Fatal Divide Page 3

  That didn’t make it any easier when an occasional breeze moved the palm leaves to allow a beam of light from the street lamps to fall across her porcelain skin and the deep mahogany of her hair.

  Once, when she was far too young and he was far too eager, he had the opportunity to see every inch of that flawless skin. Thankfully, her dad intervened before he did more than look or touch the side of her perfect breast. If it had happened then, there would have been no future for them.

  Remembering, Dylan slid his hand under her blouse and stroked the smooth skin with his thumb. He’d go no further tonight; it wasn’t fair to either of them. He dipped his head for another deep kiss.

  Alex sighed into his parted lips. “Dyl...”

  “I know, baby. Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.” With difficulty, Dylan adjusted himself and then took her hand, swinging it like children did, as he walked the short block to the plant with her. “When can I see you again?”

  “I hope on Wednesday afternoon. Depends on how much homework I have, I guess,” she answered. “But, you better keep me up to date on what’s going on with the investigation. Text me?”

  “I will. Or email, if it’s too much to text.” Reaching her car, Dylan swung her around to face him and moved in close, fitting his body to hers in a close embrace. “You be safe on the road, baby. I worry.”

  “I know. I will.” She lifted her face for the goodbye kiss that neither of them wanted to end, and then opened her door and slipped behind the wheel. “You be careful, too.”

  Dylan watched her drive away, feeling like a skunk for keeping it from her that he would be meeting with Wanda tomorrow. He only hoped that whatever Wanda told him, she’d give him permission to share it with Alex. Keeping things from her wasn’t part of their deal.

  SIX

  Tuesday, 6:30 a.m.

  “Does she need anything?” Dylan asked Ange, his mom’s home-care nurse, as Ange ate a bowl of cereal for breakfast. He’d persuaded her to move in last summer, and had given her his bedroom, but he needed to make other arrangements as soon as possible.

  Before he brought the boys home, he’d need a bedroom for them and one for himself. He hadn’t decided whether to rent a big house and move Mom in with them, or a small one, leaving Mom and Ange in the mobile home and keeping the boys from seeing and smelling what was happening to their mother.

  The whole trailer smelled like a hospital, disinfectant warring with an underlying odor of decay. There was nothing anyone could do for her now but keep her relatively pain-free. She didn’t know Dylan at all, most of the time. He often wondered if she knew what was happening to her, and hoped she was as unaware of that as she was everything else.

  “No, we’re set until next week,” Ange answered.

  Dylan kissed her cheek as he walked out the door. “Thanks, Ange. Are you getting someone in today, so you can catch a break?”

  “Yeah. Don’t worry about me.”

  He hadn’t told Ange anything about his current worries, but she knew. Dylan had no doubt that the whole town was abuzz with the news of Tia Wanda’s connection to the murder victim. By the end of the day, they’d be talking about him, too. He was glad Alex would be out of town, since today was one of her college campus days. At least it wouldn’t touch his mom. Nothing could, now.

  Dylan sat in his new pickup, a replacement for the one he wrecked in the summer, and dialed Rick Englebright’s cell phone. It was too early to expect to catch him in the office, but there wasn’t any more time to waste. He’d half expected Thurston at his door last night. He had until noon, maybe not that long, before the shit hit the fan. He wanted to be covered before that, and choose the time it happened, if possible. For that, he needed his lawyer. Rick answered on the third ring.

  “What the hell, Dylan? I haven’t even had breakfast.”

  “Let me buy you some. I need to talk to you ASAP.”

  “You’re on. See you at the coffee shop in half an hour?”

  “Can you make it fifteen?” Dylan replied. A silence on the line told him that Rick was processing his request.

  “Yeah.”

  Dylan had to hand it to the guy. He was sharp. By now, he’d probably already figured out what it was all about. In any case, Dylan would lay his cards on the table over breakfast. Hopefully, the noise in the place would cover their conversation. No use giving the gossip mill an early start.

  Dylan slid into the corner booth across from Rick, who beat him there by only a moment as Dylan followed him into the parking lot. Rick picked the perfect spot inside, away from other patrons and separated from them by a high booth back.

  “Thanks for meeting me, bro.”

  “I’m not your bro, I’m your attorney. What have you done this time?” Rick’s terse answer was actually a joke, as Dylan hadn’t done anything wrong the last time either. He took it in the same spirit.

  “They got the wrong man,” he whined, in perfect imitation of a several-time loser. “I’m innocent.”

  “Tell it to the judge.” Rick’s expression changed when he saw that hit too close to home. “What?”

  “I’m about to go to Thurston and tell him the guy I found dead at Arch Canyon was the head of the tribal council that’s considering the adoption,” he said. “Is there anything I should know before I do?”

  Rick winced. “Damn, I knew that guy’s name sounded familiar. He’s the holdout, right?”

  “Right. It gets worse. I don’t know what you heard, but we found him when he was pretty fresh. If the time-of-death’s not right, it gives me opportunity and motive. Everything but the weapon. I don’t have anything that big.”

  “How do you know it’s big?” Rick asked, preferring to gather all the facts and then process them.

  “Hole the size of a quarter in the region of his heart. Had to have been at least a .45, maybe .50. Desert Eagle or something. I don’t suppose you know anyone with one of those?” he deadpanned.

  “If I did, I couldn’t tell you. Attorney-client privilege. Dammit, Dylan, how do you get mixed up in this shit?”

  Dylan shrugged. “Just luck, I guess. So, I figure it’s better if I come clean with Thurston about my connection to the vic. Would you agree?”

  Rick sighed. “Yes, but it’s not going to be pretty. You know he can hold you for thirty-six hours without charging you, right? Are you set to miss work?”

  “I will be, as soon as I call in today. I’m off today, so it’s just tomorrow. Unless time-of-death comes back against me.”

  “I’ll make some calls. Want me with you when you talk to Thurston?”

  “May not be a bad idea. Got time?”

  “I have a nine-o’clock. Can you give me until ten?” Rick had his iPhone out and was looking at his calendar

  “No longer. He’s gonna find out on his own, and then I’ll lose the advantage.”

  “Maybe I’d better reschedule the nine, then. You got anything else you need to do first?”

  “Yeah, Wanda wants to see me,” Dylan answered.

  “Why?”

  “Beats me,” Dylan said, ashamed he was also keeping something from his lawyer. He’d need Wanda’s permission to share whatever it was. This was getting complicated, and time was running out.

  “Ok, I’ll meet you at the cop shop at nine-thirty. Call me if you’re going to be late.” Rick got up, leaving the check with Dylan. Dylan smiled.

  SEVEN

  8:15 a.m.

  Wanda arrived at her office at six-thirty that morning. After a restless night and discussing it with Hector, she decided that a leave of absence might be best after all. She would need all her wits about her for the coming days, as well as freedom of movement. Packing the last of her personal items into a box that she would leave in the back of her SUV for her return, she glanced at the clock. Eight-fifteen, give or take.

  She wondered when Dylan would show up, and if she’d have the courage to explain herself to him. The boy was so decent. In a way, though, he was like Thurston. Not that he
saw everything in black and white, but he did seem to see things as either right or wrong. He may not understand her position. He may even talk out of turn, but it was a risk she’d have to take. She was going to need his support to get to the bottom of this. Hector was a dear, but at nearly seventy, he wasn’t physically capable of what may need to be done. Dylan was her only hope.

  At eight-thirty, staff began to arrive. Wanda’s secretary came to her door to tell her she had a visitor, and she stifled a cry when she saw the walls bare and the box on the desk.

  “Tess, don’t panic. I’ll explain when I’ve seen my visitor. Who is it?”

  “Dylan Chaves, Ms. Mayor,” Tess choked. She turned to show him in, even before Wanda could tell her to, and then fled to the ladies’ room. Wanda sighed. It was going to be a long day.

  “Come in Dylan, sit down, and thank you for coming,” she greeted him.

  “Tia Wanda, you knew I would, right?” he asked, kissing her cheek.

  “I hoped so.”

  “I don’t have much time, I’m sorry. I’m meeting Rick at the cop shop in an hour.”

  “Then I’ll get right to it. How much do you remember of Tohono O’odham history from school?” she asked.

  Puzzled, Dylan answered slowly. “Not much. They used to be called the Papago, but that was some sort of insult, and the tribe fought to get their own name recognized. Tohono O’odham means The Desert People. Why?”

  “Because, what I’m about to tell you is all about the history of the tribe, and what it means for today’s members. Don’t worry,” she added, seeing his impatience. “I’ll be quick, and I’ll tie it in.”

  Dylan curbed his impatience to give his aunt a chance to tell the story her way, though he feared it would mean nothing to him.

  “What people forget, or perhaps never knew,” she began, “is that the ancestral lands of our people were once a vast area, extending from the San Pedro River in the east to the Gulf of California in the west. The northern border was north of Phoenix, and it extended south, deep into what is now Sonora, Mexico. Yes,” she said, noting that Dylan flinched in surprise when she said Sonora.

  She went on, “In 1853, the Gadsden Purchase divided our land almost in half. The border between Mexico and the United States divided our people when the governments of these countries began to deny us our language and culture. No one bothered to tell us that our lands were being bought and sold without our knowledge or agreement.

  “We traveled freely across this artificial border with no interference, until the nineteen-twenties, when Mexico established a reservation on their side of the border that took away much of our land, just as the American government had done north of the border. Even then, neither government paid much attention to our comings and goings.”

  “That’s terrible, Tia Wanda,” Dylan said. “But what does it have to do with this situation?”

  “Patience, nephew. This was all before my time, but I saw the trouble that came from it first-hand as I grew up on the rez. Families were divided by the border, and the more restrictions that were placed on travel between our two countries, the worse it became for our culture. People north of the border could no longer cross to winter grazing with their animals. People south of the border could not get to markets in the US to sell their baskets. You know of the poverty of our tribe - this is how it happened.”

  At Dylan’s show of impatience, Wanda held up her hand.

  “I’m getting to it. One last thing about the border, and then I’ll tell you about my brother. When the US started insisting on a passport to cross from Mexico to the north, it was the end of any hope of putting our tribe back together. Many of us who were born on the reservation did not have our births registered with authorities. We did not anticipate the need to prove we were US citizens to get a passport. We cannot cross into Mexico and then return legally.”

  Wanda noted Dylan’s reaction. He hadn’t known that, she’d wager anything she owned on it. A wave of sadness overtook her as she thought of close relatives she would never see again because they could not come to her, and if she went to them, she could never get home again. It was a hidden part of the ‘illegal’ issue, one that few outside her people knew. As far as she could see, no one outside her tribe cared. But, she was tired and her story needed its ending, so that Dylan could find a way to help.

  “I can see that you’ve already put it together. Yes, many of the younger members are angry. They see the sadness in their parents, and can’t see a way to help. They need jobs, and none are to be found. So, they are easily recruited by the cartels. In this way, they can pass back and forth, carrying news between their elders and providing for them with the money they earn. But, there are risks. You know the cartels are at war, yes?”

  “I know some of it.”

  “Gila, the cartel that controls Lukeville, Sonyita, the reservation lands, and the park is small. Los Reyes del Desierto, the Kings of the Desert, want to absorb or destroy Gila, and our people are caught in the middle.

  “This is what I know. I visited my grandfather only two weeks ago. I saw someone I was not supposed to see, and later, as I left, he followed me to beg me not to mention he was there. He was hiding from the cartel, he said, but he didn’t say which one. I know in my heart that my grandfather was killed because he was hiding my brother.

  “I need you to help find my brother. And then we need to get him far away from the reservation, before others are killed. Will you do this for me, nephew? I will help all I can.”

  EIGHT

  9:35 a.m.

  Dylan was stunned. He needed time to process what Wanda was telling him; everything she’d told him. All he could think of at the moment was she seemed to be condoning illegal border crossings, the very thing she’d always campaigned against. And, if the information about her brother - more likely a younger cousin in Dylan’s own generation - was relevant, she could be obstructing the investigation by not coming forward with the information. He didn’t even know where to begin to think about the implications of having heard it from her, from his own legal standpoint.

  The only person who could advise him on the last point was Rick Englebright, who was even now waiting for him at the cop shop, since he was already five minutes late. He wouldn’t be able to talk to him about it until after he talked to Thurston, and who knew whether Thurston would immediately take him into custody. What a mess.

  “Tia Wanda, I need to sort this out, and I’m late for my appointment. May I come back to see you when I’m done?”

  “I’ll be at home, nephew. I’m going to take a leave of absence to appease the city council. That will give me time to help you look for Jimmy.”

  Dylan jerked, surprised that he hadn’t even asked the name of the ‘brother’ Wanda wanted to find. “Jimmy who?”

  “I’ll tell you later, you’re already late for your appointment. Go on now, and I’ll see you in an hour or so.”

  Dylan kissed Wanda’s cheek and took his leave, his head spinning. It was still spinning three minutes later when he walked into the reception area of the Dodge branch office of the Pima County Sheriff’s Department.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Dylan said.

  “Don’t worry about it. You were the one in a hurry. What’s wrong?” Rick asked, noticing Dylan’s drawn expression.

  “Can’t talk here. Let’s get this over with, and then, if I can, we’ll go back to your office.”

  Rick shot him a worried look, but didn’t say anything. Dylan stepped up to the counter and asked to speak with Kevin Thurston.

  “I’ll see if he’s available,” the deputy on duty at the desk replied.

  “Please tell him it’s about the ORPI murder,” he said.

  Maybe it was because of the case involved, or maybe Kevin was being uncharacteristically professional, but instead of the half-hour wait Dylan assumed they’d have, only ten minutes had passed when they were shown back to his office. The desk was immaculate, not a folder, piece of paper, or even a speck of dust
in evidence.

  Dylan didn’t know what to think of such a clean desk. Should he be impressed that Thurston was so neat? Or did the man not have enough to do? The investigating officer in the case last summer had piles of case work on his desk a hoarder would have been proud of. Dylan wished he was speaking to Lt. Wells right now. He was more likely to have a reasonable reaction to his news.

  “Well?” Thurston asked. “I’m a busy man. What do you want?”

  Dylan drew a steadying breath. It wouldn’t help to get annoyed at the man just because he was a jerk. He glanced at Rick, who gave him an encouraging nod. “I have some information for your investigation into the death of Herman Alvarez.”

  Thurston, who had been leaning back in his chair, jerked upright. “You... We haven’t released his name. How...?”

  As much as Dylan enjoyed the man’s discomfort, it wasn’t going to be smart for him to let it linger. “I know him,” he said.

  The simple statement galvanized Thurston, who stood up so abruptly that his chair careened into the wall behind him. “Why didn’t you say so at the scene?” he demanded.

  “Calm down, Kevin,” interrupted Rick. “I can answer that. The circumstances of my client’s acquaintance with the deceased are such that it could leave the wrong impression. He wisely decided to consult with me before coming to you with this information, which he intended to do as soon as he talked with me. We spoke this morning, and here we are.”