Girl Out Of Darkness

By Jim Christ

Timmy Pyre is a cunning, persuasive and devilishly handsome youth who’s just moved in with his father and stepmother, ‘Slick’ and Barbara, at their southern Arizona home. He’s already learned about the fast life while living with his mom in Los Angeles, where he’s also learned the advantages of using his glib charm to manipulate the people around him. Bold, arrogant and self-absorbed, Timmy is frustrated with the slow pace in rural Arizona and resentful of the behavioral restraints his father and stepmother have placed on him, so he commits a murder, depending on a friend and the friend’s little sister, Daniel and Jenny Ballasteros, to provide him with an alibi.
Timmy controls Daniel through a bizarre combination of protectiveness, extracted promises and intimidation. He gets Daniel’s expensive sneakers back from a thief, but within days he threatens Daniel and seduces the girl who loves him.
Witness to the actual murder, Daniel doesn’t know where to turn to relieve the guilt that’s overwhelming him—to his priest . . . to his family . . . to the girl who’s pursuing him. He doesn’t realize that his involvement with Timmy threatens everything important to him—his sister, his future, his own life, so he continues lying to protect his friend.
Haunted by an estrangement from his son and by an old murder case he never solved, Deputy Pete Caldwell leads a team of investigators through the homicide investigation, plodding cautiously after each suspect the evidence suggests—the jealous mate, lovers from both the past and the present, a group of foraging Mexican migrants. Pete’s fellow deputies don’t appreciate his deliberate style, and they keep trying to push him into retirement. And now Constance, Pete’s wife of thirty-five years, is forcing him into a reckoning with his son Cordell, whom he’s not spoken to in sixteen years.
A girl named Sherry is the one who seems most trapped by circumstances beyond her control, and in fact, she may become Timmy’s next victim. Afflicted with acne and a low opinion of her own worth, but trying to model herself after her attractive mother, she pursues Daniel because “he’s the one she wants.”
As the homicide investigation grinds into a fourth day, Pete is also thrust into an awkward dinner meeting with his son and pregnant daughter-in-law, a local minister invited as referee. As they are confronting the old grudge between father and son, Pete gets a call from a colleague regarding a major break in the case—Daniel’s sister Jenny has been rescued from the bottom of an old mine vent after someone has apparently tried to eliminate her.
Just as Pete has determined who the real killer is, Timmy steals a car and goes into hiding at a remote mountain home. He decides to return to California, where he believes he has more resources for evading capture, and he figures it will be easy to get Sherry to go along for the ride.
A series of twists puts Timmy and Daniel and Sherry into a midnight confrontation. Daniel has come to rescue Sherry, but Timmy overcomes him easily, and Sherry must find a way to deliver herself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jim Christ
• Release date: Dec 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463618981

Book preview

Thursday, February 16, 1984, 3:55 PM

WHEN THEY CAME near the woman’s body on their all-terrain cycles, Elmer and Rudy Markey almost didn’t stop because the crumpled mass that lay there on the granite looked like a small pile of trash that someone had dumped illegally or like a load of laundry that had gotten away from some family in one of the houses along the ridge line and they just hadn’t made their way down to gather it up yet. But there was something not quite right about the pile, maybe its shape or maybe its mix of colors, and Elmer slowed down and rose off his seat for a better look.

They were not unused to seeing someone hurt in an accident at their family’s ranch, and their initial reaction was to help the woman. They dismounted from the Hondas but left the engines idling and rushed toward her. They could see she was dead, though, the moment they were standing over her. Rudy’s stomach began turning immediately and he moved away a few steps and turned his eyes away. Elmer knelt and lifted her hand and felt for a pulse the way he’d learned in Boy Scouts.

She musta fell, Elmer said. He was looking up at the balcony now. Lookit that piece of railing hangin’ there. She musta went right through it. He heard Rudy puking and stared at him. A breeze had come up, and it carried the stench of Rudy’s vomit away to the west.

After half a minute, Rudy said, You know who it is? No, you?

Rudy shook his head. No, but that new kid lives up on the ridge around here. That big kid.

Timmy.

Rudy nodded.

Can you ride and get Dad? Elmer said. After his brother managed a nod, he said, I’m gonna go up there and see if anyone else is home... see if they called nine-one-one. He jogged back to his Honda and killed the engine, then went to the cut and began making his way up the steep face of the ravine.

He leaned into the trail’s incline and ran as fast as he could and slipped as he changed directions at one of the switchbacks, almost falling headlong into a patch of nopal nestled there. It wasn’t even forty vertical feet to the mesa above, but he was winded when he reached the end of his climb. He paused and scanned the street for emergency vehicles, but all he saw was a plumber’s work van a couple hundred feet down the street. And maybe someone moving there where the pavement arced away to the right, or maybe just a trick of the light. He jogged to the front door and rang the bell and waited, then rang again. When there was no answer, he knocked and waited, then turned the knob and went inside and yelled.

Anyone here? There was a sweet, flowery smell. He could hear, and then see, a lightweight curtain flapping inward from an open slider across the room. He could tell it led onto the balcony he’d seen from below, and he moved toward it.

The front door slammed closed with a crash behind him, and Elmer’s body jerked in a paroxysm so wild he clutched his chest.

When he was sure his heart was still beating, he started looking for the telephone.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Pete Caldwell got the radio call about a fatality and possible crime scene in Copperton, he was interviewing the manager of a Circle K on the Old Nogales Highway who’d been the victim of a beer and liquor run just before lunch time. The booze thieves were kids, two punks who had to be from up in town ‘cause they weren’t from around here, the manager told him, pint-sized Mexican kids about fourteen-fifteen years old who walked in acting like they were gonna buy candy and then ran out with two cases of Bud. I chased ‘em, even though the company don’t want us to, cuz I figgered they’d drop the beer before they got too far. ‘At’s when the other punks, three of ‘em, come round from the back of the store and got in and out with about a case o’ liquor, mostly Seagram’s and other cheap stuff.

Not too discriminating about their liquid refreshment, Pete said. It wasn’t the sort of case he usually got involved in, and it wasn’t a case that had a gnat’s ass chance of being solved, but the manager—a younger overweight guy named Wallis—looked scared, so Pete took descriptions of the five kids and acted as serious as he could. When dispatch told him to head for the Hawk Vista subdivision, he gave Wallis one of his cards and told him to call if he saw any of the suspects near the store again.

The crime scene, if that’s what it was, was crowded by the time Pete arrived: a couple of ambulance attendants, who were smoking cigarettes and complaining how hard it was going to be to bring the body up to the street, a crime scene tech and a photographer from the sheriff’s mobile crime unit, an assistant county medical examiner who’d just arrived, and Deputy Cisco Hernández, who was talking to a skinny kid in the front yard. There was also a deputy below in the wash maintaining a perimeter around the corpse from a dozen or so spectators who’d heard about the dead woman and drifted down from the neighborhood or from one of the ranches upstream.

The air was suggesting evening now, cooling rapidly. What’s goin’ on? Pete said.

Hernández said, This here is Elmer Markey. Him and his brother were rippin’ down the wash and they come upon a body. Elmer, this is Deputy Caldwell, one of our detectives.

Pete removed his sunglasses, aviators, so the kid could see his eyes, and slid them into his pants pocket. He said, You okay son?

Yessir. Elmer kept his eyes up and returned Pete’s gaze, the way the Markeys taught all their boys to do, even with men of authority.

You one of Brigham’s boys?

He’s my grandfather, sir.

Pete nodded at him and asked Hernández if he thought they needed the boy any more.

I got everything, but we’ll want to talk to his brother who’s down below in the wash.

Stand yonder and wait for us to take you down, he told the boy. To Hernández, he said, Tell me what we got.

We’re pretty sure the deceased is the woman who lives here. One Barbara Pyre... married to Timothy Pyre, who’s got an insurance office over in Green Valley. Crisis intervention is headed over there already. They got a son—Timothy Junior, fifteen. Rides the activity bus from Polk every day. Due anytime, but we got people up there to meet him at the bus stop.

They put on latex gloves and entered the house. Hernández pointed and talked.

...front door was closed but unlocked when the boy came in about four o’clock... said he didn’t touch anything but the doorknob and the phone... bottle o’ Coke yonder was open, but the techs sealed it up so they could measure the amount that’s left and the carbonation level... said it seemed pretty fizzy like it was just opened today... half-drunk too... big Coke drinker, I guess... back door was open... outside is where it’s interesting.

Mmm, Pete said. They moved to the balcony.

...plants have just been watered... the dirt in the pots is plenty wet...

Some of it’s still overflowing the little trays, Pete said. Are all of ‘em damp?

Looks like.

Pete inspected some of the pots to be sure. All wet. You water ʻem all, careful-like, then have an accident?

Big thing is the railing. She musta went right through it.

Pete drew close. He talked to the photographer. You ʻbout finished? We better bring the railing up before she gives way and kills one of the looky-lous.

Pete was past sixty, gray-haired and wrinkle-faced, expected by everyone in the department to turn in his papers two years ago, used to having things his way.

The photographer nodded and drew back.

It’ll go down anyway in a few minutes, and the physical evidence won’t be worth chicken spit. Let’s get a lasso on her.

One of the technicians brought him a length of nylon cord and he threw it over the midsection of the railing, where the end dangled out of reach.

Fireplace poker or a broom or a coat hanger, he said. When they brought him a wire coat hanger, he untwisted it with his thumb and forefinger and straightened it and used it to hook the loose end of the rope and bring it back. He made a slipknot and drew it tight.

Pull. Let’s get it back up and secure.

Hernández and the tech joined Pete on the rope and they drew the section of railing almost back to upright. Pete tied it to the southwest post of the railing, which was still sound.

You get a picture of the nails? These ones on top? he asked the photographer, who nodded. Get a few more. Put something there for scale. Tape measure maybe.

Already did that, deputy. He gave Pete his ‘you think I’m stupid?’ look.

Hernández drew near and looked closer.

Twelve-penny nails. They should be sixteens, Pete said.

You a carpenter now?

He turned back to the technician. Your guys need to bring this section in... compare the hardware to what you find on the rest of the balcony. Compare everything, but especially the nails.

The tech nodded.

Pete moved to an intact section of railing and put his hands on it and studied the scene below. He surveyed the crowd of gawkers first, wondering if one of them was a killer. Then he focused on the dead woman, and a little farther away, the watering can. A couple of young women were standing over it, maybe thinking they could use it at home.

Hey deputy, he hollered down. Secure that thing over there. He pointed. Let me have one of my guys do it, the tech said.

Have ‘em ring the perimeter with crime scene tape too. Use some barricades to keep it in place... won’t keep people out, but it might discourage them.

Hernández was right next to him now, leaning on the rail. What we got right below is that blackish spot in the middle of the rock. What do ya suppose that is?

Don’t know, but it’s a pretty stout railing, huh?

Hernández took his weight off the rail and stood up.

The tech leaned over and looked at the spattering of black. Looks like something else fell. Or maybe she dumped the contents of one of her pots over the edge.

Hernández bent to look.

Musta been recent or it woulda dispersed by now. Better get samples of it, whatever it is, Pete said. After a long moment, he said, You think she coulda fell through it?... without any help?

Hernández said, Well there’s that little table knocked over. She coulda tripped on that and it sent her flying.

"Right, but if she was all done watering, she’s on her way in, right? Seems more likely she woulda tripped toward the house.

Then there’s the distance.

The distance? Hernández said.

"Well, okay, she comes back to check for blight on one of her bushes or something, still holding the watering can, and she trips... goes flying through the railing...

But shouldn’t her body be closer in? I mean, even supposing the railing was built crappy... some lazy-ass carpenter runs outta sixteen-penny nails, say, and uses some twelves to finish the job... I get that. But the railing woulda impeded her flight. She shoulda dropped almost straight down, not sailed out there ten or fifteen feet. And there’s at least a chance she’da left marks on the top rail, doncha think?... trying to hold on... scratches.

Maybe couldn’t grab fast enough, Hernández said.

Mmm. Pete knelt and squinted at the top rail of the section that had broken away.

Want me to get your glasses from the car? Hernández grinned, knowing Pete wouldn’t look up.

There’s little particles embedded in the wood here. Sand or somethin’. See it?

The tech leaned in to look, and Pete rose to a stooping position and made his way along the rest of the balcony’s railing, shuffling to avoid the potted plants, his eyes a few inches from the top rail and still in a squint.

And nowhere else, Pete said. He reshuffled his steps, double-checking. I can see that much without glasses. He straightened and looked squarely at Hernández. Anything missing?

Won’t know for sure till the husband arrives. Iffy on the contents of her purse. The snap wasn’t fastened on her wallet... no cash, but there was a Mastercharge and a couple department store cards.

Prints? Pete said.

Not likely on the purse cuz it’s cloth. And nothing looks like it’s been busted or messed with, Hernández said.

We can probably raise latents on the wallet though, the tech said. Maybe not on the outside ‘cause it’s fabric, but there’re some good interior surfaces.

Pete nodded. Time for a canvass. Cisco, you knock on doors along the street. He stared across the ravine and pointed with his head. Over there too. Maybe somebody saw something. He wondered if he should say more. He knew Hernández didn’t like a lot of guidance on how to do things. Touchy that way for a Mexican guy, he thought. I need to get a look at the body... talk to them people down there.

Somebody needs to wait for the husband.

Well, there’s only the three of us right now, and daylight’s burning, so get on your radio and request a couple more deputies. Then start dropping in on the neighbors. Hernández set his mouth and turned and left.

Pete went outside and found Elmer Markey and told him to lead the way down the cut. Walk on the edge of the trail and keep your eyes down so you don’t smash any decent looking footprints. The ambulance attendants followed them.

When they reached the floor of the wash, Elmer stopped and turned to face Pete and pointed and said, That’s my brother and my dad.

I need you to look close and tell me if that’s just the way you found her. Can you do that?

Yessir.

The assistant medical examiner, Chip Farley, was standing near the body with a leather satchel, waiting for the photographer to finish. Chip was hatless and his curly black hair looked shiny in the late afternoon sun. Pete and the boy drew up next to him and watched the photographer, who was using a flash to reduce shadowing. The two ambulance attendants waited, one of them clutching a black body bag.

Her arms and legs... the way she’s layin’ there... everything look about the same?

Yessir. I’m pretty sure, Elmer said. The leg has that funny angle to it, same as I remember. His face reddened. I don’t really mean funny.

It’s okay. Let’s go talk to your pa and them.

Rudy Markey and his father Ammon were standing a little removed from the other onlookers, but Pete called to all of them as he and Elmer approached. Did any of you see anything unusual this afternoon? They were all looking at him now. Could be anything at all. A different car in the neighborhood... somebody acting suspicious. He looked from face to face.

A woman spoke then. Are you saying it wasn’t an accident, Sheriff? That boy over there said it looked like she fell. She was pointing at Rudy Markey.

No ma’am, Pete said. "I’m sayin’ we’re trying to figure out just what did happen. That’s why I’m asking if any of you all saw anything that might help us. He pushed his hat back a few inches and looked at the woman. And I’m not the sheriff... one o’ his deputies. Deputy Caldwell. Pete Caldwell. I’m Babette Williams." she said. She was a small woman, tiny even, wearing heavy rouge and mascara.

Pete touched his hat again and lowered his voice. I’m pleased, ma’am.

Was it Barbara Pyre who fell? Babette said.

We’re not sure, ma’am. Did you know Barbara Pyre?

Not very well, but we live right across the warsh from them. Right up there. She pointed. We always thought that if somebody got hurt in a fall, it would be at the old mineshaft. Pete remembered she’d had something to do with the mineshaft ‘discovery’ a few months back, and he decided she was trying to lead him into some comment he’d regret.

He called again. If anything comes to mind for one of you, anything you think might help us, we’d appreciate a call. He approached Babette and handed her a half-dozen cards to pass around. Then he moved closer to the Markeys, the three of them standing together now. Your son okay? Rudy kept his eyes down.

He’ll be fine. Just needs to settle outta him, the man said, glancing toward the dead woman.

Your boys done a good thing today. Both of ‘em.

Boys...

Rudy and Elmer looked Pete in the eye and said a thank-you. The man extended his hand, and Pete shook it.

Markey. Ammon Markey, he said. Will you be needing us anymore?

Did any of you know the woman who fell? They shook their heads. The boys gave out a nosir. Then not today, Mr. Markey, but we may have some follow–up questions later. You can take the Hondas, but try an’ stay in the same tracks you made comin’ in.

Two

WHEN THE MARKEYS were out of earshot, Chip Farley looked at Pete and said, I would have preferred to have a look at those bikes. His eyes were dark brown and wet and piercing. Well, then I saved you some time, didn’t I.

Chip didn’t bother to disagree. He started toward the body, moving methodically, his eyes examining the ground before each step. He asked the photographer, Any value in the footprints?

I photographed some on the trail up to the house, but nothing down here. Too many of ‘em since the last rain, every which way but sideways. Like the surface of a sponge.

Chip knelt and opened his satchel. Lot of destruction to the head... probably somersaulted from the balcony, didn’t quite make a revolution and a half, and the back of her head struck first. Most of the blood is pooled there. He felt along the back of her neck. Cervical spine’s been severed as well.

Why’s the leg broke like that? Must’ve took the impact there too, Pete said.

Not just somersaulting, but twisting too... trying to reach with the arm and the leg to break her fall... snaps the femur. He examined the hands next. No obvious defensive wounds...

What about the fingernails?

Hold your horses.

Chip lifted each hand and examined it closely. Wedding ring’s still here. She was a nail-biter... might be a scrap under the right thumb though.

Wood?

Skin, more likely. He tweezed the fragment and bagged it and labeled it. When you think it happened? Pete said.

Rigor not even starting, so less than two hours ago. Condition of the pooled blood says the same thing. I’ll get a temp reading from her liver when I get her back to the lab. He looked at his wrist watch. So after three-thirty, Pete said.

Look at those bruises on her arms there, near the elbow, Chip said.

The photographer stepped forward and took more shots.

Chip pulled the woman’s tee-shirt up and examined her torso. Another bruise here below the breasts. Aligns with the ones on her arms and probably matches the height of that railing.

From running into it, Pete said. You s’pose she run into it hard enough to tear it loose like that?

Look at her. Barely ninety-five or a hundred pounds. Unless that balcony was put together with chewing gum, she’d have needed a running start, Chip said. Or a push.

More bruising on her neck. Consistent with a large hand. Right under her jaw. See it? You get photos of those?

Yes, I did. From both sides and underneath.

So somebody tried to choke her? Pete said. Or just grabbed her there... looks like just one hand, so maybe he was holding her that way. Attempted rape maybe. Clutched her hard there anyway. There’s a deep impression below her chin, so maybe we can get a fingerprint. But the bruising could be older too, so it might not be conclusive. Let’s roll her. Chip moved the broken leg so the body lay fairly straight. Then he and Pete turned her over. No marks here that wouldn’t be explained by the impact. The photographer began shooting again.

I’m done here, Chip said. He looked at the ambulance attendants. You guys can take her.

I take it you’re not gonna rule it an accident.

Unlikely. Chip walked away and began ascending the cut. Dusk was gathering.

Pete watched him for a minute. Then the balcony’s outdoor light flashed on from above, and Pete looked up and saw a man there. The husband, he thought, probably overcome with horror.

But when the man met him at the door, he didn’t seem horrified at all.

He was about forty-five, wearing a starched long-sleeve shirt and tie, sporting short black hair and a beard that ringed his mouth and made him look like a professor, Pete thought. Except his expression wasn’t a professor’s. He looked Pete up and down and waited.

Pete removed his hat and said, I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Pyre.

Nice of you to say. His eyes did not flicker or glance away.

No gaze aversion, Pete noted.

Pete wondered how he’d acted when the crisis intervention team first told him his wife might be dead. Pete wasn’t sure he liked the idea of the crisis team to begin with. He was glad he didn’t have to do any crisis counseling, but he preferred seeing a potential suspect’s first reaction to news like this. Do you feel up to answering a few questions, Mr. Pyre?

You can call me Slick.

Pete nodded, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to do that.

Slick wasn’t a tall man, but he had a linebacker’s physique, broad-shouldered and tapered to the waist. Easily powerful enough to run a hundred-pound woman through a balcony railing... or throw her over.

No stains of any kind on his clothes, no dishevelment, Pete noted. Dark wool slacks and black tassel loafers.

Slick didn’t offer his hand, but Pete glanced at it and sized it. Not small, for sure. He didn’t see any scratches on Slick’s skin, but of course the likeliest place, the arms, was covered by his shirtsleeves. How long have you and Mrs. Pyre been married?

A little over a year. We were together before that, though... for about a year and a half.

Were you and her getting along all right?

Slick’s eyes fired back at him.

Defensive enough to be innocent, Pete thought, but that could be an act. I mean no offense.

She was important to me, and I was to her. Do you know what happened?

Pete thought, he talks about importance but not love... and now he’s changing the subject. That’s what we’re trying to find out. Do you know of anyone who might want to hurt your wife? An acquaintance or a coworker?

Barbara didn’t work and we didn’t socialize that much except with my clients. Did a little club riding once in a while. Barbara wasn’t even from around here.

Club riding. Pete didn’t care for bikers much. There were the gangsters, like in Hells Angels Forever, and there were the stoners, like in Easy Rider, his son Cordell’s favorite.

We ride to Sedona once in a while... to take in the air.

More like take in the smoke, Pete figured. His son hadn’t been a biker, but he toked plenty. What about people in your past... or her past?

No one I know. I sell insurance. Then Slick seemed to remember someone. She had an old boyfriend who gave her some trouble before we met, but that guy lived over in New Mexico. Besides, I think that all got settled almost three years ago.

You the one that settled it for her, by any chance?

Slick said nothing for a moment, then nodded. He had a little trouble letting go at first.

This New Mexicano—he got a name?

Willis if I remember right. Donny Willis.

Pete produced a notebook and wrote it down.

And you say you sell life insurance... did your wife have a policy?

He nodded. A small one. Twenty-thousand dollars.

Double indemnity? Pete said.

It’s the standard these days, Slick said, glowering, not intimidated at all. Have you had a chance to look around and see if anything's missing?

You think it mighta been a robbery? The people who came and told me—they said it coulda been an accident. Never could teach her to keep the doors locked.

Teach her? Pete said. So Slick was the dominant one. His own wife, Constance, had never contested his authority either, but...

She kept a spare key under the front mat, for chrissake. Barbara was a trusting girl. Naïve really.

A naïve girl? How old was Mrs. Pyre?

You probably saw the license.

Pete stared at Slick.

Twenty-six, I think... no, twenty-seven. Just had a birthday. In January.

And you’re about forty?

Slick was slow to respond, understanding the implication. Forty-one.

So back to the first question—anything missing?

Not as far as I can tell. The TV is still here... and the Indian.

The Indian?

My bike. It’s vintage. Already checked on her.

Worth a lot o’ money then. Can I see it?

Slick led Pete through a side door to the garage, which was a few degrees warmer than the kitchen and still smelled new, like fresh drywall compound. The Indian sat on a rack to keep its tires off the ground. On the same side of the garage, arranged on storage hooks were riding leathers with emblems and a club name that Pete couldn’t read.

Probably the most valuable thing I have.

You ride with a club, you said, Pete said.

Slick nodded. Night-Ramblers. He went over to the leathers and picked up one of the black jackets and showed it to Pete. The club’s name was arranged below their emblem, which was a flaming motorcycle wheel. It’s an Arizona club. We’re weekenders.

Like it was an excuse.

Any of them have a beef with you or your wife?

Slick shook his head.

All the same, I’d like a list of the members... just routine.

I got a telephone tree we use to coordinate rides. That works.

When they returned to the kitchen, Pete said, You keep any cash in the house? Jewelry?

She had a stash, I know... like a sugar bowl... but only a few dollars. Don’t know where she kept it. And just her diamond ring and some inexpensive gold stuff.

Sorry, but I gotta ask... keep any drugs in the house?

Slick set his jaw and waited.

Nobody’s gonna bust ya. The presence of drugs would be a motive, you see. Just need to know if you kept recreational drugs here at the house.

We did some pot... the occasional line of blow. Never kept more than a few grams around though.

You owe any money to your dealer? Or anybody else?

"No. I just score from a couple club guys.

So you don't think it was accidental?

The medical examiner will decide that based on the evidence he finds. I’m just sayin’ that if it wasn’t an accident, it’s pretty important for our office to move quickly. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be troubling you right now. I know it must be a hard time.

Slick looked hard at Pete and started working his jaw.

You and Mrs. Pyre—you have any children?

My son... Timmy... from my first marriage.

Pete waited, hoping Slick would say more.

He’ll be fifteen here in a couple months. Should be coming home soon.

Kinda late if he’s coming straight from school. Polk High is it? Up in town?

He’s on one of the sports teams... rides the activity bus after practice.

Pete nodded. This happened after three-thirty, so I assume he was practicing when it happened. Which sport did you say it was?

Never did say, but it’s basketball.

You know the coach’s name by chance?

Dacy. Black fella. Lives the other side of the wash.

You don’t say. He commutes, does he?

It’s just what Timmy told me. Him or his buddy.

His buddy.

Yeah... kid that’s always hanging around with him here. Mexican kid.

Pete considered for a moment, then asked, And Mrs. Pyre’s family... they from around here?

Slick shook his head and said, Indiana. She was estranged from them. Never had any contact with them as far as I know. Never even talked about her folks. No brothers or sisters.

It made Pete think of his son, Cordell.

Pete nodded again. This is a pretty new housing development, so you couldn’ta been here too very long. Have you seen people come through the area that maybe seemed like they didn’t belong?

Not through the neighborhood, but we see people down in the wash once in a while.

Bracero types?

Yeah, wetbacks I guess.

They ever come around asking for work?... looking for something to eat?

Slick shook his head. Not as far as I know.

Pete waited, changing the subject.

Have you noticed your wife being depressed or upset about anything lately?

No. She was fine.

All right. Thanks for your help. There’s just one more thing. Where were you this afternoon three-thirty and after?

Slick worked his jaw again, and his eyes narrowed. You got a hard crust, Deputy. You know that?

Pete waited, staring back.

Just where your people found me. At my office all afternoon.

Anybody there with you?

Couple clients. Slick nodded. Reviewing policies... and a part time secretary.

I’ll need names and addresses.

Adams and Minjarez. You can call the office tomorrow for the addresses. Slick’s face was pre-volcanic, his facial skin turning red now.

Pete offered him a card. Anything comes to mind...

Slick didn’t extend his hand.

I’ll leave it on the counter.

When he raised Hernández on the radio, Pete asked for a progress report.

I finished Harris Street and I’m checking in with a few places on Cooper.

Farley’s leaning toward foul play. Anything to report from the neighbors?

One subject, a Mrs. Latimer, reported seeing some pedestrians this afternoon, down in the wash. Thought they were migrants. Fifteen hundred hours or so. Most people reported they weren’t home all day. Work and such.

Was the subject able to provide details?

Affirmative. Two Hispanic males, mid-twenties, below average height, one medium build, one on the slender side. Khaki clothes and toting packs. Goin’ northeast in the wash, flying in the shade.

Probly in Tucson already. You close the door?

Roger that. BP is putting more units in. TPD checking the usual drop lokes. We got a full boat.

Be advised, joining the canvass north side of Dusky Hawk. Over.

Roger. You start southwest and we can meet in the middle.

Negative. I’m starting in the middle and working to the southwest. Williams household, straight across from the vic’s house. You work northeast till you think it’s pointless.

There was an open mic for a moment, then a hum and click-off, like Hernández started to say something and then decided not to. Then Hernández clicked on again and said, Ten-four.

Sunlight was nearly gone now.

It was Sherry who answered the doorbell at the Williams house. Blond and skinny, maybe ninety pounds, with traces of acne. She was holding a phone—pink, which was attached to a long, curly cord that trailed away to the kitchen.

The daughter—too much makeup, Pete thought, like a Nogales whore. He left his hat on.

Hello, miss. I’m Deputy Caldwell from the county sheriff’s office. We’re looking into an incident that happened this afternoon and we’re looking for witnesses. You see anything unusual this afternoon?

She spoke into the phone. Hold on, Gary. There’s a cop here. She held the phone to her leg and said, Is it Timmy’s stepmom... down in the wash? She had blue eyes, which didn’t quite focus in the same place. Cute little thing though, Pete thought. We’re still making a determination, miss. Did you see anything unusual this afternoon?

She stared for a moment. Unusual?

Pete suppressed a sigh, almost. Someone you don’t usually see in the neighborhood... cars cruising by.

She hesitated.

Hell, there’s probably always cars cruising by, he thought, teenage boys.