like that. Maybe four. Colette had the first one the spring of her senior year of high school. That’s when she dropped out.”

Estelle sighed. “Small favors.”

“Pardon?”

“I was thinking that at least the kids are with someone right now, Tom. That’s all. Let me know when you’ve talked with Mrs. Parker, all right?”

“Yep. Linda and I are headed that way right now.”

“What’s the street address?”

“Just a second.” After a brief rustling, Mears said, “Seven oh nine Third Street.”

“Thanks.” Estelle switched off the phone. She didn’t turn around immediately but stood silently, leaning against the back fender of the unmarked car. She closed her eyes, allowing the memory of the distant chase to replay. The Third Street address for Barbara and Colette Parker would be in the distance to the north, approximately where car and cycle were when she first heard them.

She turned and walked back toward the other three. “Perry,” she said, “are you sure that’s the version that you want to go with?”

His eyes were both frightened and wary. He glanced sideways at Chief Mitchell, but Mitchell’s gaze was noncommittal.

“It ain’t a version , Undersheriff,” Kenderman said. “It’s what happened. I don’t know why you got such a problem with what I’m tryin’ to tell you.” He gestured up the street. “I was there, she run the sign, I went after her. She dumped it just past the bridge.” He took a short breath, as if a sharp pain had jabbed him in the solar plexus. “Christ, you was on Bustos yourself. You saw.”

“Yes, I did,” Estelle said gently, refusing to rise to the indignation in his tone.

“Tell you what,” Mitchell said easily. “We’ll check in with you tomorrow, Estelle. Give you a little time to talk with some folks. We’ll go from there. Fair enough?”

Estelle nodded.

He reached out a hand as if to take Kenderman by the shoulder but stopped just shy of contact. “I’ll run Perry over to the S.O. so he can make a formal statement and then take him on home. Pasquale is going to take the deposition?”

Estelle nodded. “He’ll be at the office. We’ll be back in a little bit.”

“Nothing else right now, then?”

Estelle shook her head.

“Come on,” Mitchell said, touching Kenderman’s elbow. He managed to sound sympathetic. Estelle watched them leave, and as the taillights faded toward the bridge, shook her head in disgust.

“You’re sure Kenderman’s lying, aren’t you.” Sheriff Torrez moved out of the middle of the street to allow another car to pass. Two elderly faces peered out at them as the sedan shuffled by.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Estelle said. “He’s lying, but I don’t know why.”

“To save his sorry ass, obviously,” Torrez said. “He didn’t follow any kind of procedure, and he forced a fatality.”

“Maybe that’s it.”

Torrez looked askance at her, then grinned. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

Estelle took a deep breath. “I just want to be sure.”

“You are sure. So where do you want to start?”

“Half the people in Posadas either heard what happened tonight or saw a part of it. It shouldn’t be hard to retrace a pretty fair approximation of the chase route.” She glanced at her watch. “I hate to let any of this wait until tomorrow.”

Torrez grunted what passed for a chuckle. “Pasquale and Mears are on until midnight. Jackie’s on after that. It’ll give them something to do. Like I said, where do you want to start?”

Estelle turned and looked across the street. “How about two ten Twelfth,” she said. “They turned out their porch light just after we drove up. That means they’re home.”