“He burned me,” Rose whispered. “Cut me. Raped me. He liked hurting me.”
“Do you know his name? Do you remember an address or a street name?”
Rose thought for a long time before answering. “Big house,” she said. “Last street. Backed up to the desert.”
“More than one story?”
Rose closed her eyes as if trying to concentrate. “Two,” she said, “and a basement.”
“Anything else?”
“Big gate, guardhouse, steep hill.”
“If I brought you photos of gates in Fountain Hills, would you be able to recognize the right one and choose it?”
“Maybe.”
“I hope so,” Detective Rush said. “We want to find the guys who dumped you, the ones in the photos, but I believe the guy in the house in Fountain Hills is a big-time bad guy. We know of at least three other possible victims, all of them dead but all showing injuries similar to yours-evidence of burning and of cutting.”
“All dead?” Rose asked.
Detective Rush nodded. “Dead, but with no DNA.”
“Condom,” Rose muttered.
Detective Rush paused. “Wait. He used a condom when he assaulted you?”
Rose nodded.
“But the guys who dumped you did not?”
“No.”
“That probably means one of two things,” Detective Rush said. “It could be that the guy in Fountain Hills is worried about picking up a local garden-variety STD. It’s also possible that he’s worried about leaving DNA lying around because he knows it may already be listed in the DNA database.”
Detective Rush seemed to be casting around for another set of questions, but Sister Anselm called a halt. “That’s all Rose can do for right now. She needs to rest.”
The detective closed her computer. “That’s all right,” she said. “She may have given me exactly what I need to know.”
45
5:00 P.M., Monday, April 12
Patagonia, Arizona
Once in her Camaro, Patty Patton drove away from the Tewksbury crime scene with every intention of going straight home. But then she started thinking about those flat-rate boxes. At this point she was still prepared to shout Christine’s innocence from the rooftops, but she was no longer so sure about Phil.
How dare he pull her post office-her blemish-free post office-into this kind of controversy? And if he had used the flat-rate boxes to move drugs around, had he carried them from one place to another in his mail truck, a vehicle that was assigned to her operation?
That ugly realization hit home, leaving Patty so upset that she could barely see to drive. When she came to the driveway of her house, she drove straight past it. Instead, she returned to the post office and pulled in back, next to the locked storage yard with the mail truck sitting inside, safe and secure under lock and key.
The truck looked harmless enough, sitting there all by itself. There was nothing sinister about it, nothing to indicate it had participated in any kind of wrongdoing, but for Patty’s own peace of mind, she needed to know. Was Phil Tewksbury true blue, or had he played her for a fool all these years?
Making up her mind, she put the Camaro back in gear, made a rooster-tail U-turn, and drove two blocks farther east to the parking lot of the San Rafael Cafe. It was getting on toward dinnertime, and there were several cars parked in the lot. Eventually, she found the one she was looking for: Border Patrol K-9 unit #347.
Several of the local Border Patrol agents, young bachelor types looking for lower rent, had taken rooms in various houses around town. Mark Embry, of unit #347, and his German shepherd, Max, were Patty’s hands-down favorites.
Once a week Mark’s mother sent her son a care package-homemade cookies and/or books-in a flat-rate box. The packages, shipped special delivery, came every Friday morning like clockwork, and Friday afternoon, once he was off shift, Mark would come by the post office to pick up his goodies. When he came in to pick up the mail, he always ignored the no dogs allowed sign and brought Max inside. When Max was the dog in question, Patty ignored the sign, too.
As expected, the dog was waiting patiently in the backseat of Mark’s vehicle. That meant Max’s handler was in the restaurant chowing down on dinner. When Patty went inside, she found Mark seated at the counter. As Patty slipped onto the stool next to him, he looked up from his hamburger plate and smiled.
“Afternoon, Ms. Patton,” he said. “How are things?”
Patty didn’t know how much he knew or didn’t know about the situation with Phil Tewksbury. She wanted to have Mark’s help without having to reveal too many details.
“I hear that dog of yours is pretty smart,” she ventured.
Mark nodded. “Max is the best,” he agreed.
“He can tell if drugs are in a vehicle, right?” she said.
“Absolutely. As soon as he smells them, he alerts and lets me know.”
“What about if drugs were there and aren’t anymore?”
“Once we have the alert, it’s my job to locate the merchandise. There are times we know that a certain vehicle has been used in the drug trade even though the drugs aren’t actually present when we search it.”
“So there’s a residual scent.”
“You and I probably wouldn’t notice it, but Max does. Why? What’s this all about?”
“Since you’re not on duty, I’m wondering if you and Max could do me a favor. An unofficial favor.”
“Sure thing,” Mark said. “Whatever you need.”
“I’d like you to bring Max and follow me around to the back of the post office.”
Without further objection and leaving money on the counter to cover his tab, he followed her out of the restaurant. When they reached the back of the post office, she used her key to let Mark and his dog into the yard where the truck was parked. Issuing the command “find it,” Mark let the dog go. Max trotted around the whole expanse of yard, and absolutely nothing happened-not one thing.
“Try leading him over to the truck,” Patty suggested.
Mark obliged, but again, there was no reaction.
“I don’t know what you’re looking for,” he said, “but I don’t think it’s here.”
“Thanks, Mark,” Patty told him. “I appreciate the help.”
Patty’s heart was lighter as she watched them leave. Whatever Phil had been doing, he hadn’t been using the truck. That was a huge relief. After closing and resecuring the gate, she decided on a whim that she’d go back to the cafe and have some dinner.
46
6:30 P.M., Monday, April 12
Nogales, Arizona
Sheriff Renteria went back to his office, sat behind his desk, considered his options, and waited for a phone call.
He was faced with two entirely separate cases, only one of which was his to solve. He didn’t have to call
