Ephrain Trujillo looked at her and didn’t answer, but his silence spoke volumes. He didn’t trust her, and Joanna understood why. There was a gulf of antipathy between Joanna Brady with her uniform and badge and this hardworking laborer and his most likely illegal friends. For immigrants without green cards, Joanna represented the enemy. People like her were the ones who stood in the way of UDAs coming to the United States, doing work American citizens had no desire to do, earning a living wage, and supporting their families back home in Mexico or Nicaragua or El Salvador. But in order to learn the truth about what had happened to Jeannine Phillips, Joanna had to find a way to bridge that gap.
“I don’t work for the Border Patrol or INS,” Joanna explained. “It makes no difference to me whether or not you and your friends have green cards. I simply need to know what you saw and where it happened.”
“Are you placing me under arrest?”
“No,” Joanna returned. “You’re not under arrest and you won’t be. Neither will your friends, but I do need your help. Please, Mr. Trujillo. Jeannine’s arms and legs are broken. Her face has been smashed. She will most likely lose the sight in one eye. The doctors removed one kidney and her spleen. The people who did this must be caught. You helped her once by saving her life. Please help her again.”
Ephrain sighed. “What do you wish to know?”
“Where did you find her?” Joanna asked. “How did you find her?”
Shaking his head, Ephrain walked to a stack of unused blocks and sat down on it. Joanna followed, taking out a notebook as she went. When she reached the stack of bricks, he took off his bandanna and used it to whack some of the dust off the bricks beside him, cleaning a place for her to sit.
“Thank you,” she said.
He nodded and went on. “My wife’s nephew and two of his friends came across the border near Naco the night before last and made it to our home in Douglas. My wife was worried about them being there. She called and asked me to go down and get them. Her nephew had a job that was promised to him on a farm up near San Simon, and I thought that, with this big job to do here in Tucson, my boss would maybe hire his friends. So I went down to Douglas after work yesterday afternoon to pick them up.”
“You’re saying there were three of them, not just two?”
“That’s right. It was already late when we left Douglas, and the trip here took a long time. We had to come up the back way, through McNeal, because there’s a big Border Patrol checkpoint between Douglas and Elfrida. The place where my nephew was going is a long way north of San Simon on a dirt road. As we were driving there, I came around a curve and saw a truck parked along the road. I saw the light rack on top and was sure it was Border Patrol and that we would be stopped. But then, when we got closer, I saw all the little dog doors on the side. So I knew it wasn’t Border Patrol after all.”
“The truck was just parked along the road? Where?”
“A couple of miles north of San Simon.”
“Did you see anyone in it or around it?”
“The engine was running-most likely because it was so cold-and someone was inside,” Ephrain acknowledged.
“What time was that?” Joanna asked.
“One o’clock or so. Maybe later.”
“And then?”
“We drove on up the road and dropped my nephew off. Then we turned around and came back. It’s a long way and the road is very rough, so it took an hour or so. But when we got close enough to see where the truck had been parked, there were lights there-lots of them.”
“What kind of lights?”
“Car lights. Headlights. I wanted to know what was going on, but I didn’t want them to see us. I shut off my headlights and drove for a while by moonlight. Then, when I was afraid they might hear the engine, I got out of the truck and walked closer.”
“By yourself, or did the others walk with you?”
“I have my green card,” Ephrain answered. “The others don’t. I told them to wait in the truck. I walked close enough until I could hear her. She was screaming, begging for them to stop. They were laughing and shouting. ”Kick her again,“ one of them said. ”Kick her again.“ And they did,” he added. “Once you have heard that sound-the sound of someone being kicked in the belly or the ribs-or once you’ve felt it, you don’t forget.”
He paused and wiped his face with the soiled bandanna. When he took the cloth away, some telltale dampness lingered on his cheek. Joanna couldn’t help but wonder where it was that Ephrain Trujillo had come to know so much about how it felt and sounded for one human being to kick another.
“And then what happened?” Joanna asked.
“They were too busy having a good time to notice me.”
“How many were there?”
“I don’t know. Half a dozen, maybe.”
“Men?” Joanna asked. “And could you see them?”
“Not very well. They were behind their cars.”
“Behind them?”
“They were all in a circle. The cars, four of them at least, had their lights on and were shining on the circle. That way they could all see what was going on. Animals!” Ephrain spat disgustedly into the dust beside him. “They wanted light so they could see what they were doing to her.”
Had she been able to, Joanna might have spat, too, but her mouth was too dry. “What happened then?” she asked.
Ephrain shrugged. “I made them stop,” he said.
“You did?” Joanna asked. “By yourself? I thought you said your friends stayed in your truck. But still, even with three of you, you were still outnumbered.”
“I made them stop,” Ephrain repeated, emphasizing the first word so there could be no mistake about it. “By myself,” he added. He turned and looked at her. “The world is a dangerous place,” he said softly. “If you are raised in a certain way or in a certain place, you have to learn to take care of yourself. If you don’t, you die.”
“How did you stop them?” Joanna asked.
Ephrain shrugged. “The coyotes and the drug smugglers- they are always on the roads, always looking for trouble or making trouble. They beat people up and steal their cars. And there are lots of people in this country who can’t call someone like you to come help them.”
Finally Joanna caught the gist of what he was saying. “You have a gun?” she said.
When he looked at her again, he nodded. “In my truck,” he said at last. “I keep it under the seat. For protection.”
So this man-this hardworking man who had saved Jeannine Phillips’s life-was also driving around southern Arizona with a loaded weapon concealed under the seat of his pickup truck. Ephrain Trujillo was right, the world truly was a dangerous place.
“What happened then?” she asked.
“I went back to my truck, got the gun, and came back. I didn’t try to shoot them. I shot over their heads, but they took off like a bunch of scared rabbits. One of them tripped over a rock. He fell down. He must have twisted his ankle because he couldn’t get up right away. He was calling for his friends to come help him; to wait for him. But they didn’t. They took off and left him there alone. When he did get up, he hobbled over to the truck-the woman’s truck. He got in that and drove off. They all drove off and left her there to die.”
“But you didn’t,” Joanna said.
“No,” Ephrain agreed. “I did not. At first I thought she was dead. But when I realized she wasn’t, I ran back to my truck. My nephew and his friends had all been riding in the camper. We had blankets there because it was cold, but that way it looked like I was driving alone. We wrapped her in the blankets and came here to Tucson, to the hospital.”
Frank arrived just then. Jamming on his brakes, he brought his Crown Victoria to a stop next to Joanna’s and leaped out of the driver’s seat. As Frank ran toward them, Ephrain rose to his feet as if to defend himself. Joanna leveled a warning look in Frank’s direction, then she reached out and took Ephrain by the hand.
“This is my chief deputy, Mr. Trujillo,” she said. “His name is Frank Montoya. Frank, this is Mr. Ephrain Trujillo. He and his friends are the ones who saved Jeannine’s life last night. He’s just been telling me all about it.”
