like?”
He hesitated. “I don’ want to say this,” he whispered. He took a deep breath, and let it out. “Hokay. Look, there is one tall white guy, man, and two Latinos, one is very ugly in the face. Like an accident with a wall, man. And one dark-skinned man who dresses really well, you know? Expensive things. Very long nose. Very quiet. And one dark-skin dude with an Anglo nose. Maybe he comes from Argentina or Brazil or something. He’s always got on a Yankees baseball cap. He’s crazy, like wired, you know? But I doan think he’s doin’ much dope. He’s natural crazy.” He looked around. “I think maybe I should go.”
“New York Yankees? You think he’s from New York?” I always hate asking obvious questions.
“No way, man. Maybe he’s a baseball fan,” said Hector.
“The white guy… is he local?”
“I doan know.” He looked around. “I never met this dude, man. That’s the way I want to keep it.”
White. Well, the local label sure fit. But Battenberg also had a substantial Russian, Ukrainian, and Georgian community, all first-generation and very recent. White would apply to them as well. I wasn’t done with that line of questioning yet, but I thought we could keep up an informal but cooperative relationship if I didn’t pressure him, at least not yet.
“At least some are connected to the meat plant, though?” I asked. We were going to have to start interviewing a broader set of witnesses. Well, just as soon as we developed something to ask them.
“There’s a bunch that work at the plant who might know something, but good luck with that today.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The plant is closed. They say it’s in honor of Rudy, but the real reason is that most of the workers ain’ there.” Hector grinned. “Illegals. You know how it goes. They won’t be back for a while… three, four days, most of them.”
“You’re kidding.” The last time this had happened it cost us three days. There had been a murder in the Hispanic community, and they all thought they’d be deported if they talked to us.
“No, I am not. Some of them even went away last night.” The grin got bigger. “Just like last time.”
“Any idea where they went? “asked Hester.
Hector shrugged. “Probably most of them are here somewhere. Just not at work, where you can find them.” He grinned again. “Not even to the Casey’s for cigarettes, not today. Maybe not tomorrow, too.” The grin faded. “The ones who know Rudy the best, they have probably gone a distance. They worry about the cops and the Immigration Service.”
Well, damn. Now we’d have to go to the plant, get home addresses, and try not to scare any illegals into running before we could talk to them.
“Did he have any close friends you know of?”
“Maybe two. Maybe three. You already talk to Linda?”
I nodded.
“She better be careful, too. She don’ know the way things are. She’s from Iowa.”
“You think she’s in danger? “asked Hester.
Hector shrugged. “I don’t know what she knows. Maybe she don’t know what she knows, either. You know?”
I thought he’d summed it up pretty well. “Yeah, I know. Hell, Hector, there are some days I’m not even sure of what I know myself.”
He thought that was funny. “I got to go, to look normal. But you be careful, Mr. Houseman. I would miss you.”
“Stay in touch,” I said. “Maybe it would be best it we just talk on the phone for a while.”
He stood, and stuck out his hand to Hester. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
Hester shook hands with him, and he walked over to the bank of half a dozen public access computers, picked one, and sat down, completely ignoring us. If someone had walked in ten seconds later, there would have been absolutely no indication we’d ever talked.
“Second one from the right,” said Hester. “Remember that.”
“Got it.”
We headed out the door. “He works in the plant?”
“Yep. Well, that’s his official job,” I said, as soon as we were outside.
“Official?”
“Well, he’s a dope dealer in real life,” I said. “Ecstasy and meth, in small quantities. Makes a profit, though. That’s what I hear, anyway. Can’t prove it yet.”
“You get interesting snitches, Houseman. For a Norwegian.”
“He says he likes it here in Iowa,” I said, as we got in the car. “Just like a lot of the Latino dope dealers do. They’ll tell you that the cops here don’t beat ‘em up just because they’re Mexicans. The other dope dealers don’t shoot ‘em here, and the local customers pay up front.”
“What more could you ask for, right? “She shook her head. “Let’s hear it for family values.”
“Like Hector says, ‘Ya, you betcha.’”
Hester and I headed back to Linda’s apartment, to return the originals we’d been given. I called the office on the radio and let them know we were in the car.
“Ten-four, Three,” said Sally. “Ten-twenty-one the office.”
She wanted me to phone in. “Ten-four.” I handed Hester my cell phone, and she dialed as I drove.
“Hey, Sally, it’s Hester. Is this for us, or just for Houseman?” There was a pause. “No kidding? Really? Okay, I’ll pass it along. Oh, he’ll love this, all right. No, you tell him.”
She handed the phone back to me. “It’s Sally.”
“I knew that,” I said. I took the phone. “Well?”
“Well, looks like your case is going to shit, Houseman,” said Sally. “The address in Los Angeles you gave me? The one where his mother lives?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s a movie studio. A movie lot. Where they make pictures.”
Sally sounded very much entertained. “The LAPD say it was a studio from year one. The old Republic lot, I think they called it. At least since the thirties. Never residential.”
“Well, damn,” I said. “That’s great news. I just found out he was never in L.A. anyway.”
“Sure, you did.”
“No, really. But cross-check the Social Security book, and see where his SSN originated. That might not be California, either. And, hey, we still got those CDs with all the phone directories in the U.S. on ‘em?” I suspected Hector was right, and that Rudy was indeed illegal. But it never hurts to check as thoroughly as possible. I decided not to share that information with Sally just yet. She’d be inclined to search harder, I thought, if she didn’t know.
“Sure, but it’s not everybody, you know. But I’ll be glad to, before you even ask. Give Hester my best.”
“One more thing,” I interjected quickly, before she could hang up.
“What?”
“Call the packing plant and see if they’re working a full shift today, will you?”
“Why, you hungry again already?”
“Just do it. Call me as soon as you get some hard data, okay?”
“You bet. Can I come out and do my Sheriff’s Reserve thing on this one?”
I had to laugh at that. Sally was a reserve officer, and a good one. But it seemed to me that every time we had her put that particular hat on, things went to hell in a handbasket.
“Sure,” I said. “But not until it gets worse than you can make it.”
I parked in front of Linda’s apartment.
“First thing,” I said, “is to call LEIN, and see if there’s been a one-oh-two submitted on anybody called Cheeto.” LEIN is the acronym for the Iowa Law Enforcement Intelligence Network. A 102 is the standard form that an agency will submit when it has important data on a suspect. Narcotics involvement, burglary, things of that sort. The 102 includes a place to list nicknames.
“Let’s do it,” she said. She had the number programmed into her cell phone and was talking to the senior analyst in about five seconds. “Okay. Okay, yeah. Nation County Sheriff’s Department. Okay, I’ll tell him. Bye.”
