Steven Havill - Heartshot

“All right. We’ll want a statement.”

“Certainly.”

I saw that Bob Torrez and the village part-timer were working the other eyewitnesses. I left Sprague and joined them. In the next few minutes, Estelle Reyes arrived, as did Howard Bishop. “I want statements from every living soul within a block of this park,” I snapped at Reyes. I could see, even in the vague light of the park’s sodium vapors, that her face was pale.

“How is he?” she asked, and I shrugged helplessly.

“I’m going on down to the hospital. I’ll call Holman and tell him to get his ass out of bed.”

“He’s already on his way down,” Estelle Reyes said, almost in a whisper.

“Fine,” I said. “Take this place apart. I mean it. I’ll be back to help just as soon as I can.”

I strode across the grass toward my car. But what I’d told Estelle Reyes wasn’t true. It wasn’t fine. I had the goddamned feeling that absolutely nothing was under control.

Martin Holman walked stolidly toward me. The hard heels of his finely polished boots clicked on the polished hall tiles of Posadas General Hospital. His hands were thrust in his pockets, and he stared at the floor as he walked, ignoring others, letting the few nurses dodge him. I didn’t bother to get up. He stopped a pace in front of my chair and surveyed me with tired, bagged eyes.

“You look like shit,” he said finally.

“Thanks.”

“So what the hell happened?”

“I don’t know yet. Art says Benny Fernandez ran at him. ‘Jumped him’ is how he put it.”

“You got a chance to talk with him, then?” Holman said, relieved.

“Briefly. I didn’t get the whole story. There were at least five witnesses, it looks like. Estelle and Bob Torrez are taking their statements now.”

“Benny Fernandez was killed instantly?”

“Yes.”

“And how does it look for Art Hewitt?”

“I think he’ll be all right.” I glanced at my watch. “He’s in surgery now.”

“Where was he hit?”

I jabbed my right index finger into my side under the ribs. “He was hurting bad, but it’s just about impossible to tell anything, you know. I don’t have any information whatever.”

“We’ll just have to wait,” Holman said. “I called Gallup, by the way. Chief White says the boy’s parents live in Tucson. He said he’d take care of contacts there.”

“That’s good.”

We both fell silent, and after a long moment Holman said, “Hell of a thing.”

“Yes.” A nurse walked by pushing a jingling tray cart. She looked at us and smiled helpfully.

“Hell of a note,” Holman said. I just looked at him. “So Benny Fernandez was killed outright?” he asked.

“Yes. It looked like he’d been shot once in the face.”

Holman winced. “You talked to the widow?” The blank look that settled over my face told Holman all he needed to know. “Christ, Bill, how long’s it been?”

I glanced at the wall clock. “Twenty-five minutes.”

Holman was already on his feet. “I’ll take care of it. You stay here.” I watched him hustle off, and shook my head. I must have figured the dead could wait attendance. I didn’t worry about explaining my preoccupation to Holman. What was going to be tough was explaining why I hadn’t taken the Beretta when it was offered to me.

***

After a while, the hospital didn’t even smell anymore. I didn’t notice the polish on the floor. Holman had returned, and for an hour or more we talked. Now he sat with his hands clasped between his knees, head twisted, slightly to one side, eyes staring without registration at the old issue of Sports Illustrated on the table beside him.

Estelle Reyes and Bob Torrez had shifted their operations from the park to the sheriff’s office, and every twenty minutes one or another of them called us and got the same negative answer. At a quarter to five, when there still wasn’t the faintest hint of dawn behind the curtains, Estelle Reyes walked into the waiting room. She looked so goddamned prim, like a grade school teacher ready to lecture the troops…except there was a little fatigue tremor twitching her lower lip.

“Officer Hewitt was apparently talking with the five teenagers,” she said without preamble. “Three of them say he was trying to buy grass. Two of them think he was really after something harder. A couple of the kids were just hangers-on. They don’t know what was going on. One of them said they all thought Hewitt was ‘funny,’ whatever that means. I think they were just hanging out, no particular, cohesive group. If any of them had actually been into drugs, been ready to sell, Hewitt would have suckered them in, that’s for sure.”

“And if all this was going on at midnight or after, where the hell were the village police?” Holman asked bitterly.

“And then Fernandez arrived,” Estelle Reyes continued, ignoring the sheriff’s question. “One of the kids was so shook when the shooting started that he crapped his pants. He ran home. Howard Bishop went to talk to him.”

“Who wouldn’t panic?” I muttered morosely. “I’m surprised it was only one.”

“And then?” Holman said.

“They all say that Benny Fernandez came across the grass like a man possessed. From the east side of the park.”

“Over by the apartments?”

“Right. Now, even in the dim light, Officer Hewitt would have been easy to recognize. The tallest of the five kids was five feet six inches. Hewitt is six-three.” Estelle looked at the paperwork on her clipboard, and took a deep breath.

Holman looked at me. “Did Fernandez ever have a chance to meet Hewitt? Did he know him?”

I shook my head, and Estelle continued, “They agree that Fernandez said something, but none of them understood him. It’s possible it was something in Spanish, who knows. He pushed Hewitt very hard. ‘Violently,’ one of the kids said. Like a football player. Hewitt apparently was caught off guard and stumbled backward and fell. He wasn’t able to catch himself, and went down hard. Two of the kids said that they saw Hewitt’s gun strapped to his ankle as he fell. Apparently, Fernandez did too. One of the five youngsters saw Fernandez pull out a ‘very large automatic.’ That’s how he described it. At that point, three of them agree that Hewitt said something like, ‘Oh, shit.’ Fernandez fired once. None of the kids are sure what happened, but it seems likely that Hewitt tried to roll out of the way. At the same time he pulled his own revolver from his ankle holster. Fernandez fired twice more. One of the youngsters says he heard the bullet hit Hewitt.” Estelle looked pained as she thumbed through her notebook. “‘It sounded awful,’ the kid said. They all agree, and this is important: that Hewitt fired once, while lying on his back, after he was wounded. We’ll get the autopsy report later, but I was just down at the morgue. The bullet hit Benny Fernandez just above his left eyebrow.”

Holman nodded slowly. “You just never know, do you.” He looked at me. “And up on the hill, Fernandez was cogent? Even calm, you said? Rational?”

“All those things,” I replied. “He even seemed relieved to be going home, relieved that it was over.”

“But apparently it wasn’t,” Holman said.

I looked at Estelle Reyes. “None of the five kids saw Fernandez before he started running across the grass toward Hewitt?”

“No, sir. They said that there were several people out all around the park. Apparently the late hour didn’t brother anyone. Certainly not the kids. They said they were getting nervous, though, that the village police might drive by. But they said Hewitt laughed and told them he’d fixed that up good. Something about cross-eyed headlights.”