they’d been obliterated by one or more of the sightseers. Torrez had cast those, too.
The killer had left behind no shell casings. From hurried conversations at Posadas General Hospital, we knew that the weapon that had killed Paul Enciños and desperately wounded Linda Real was a shotgun. The odds-on favorite would be a 12 gauge, statistically the most common by a wide margin. The killer’s weapon had sprayed them with number 4 buck, lead pellets roughly .24 caliber in size and 21 to the ounce. A 12-gauge three-inch magnum would blast out 40 of the things at each jerk of the trigger.
We did not know where Paul Enciños had been standing, or even if he was, when the first shot was fired. Our guess was that Linda Real never moved from her seat during the incident…and certainly didn’t move once the killer started pumping shots into the patrol car.
Gayle Sedillos appeared in the doorway. “Sir, Lionel Martinez is on the phone.” I waved a hand in dismissal and Gayle smiled faintly. She was tired, too, but I needed her expertise for a few hours more. “He wants to know when you’re going to open the highway.”
I sighed and reached for the phone. “What’s up, Lionel?”
Martinez was a man of infinite patience. He ran his State Highway Department District with good humor and tact, even when overloaded semis beat his new, expensive pavement to rubble and tourists constantly complained that there were no shaded, plumbed, padded rest areas out in the middle of desolation.
We’d put a cork in one of his highways and left it there.
“Sheriff, I need to know when your department is going to open Fifty-six.”
I took a deep breath, trying to think of something tactful to say. “I don’t know, Lionel.”
“You can’t give me some idea?”
“Not yet.”
“We’ve got a flock of angry snowbirds who aren’t takin’ kindly to using Herb Torrance’s road to go around you folks.” I could imagine the gigantic, waddling RVs trying to negotiate the narrow, dusty, rutted county road that would take motorists around our roadblock.
“They’re going to have to stay angry, Lionel. Tell you what. Don’t take any shit from anybody. If they want to bark at someone, send ’em to see me.”
Lionel chuckled and then his voice grew serious. “Is there anything else we can do for you?”
“I wish there were.”
“No progress yet?”
“No.”
“Is the young lady going to make it?”
“I don’t know. She was in surgery all night. Last word I had is that she’s still out.”
“I never would have thought something like this would happen here, sheriff.”
“Yeah…well,” I started to say, then stopped. I let it slide.
“You know, Paul Enciños was family.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Sure. He was second cousin to my wife. You know Rosie Salazar?”
“Yes.”
“Rosie’s sister Celsa was Paul’s mother. She died here not so long ago.”
I wasn’t in the mood to pursue the complicated lineage. Paul Enciños had lived in Posadas County most of his life and I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he was related in one way or another to half the county. It would make for a hell of a lynch mob when we caught the son of a bitch who killed him.
“I had forgotten that,” I said, and glanced up as Gayle Sedillos appeared in the doorway again and tapped her ear.
“I’ll keep in touch, Lionel,” I said, and as soon as I started to hang up Gayle said, “Estelle needs you out on Fifty-six. And she asked if you’d bring the county’s cherry picker.”
“The cherry picker?” I looked at Gayle stupidly.
She held out her right hand, palm up, and raised her arm. “You know, the cherry picker they use to fix electric lines and things like that.”
“I know what it is, Gayle. I was just trying to imagine what Estelle would want with it. There’s not much higher than cholla cactus out where she is.”
Gayle shrugged. “That’s what she said.”
“Then that’s what she’ll
The killer had left behind no shell casings. From hurried conversations at Posadas General Hospital, we knew that the weapon that had killed Paul Enciños and desperately wounded Linda Real was a shotgun. The odds-on favorite would be a 12 gauge, statistically the most common by a wide margin. The killer’s weapon had sprayed them with number 4 buck, lead pellets roughly .24 caliber in size and 21 to the ounce. A 12-gauge three-inch magnum would blast out 40 of the things at each jerk of the trigger.
We did not know where Paul Enciños had been standing, or even if he was, when the first shot was fired. Our guess was that Linda Real never moved from her seat during the incident…and certainly didn’t move once the killer started pumping shots into the patrol car.
Gayle Sedillos appeared in the doorway. “Sir, Lionel Martinez is on the phone.” I waved a hand in dismissal and Gayle smiled faintly. She was tired, too, but I needed her expertise for a few hours more. “He wants to know when you’re going to open the highway.”
I sighed and reached for the phone. “What’s up, Lionel?”
Martinez was a man of infinite patience. He ran his State Highway Department District with good humor and tact, even when overloaded semis beat his new, expensive pavement to rubble and tourists constantly complained that there were no shaded, plumbed, padded rest areas out in the middle of desolation.
We’d put a cork in one of his highways and left it there.
“Sheriff, I need to know when your department is going to open Fifty-six.”
I took a deep breath, trying to think of something tactful to say. “I don’t know, Lionel.”
“You can’t give me some idea?”
“Not yet.”
“We’ve got a flock of angry snowbirds who aren’t takin’ kindly to using Herb Torrance’s road to go around you folks.” I could imagine the gigantic, waddling RVs trying to negotiate the narrow, dusty, rutted county road that would take motorists around our roadblock.
“They’re going to have to stay angry, Lionel. Tell you what. Don’t take any shit from anybody. If they want to bark at someone, send ’em to see me.”
Lionel chuckled and then his voice grew serious. “Is there anything else we can do for you?”
“I wish there were.”
“No progress yet?”
“No.”
“Is the young lady going to make it?”
“I don’t know. She was in surgery all night. Last word I had is that she’s still out.”
“I never would have thought something like this would happen here, sheriff.”
“Yeah…well,” I started to say, then stopped. I let it slide.
“You know, Paul Enciños was family.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Sure. He was second cousin to my wife. You know Rosie Salazar?”
“Yes.”
“Rosie’s sister Celsa was Paul’s mother. She died here not so long ago.”
I wasn’t in the mood to pursue the complicated lineage. Paul Enciños had lived in Posadas County most of his life and I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he was related in one way or another to half the county. It would make for a hell of a lynch mob when we caught the son of a bitch who killed him.
“I had forgotten that,” I said, and glanced up as Gayle Sedillos appeared in the doorway again and tapped her ear.
“I’ll keep in touch, Lionel,” I said, and as soon as I started to hang up Gayle said, “Estelle needs you out on Fifty-six. And she asked if you’d bring the county’s cherry picker.”
“The cherry picker?” I looked at Gayle stupidly.
She held out her right hand, palm up, and raised her arm. “You know, the cherry picker they use to fix electric lines and things like that.”
“I know what it is, Gayle. I was just trying to imagine what Estelle would want with it. There’s not much higher than cholla cactus out where she is.”
Gayle shrugged. “That’s what she said.”
“Then that’s what she’ll
Similar Books
