Death at the Black Bull (17 page)

“I'm closing this, Virgil, before the critters think this is an invite.” She then went about the office undoing Virgil's earlier efforts. The last thing she did was turn on the AC. Virgil knew a protest would be fruitless, so he made none.

“How's Dave?”

“On his way down to Redbud. We went to Margie's for breakfast. It was nice. Felt like we were on vacation. That's about the only time we ever eat breakfast in a restaurant.”

“Yeah. I want you to be able to do more of that.”

“How you going to make that happen, Virgil?”

“By waking up the mayor and some councilmen to the fact that the times, they are a-changin'. This isn't the cowtown of yesterday. It's getting harder and harder for that yellow dog to take a nap in the middle of Main Street.”

“No argument there, but I don't know if they'll want to hear it.”

“They'll have to, and for starters, I want you to call Dif Taylor and get him in here on a regular basis at night when Jimmy's on patrol. We need a body in here twenty-four/seven.”

“I'll call him today.”

“I also want you to give Dave a call. Tell him to swing by Hayward Trucking and pick up Carlos Castillo. Tell him I'll meet them at Carlos's home. And tell him to be fairly obvious when he gets Carlos. I'd kind of like it to be the talk of the water cooler today.”

“Why is Dave picking up Carlos?”

“Because I think that girl we found was friendly with Buddy, and Viola told me there was a connection between the girl and Carlos.”

Virgil got up from his desk and threw what was left of his coffee in the sink.

“I'll make a fresh pot,” she said.

“I'm done, but from now on I'm going to leave a note that all the coffee making should be left to you. This stuff Jimmy makes would take the shine off a hubcap. Anyway, I gotta get going. By the way, remember what I said about Dave struggling a little with his breathing yesterday.”

“I told him he's got to get that patch. I don't want to be eating those restaurant breakfasts by myself.”

Virgil headed for the door.

“Oh, tell Jimmy I'll stop in on my way back from Redbud. You can reach me on the radio if anything comes up.”

Virgil stepped outside into the building heat. He saw Rosie draw the last shade back down. The only sound he heard was the hum of the air conditioner. Even the critters, as Rosie called them, were hugging the shade and staying quiet. He hoped Dave would be waiting for him by the time he got to the Castillo house. If he was right—and he was pretty sure he was—the visit to the Castillo house was not going to be the high point of his day.

C
onsuella Castillo was enjoying the early morning in her backyard. She liked this time of the day most. Carlos had gone to work. Pepe and Maritza had gotten on the small bus that took them to the summer day camp, leaving her alone with Carlito. On days like this, after cleaning up from breakfast, she would sit over a second cup while Carlito was still in the high chair, then take him out to the backyard and let him try out his newly acquired walking skill on the uneven ground. She liked that as often as he would plop down after a few unsteady steps, he would struggle to his feet and try again. Even when he eventually would reach the end of his rope and sat contentedly for longer periods on the grass, she liked that he was continually curious, picking at a clover leaf, a stone, or even a worm, which on one occasion he was about to turn into a second breakfast just as she got to him. Toward the end of their mornings outside, she would put him in the baby swing that hung alongside the other two swings.

Carlos had built an elaborate play area for the children. Carlito was the most vocal in his appreciation. As soon as Connie picked him up and started walking toward the swing, he would start to squeal and become so animated that getting him into the seat, legs through holes and safety bar down, became a challenge. Once settled, it only took a few moments for him to respond to the swaying rhythm while Connie pushed him. Sometimes she would sing to him until his head would start to droop. Then she would carefully wiggle him out of the swing and carry him into his crib and lay him down. He rarely even opened his eyes and sometimes would be in such a deep sleep that she would have to wipe the drool from her shoulder where his head had been resting.

The plotline for this morning had not changed, and after Carlito was safely squirreled away, Connie went back out into the yard to collect her coffee cup from the table on the patio. She hesitated for a moment, cup in hand, glancing at the nicely kept backyard, enjoying the quiet and the flowers she had planted close to the base of the fence that bordered the yard so they could find some relief from the unrelenting sun. She was particularly delighted with the colorful hibiscus which thrived in the angled corners of the fence. A shiver of joy in her home ran through her. Her world was perfect. She and Carlos had achieved the American dream. Life was good, almost too good.

Then she heard a car pull into her driveway. She walked to the side yard and saw Sheriff Virgil Dalton. He was standing alongside his car. Connie had no idea her world was about to change, or how fleeting happiness could be.

*   *   *

Virgil breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Dave's car pull into the driveway just after he got out of his. Consuella had come from the rear of the house to greet him, and he was reluctant to explain the reason for his visit until Carlos got there.

“What's happened? Connie, are the kids okay?” Carlos had gotten out of Dave's car before Dave had shut off the engine. Carlos ran to his wife, who had no answer to his questions. He had asked the same questions of Dave on the short ride from Hayward Trucking, but Dave had managed to evade direct answers by pleading ignorance himself.

“I was in the back. I don't know,” Connie said. “I just saw the sheriff's car and I . . .”

“Maybe if we could go inside, I can explain,” Virgil said. “This has nothing to do with the children. Carlos, I asked Dave to bring you here rather than the substation because I thought maybe your wife might have some input to my inquiry.”

“Let's go inside,” Connie said.

Virgil and Dave followed them both into the house. The house was clean to the point that Virgil found it hard to believe that three children actually lived there. Like so many houses in this climate, it was on one level. Virgil could see as they entered the living area that there was a large sunroom at the rear which let the morning light flood the house, then offered a respite from the heat as the afternoon progressed. When he looked closer through the double-sided slider, he could see some toys scattered about. Beyond the sunroom, he saw the nicely landscaped yard with the play area in the far left corner.

In the short time it took for them to settle in the living room, Consuella had produced a carafe of coffee and some mugs and placed them on a coffee table in front of the sofa where Dave and Virgil sat. Virgil began by explaining to both of them that his questions were related to Buddy Hinton's death.

“I don't get it,” Carlos said. “What have we got to do with Buddy's death?”

“Directly, nothing. But indirectly . . . Well, that's what I'm here to find out. I know you and Buddy were good friends. Went to school together, worked together.”

“Yes, Buddy and I were close. All our lives.”

“I know, but when I first tried to talk to you about him . . . That first time in the trucking office, then later at the Black Bull, you seemed very reluctant to say anything.”

Carlos looked around at the house. Then his gaze finally came to rest on his wife.

“We have three children,” he said. “I've got to be careful.”

“I understand, but this was your friend. I'm sure you'd want to help solve his murder if you could. Then there's the other thing.”

“What other thing?”

“The girl at Hayward Ranch. The girl Buddy was seeing.”

Virgil could see Carlos stiffen a little.

“I know there was a family connection between you and that girl and her brother,” Virgil said. “I need to fill in some of the gaps here, because something has happened that has raised this investigation to a new level of seriousness.”

“What has happened?” Carlos asked.

“Well, the girl and her brother disappeared pretty soon after we found Buddy, so I never got to ask them anything. Then yesterday we found two bodies. The strange thing is they were found less than ten minutes from here. We're trying to identify them.”

“Bodies . . .”

“Yes. A man and a woman.”

“And you think . . .”

“I don't want to speculate. Right now we're just trying to determine identity. Then I can move on to other considerations.”

Carlos had moved to stand alongside the chair that Consuella sat in, laying his hand lightly on her shoulder.

“So you want me to come with you to look at these two?”

“That might be necessary later,” Virgil said, “but for now . . .” He reached in his pocket and brought out the piece of cloth he'd been carrying since he had taken it from the branch of the scrub pine. Then he pushed aside the coffee mugs and laid it on the table and spread it out.

“Do you . . .” He never finished the question. He heard Connie gasp, then take in a quick breath. Her eyes were riveted on the bright cloth. Then she raised her hand to her mouth, as if to stifle what might come out.

“Tisa . . . Tisa . . .
mi hermana
.” The words came. She could not stop them. Her body convulsed. A deep sob followed. Her body seemed to cave in on itself as she sank into the chair.

Carlos reached out, drawing her close. He murmured to her in words that barely reached across the room to Virgil and Dave. For an instant, the scene became a still life, interrupted only by Connie's low sobs and Carlos's words. Virgil and Dave looked at each other, neither happy with his role.

A cry from another room came as a welcome relief. Consuella, responding to a deeper instinct, rose so quickly the movement startled Virgil. In an instant she left Carlos's embrace and left the room. Carlos sat down heavily in the chair she had just left.

“Her sister,” he said. “Her brother.”

“We can't be sure,” Virgil said. “Not until we have conclusive identification, visual or dental.”

“No . . . No, the dress.” He nodded toward the piece of cloth on the table. “She made it for her sister.”

“I thought the girl at Hayward Ranch was your sister or cousin.”

“No, I don't have anybody in Mexico,” Carlos said. “My family has been here for over two hundred years.”

“Geez,” Dave said, “my family hasn't been here for even half that time.” It was the first time he had said anything since they had entered the house. “I thought you were . . .”

“Just another illegal wetback,” Carlos said, half smiling. “My wife's family is Mexican. She became American once we married. I met her in Mexico when I took a college semester there. Her much younger brother and sister came to Hayward Ranch on temporary work visas. They wanted to experience life here. Tisa met Buddy through me, and then biology took over.”

“So when Buddy was murdered . . .”

“I'm not sure. They called right after. It was obvious they were worried. There was someone at Hayward Ranch they were afraid of and they wanted to leave. I told them that it might look suspicious if they left too soon, because I knew you would find out about the relationship eventually. I guess that wasn't good advice.”

Carlos paused. He looked at Virgil, his eyes glistening. “I guess my advice got them killed.”

“I don't think that got them killed. I think what got them killed has to do with why they ended up twenty-some-odd miles from Hayward Ranch. Down here.”

“That's probably also my fault.”

“How do you mean?”

“I think maybe somebody was sending me a warning.”

“Why you?”

“Because I was Buddy's friend, and maybe they think I know why Buddy got killed.”

“Do you?”

Before Carlos could answer, Consuella returned from the bedroom, carrying the baby. She was speaking to the baby in soothing tones. Virgil could see she was fighting hard to stay in control.

“Remember when you told me you had to be careful because of your wife and children? Well now's the time to realize how much is at stake here. These people were willing to kill to intimidate you. They won't stop there.”

Carlos looked up at Consuella, then reached up and rubbed the back of his hand against the baby's cheek.

“You didn't answer me,” Virgil said. “Do you know why Buddy was killed?”

“I'm not sure, but it began a couple of months ago. Buddy noticed a couple of things. He said there was something odd about the deliveries from the plant in Juárez. Usually he just did the deliveries to the plant, but this past year he'd also been picking up the processed product from Juárez and bringing it to Redbud, which functions as the redistribution point. He said the strange thing that first caught his attention was how cursory the inspection was coming from Juárez, but only for the truck he was driving. His schedule became so set, he got to know the inspectors on a first-name basis. Same guys, same time, all the time. It only dawned on him after a couple of months. He chalked it up to routine and the same cargo. Even coincidence. That is, until about two months ago.”

Carlos hesitated before continuing.

“That's when his rig broke down on one of his regular trips, before he got to the border. It wasn't a problem with the engine, but the container. He was trying to avoid an accident. The truck flipped and the axle snapped. Wade Travis got right down there and they got the container up and back to Redbud right away.”

“Wade Travis . . .”

“You know Wade, don't you, Virgil?”

“Yes, but I had forgotten his connection with the trucking operation.”

“Wade handles all the maintenance now. He and his crew do everything. And he's hands-on. Oversees everything.”

“I guess Wade's doing okay,” Virgil said. “When I stopped by his place, I saw he's opening a car dealership.”

“And Hayward Trucking is sponsoring his NASCAR ambitions. I'd say he's doing a little better than okay. Anyhow, they got the rig back to the depot and Buddy just figured they'd transfer the load to another container and he'd be back on the road to Juárez. But it didn't happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Buddy said they told him to take the rest of the day off. He wasn't exactly unhappy about that, but the next day he had to wait till they finished making the repairs to that container.”