She suspected that Victor resented Galaz for other reasons, more ephemeral stuff, like his expensive home in the foothills; his constant talk about his golf game; his breedy-looking second wife, a high-powered Anglo lawyer.
Laura glanced at Galaz. The fact that he was here really didn’t surprise her. An important case like this, it wasn’t unprecedented that the lieutenant would want a piece of the pie—especially since this one was already unofficially running for mayor of Tucson.
The Suburban, a Bisbee PD patrol car, and Buddy Holland’s Caprice were all parked on the street half a block from Lehman’s house. A small group had collected near Victor Celaya’s shiny black truck. Laura recognized everyone except a skinny bleached-blonde in Guess Jeans that molded tightly to her ass, and an older Hispanic male: Sylvia Clegg and the chief of probation, Ernie Lopez.
Victor leaned against the front fender of his new GMC, the window open so he could get his last few minutes of Rush Limbaugh. A Mexican ditto-head—who’d’ve thunk.
Galaz nodded to her, his brown eyes assessing. She wondered why he was so interested, put it down to the fact that he hardly knew her. He explained that later today he was speaking at a law enforcement seminar in Sierra Vista, and he decided to come by and see how “his people” were doing.
Those inscrutable eyes, weighing her. Laura turned to Ernie Lopez.
“Is he home?”
“His car’s there.”
They headed up the street, the Bisbee PD officer, Chambers, leading the way. Galaz hung back—not sure of his role? He’d come up through the administration side of DPS, with a long stint in Internal Affairs. Not a cop’s cop.
Laura glanced back, uncomfortable that her lieutenant was walking behind her. When he saw her looking back he transferred his gaze from Clegg to her and flashed a smile. Galaz was one of those people dirt didn’t stick to. Manicured nails, expensive suit, immaculate white cuffs crisped to a razor edge, micro-managed haircut. With his patrician good looks and Spanish elegance, even at eight a.m. he looked ready for a thousand-dollar-a-plate fundraiser—a world Laura knew existed, but would never in her life see firsthand.
She could smell the products that went into him: shampoo, cologne, mouthwash, body wash, hair spray. His expensive shoes clicked on the sidewalk behind her like a metronome.
Officer Chambers rapped on the door.
Laura was aware that Lieutenant Galaz remained near the curb. Was he worried there might be shooting? Laura’s own hand hovered near her weapon—automatic.
Lehman came to the screen. Shirtless again.
He took one look at them and said, “Oh shit.”
Sylvia Clegg said, “Chuck, I’m informing you that I am here to do a search.”
Lehman glared past her at Laura. “This is your doing. You trying to get back at me?”
Unperturbed, Sylvia said, “Chuck, you know that under the terms of your probation, you have to allow me in to search.”
For a moment it looked like there would be a stand-off. Chambers shifted his weight slightly, his hand near his gun.
Lehman stood in the doorway, arms folded, looking like an angry Mr. Clean.
“What did I do?” he demanded. It took Laura back to the other day when he’d yelled at her like a drill sergeant. “What did I do?”
A powerful engine started up on the street. Laura looked back to see Mike Galaz pull out and drive away. Why had he bothered to come at all?
Clegg said quietly, “Chuck. May I proceed with the search?”
“And if I don’t, you’ll arrest me.”
“Come on, Chuck, this isn’t such a big deal,” Clegg said. “Take a deep breath and—“
“You’re gonna arrest me, am I right?”
“No one’s going to arrest you. If you just let me take a look around, we’ll be in and out in no time. You know I wouldn’t—“
He shoved the screen door open so hard it slammed against the wall of the house. “Go ahead. I have nothing to hide.”
“First you need to secure your dog,” Clegg said.
“Oh for Christ’s sake!” He whistled for the dog and took him outside, returning a few moments later. “I put him in his run, that good enough?”
Clegg smiled like she’d won the lottery. “That’s great, Chuck.”
They traipsed in: Laura, Victor, Buddy Holland, and Sylvia Clegg. The rest remained out on the street.
Buddy Holland cruised the room, eagle eyes taking in everything. Laura was worried that he was going to piss Sylvia Clegg off, but it appeared they were friends. Buddy must not have seen anything incriminating, because he joined them and stood there with a bored look on his face.
Chuck Lehman lived well. Blond hardwood floors, oriental carpet, Danish furniture. Doggie bed in the corner, near a river stone fireplace. Colorful kites hanging from the walls.
Sylvia Clegg, gloved in latex, started a low-key but thorough search. Her movements were deliberate and efficient. Laura noticed she had a calming effect about her, which was well-appreciated.
