Teresa had been targeted right along with her husband.
So who was behind it and why? Who was easier to answer than why. The people who called the drug-dealing shots in and around Nogales were members of the feared Nogo Cartel, based in Nogales, Sonora.
For as long as he had been sheriff, Renteria had maintained a separate peace with the cartel, due in large measure to the fact that his cousin’s son, Pasquale, a boy Manuel had once dandled on his knee, had risen to the top of the organization. Once Manuel was elected to the office of sheriff, he and Pasquale had hammered out a live-and-let-live agreement. The sheriff would keep his department’s efforts focused on the needs of the people who had elected him while leaving the drug war to others—to the feds, the DEA, and the Border Patrol. In exchange, Pasquale had agreed not to target Santa Cruz County officers.
Sheriff Renteria wasn’t someone who went looking for a fight, but if the fight came to him, he wouldn’t shy away from it. If the Nogos turned out to be in any way involved in what was going on here, then all bets were off. Sheriff Renteria would do everything in his power to take them down, starting with Pasquale. Renteria would turn whatever he knew about his nephew and his cohorts over to Duane Lattimore.
Having made up his mind, Sheriff Renteria stacked his papers and locked them in his briefcase. Then, after pouring and downing one last shot of tequila, he went to the bedroom and fell into a dreamless sleep on what he still, after all this time, considered to be his side of the queen-size bed.
27
7:00 P.M., Sunday, April 11
Tucson, Arizona
Ali’s decision to call Haley Marsh turned out to be nothing short of brilliant. Haley left her son, Liam, with her roommate long enough to come meet Lucy and Carinda and to take them in hand. Two long days in the hospital had taken their toll. The novelty had worn off. The girls were tired and cranky and wanted to be somewhere that wasn’t a hospital waiting room or hallway. Within minutes of meeting Haley, Lucy and Carinda were more than ready to go play at what she assured them them was a “real” house.
When it was time for them to leave, Jose was sleeping again. Ali was helping load the girls and their gear— clothing, toys, and car and booster seats—into Haley’s minivan when she saw DPS Lieutenant Lattimore striding across the parking lot. Ali was on the phone to Juanita Cisco before he made it into the lobby.
Juanita had come by earlier and given Jose a retainer to sign, but she had told Ali she wanted to be physically present if Lattimore showed up for fear Jose might say more than was good for him. Ali hurried back inside and was waiting outside the door to Jose’s room when the lieutenant came down the hall from reception.
“You again,” he said when he saw Ali barring his way.
“Yes,” she said. “Me again.”
“I’m not sure what you’re doing here or why you think it’s okay to interfere with a police investigation,” Lattimore said.
“Jose is a victim of a crime,” Ali countered, stalling for time. “I think you’ve lost sight of that.”
“I haven’t lost sight of anything. When a crime victim is involved in illegal activities, it’s usually a good place to start looking for the perpetrator. That’s true even if the crime victim happens to be a police officer. I need to talk to Mr. Reyes and see if he can help me clear this case.”
“He told me the shooter was a woman—a woman wearing a head scarf.”
“So he’s been talking to you, but he can’t talk to me? And what did he mean by that—that she’s a Muslim or something?”
“He said a scarf. Just a scarf. And sunglasses. Cataract-style sunglasses.”
“I’d rather be hearing this from him than from you,” Lattimore said.
Juanita Cisco arrived on the scene, wearing garden clogs and a loose-fitting smock. It was clear she’d come to the hospital straight from doing yard work. She was short and dumpy, with a set of jowls that made her face resemble that of a pit bull—an angry pit bull.
“I’m Mr. Reyes’s attorney,” she announced. “You won’t be hearing anything at all from him unless I give you the go-ahead. Understood?”
Lattimore wasn’t a happy camper, but he nodded. “All right,” he said. “We’ll do it your way.”
Since no one told her otherwise, Ali followed the attorney and the detective into Jose’s room. There were still machines and plenty of beeping monitors. Jose had been asleep when the girls left, but he was awake now.
“Jose, it’s Juanita,” the attorney said, reminding him in case the meds had interfered with his recall of her previous visit. “I told you about Mr. Lattimore earlier.” She sat down in the only visitor’s seat in the room, leaving Lattimore standing. “Mr. Lattimore is here to interview you about the shooting,” she continued. “He’s to confine his questions to that. If he strays into other areas, I’ll direct you not to answer.” She nodded in Lattimore’s direction.
“So what can you tell me?” Lattimore asked Jose.
“It was a traffic stop. A woman.”
“How old?”
“Older. Cataract glasses. And a head scarf—with flowers of some kind.”
“What happened?”
“I turned on my lights, but she didn’t pull over right away. Finally, she did, but instead of pulling over on the shoulder, she went up a side road. When she stopped, I got out and approached the vehicle. I told her to put her hands in the air, but by the time I saw her hands, she was already shooting.”
“So you walked up to the car and she went kerblammo? No exchange of words?”
“Not that I remember.”
“What kind of vehicle?”
“Older-model Buick sedan. A Regal maybe.”
“This isn’t someone you recognize or a vehicle you recognize?”
“No.”
“You have no idea who she was?”
“No.”
“Was the shooter alone in the vehicle?”
“I didn’t see anyone else, but there might have been. I’m not sure. It was dark.”
“Let’s talk about the trunk of your vehicle. What was in it?”
“The usual stuff. Water, extra ammo, first aid kit, spare tire, a tool kit.”
“Did you make any other stops of any kind that night?”
“I made a couple of traffic stops, but it was pretty quiet.”
“Traffic stops only?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing where you might have picked up some contraband?”
“No.”
“So what would explain the presence of drugs in your vehicle?” Lattimore asked.
“What drugs? There weren’t any drugs.”
“Was it maybe evidence from another case, one you were working on and hadn’t mentioned to anyone else? Maybe you hadn’t quite gotten around to doing the paperwork on it.”
“If you found drugs in the trunk of my car, someone else must have put them there,” Jose said. “I didn’t.”
Juanita gave a warning shake of her head. It was meant for Lattimore and Jose. Both of them ignored it.
“Does any other officer drive that particular patrol car?”
“No. I’m the only one. I take it home at night.”
“And where do you park it?”
“In my yard. In Patagonia. Outside Patagonia.”
“Is the yard fenced and gated?” Lattimore asked.
