Danny pulled the sun visor down against the blinding sun—a fiery orange ball low in the sky. “My wife says I do gay perfectly.”
“That’s her problem. You want the rest of the story or not?”
“Oh, yeah, don’t stop now,
Little chili pepper. Jeeze. “Let’s stick with
“Oh, yeah, that’s good. Which you’d know if you liked baseball.”
“So Lohrke got word on the road that he was just traded to the San Diego Padres. They stopped to eat at a diner. He decided right then and there he’d hitch a ride and join up with his new team. So he left them there.”
“This does not bode well.”
“Nope.”
“So what happened?”
“They were about to drive up into the Cascade Mountains. It was snowing up on the Snoqualmie Pass. The team bus went off the road, through a guardrail, and crashed down the mountain. Burst into flames. The manager and nine members of the team were killed. The survivors were in bad shape, too.”
“Holy shit. He really
“I’d say so.”
“Like George Hanley,” Danny added. “Except
The sun was low in the sky by the time they reached Rio Rico, where George Hanley’s daughter and her husband lived. They waited at the door of an older brick ranch in a nice neighborhood. You knew it was a nice neighborhood because there was open space between the houses, and because the houses were on top of a hill for a valley view.
Danny looked at Tess. “How are we gonna do this?”
“Very carefully.”
They’d both said it at once.
Danny said, “That gave me the creeps.”
“Me, too. Let’s not do that again.”
The outdoor light came on.
Tess cleared her throat.
They were both aware of the politics involved. The deceased was an ex-cop. The shooting looked like a cartel hit. Not to mention Hanley’s death could spur widespread fear among the retired people who populated this area.
As they waited, Tess said, “I don’t think we go into the extent of his injuries right now.”
“Yeah,” Dan replied. “Dead’s dead.”
So they played it that way.
The door opened.
The daughter, Pat—she was in her midfifties—took it hard. Her husband, not so much. He seemed more annoyed than anything.
Pat Scofield started weeping, saying she should never have asked her father to move here, it was all her fault, who would do something like that?
Bert Scofield had been watching a baseball game and his gaze kept straying to the TV set, which his wife had turned down.
He did look up every now and then to ask a question. Was it someone his father-in-law knew? Was it in his apartment? “When was he killed?”
“We’re not sure. Sometime yesterday,” Danny said.
“At that ghost town, right? Why would he go there?”
“We don’t know.”
“You don’t know much, do you? You say he was shot? I’ve told him he shouldn’t be going out there, you never know who you’re gonna run into. All those drug smugglers, wetbacks, place is riddled with ’em. I hope he was carrying.”
He was, of course—Hanley was a retired cop. He had a snub-nosed .38 on his hip and a knife strapped to his ankle. He didn’t have a chance to draw either.
The commercial was over and the game was on again. Bert stood up—the meeting was at an end. “So what now?”
Tess addressed Pat. “Your father’s body is at the medical examiner’s office. We’ll get in touch with you when he’s released.”
Pat looked up from where she had been sitting, her face slack with shock. “You mean that’s it?”
Tess knew what she meant. Someone comes to your house and tells you your loved one is dead, and that is all there is to it. There’s nothing you can do. You’ve been delivered the bad news that so-and-so’s never coming back, and then the detective leaves and gets into his car and drives away and you close the door and you’re alone. Or with someone as shell-shocked as you are.
“Can’t we come down and identify him?” Pat asked.
This was the tricky part. “It’s okay, ma’am,” Danny said, holding her hands in his. “Your father’s already been identified.”
He didn’t mention that the DL was soaked through with blood and it was hard to be sure. But the empirical evidence, the torched car’s VIN number, what could be seen of the DL, and other pieces of identification, his guns and his knife—everything came back to George Hanley. She said, “Can you let us have a photo? Something recent? People don’t have to go down there in person anymore—”
“But we should go down there, shouldn’t we, Bert? He’s my
Bert looked up from the television. “I think we should do what they say, Pat.”
She marched over to him, grabbed the remote, and shot it at the screen. The screen went black. “Goddammit, my
Tess took her hands in her own. She looked into the woman’s eyes, willing her to meet her own gaze. “Pat, honestly, I don’t think you should see him right now. They’ll release him in the next day or two. I’ve seen a lot of people who have lost loved ones, and it never helps.”
Pat’s eyes took on a furtive shine. “What are you hiding from me?”
“We’re not—”
“What happened? You said he was shot. Is that true? I just want to see him!”
Tess looked at Danny and Danny looked at Tess.
She’d know sooner or later, anyway.
Tess held Pat’s eyes with her own. “He was shot multiple times. You don’t want to see him like that.”
“Mul-multiple times?”
“Yes.”
“Like before? When he was living in Phoenix?” There was hope in her voice.
Thinking that maybe he survived again.
Tess held her hands steady. Held her eyes. “No, I’m afraid he’s gone. You don’t want to see him right now.”
Tess saw it come home to the woman. The shock turned her face pale. She stared, but could barely move her lips. Her eyes took on a glazed shine.
She bolted for the bathroom, and Tess and Danny looked uncomfortably at Bert as they heard her retch.
But she didn’t insist on going with them.
