A Lonesome Blood-Red Sun, page 26
The kisses with Jennifer, not seconds ago, similar in every respect including the overwhelming desire to spend more time with her. I’d screwed that up with Jimmie and didn’t intend on making that same mistake.
A marked Hesperia patrol car sat across the street. One house south of the biker gang get-together.
I got in my car, still thinking about the past. How I drove Jimmie to her friend’s house that night, the directions she gave. Pulling up street names from her words. The memory seriously marred from her sitting next to me. And me doing nothing about it. Me being afraid to take that giant step. Afraid of commitment. What a fool.
I came out of my funk to the sound of a closing door. Jennifer, in a nice dress with stylish military boots and a sweater, came out using her white cane with the red tip.
“Now what?” I said to no one.
Simultaneously, Walter with his shotgun came out of his front door, got into his sand-blown Jeep Grand Wagoneer, backed up, stopped in the street, and hurried over to Jennifer. He helped her to the passenger side.
“Ah, what the hell.” I got out. “What’s going on?”
She rolled down her window. “Did you say something, detective?”
“What are you doing?” I spoke around her to Walter who’d returned to the driver’s seat. “Walter, what’s going on?”
He shrugged, “She said she wants me to drive her to Baldy Mesa. Said we’re gonna be looking for a double-wide mobile home on a little hill with an elevated spit of land that goes out to it. Shouldn’t be too hard to find. Before the big crowd moved into the high desert, I used to go out that way a lot to get firewood.”
I said, “Jennifer, how did you know the description of the mobile home?”
She smiled. “I guess I just remembered it. Come on, Walter, let’s go, we’re burning daylight.” She let out a little chuckle at her joke.
This wasn’t good. I put my forehead against the support post on the jeep. Trying to think. “Walter, this is not a good idea. Going out there will lead to nothing but trouble. I’m asking you please not to do this. To let me handle it.”
“Dave, I guess I’m a sucker for a pretty face. I’m gonna do whatever Jen asks me to do. Sorry, Buddy.” He started the Jeep.
I yanked open the back door to the jeep and got in. I tapped her on the shoulder, “We are going to talk about this as soon as this is all over.”
She smirked, “I would expect nothing less.”
Walter looked up. I caught his eye in the review and clocked his jealousy.
“Backup to my cop car. I need to get a few things.”
He did as I asked, and two minutes later, we headed for Baldy Mesa, the little voice in my head screaming that this was a bad idea.
* * *
Two hours later, Walter had me thoroughly turned around and lost in Baldy Mesa’s arroyos, hillocks, and rolling foothills. We’d first tried back-tracking using my memory of what Jimmie had told me that moon-drenched night and fell short of the goal.
Walter too often took us cross country rather than using the roads. The jeep’s occupants bouncing all over the interior until I’d had enough. But kept on, afraid of appearing too much like a weak sister in front of Jen. She had to have been having a worse time of it not being able to see.
Walter suddenly stopped. The dust cloud caught up and engulfed our vehicle, settling on the paint and glass, blending us into a desert sand dune. That’s what the desert did, it reached up and took control of all those who would invade, pollute, and attempt to reside in a place humans didn’t belong.
The dust cleared, but the view remained obscured through the windows. The quiet and total lack of movement didn’t matter, my body kept going, the same as your legs did when stepping onto shore after a long stint at sea.
“There. What do you think, Dave? That look about right to you? That’s the last one of those kinds of hills that I can think of.”
He only said that the last three times we stopped. I couldn’t see out the windows and got out.
We still sat about three hundred yards from the little hill. Just like the others he bird-dogged for us, this one also had a double-wide mobile home.
“To tell you the truth, Walt, I don’t know. Like I said it was dark that night.”
“Look there, it’s got that little spit of land that goes out to the hill jus’ like you said.”
“Could be.” I bent over to stretch my bound-up back when Walt’s door closed. I jumped back in just as he took off. He almost left me behind. He did it on purpose.
Instead of driving around the hill on flat terrain to find the public access to the property, Walt shifted into four-wheel drive, drove the three hundred yards across the desert floor to the base of the hill, and then straight up the side. I reached up and held onto Jen’s shoulders. “Hold on, Walt’s trying to kill us. Walt?”
Jen patted my hand and laughed. “Walt knows what he’s doing.”
“Hey there, Dave, you need to take a breath, or Jen’s gonna think you’re some kind of sissy boy.”
The jeep rocked from side to side going over dips and bumps while climbing almost straight up. At least it seemed like it was straight up. A tree trunk wasn’t as steep.
We crested the top and bounced to a stop right in front of the mobile home’s front door. This one had the right kind of wooden stoop, only now more weathered. The yellow light bulb over the door almost cinched it for me. But in the bright daylight, it still looked different.
A grungy man in a raggedy black heavy metal tee shirt, denim pants, and barefoot stepped out on the stoop, holding a pistol down by his side. He hadn’t shaved or taken a bath in who knew how long.
“Git the hell off my property, now, or I’m gonna shoot your sorry ass.”
I said, “Stay in the jeep.” I got out holding up my sheriff’s badge. “Sheriff’s department. I just want to ask you a couple of questions.”
He flipped the gun back into the mobile home, did it with just his wrist as if trying to hide his movement. “I got nothin’ ta say to no stinkin’ law dawg.” He backed up ready to flee inside and close the door.
“Wait. Just wait a minute, would you? I promise I don’t care if you’re wanted or what you got going on inside your home.”
He hesitated. “You got a warrant?”
“I don’t need a warrant to talk. And all I wanna do is talk.” I came around the front of the jeep with my hands raised. “My name’s Dave Beckett. Come on down here, and just let me ask you a couple of questions.”
Jen got out with her red-tipped white cane. “Mister, my name is Jennifer. He’s telling the truth. We just want to ask you a couple of questions about my sister.”
“I told you to stay in the car.”
She whispered as she walked past, using her cane as guide, “You’re not the boss of me, Cracker Jack.”
This had to be the way Hamond felt when I did exactly opposite of what he told me to do.
“You got a blind woman along with you? What the hell’s that all about?”
Jen said, “My sister was murdered, and we’re looking for the killer.”
I cringed. When interviewing a subject, you never gave away your hand until you absolutely had to. Now the guy on the porch had too much information to use to dodge around my questions.
The man said. “Well, I didn’t kill no one if that’s what this is all about.”
I stepped alongside Jen, got ahead of her, and stopped. “Look, you don’t want me to do this the hard way. I can come back with your probation officer if you like. Then, we’ll conduct a Bravo Search terms search. You think you could survive that?”
“How do you know I’m on probation?”
“I don’t go anywhere without researching everyone who lives at the location.”
Jen poked my back with her cane and whispered. “You’re bluffing. That’s dangerous, what if he’s not on probation?”
I didn’t turn around and swiped at her cane still stuck in my back. “Hush.”
The man on the porch looked inside and then back out as he weighed his options. “Okay, you get two questions.” He came down the porch.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
The man came down the rickety wooden porch steps. He meandered over to an empty wood spool that once held wire and sat. The yard area was cluttered with spools of every size. There were also two fifty-five-gallon drums with their tops cut off and fire-blackened. He put one dirty foot up on his knee. As if he now sat on the stage of one of those talk shows where no one had all their front teeth. A show where they had black-shirted bouncers standing by, ready to break up the fistfights when someone claimed to have had carnal relations with the other’s girlfriend.
I walked over to him and stood to the side, so the sun wouldn’t shine in my eyes. I wanted to read his expressions when he lied. He shifted to face me.
“What’s your name?”
He shot me a quick smile, showing off a meth-mouth filled with yellow and black teeth and unhealthy gums. “That gonna be one of your two questions? You sure you wanna waste it on a name?”
I took a step closer. “We’re no longer playing any stupid games. Now you’re out in the open where I can put my hands on you. Look around. You have everything I need to make a case for theft and stolen property. You’re stealing wire from the phone and electric companies and burning off the rubber sheaths. Then you sell off the copper. You’re gonna answer all my questions or find yourself sitting in the Victorville jail. Pick your poison.”
He lost his smile and abruptly brought his foot down off his knee as if getting ready to bolt. Behind me a shotgun racked. The sound struck fear in those who understood what it meant. I didn’t have to turn and look. Walter had pulled out his gauge.
“What’s your name?”
“Hector Collins and I don’t live here.”
“You’re lying. I’m not in the mood to play the name-game. I don’t really care what your name is. Do you live here or not?”
He hesitated and then nodded after he had a chance to think about it.
“Who else lives here with you?”
“Does Valer—”
“Jennifer, please don’t say anything.” I turned back to Hector. “Do you live here with anyone else?”
“I share the rent with a couple of guys. Why?”
“Guys, no women?”
“No. Why?”
“How long have you lived here?”
“Six-seven months.”
Jennifer and Walter got back in the Jeep, getting ready to go.
“Who do you rent from?”
Hector squirmed a little.
I said, “I don’t care if you have a rental agreement. I don’t even care if you’re squatting. I just need to know if a woman lived here three years ago.”
Jenifer got back out of the Jeep and returned closer this time, five feet away.
“I tolt ya, I’ve only lived here for six or seven months so how would I know?”
“Street talk. You know what’s going on. You talk to people.”
Jennifer said. “I’ll give you fifty dollars.”
Hector’s head whipped around to look at her. “Lemme see the green.”
She reached into a slip type pocket in her dress and extracted a wad. She pulled off the red rubber band and thumbed passed three hundred in twenties until she came to a fifty. She peeled it off and held it out.
Hector started to jump up. I kicked him in the chest, knocking over the spool he’d been sitting on. I didn’t want him anywhere near Jennifer. The kick came out of instinct and nothing more.
Jennifer still held out the bill. “What’s going on? What’s happening?”
Hector coughed and choked and writhed on the ground, making a little dirt angel.
When I didn’t answer, she said. “You’re a brutal man, Dave. I didn’t think that before, but I do now.”
I walked over, grabbed Hector by his tee shirt, and yanked him to his feet, tearing the shirt half off. “Tell me.”
He held up his hand. “Okay…Okay. I got a paper. Someone stuck to our door. An eviction. Says we gotta get out. Says the marshals will be coming to kick our ass out in thirty days. I’ll get it. Just don’t kick me again. Ya about kicked a lung out.”
I followed him up the two steps. He stopped at the top. “You can’t come in.”
“I’m not gonna let you arm yourself. I told you, I don’t care if you have a full-blown meth lab in there. I work homicide.”
“The paper’s right inside the door on the floor where I tore it off and threw it down. I’ll jus’ reach inside and get it.”
I took out my .357 and held it down by my leg. “Slowly, you understand.”
“Dave?” Jennifer said.
Hector said, “What the hell’s the matter with you? You some kinda Wyatt Earp?”
“Get the paper.”
“All right. Take it easy.” He reached in. His hand came back out with a paper, one with official writing. I’d seen similar admonishments a thousand times working the street. It was like he said, it was an eviction notice. He handed it to me. I holstered my gun, took the paper and took hold of his arm, escorting him down the steps and back to the stool where he sat.
Jennifer took a couple of steps, offering the fifty. “I’m sorry about all this.”
She wasn’t cynical enough and too vulnerable to live across the street from Leo Archuletta.
Hector scurried over, his eyes locked on me, and grabbed the money. He retreated back to his spool and sat. The kick taught him a lesson.
I uncrumpled the paper and read the top part, all boilerplate until I got to the bottom.
Owners:
Val Verde Property Management Inc.
14943 Bear Valley Road
Hesperia Calif. 92345
I walked over to the Jeep, helped Jennifer get in. I got in the back and closed the door. I’d worked patrol in Hesperia and knew the hundred blocks by rote. I told Walter to take us to Bear Valley and Cottonwood. He said nothing. Put the jeep in gear and took off. This time using the public access.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
In the jeep, Jennifer asked. “What’d you find out? What was on the paper?”
Walter jockeyed the steering wheel over the washboard road until we finally hit the asphalt, and smooth sailing. I wasn’t sure how he could see through all the fine dust that had settled on the windshield.
“Just another lead that’s taking us somewhere else. Hector had an eviction notice from a management company. We’re going to check with the management company’s records to see who was living in the mobile the night I dropped Jimmie off. Hopefully, it’ll be someone named Valerie.”
“You think the management company will just give up the records without a court order or something like that?”
“No, you’re right, it could get sticky. We might have to wait for a subpoena to be issued.”
Only it didn’t work like in the movies when the good guys just pulled a court order out of thin air. To get a subpoena I had to go through a district attorney, and the DA had to have an open case to assign the subpoena to. I wasn’t officially working a case. If the management company played hardball, we’d be left without any options.
It would take us twenty-five or thirty minutes to get back to Hesperia. Walt drove like a crazy man off-road, but on the pavement, he was a ninety-year-old woman who only drove on Sundays to pick up her weekly cigarettes and Schlitz malt liquor beer.
I stared out the window, thinking about Jennifer and what would happen after the investigation ended. And it was going to end. They usually ended abruptly without warning. I now had a firm hold on the thread that would eventually unravel the entire sweater. I’d been there before and recognized the feeling. The scent of the prey growing fresh.
Then my thoughts shifted to our rag-tag trio, two of which were just along for the ride. It was okay to have them while searching for a house, but now I would need at least the appearance of professionalism to talk the management company out of their records. The odds weren’t good that the next contact would be successful.
We popped out at the Summit. Walter navigated the jeep onto the 15 freeway north and got off at Bear Valley Road. He headed east.
I could almost picture the strip center in my head, even the offices. I just couldn’t conjure up an image of Val Verde Management Company.
The strip center came into view, and the anxiety started to rise. In the past, I’d been able to talk my way around some of the most obstinate “keepers of the record,” and hoped I could do it again.
Walter took his foot off the accelerator. The jeep slowed. He looked in the rearview. “Dave, we got company.”
I turned around. Out the dusty back window, a Sheriff’s marked patrol car from the county station was pulling us over using its rotating red lights.
“Walt, don’t stop here. We’re almost there. It’s right there on the right. See it? Pull in the parking lot.”
“The cop’s not gonna like it. They get angry when you don’t pull over when they hit you with the lights.”
Jennifer reached over and put her hand on his arm without saying anything, her head still turned, facing the open window, taking in the warm desert air. Her eyes seeing nothing at all, missing out on the empty blue sky and desolate desertscape.
The cop bumped the siren when we didn’t pull right over.
“It’s okay.” I said, “Almost there.”
Walter stuck his arm out the window and pointed so the cop would know he intended to stop just down the road a piece.
“You two stay in the car. This time I mean it. You don’t listen to me this time, you’ll get me into trouble for sure.”
Walter pulled up and stopped. He nosed the Jeep close to the big plate glass window of Val Verde Property Management company. The window had a multitude of 8x11 ads for property for sale. On the inside, plainly visible, three women sat at four desks, one desk empty.
I got out of the jeep and looked back at the patrol car, hoping I knew the deputy. I let out a sigh of relief when Seven Sam Three got out. He’d pulled up behind the jeep, blocking any chance of escape.
