J. Jance - Fire and Ice

In other words, Jaime had been keeping a file on Paco that hadn’t necessarily made it into the official records. Joanna had been holding her breath. Now she let it out.

“If Jaime calls in again, give him a message for me,” she said vehemently. “Tell him he’s to back off. That’s a direct order!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tom Hadlock replied. “Will do.”

The next number Joanna dialed was Jaime’s. Not surprisingly, her call went straight to voice mail. “I’m unable to take your call right now.”

“Detective Carbajal,” Joanna said urgently. “Call me. Right away. You are on leave. You’re to take no direct action, repeat N-O action, in regard to Marcella’s homicide. She may be your sister, but it’s not our jurisdiction and not our case. Understand?”

“Damn!” Joanna muttered as she ended the call. If Jaime wasn’t answering his phone, he most likely wouldn’t be picking up messages either.

By then she had arrived at High Lonesome Ranch. The dogs galloped in happy circles around Butch’s Subaru, barking a joyous greeting but obviously puzzled that she wasn’t getting out of the car. Instead, she redialed Tom Hadlock.

“Do you have the name of Jaime’s hotel?”

“Yes,” he answered. “And Jaime’s room number. Do you want it?”

By the time Joanna called there, she was pretty sure what she would hear. “Mr. Carbajal isn’t in at the moment,” the desk clerk told her. “An Enterprise rental car was delivered here earlier this morning. He drove off in it a while ago.”

Making up her mind, Joanna ended that call and then scrolled through her contact list until she found Bruce Delahany’s number. Not surprisingly, he didn’t answer, either, so she left him a message.

“Agent Delahany,” she said. “Sheriff Brady here. This is a courtesy call to inform you that one of my officers may be about to pay a visit to a man named Miguel Rios in Washington State. It’s my understanding that Rios may be connected in some way to the Cervantes Cartel. If you have any questions, you may want to give me a call.”

After ending that call, she scrolled through her incoming calls list until she found the number she needed.

“Beau,” she said when he answered, “I think we have a problem.”

The early-morning drizzle had turned into a drenching downpour by the time I turned off the highway at Mama Rose’s place. Even in the sodden weather, there was a crew of guys out planting what looked like nothing more than twigs in the muddy ground. Once again Regis came hurtling out of nowhere to greet me. I thought it interesting that, despite the fact that there was a whole army of workers out in the yard, the German shepherd decided I was the only real interloper. Once again, Tom Wojeck rescued me. He corralled the barking dog and then came back to see me, this time without a welcoming handshake.

“I was afraid you’d be back,” he groused. “And I was right. Here you are. I guess it’s a good thing I went ahead and told her.”

“Told her what?” I asked.

“About Marina’s money,” he said. “About finding it and giving it back. We had a big fight about it, but it’s settled now. I think she understands why I did it.”

“And why was that?” I asked.

He gave me a scathing look. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” I asked.

“Self-preservation,” he answered. “You may still be the guy you used to be, but I’m not. In the old days I wouldn’t have thought twice about taking on a punk like the one who came here looking for Marina’s money, but I can’t do that anymore, Beau. I’m not that tough. My body isn’t up to it. So that’s what I did-I went along to get along. Giving him his money was the only thing I could do to protect Mama Rose and me, and that’s what I did.”

Unfortunately, I did understand because I’m in the same boat. I can’t take punches the way I could back when I was a young Turk, and I can’t deliver them the same way, either. And, unlike Tommy, I hadn’t spent the last ten years or so of my life battling what would probably turn out to be a fatal disease. Right that minute, Tom Wojeck didn’t look like he was at death’s door, but he wasn’t in the peak of health either.

“Why are you here?” he added. “What do you want?”

“Marina’s dead,” I told him. “We suspected as much when Mel and I came here earlier, but now we know for sure. We’ve made a positive identification. Her real name was Marcella Carbajal Andrade.”

Tom sighed. “All right, then,” he said. “Come on in. It’ll break Mama Rose’s heart, but she’ll want to know.”

This time we walked across the veranda and entered the house through the front door. We found Mama Rose Brotsky sitting on a sofa in the massive living room. She had been watching her rose-planting crew with avid interest, but when I walked into the room, her face hardened.

“It’s about Marina,” she said before I ever opened my mouth. “And it’s bad news, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I concurred. “I’m afraid it is.”

Mama Rose wept as I related my news. I found it oddly comforting to realize that someone besides Marcella’s immediate family mourned the young woman’s passing. When I finished, Mama Rose dried her tears and squared her shoulders.

“How much money was that exactly?” she asked Tom.

“Right at forty-five thousand,” he answered.

“We’ll need to write a check for her son,” Mama Rose said. “His name is Luis, right?” she asked me.

I nodded.

“No matter how Marina…Marcella…came by that money, it wasn’t ours to give away. With her gone, it needs to go to the boy.”

Nodding, Tom Wojeck left the room. He returned a short while later carrying a business-style checkbook. “What’s his name again?” Tom asked.

“Luis,” I told them. “Luis Andrade.” I spelled it out for him.

“Go ahead and make it for a full fifty,” Mama Rose said. “He’ll need it.”

When the check was written, Tom tore it out and handed it to Mama Rose. She examined it for a moment before passing it along to me.

“How old is Luis again?” Mama Rose asked.

“In high school,” I said. “Fourteen or fifteen.”

“If he wants to go on to college, that should help,” she said.

“Yes, it should,” I agreed. I folded the check and put it in my pocket. “But tell me this. According to her brother, Marcella didn’t leave Arizona until sometime last summer. She couldn’t have been here more than a few months before she died. How did you happen to meet her?”

“That’s easy,” Mama Rose said. “I’m the whole reason she came here in the first place. Working girls from all over the country know about me. When they’re finally serious about getting off the streets and out of the business, Mama Rose Brotsky is often the only game in town-the only game in any town.”

I would have asked more about that, but my phone rang just then. I was glad to hear Joanna Brady’s voice until I heard what she had to say.

“What the hell do you mean, he’s taken off from the hotel?” I demanded. “He doesn’t have a car. Where would he go?”

“He rented a car,” she said. “And I think he may be on his way to find someone named Miguel Rios who lives in a town called Gig Harbor.”

“Crap,” I said. “Why the hell would he pull a stupid stunt like that?”

But I already knew the answer. Jaime was on the trail of the man responsible for his sister’s death, and he didn’t give a damn about possible consequences. That’s how young guys think-that they’re invincible and that might makes right. With guys like Jaime, the painful lessons taught by the passing of time-the ones people like Tommy Wojeck and I have already learned-have yet to sink in.