Twenty-One

IT WAS FUCKING STUPID, JOSH,” SAID Hector Ramirez.

“I know, Hector.”

“What were you gonna do? Make a citizen’s arrest?”

“That’s probably what I told myself. Something like that. I wasn’t thinking very clearly.”

“You weren’t thinking at all.”

“Yeah. Right.”

We were in Hector’s cubicle at the Santa Fe Police Station, on Airport Road. Hector sat behind his desk in rolled-up shirt sleeves, his tie loosened. The taupe-colored tie was silk. The neatly pressed shirt was cotton, off white, patterned with thin vertical taupe stripes. Hector dressed well, but it must’ve cost him some money to find shirts with a nineteen-inch neck and enough room in the sleeves for twenty-five-inch biceps.

“So you lost them,” he said.

“I lost them. Couldn’t keep up. By the time I reached St. Francis, they were gone.”

“You get the number off the tag?”

“Covered with mud. But the Bronco had to be either stolen or a rental. They didn’t drive it up here from El Salvador.”

“You don’t know they came here from El Salvador.”

“It makes sense to me.”

“Lot of dumb things make sense to you.”

“Like coming here, to talk to you.”

Hector said nothing. He leaned forward, picked up the object on his desk. Covered with a shiny yellow epoxy, it was about the length of a cigar and about the width of two double-A batteries placed side by side. Idly, he turned it over in his fingers. “What do you want me to do with this?”

“One notion does spring immediately to mind.”

Below his bandito mustache he smiled bleakly. “Fifteen years a cop and I gotta take insults from some cowboy PI.”

“You could have someone take a look at it. You must have experts somewhere, or access to them. According to Leroy, it’s state of the art. It runs on lithium batteries that last for three months, and it’s got a range of over five miles. He couldn’t find it with a standard RF sweep. He had to use a wide-band receiver. It’s a frequency hopper—it jumps all over the band, between a hundred and sixty to five hundred megahertz. He says there’s something better, but it’s something only the feds have, some Captain Marvel transponder that can bounce signals off a satellite.”

“You don’t think the feds planted this thing?”

“No. The only fed involved in all this, that I know about, is Stamworth. Maybe there’s some other bunch of whiz kids floating around, but I haven’t turned them. And Stamworth had already talked to Deirdre Polk. He probably got her off Melissa’s phone bill, like the FBI people who talked to her in August. If he wanted to kill her, he could’ve killed her last month. Besides, what’s the motive?”

“What’s the motive for your Salvadoran?”

“I told you. He wants to get to Melissa Alonzo. He’s not particular how he asks his questions. Afterwards, he has to clean up the mess.”

“He wants to get to Alonzo because of something that happened down in El Salvador.”

“Yeah.”

He shrugged. “It’s a stretch.”

“I thought so too. But Deirdre Polk told me that Melissa had seen something down there. Melissa’s sister was killed last week. Deirdre was killed last night, the same way.”

“Alonzo took off in August. Why’d this guy wait so long to start whacking people?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t know why Stamworth started hanging around last week either.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know.”

“No shit.”

He turned the oblong device over in his hand. “Why not give this to the state boys? Deirdre Polk is their case.”

“I give it to them and that’ll be the last I hear of it. Far as they’re concerned, I’m still a suspect.”

“Withholding evidence.”

“I’m not withholding anything. I’m giving it to you. And who’s to say that this thing is connected to Deirdre Polk?”

“You are.”

“But I can’t prove it.”

Hector lightly tapped the device against his desktop. He looked up at me. “No PI in New Mexico has a concealed carry permit.”

“I know that, Hector. Maybe I carted the gun out there in my glove compartment.”

“That what you did?”

“I was wearing it on my watch chain, next to my Phi Beta Kappa key.”

“Not funny, Josh. You should’ve come to us. Or gone to the state police. We could’ve set something up.”

“Listen, Hector—”

“No, you listen. I know you’re pissed off because someone planted this thing on you, this homer. And maybe you’re right, maybe that’s what led them to Deirdre Polk. So you feel like shit. You feel guilty. I understand that. But that doesn’t give you the right to start acting like Dirty Harry. A stupid Dirty Harry. If you’d come to us, we could’ve arranged something. Some cars, some backup. Those two assholes wouldn’t still be out on the street.”

“I know that, Hector. That’s why I’m here now. You’re not telling me anything I haven’t already told myself.”

“A little late for it, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“They could’ve whacked you, you know.”

“They didn’t.”

He nodded. Bleakly. “Fucking funeral would really screw up my month.”

“Good thing I didn’t get whacked.”

He smiled faintly. “I didn’t say that.”

I smiled faintly myself. “So are you going to check that thing out?” I nodded to the transponder.

He shrugged. “Only people I can give it to are the feds. They’re the ones with all the shiny equipment.”

“So give it to the feds.”

“And what happens if it’s one of theirs?”

“They’ll try to smoke you, and then you’ll know it’s one of theirs. But like I said, I don’t think it is. They’ve got better stuff, Leroy says. But he also says that the government, the federal government, has dumped a lot of second-string technology in third world countries. Maybe that’s how that thing ended up in El Salvador.”

“You’re really pushing this El Salvador business.”

“Because it fits.”

“For you it fits.”

“Okay. For me it fits. What about Juanita Carrera?” If the state police believed my story, they would already be looking for her. Juanita Carrera might be afraid of the police, state or otherwise, but right now, it seemed to me, the more people who were looking for her, the better.

He nodded. “I’ll talk to Missing Persons.”

“And you’ll have someone check the car rental places?”

“It’s an amazing coincidence.”

“What is?”

“How I was just sitting here hoping you’d come in and ask me to run some little errands for you.”

“These guys broke the law, Hector. Attempted murder.”

“Murdering a PI is considered a public service in some circles. Mine, sometimes.”

“They discharged a firearm within the city limits. They discharged it a lot. One of those big nine-mil jobs. Fourteen rounds in the clip.”

“Only your word for that.”

“And a busted headlight on the station wagon.”

“Time you got a new car anyway.”

“Fine. I’ll check them myself.”

“I wouldn’t want you do to that. You’re too busy buzzing around playing Cowboys and Indians. Takes it out of a guy.”

“So we’re talking yes?”

He sighed. “Yeah, yeah. Won’t hear anything for a day or two. Besides, they’ve probably dumped the Bronco already.”

“Probably. But if they used plastic to rent it, maybe you can trace them through the card. I appreciate it, Hector.”

“I see it as an honor.”

“You’re a prince.”

“And you’re an asshole.” He tossed the homer to the desk. “Listen to me. Hear me good. Don’t fuck up again.”

“Right.”

I picked up the local newspaper on my way to the office. Deirdre Polk had made the first page. My name wasn’t mentioned in the article.

When I got back to the office, there were a bunch of messages on the machine. The first, the third, the sixth and seventh were from Roy Alonzo. He seemed anxious to talk to me. The second call was from Norman Montoya, the fourth from Rita, and the fifth from Bob Neiman, a reporter I knew who worked for the same newspaper I had just tossed into the wastebasket.

I picked up the telephone receiver and the green light on Leroy’s box suddenly started glowing. I called Norman Montoya.

He answered the phone himself. Maybe the hired help was off negotiating a merger with General Motors.

“This is Croft,” I said.

“Ah, Mr. Croft. Good of you to return my call. I understand that you had visitors last night.”

Norman Montoya evidently possessed sources of information other than the newspaper.

“State police,” I said. “You know about Deirdre Polk?”

“Your telephone line is clear?”

“Supposed to be.”

“I know that you are alleged to have visited her on the evening of her death. Presumably she is connected in some way to Melissa and Winona.”

“A friend of Melissa’s.”

“I find that very disturbing.”

“So do I.”

“Whom do you believe responsible?”

“Right now I’m leaning toward the Salvadoran.”

“Yes. I understand that the state police are searching for the man.”

Good. Among other things, that meant that Hernandez and Green had believed my story. Provisionally, anyway. “The state police keep you informed of their progress, do they?”

“I learn what is in my interests to learn. Mr. Croft, once again I make you an offer of assistance. Perhaps it would be wiser of you not to continue with this project on your own.”

“Thanks. If it looks like I need someone, I’ll call you.”

“I do hope, Mr. Croft, that you will not let your pride lead to your downfall.”

“So do I. By the way, the Salvadoran’s not alone. He has a friend.”

“Mr. Croft, please. Allow me to send my nephew, George, to assist you. You know him, and I assure you that he is quite capable.”

“I only mentioned the other guy so that you and your people will know what they’re up against. I’m all right. And I’ll call you if things start looking grim.”

“Please do so, Mr. Croft.”

“What about Juanita Carrera? Have you found anything?”

“Ah. Some good news, I believe. It seems that she may still be somewhere nearby. I should be learning more later today and, naturally, I shall keep you informed. But in view of recent events, and, of course, assuming that you are willing, I should like to make some small changes in our arrangement.”

“What changes?”

“If my people succeed in locating the woman, I should like them to bring her here, to my home, where I can guarantee her safety. The remainder of our agreement will remain unchanged. I will make no attempt to learn from her the whereabouts of my great-niece and her mother.”

Juanita would most likely be safer in Norman Montoya’s house than she would be anywhere else. Maybe Montoya would keep his word and maybe he wouldn’t, but enough things had happened lately for me to start thinking that his word might not matter any longer. Montoya wasn’t the danger; the Salvadoran was. Even if Montoya were lying, I didn’t believe that he wanted to kill Juanita Carrera and Melissa Alonzo. And I believed that the Salvadoran probably did.

“All right,” I said. “But only if she agrees. And if your people find her, have them tread gently. She’s probably terrified.”

“Yes, Mr. Croft. My people have been so instructed.” A gentle reminder that we had already discussed this.

“All right,” I said. “Thanks.”

“Oh, one thing more.”

“Yes?”

“I understand that in the account you gave to your visitors last night, you were kind enough not to mention my name. I sincerely appreciate your discretion, but I wanted to tell you that it was in this case unnecessary. Please feel no hesitation whatever about providing my name, should you be asked it.”

“Fine.”

“I suspect that I shall be able to withstand any scrutiny offered to me by the state police.”

Why not. He’d been withstanding that, and worse, for most of his adult life.

I called Rita next.

“All right, Joshua, this idiotic little light of Leroy’s is on, so I’m assuming it’s safe to talk. I tried to reach you at home as soon as I read the newspaper, but you’d already left. What on earth is going on?”

I told her about my interview with Deirdre Polk, and what Deirdre had told me about Juanita Carrera. “It looks like you were right,” I said. “Something happened down there, in El Salvador. Probably something that involved Carrera in some way.”

“What have you done about locating her?”

I told her that the state police, Missing Persons, and Norman Montoya’s troops were all out looking for her.

She said, “Tell me about the state police.”

I did, and then I told her about finding the transponder in the Subaru.

“And you think it was planted by the Salvadoran,” she said. “And you think that was how he found Deirdre Polk.”

“I know it was planted by the Salvadoran. But there’s more than one of them. I saw them both this morning. We compared hardware. Theirs was better.”

There was a brief silence on the line. Then Rita said, “Do I want to hear about this?”

“Probably not.”

“Tell me anyway.”

When I finished, she said, “And you’re all right?”

“I’m fine. They blew out a headlight on the station wagon. I brought it in to Ernie’s, on St. Francis. I’m driving a loaner, a Jeep.”

“Joshua, I don’t care what you’re driving.”

“It’s a pretty neat car, Rita.”

“It was foolish, leading those two men out there.”

“Yeah, I know. Hector’s already explained it to me.”

Another silence. “Deirdre Polk’s death wasn’t your fault, Joshua.”

“I know that, Rita. I’m okay now.”

“You’re okay because you let someone shoot at you. If he’d hit you, you’d probably feel wonderful.”

“Right, Rita.” There was some truth in what she said.

She was silent for a moment, and then she said, “What did you do with the transponder?”

“Gave it to Hector.”

“You’ll have to be careful, Joshua. They know now that you know about them. And they know that you’re looking for the same thing they are. They may decide that you’re a liability.”

“I intend to be a very big liability.”

“This isn’t a game, Joshua. Concentrate on Melissa Alonzo.”

“Yes dear.”

“Stop it.”

“There is one thing we could try. Deirdre Polk told me that Melissa occasionally visited an S and M group down in Albuquerque. Maybe if we could locate it, someone in the group could tell us something about Melissa.”

“I’ve already located it. It’s called the New Mexico Power Exchange.”

“How’d you do that? Not the computer.”

“The computer. When you told me that Melissa had been involved in S and M in Los Angeles, it occurred to me that she might’ve been involved out here. I left a message on the CompuServe bulletin board asking for information about S and M groups in the Southwest. I got an answer last night, and a phone number. I called it and talked to the woman who runs the group.”

“And? Does she know Melissa Alonzo?”

“Yes, but she didn’t want to talk over the phone.”

“So I’ll go down to Albuquerque.”

“You won’t have to. She’s coming to Santa Fe today. She’ll be at my house at three o’clock this afternoon.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Good. Call me if anything else happens. And be careful.”

“Yes dear.”

She hung up.

I was just about to dial the number of the local newspaper when the telephone rang. I picked it up.

“Croft, what the fuck is going on? Where’ve you been all morning?”

Roy Alonzo.

“Gathering rosebuds. Get off my back, Alonzo. I told you, I’m not working for you. I’m working for your uncle.” There was more anger in my voice than I generally liked to hear.

He hesitated a moment, and then he said, “All right, look. I apologize. But I’m fucking frantic. The state police came to see me this morning. I hadn’t even finished my goddamn coffee.” Me they bother in the middle of the night. With Roy Alonzo, they wait until morning. Fame has its advantages. He said, “This woman that was killed, Deirdre Polk, she was a friend of Melissa’s?”

“Yeah. The PI you hired back in August knew that. He talked to her.”

“He mentioned her name. I got the impression she was just a casual acquaintance, an artist whose paintings Melissa liked. And now the police are telling me she’s dead, killed the same way that Cathryn was. What’s going on here, Croft? Is Melissa in danger?”

“That matters to you?”

“Of course it matters. Melissa has her problems, she’s fairly screwed up, obviously, and I’ve got good reasons to be angry with her, but I certainly wouldn’t want her to get hurt. And my daughter’s with her, remember?”

“I remember.”

“So what’s the story here? Who killed Deirdre Polk?”

“I don’t know. The police are working on it.”

“Look, could we meet sometime today? I’ve got a business thing at one o’clock, but I’m clear after two thirty. I’d really appreciate it, Croft. I won’t take much of your time.”

I didn’t want to meet with the man. Probably because I’d come to believe that the appellate court had made a mistake. I was more or less persuaded now that Alonzo had been guilty of molesting his daughter. But I knew that I could be wrong. And he sounded genuinely distressed.

I said, “Do you know the Fort Marcy complex? Mager’s Field?”

“Off Washington? Across from the Ski Basin Road?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there around five thirty.”

“Great. Thank you. I’ll be there.”

“I’ll be at the pool.”

“Terrific. See you then. And thanks again, Croft.”

As I set the telephone receiver back in its cradle, it rang in my hand. I picked it up.

“Mondragón Investigations,” I said.

“Mr. Croft? Do you recognize my voice?” I did, and I was surprised to hear it. It belonged to Elizabeth Drewer, the Railroad lawyer in Los Angeles.

“Yes,” I told her.

“Are you free at the moment? This is very important.”

“I’m free.”

“What time does your watch read?”

I looked. “Twelve forty-four. Thirty seconds.”

“I’ll call you back in two minutes.” She hung up.

I waited, wondering what this was all about. Had she decided to give me Melissa Alonzo? And if so, why? Had she heard about the death of Deirdre Polk?

Exactly two minutes after she’d hung up, the telephone rang. I snatched the receiver from the cradle. “Hello?”

“Mr. Croft, leave your office as soon as you hang up. Go to the Palace Avenue entrance to your building. Someone will meet you there.”

“What’s going on?”

“Hang up now, Mr. Croft. The Palace Avenue entrance.”

I hung up.