J. Jance - Left for Dead

“He said a scarf. Just a scarf. And sunglasses. Cataract-style sunglasses.”

“I’d rather be hearing this from him than from you,” Lattimore said.

Juanita Cisco arrived on the scene, wearing garden clogs and a loose-fitting smock. It was clear she’d come to the hospital straight from doing yard work. She was short and dumpy, with a set of jowls that made her face resemble that of a pit bull-an angry pit bull.

“I’m Mr. Reyes’s attorney,” she announced. “You won’t be hearing anything at all from him unless I give you the go-ahead. Understood?”

Lattimore wasn’t a happy camper, but he nodded. “All right,” he said. “We’ll do it your way.”

Since no one told her otherwise, Ali followed the attorney and the detective into Jose’s room. There were still machines and plenty of beeping monitors. Jose had been asleep when the girls left, but he was awake now.

“Jose, it’s Juanita,” the attorney said, reminding him in case the meds had interfered with his recall of her previous visit. “I told you about Mr. Lattimore earlier.” She sat down in the only visitor’s seat in the room, leaving Lattimore standing. “Mr. Lattimore is here to interview you about the shooting,” she continued. “He’s to confine his questions to that. If he strays into other areas, I’ll direct you not to answer.” She nodded in Lattimore’s direction.

“So what can you tell me?” Lattimore asked Jose.

“It was a traffic stop. A woman.”

“How old?”

“Older. Cataract glasses. And a head scarf-with flowers of some kind.”

“What happened?”

“I turned on my lights, but she didn’t pull over right away. Finally, she did, but instead of pulling over on the shoulder, she went up a side road. When she stopped, I got out and approached the vehicle. I told her to put her hands in the air, but by the time I saw her hands, she was already shooting.”

“So you walked up to the car and she went kerblammo? No exchange of words?”

“Not that I remember.”

“What kind of vehicle?”

“Older-model Buick sedan. A Regal maybe.”

“This isn’t someone you recognize or a vehicle you recognize?”

“No.”

“You have no idea who she was?”

“No.”

“Was the shooter alone in the vehicle?”

“I didn’t see anyone else, but there might have been. I’m not sure. It was dark.”

“Let’s talk about the trunk of your vehicle. What was in it?”

“The usual stuff. Water, extra ammo, first aid kit, spare tire, a tool kit.”

“Did you make any other stops of any kind that night?”

“I made a couple of traffic stops, but it was pretty quiet.”

“Traffic stops only?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing where you might have picked up some contraband?”

“No.”

“So what would explain the presence of drugs in your vehicle?” Lattimore asked.

“What drugs? There weren’t any drugs.”

“Was it maybe evidence from another case, one you were working on and hadn’t mentioned to anyone else? Maybe you hadn’t quite gotten around to doing the paperwork on it.”

“If you found drugs in the trunk of my car, someone else must have put them there,” Jose said. “I didn’t.”

Juanita gave a warning shake of her head. It was meant for Lattimore and Jose. Both of them ignored it.

“Does any other officer drive that particular patrol car?”

“No. I’m the only one. I take it home at night.”

“And where do you park it?”

“In my yard. In Patagonia. Outside Patagonia.”

“Is the yard fenced and gated?” Lattimore asked.

“Both-a fence and a gate. I keep the vehicle locked at all times.”

“So you’re saying that it would be difficult for someone else to gain access to it when it’s parked at your home?”

Jose nodded.

“I’m not liking the direction your questions are taking,” Juanita said. “Let’s go back to the shooting.”

“Okay, let me understand you. You’re saying that an unidentified woman lured you off the road, shot you, and then left money and drugs in the back of your car?”

Jose nodded again. “It would have to be. I didn’t put them there.”

“How many times have you pulled a crack pipe out of someone’s purse or the central console on the car and had the person in custody try to tell you that the contraband wasn’t theirs?”

“I’m telling you, if you found drugs in my vehicle, they’re not mine. I don’t use drugs. I don’t deal drugs. That’s one of the reasons I became a cop-to take drugs off the street.”

“Tell me about your wife,” Lattimore said.

“Teresa’s great,” Jose said. “She just had a baby today. Six pounds, three ounces.”

“How long have you been married?”

“A little under two years.”

“No marital discord?”

Juanita gave a warning headshake, which Jose once again ignored.

“With Teresa? Not just no, but hell no. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me. Are you saying you think she had something to do with this?”

Jose had been answering the questions right along. For the first time, he seemed agitated. The beeping monitor sped up accordingly. Ali wondered if that was because Jose was offended by the direction of Lattimore’s questions or because the questions were coming too close for comfort or because he was just getting tired?

“When it comes to suspects, the spouse is always on the short list.”

“Not Teresa.”

“She doesn’t work?” Lattimore asked.

“Of course Teresa works,” Jose told him. “We’ve got two little kids at home. Three as of today.”

“But she doesn’t work outside the home?”

“No.”

“Have the two of you been experiencing any money problems?”

“No more than anyone else,” Jose answered. “We have kids. We have a mortgage. It’s not easy, but we’re making ends meet. At least we were. Now I’m not sure.”

“Would it surprise you to learn that Teresa had a substantial amount of money lying around the house?”

“Lying around the house? The only money we have lying around the house is in Lucy’s piggy bank.”

“This wasn’t in a piggy bank. It was stowed in one of Teresa’s dresser drawers.”

“You had no business digging through my wife’s dresser drawers.”

“Mr. Lattimore evidently obtained a search warrant for your home, Mr. Reyes,” Juanita interjected. “They executed it earlier this morning.”

“I’m the victim here. Why are you treating me like I’m a crook?”

The beepers tuned up and began sounding more urgent as Jose’s heart rate quickened and his breathing became labored. Before Juanita Cisco could put an end to the interview, an alert nurse appeared in the doorway.

“This visit is over,” she announced. “Mr. Reyes needs to rest.”

Lattimore left without another word. Ali followed Juanita Cisco into the waiting room where the attorney stopped and looked around. “Mr. Reyes is a wounded cop, so here’s something I don’t understand. Where are his fellow cops? Why aren’t they here?”

“I have no idea,” Ali answered.

“If he’s a good cop, they should be all over the place. If he’s a dirty cop, it stands to reason the other guys in his department would want to distance themselves. I wish I knew for sure. In the interview, Lattimore was making noises like he thinks Teresa might be involved in the shooting-as though she might be behind it. If this were my case long-term, I’d send an investigator down to Nogales to sort out some background information. It would be an added expense, but do you want me to look into hiring a PI to do just that?”

“Hiring a private investigator might be a good idea,” Ali said. “Let me think about it. I’ll let you know.”