The second the hiker drew a gun, Jack pulled Cait down behind her Jeep. The man aimed at them but changed his mind before squeezing off a shot. He jumped into the SUV, backed up in a screech of tires and peeled out of the lot.
“Let’s go.” Cait was in the driver’s seat in a second, strapping herself in. “What’re you waiting for?”
“He’s got a gun and my shooting arm’s in a cast. Just call 911. I’m not getting into a chase. What if we wreck, or hurt someone?” Jack watched the sport utility speed away toward the park visitor’s center and the exit.
“You’re right.” Cait tapped on her phone. “He had critters in those boxes. Did you see a license plate?”
“It was mudded over. He didn’t shoot because there’s only one road out of the park, past the visitor’s center. Someone might hear the shots and block him from leaving.”
After talking to a sheriff’s dispatcher, Cait called her brother. She speared a hand in the air in frustration as the call went to voice mail. “Darn, he’s probably in a meeting or something.”
“That guy was up to something illegal,” Jack said.
Cait puckered her mouth. “He was a poacher.”
As they drove toward the visitor center, a small group clustered out front. Cait slowed and lowered her window to hear the bunch yammering with a park volunteer about an SUV that had roared through the parking area toward the exit on Old Spanish Trail.
“The jerk almost ran me over!” One woman exclaimed. “Lunatic!”
A Pima County Sheriff’s unit pulled up in front of the center and a handful of people rushed toward it.
Cait and Jack spotted Chris Zapata parking a green pickup with a Park Service emblem on the door and a light bar over the cab. He jumped out and dashed toward them. “Anyone hurt?”
“No. But we had a close call.” Jack described the hiker with plastic bins attached to his backpack, who had reacted with hostility when they approached, pointing a gun at them before fleeing in his vehicle.
“What was in the bins?” Chris asked.
“The tops had air holes poked in them,” Cait said. “I couldn’t see inside.”
“How big were the boxes?”
“Like shoe boxes.” Cait said. “Maybe he was going after desert tortoises.”
“Tortoises or Gila monsters aren’t out and about this time of year. They hibernate until it warms up in the spring. But he could be digging them up. Where did you first see him?” Chris frowned.
“We were coming down the Tanque Verde Ridge trail and he was heading west toward the parking lot,” Jack said. “Not on a trail, just through the brush.”
“There’s some washes in that area. I wonder if he was digging up Gila monsters earlier in the day, and you saw him returning with his catch. He probably drove in when the park vehicle gate opened at seven am. People can bypass the gate and walk in on the paved path near the road entrance. This guy must know what he’s doing. The lizards are hard to find even in warm weather. They come out around April and May, and are active only at night and in the early morning. They escape the heat of the day by going underground or hiding under rocks or bushes.”
“He’s taking a big risk of being bitten,” Jack said.
“Yes and no. They aren’t monsters, just shy lizards that are a lot slower than rattlers. If cornered, they might hiss, but they won’t strike at you like a rattler will. A Gila bite is very painful but not nearly as poisonous as rattlesnake venom. It’s actually hard to get chomped by one, but Gilas really clamp down when they do bite. That’s how the venom gets injected. An emergency room doctor once told me about a drunk who came in with one hanging onto his hand. The guy and his friends were partying in the desert and tried to pick up a Gila monster. Not the brightest move,” Chris laughed.
“Why would someone risk getting caught hunting the lizards in a national park, instead of just heading out of Tucson to the open desert?” Jack asked.
“Park land is prime habitat for desert dwellers like beaded lizards,” Chris said. “The poacher could head south toward the Santa Rita Mountains, but the closer he goes toward Mexico, roaming around with a backpack and plastic bins, he risks getting the attention of the border patrol looking for smugglers and illegals. South of the Santa Ritas, there aren’t big stretches of pristine public lands.”
“I wish there was something we could have done. I bet he’s a local who catches and sells endangered critters.” Cait looked toward the Rincons, the remote ridge tops hidden by charcoal-colored clouds.
“I’ll let you in on this. I’m going to be doing nighttime surveillance several times a week out here,” Chris said. “It’s part of an effort to stop illegal activities in the park. Along with poaching, we’ve had people vandalizing and cutting down saguaros.”
Cait tapped the side of the truck with a fist. “You know what the most destructive force out there is? Humans.”
***
Alfredo rummaged in a storage shed in Mirabel’s backyard, came out with a plastic tarp and rope. Back inside the house, he spread the tarp on the floor. Together he and Jason lifted the dead man onto the sheeting. They tucked the body inside like a giant burrito, and wound rope around the shroud.
Sweat dripped off Alfredo’s forehead onto the plastic. Despite his calm demeanor, a vein bulged on his temple.
“What do we do with him? Our fingerprints are on the tarp.” Jason asked.
“My friend Lito has a boat. We go fishing sometimes. He’s a good friend from way back, and when I explain our situation, he might help us out. Best thing to do is drop the body off the coast out from Long Beach. ”
“Noooo.” Jason groaned and held his head. “This is crazy.”
“We don’t have a choice. If police get involved, everyone hears about it, word gets back to Albuquerque. You don’t want that.” Alfredo said. “Or we could take the body out to the desert.”
“I like that.” Jason shook out his hands to stop the trembling. He inspected them for blood and wiped them on his pants. “We’ll throw the tarp away somewhere else. You’re sure no one saw you by the car?”
Before Alfredo could answer, a cell phone burred from within the tarp. “His damn phone.” Alfredo got on his knees by the body. “We’ll have to unwrap him to get it.”
“We have to destroy the phone. It has a chip in it to identify its location. Whoever sent him here might be tracking him.” Jason sucked on his lower lip. “Sonny Para has people who are hackers, great with computers. That phone will lead them right to us.”
“Be patient.” Alfredo worked at the rope knots, undoing them and loosening the cord. He drew the tarp aside, fished around under the body for a phone. “Here.”
Jason tapped the message icon on the phone screen, and wrote on a piece of paper the numbers from all recent incoming and outgoing calls. He tried to access voicemails, but those were password-protected.
Lastly, he undid the back of the phone and pried out the sim card. He took it to the kitchen and crushed it to bits inside a garlic press.
The landline phone on the kitchen counter rang. Both men started and looked at each other.
Alfredo looked at his stained hands.
Jason picked up the handset. “Hello?”
“Mijo, is that you?” Mirabel spoke softly. “I’ve been worried. What’s going on?”
“We’re fine, just stay put and we’ll come get you when it’s safe. Don’t come yet. I’ve got to go now. We’ll call you.” Jason’s eyes strayed to Alfredo.
“Let me talk to her,” Alfredo took the phone and spoke briefly. “Todo estará bien. Adios.”
“We have to do this tonight.” Jason pulled at an earlobe. “When it’s dark, I’ll drive my car to the back gate. The body goes in the trunk, and we’re going to the desert.”
“What about the Nissan?”
“You drive it and follow me. Wear gloves. We’ll park it somewhere outside of LA. That way it can’t be traced back here.” Jason felt better, coming up with a solution.
Alfredo shrugged. “Sounds good. What about the Gila monster in the trunk?”
“It’s a desert creature, it will be happy to go home.”
“I’ll check that Nissan again.” Alfredo looked at the tarp. “I was so nervous I might have missed something.”
He headed out the rear door but returned soon after, shoulders slumped, distress all over his face. “The car’s gone. This guy’s got a partner.”