stores had closed, and there were now six empty buildings in the two-mile stretch that constituted the downtown business district
The old cowboy reached the curb, and Corrie applied pressure to the gas, moving forward. She turned left at the next corner, onto Center, and slowed down in front of the care, pulling into the parking lot of the newspaper office.
She was conscious of another feeling beneath the vague discontent and dissatisfaction. read. A murky, intuitive premonition that disaster was on its way. Her mind skittered over the emotion, preferring not to dwell on it. The feeling was strange and darkly alien, having nothing to do with Rich or herself or their relationship but with something bigger, something on the order of an earthquake or a war, and though it scared her to even consider the source of such a strong but undefined impression, she could not help but wonder if this feeling of dread was somehow contributing to her own personal sense of un She turned off the ignition and grabbed her purse from the seat next to her, getting out of the car, locking it, and walking around the side of the building to the front entrance. She nodded to the receptionist as she entered.
'How are you today, Carole?'
The older woman smiled. 'It's still too early to tell. Ask me again after lunch.' ,
''Ah, one of those days.' Corrie smiled at the receptionist and walked around the modular office divider that separated Carole's desk from the newsroom. Rich, as usual, was on the phone, scribbling furiously on a scratch pad he had somehow managed to find amidst the mountain of paper before him, and he waved good morning to her as she dropped her purse on the desk against the opposite wall. Ordinarily, she would have sat down and sorted through her mail to see if there were any items of local interest that she could put in one of the columns she edited, but today she simply leaned against the desk and waited for Rich to get off the phone.
She found herself looking around the newsroom, at the paste up tables at the far end, at the printer, waxer, and dryer, and she realized for the first time how truly sick she was of this place. She stared at the wall decorations-one Pena print, an aerial photograph of the town, and two framed issues of the paper that had won minor awards in the Arizona Press Association's annual newspaper competition-and wondered why she had never put her own stamp on this room, why she had never attempted to decorate even her own desk area.
Perhaps because she had never considered it hers.
There was a crackle of static from the police scanner on the shelf above Rich's desk, and he automatically reached up to increase the volume as he continued speaking on the phone. The police dispatcher recited a list of garbled numbers, then fell silent. Rich once again turned down the volume.
A moment later he hung up the phone, and she walked over to his desk.
'We need to talk,' she said, sitting down in the chair opposite him.
He frowned. 'What's wrong? .... She looked at him, sighed, and shook her head.
'Rich,' she said, 'I want to get a job.'
'What do you mean? You have a job.'
'No, a real job. One where I get paid. I'm tired of having to scrimp and save for every little thing. I'm tired of only eating food that we can get on double coupons.'
'But I need someone to help me paste up and type out the columns. If you get another job, I'll just have to find someone else to take your place, and that'll cost us even more.'
'No, it won't. I'll get a full-time job, you hire a part-time person.
You only need someone one or two days a week.
Besides, you'll be teaching. That'll bring in some extra cash.'
'But what about Anna?'
'She gets off school at noon. You can pick her up and let her hang around the paper with you. Or we'll see. It depends on my hours.' ;'
:
He shook his head. 'Well, what kind of job are you thinking of getting? The economy in Rio Verde is not exactly booming. You think there's actually an opening in this town for a woman who got her degree in Liberal Studies?'
She met his gaze. 'That's not the point.'
'Then what is the point?'
'I want another job. Away from you. Away from the paper.'
'Why?'
'Because if I don't,' she said, 'I'll go crazy.'
They stared at each other across the desk. Rich broke the stalemate first, shrugging, picking up his pen. 'Fine.' His voice was resigned, his attitude dismissive, and though he sounded as though he was too weary to continue arguing with her, she knew from experience that this meant he was going to emotionally cut himself off from the rest of the family for the next week or so, speaking only when spoken to, spending most of his time alone in the den, hiding. Pouting.
Right now, that suited her fine.
She stood. Part of her wanted to make an effort to ex plain things more clearly to him, to try to make him understand what she was going through, even though she didn't really understand herself, but another part just wanted to take the path of least resistance and that was the part that won out. 'I guess I'd better start looking then.' .. 'Let me know if you find anything.'
She nodded. 'I will. And I'll pick up Anna after school.' She walked over to her desk and picked up her purse. She was about to walk out and throw a short 'good bye' over her shoulder, but something made her stop. She tried to smile at him. 'We'll talk about this later, okay?'
Rich was already writing on his scratch pad and did not even look up.
'Fine. Whatever you say.'
She stood there, waiting for something more, but it was obvious that nothing was forthcoming, and she started walking.
'Good luck!' Carole called out to her as she walked out the door.
'Wait a sec. He just walked in.' Steve put his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone as Robert stepped into the office. 'Chief?
I've got a woman here who thinks she might've seen the guy who killed Torres.'
'Who is it?'
'Someone I don't know. She said her name's Donna Sandoval.'
Robert's eyebrows raised in surprise. 'I know Donna,' he said. He walked around the side of the counter and took the phone from the deputy. He'd been half-expecting a crank: a panicked old lady who'd seen an unfamiliar man on her street, one of the small handful of do-goo ding loonies who claimed to know the perpetrator of every crime.
He had not expected to hear from someone like Donna Sandoval, who worked at First Interstate and was, as far as he knew, intelligent, trustworthy, reliable, and utterly devoid of imagination.
A perfect witness.
Maybe he would get some breaks here after all. 'Hello?' he said into the receiver.
'Chief Carter? This is Donna Sandoval. I .. . I heard what happened to Mr. Tortes, and I think I might've seen the man who killed him.'
'On the level?'
'I saw a man walking with Mr. Tortes that night, just before he was supposed to have been killed.'
Robert's pulse began racing. He pressed a button on the phone and another button on the connected tape recorder. 'I'm going to record this conversation, Donna. If it's okay with you, I'll take this as your statement, have it transcribed, and you can come down to the station and sign it at your convenience. Would that be acceptable?'
'Sure. Whatever.'
'All right. Please state your name and address, then tell me exactly what you saw.'
'My name's Donna Sandoval. I live at 55 Gila Lane.' She cleared her, throat. 'On last Friday evening, around six o'clock, I was driving down Copperhead Road toward home. I'd stopped by the store to buy some groceries after work. The street was empty, but I saw two men walking along the side, away from Troy's Garage. When I got closer, I saw that it was Mr. Torres and another man. Mr. Torres .... I don't know if I should say this, I don't want to
