Fatal Exposure Page 3

  “That’s not fair. Your dad…”

  “My dad didn’t forbid you to write me. One fucking letter now and then, how hard would it have been?”

  Dylan’s eyes widened. Had she really said that? She had grown up, all right. “Okay, I’m sorry. See you around.”

  He’d screwed up, big time. Who knew the old attraction would be there when he returned home? Who knew he’d even be back? He’d waited too long, though. His brothers probably didn’t even remember him, and his mother was a shell of flesh waiting to die. The only friend he’d had in high school who was still here had warned him this very day to stay away from the girl who now haunted his thoughts.

  Too bad he didn’t really drink. This would be a good night to have a couple to send him to sleep. Instead, he’d be rehashing all his mistakes until exhaustion overtook him.

  Chapter Five

  6:00 a.m., Tuesday, July 8

  Morning arrived a little too early for Dylan. He’d lain in bed awake, his mind darting from one potential search option to another and refusing to quiet down to sleep. He’d managed to sleep for maybe five hours after he finally dropped off.

  This wasn’t good. His job was dangerous, and he had a lonely half-hour commute to even get there. He needed to be alert. Even before he started the coffeemaker and went to check on Mom, he was mentally listing his options for what to do today about his search. Distraction was going to be a problem if he couldn’t stop this.

  Forty-five minutes later, Dylan let Ange in the front door, then picked up his lunch sack off the kitchen counter and went out the back door to his truck. He was ten minutes down the road, too late to turn around and still get to work on time, before he remembered he hadn’t kissed his mom goodbye.

  That kiss would have been for him, because she most likely wouldn’t even have noticed or have known who gave it to her. Lately, though, reality had begun to set in for Dylan. The mom he knew and loved from his early childhood was already gone, long gone. She had disappeared even before he left home, but the change had been so gradual he hadn’t realized it then. The shell waiting to die now wasn’t his mom, but she was his mother, and he was going to lose her soon. To honor the mom he still loved, he made it a point to care for the dying woman, tell her he loved her and never leave without a goodbye kiss that could easily be the last. Dylan hated he’d been too distracted to remember this morning.

  The office was jumping when he got there. Patrols had spotted a group moving through the Quitobaquito Springs area last night after midnight. He’d be going out with another ranger, part of a search and apprehend rescue operation. If the search parties didn’t find them before the day was over, they’d probably die out there. By now, the cartels knew the area was heavily patrolled, ever since one of the rangers was killed there more than a decade ago, earning the monument the title of the most dangerous park to work in. There would be no rescue from the mules’ employers.

  The day was typical for the second week of July, maybe a little cooler than the average this early in the morning. Temperatures were heading for three digits, though, deadly with no water. The truck was equipped with a big orange ten-gallon cooler. It wasn’t only his fellow ranger and him relying on its contents, but anyone they came across on the park roads who was in trouble for lack of water.

  As they passed the parking lot of the visitor center, Dylan noticed an unusual number of cars.

  “Rick, is there a Quitobaquito Springs tour today?” Rick was driving, so Dylan had the freedom to twist his neck and stare backwards as they sped by.

  “Not anymore,” was his laconic answer.

  Ever since the Springs re-opened to visitors, several years after the murder, rangers accompanied groups of tourists. The rangers, armed with M14 rifles, protected the tours and the Park Service guides. However, on days like today, when activities to apprehend IAs were taking place, the tours had to be canceled. There was too much danger to have civilians present.

  They were lucky on this day. Or maybe it was the smugglers who were lucky. Like many of the other groups Dylan and the other rangers apprehended every year, these were people who, for the price of admission to the land of plenty, were required by the cartels to carry in bales of marijuana. The carriers often dropped the loads when they grew too tired to carry them, or the heat forced them to seek rescue by flagging down rangers. Dylan believed the cartels only sent the pot into the US to distract them from catching the professional smugglers with the real problem drugs: meth, cocaine and heroin. His job wasn’t to voice his opinion, though. It was to stop as many as possible of the estimated three hundred thousand transients a year, those the desert didn’t stop for them.

  By noon Rick and Dylan were caring for five of the exhausted Guatemalans, and another patrol unit and the helicopter were still searching for the rest. According to the captured perps, there should be another five out there somewhere. Theirs claimed the others had sufficient water. Maybe it was true, and maybe not. Hopefully, they’d be found alive. Hopefully, they’d be found at all.

  As soon as he had given them water, Dylan put their IAs in the pickup bed with handcuffs linking them at the wrists and a warning that if they jumped out he’d leave them there to rot. He wouldn’t, of course, but they’d been so brutalized by the cartel members they believed it. Even so, they had two hours of a long, hot, bumpy ride to get through. Every half an hour, Rick would stop and Dylan would give them some water. They ate their lunches in the cab as they drove out, feeling guilty there wasn’t enough to go around, but not guilty enough to share.

  Once again, Dylan was the passenger. Rick preferred to drive, and Dylan didn’t mind letting him when they were partnered for the day. Rick didn’t seem interested in small talk, and Dylan was grateful. It gave him a chance to think. Who was that guy who’d died north of Dodge? Was it or wasn’t it Rufio? Why would it be? There were no good answers.

  Chapter Six

  7:20 a.m., Wednesday, July 9

  Her dad wasn’t home last night when Alex got there. It had been happening more and more often. Dad didn’t ever explain, but Alex had heard through the town grapevine he’d been seen often at the Rattler, one of the two local bars. Alex hoped it was true. Jen Mackey, the owner, had been in love with him for years. Alex had known it since she started working at the paper, but people told her it had been ever since shortly after her mom left. Alex liked her. She didn’t know anyone who didn’t. Jen was down to earth, pretty in a rough-around-the-edges, country kind of way, buxom, with big blue eyes and long honey-blonde hair cascading in waves and curls past her shoulders.

  Why Dad didn’t just divorce Mom in absentia, or have her declared dead or something had escaped Alex since she’d finally given up on her mom coming back and begun to hate her for leaving. Jen would marry him in a heartbeat. Dad deserved to find happiness after all these years.

  Alex was tired, so she went to bed after grabbing a bite to eat. The next morning, she woke with a start and the knowledge she’d overslept. It was already seven-thirty, and she needed to call Joe for an update on the dead guy before she could write the story. She started the coffee, took a quick shower without washing her hair, and dialed Joe as she headed back to the kitchen. It was 8:05.

  “Well, hello, JR,” he said. “Glad to know you’re thinking of me.” She didn’t know whether to gag or ask who he thought this was. Too early in the morning for innuendo.

  “JR?”

  “Junior Reporter,” he answered. She could hear his smirk through the phone line.

  “Morning. How was your day yesterday?” Alex took a sip of her too-hot coffee, afraid if she said any more it wouldn’t be pretty. JR, ha.

  “Slow. Nothing going on. Yours?”

  “My professor liked the pictures, thanks. Did you have a chance…?”

  He interrupted before she could finish the sentence. “Yeah. I have a statement here from Tucson. Want me to run it over to you?”

  “Uh, no, I’ll pick it up on the way to the plant.”

 
; “Sounds good, JR. When will you be by? I’m on patrol down to Lukeville today.”

  She was going to kill him if he didn’t quit calling her that. “I can come right now, can you wait?” Alex looked with dismay at her reflection in the microwave glass. She wasn’t fit to be seen by humans, and her stomach was growling.

  “I can wait maybe fifteen,” he answered.

  “I’ll be there.” Alex set her coffee down, raced to her room and threw on some shorts and a top, slid her feet into flip-flops and ran to her car. Breakfast and a decent outfit for the day would have to wait. She pulled up at the cop shop ten minutes later.

  “Should you be arrested for speeding?” Joe grinned. He was standing outside with a cigarette in one hand and a single sheet of paper in the other.

  “Probably,” she joked back. “Is that my statement?” She stretched out her hand for it.

  “Yeah,” he shrugged, handing it to her.

  “Joe, I didn’t get a chance to ask you a couple of things.”

  “No problem. What can I tell you?” he answered, his gaze never lifting from her bare legs.

  “I didn’t think to ask you why you thought the cause of death was homicide,” she began.

  “No, that’s the manner of death,” he corrected her. “I can’t tell you.”

  “Wait, what? Why can’t you tell me? What can’t you tell me?” He’d thrown her for a loop with the technicality, and she wasn’t sure what he was saying now.

  “I can’t tell you why we think the manner of death was homicide, because it’s tied up in details Tucson doesn’t want known by the general public. It’s to help them sort out real evidence from bullshit.” This was only a little better, and it didn’t further her need to get the story for this week’s paper.

  Stymied, she tried again. “Joe, what can I print? You know something’s going to leak, already has if I guess right. Give me something I can put in the story so half the town doesn’t think I can’t do my job.”

  “Sorry, Alex, you’re on your own there. You’ve got those photos, right? The detectives didn’t seem to care when I told them you had photos. Run one of them.”

  Alex huffed out her frustration with the stonewalling. On Monday, it didn’t seem to be all that big a secret. What happened since then?

  “Thanks for nothing,” She said it with a light tone, like a joke. She didn’t want to burn what may be a good relationship to have, job-wise. Didn’t want an awkward situation with their friendship, either.

  “Sorry, Alex,” he answered. He didn’t sound sorry, but she let it go. She had one more question for him.

  “Say, Joe, did you ever get a straight answer out of Dylan about why he was there?” She held her breath, hoping her question was casual enough not to raise Joe’s antenna.

  “No, never did. He hung around until Tucson got there, then took the lead detective aside for a private conversation. I couldn’t hear it, and didn’t see anything afterward that gave me any idea of what it was all about. You want me to look into it?”

  “No, I guess it’s nothing. Professional curiosity, maybe.”

  “Probably so,” Joe answered.

  “Okay, well, I guess I’ll let you go. Have a good one.”

  “Alex?” Joe’s voice was warmer.

  “Yeah?”

  “How about dinner with me on Friday? I’m off, and I’ll bet you are, too.” He wasn’t wrong. Friday was the end of the school week for Alex, and the middle of the paper week. She would be working the Elks club dance on Saturday night for photo ops. There was no reason, no valid excuse for turning him down. The only possible reason would be if she was getting back together with Dylan. No. Where had that come from?

  “Sure. About seven?”

  “Sounds good. I’ll pick you up. At the office or at home?” She should have thought about this. Didn’t want to be dependent on him for a ride home. The last time, it was a little awkward when he’d wanted to drive out somewhere to look at the full moon together. She was certain it was a euphemism. She liked Joe, but wasn’t interested in getting into bed with him. Or the back seat of a car.

  “No, I’ll meet you. Where?”

  “Paloma okay?” Where else? Every other restaurant in town closed early or had shut down for the summer in April and wouldn’t open again until October, when the snowbirds started arriving.

  “Okay. See you there.”

  “Are you going to work in that?” His eyes were again on her legs.

  She threw him a disdainful look and got back into her car without answering. Just before she took off, Alex rolled down the window and yelled “Thanks!” He grinned and waved.

  When Alex got home, her cold coffee didn’t appeal. She poured it out and replaced it with hot from the coffeepot, popped some bread into the toaster and sat down to read the statement.

  “Unidentified man found dead near Dodge” read the headline.

  “Pima County Sheriff, Dodge District officers responded on Monday afternoon to a report of a dead body near the Dodge airport. The victim is believed to have been a Latino male, approximately 40 to 50 years of age, black hair, brown eyes, approximately 5 feet, ten inches in height. The victim was found with no identification. Pima County Medical Examiner John Granger gave a preliminary estimate of June 12th to 24th as date of death. No further information from the autopsy is available. Citizens are urged to call the Dodge District with information leading to the identification of the deceased or possible sighting of his movements prior to June 12.”

  Not much more to fill in the story, but of course the paper would run it. If someone who read it could help identify the man or had seen him, Alex would be glad to have helped. With any luck, there would be another story with the follow-up next week.

  Done with her breakfast, Alex decided to wear what she was wearing. Print day was dirty work. Dad would start the print run at about 10:30 a.m., and by noon they’d have three thousand copies of this week’s edition. She’d been trying to get Dad to cut down the print run, since of the thirty-three hundred or so residents, maybe a third of them were kids. They didn’t need a copy for every man, woman and child in Dodge. In fact, it would probably save money to go to a primarily online service, where they could provide daily updates on important stories. All he would say is “When you’re the owner and decision-maker, you can do that if you want.”

  Ha. She was never going to be either of those things, so the argument was futile. Didn’t stop her from making it, though.

  Alex arrived at the plant around nine a.m., quickly typed the Sheriff’s statement into her story and filed it. Dad grunted a thanks and fitted it into the slot he’d been holding for it, along with the two photos she picked out. It ran on the front page, below the fold. Right under “Annual Elks Lodge Midsummer Night Dance Expected to Draw Crowd.” She would never understand Dad’s priorities.

  ~~~

  She was back at the plant after delivering the baled papers to the grocery store and a couple of the gas stations. Her decision to wear the knock-about clothes had proven wise, since she had smudges of newsprint on her arms and shirt-front. Probably on her face, too, but she couldn’t be bothered to look. She was almost done for the day, and would be at home where no one could see her the rest of the afternoon. Unfortunately, her timing wasn’t perfect. Before she got away, Dylan Chaves walked in the front door, a copy of the paper in his hand.

  “Dylan. What can I help you with?” Alex cringed because she didn’t look her best. This was getting to be a bad habit.

  He looked up, apparently seeing her for the first time, since he flinched a little. Do I look that bad?

  “Oh, hi, Lexi.” Now it was her turn to flinch. That was his pet name for her. Most people called her Alex. Unless she was in trouble with her dad, then he called her by her full name, Alexis Eleanor.

  “Can I help you?” He seemed distracted and hadn’t answered the first time.

  “Yeah. Who wrote this story on the dead guy?”

  “That would be me. Why?” He
must be out of it, not to see her by-line on the story. Or maybe he just didn’t believe it.

  “I think I may know something about it.” His words made her frown. If he knew something, why hadn’t he already told it to the Sheriff’s department? Or why hadn’t he called the number that went with the statement? Why bring it to the paper?

  “And you want to, what, give me an exclusive?” Alex kicked herself for the sarcasm, with no desire to have an argument, or a conversation for that matter, with Dylan. He tilted his head, studying her.

  “I don’t know what to do, exactly. Is your dad around?” For an officer of the law, even one as powerless outside his park as a Park Ranger, he seemed too lost. What could her dad do for him the investigating officers couldn’t? The kind thing to do would be to get her dad and make herself scarce. This was weirding her out.

  “I’ll see. Wait here.” He was standing in front of the cash register, looking at the newspaper again as she knocked on her dad’s office door. His was the only private office in the place.

  “Dad.” She was unsure what to tell him other than the bare facts. “Dylan Chaves is out front. He’s asked to speak to you.”

  “About what?” Dad asked, as if the subject would determine whether he granted Dylan an audience or not.

  “He says he may know something about the body that was found in the desert. I think you’d better talk to him, Dad. He’s acting weird.” She said the last as she opened his door, speaking in a whisper. It wasn’t an adequate explanation, but she burned with curiosity. Maybe Dad would share the conversation with her when it was done.

  “All right, send him in.”

  Half an hour later, Dylan came out, nodded at her and walked out the front door. Alex hurried into her dad’s office to get the scoop. “Well? What does he know?”

  “I’m sorry, Alex. He asked me to keep it confidential until he knows for sure. I hope you’ll respect that.” She couldn’t make out Dad’s expression. He seemed sorrowful. What would make Dad look like that? It couldn’t be…could Dylan have had something to do with the man’s death? The way her heart clenched at the thought scared her almost as much as the thought itself. Why did she care so much?