Rebecca.
Life had been good for a while, and now it wasn't anymore.
Released from the county jail, he'd walked to the outlet mall near the Interstate and rented a room for the night at a nearby motel, figuring the police wouldn't look for him there. After a quick trip to the food court at the mall, he'd locked himself inside the room, passed the time watching a Spanish television station, and plotted his escape from Santa Fe. He would go to Tucson where he could blend in easily, find work, and then call Rebecca to tell her that he was all right.
To do it he needed to get to his truck, which was parked at the stables.
A city bus stopped at the mall soon after it opened. He would ride the bus downtown, walk from there to the stables, and, if the police weren't there watching, drive away.
He checked the clock on the bedside table. The bus wasn't due to arrive for another thirty minutes.
Outside his room he heard the sound of a car. It started briefly, sputtered, and then died. Again and again the engine failed to catch.
He went to the window, pulled back the curtain, peeked out, and saw a woman bent over the car's engine compartment. Before he could release the curtain she turned, saw him, and gestured for him to come outside.
Terjo shook his head.
The woman stepped to the window and knocked on the glass. Terjo studied her. She looked frustrated and distressed. He slid the window open.
"Do you know anything about cars?" the woman asked.
"Yes, a little," Terjo replied.
"Could you please see if you can get it started for me? Please?"
Terjo looked around at the parking lot before replying. He didn't see any police.
"Okay."
He unlocked the door and it slammed into his face, knocking him backward. The woman and a man with a pistol forced him facedown on the carpet, handcuffed him, and searched him before yanking him to a sitting position.
Charlie Perry cocked his weapon and put the barrel an inch away from Terjo's right eye.
"You've got one minute to tell me who Phyllis Terrell had sex with the night she was murdered."
"And if I do?" Terjo asked, stammering to get the words out.
"You go home to Mexico and you live," Perry said.
"But if you ever come back to this country, you die, Ignacio."
"I'm Santiago, not Ignacio."
"Drop the game," Perry snapped.
"You're wasting time."
"What about Rebecca and my daughter? I need to see them, por favor.
Perry pushed the barrel against Terjo's eyeball.
"That's not an option. Maybe we'll have the Mexico authorities throw you in prison as a drug smuggler. Now you have three choices. Pick one."
Terjo pulled his head back and looked through watery eyes at the woman, who stared at him without expression.
"His name is Ran dall Stewart. He lives up the hill from Mrs. Terrell, behind Alexandra Lawton's house. He was with her the last time I saw the senora alive. She asked me not to say anything."
"You're a good boy, Ignacio," Perry said as he released the hammer to his weapon and turned to the woman.
"Get him out of here."
Agent Applewhite nodded and pulled Terjo to his feet.
"Don't even think about killing him," Perry added. Applewhite smiled wickedly and marched Terjo out the door.
At the office Kerney worked his way slowly through a large group of smiling officers and civilian employees who'd gathered for an informal celebration of Larry Otero's promotion. Folks who'd been reserved, distant, or hesitant with Kerney praised his selection. Even two senior captains who'd been passed over for the appointment seemed pleased, as did several sergeants and lieutenants who could now think seriously about the possibility of moving up in rank. But the officers active in the police union were conspicuous by their absence.
Helen had bought a bouquet of flowers that sat on the vacant secretary's desk outside Otero's new office. She'd had a metallic silver banner hung above the door that read in bold letters, CONGRATULATIONS. A large coffeepot and pastries arranged on platters filled an
Life had been good for a while, and now it wasn't anymore.
Released from the county jail, he'd walked to the outlet mall near the Interstate and rented a room for the night at a nearby motel, figuring the police wouldn't look for him there. After a quick trip to the food court at the mall, he'd locked himself inside the room, passed the time watching a Spanish television station, and plotted his escape from Santa Fe. He would go to Tucson where he could blend in easily, find work, and then call Rebecca to tell her that he was all right.
To do it he needed to get to his truck, which was parked at the stables.
A city bus stopped at the mall soon after it opened. He would ride the bus downtown, walk from there to the stables, and, if the police weren't there watching, drive away.
He checked the clock on the bedside table. The bus wasn't due to arrive for another thirty minutes.
Outside his room he heard the sound of a car. It started briefly, sputtered, and then died. Again and again the engine failed to catch.
He went to the window, pulled back the curtain, peeked out, and saw a woman bent over the car's engine compartment. Before he could release the curtain she turned, saw him, and gestured for him to come outside.
Terjo shook his head.
The woman stepped to the window and knocked on the glass. Terjo studied her. She looked frustrated and distressed. He slid the window open.
"Do you know anything about cars?" the woman asked.
"Yes, a little," Terjo replied.
"Could you please see if you can get it started for me? Please?"
Terjo looked around at the parking lot before replying. He didn't see any police.
"Okay."
He unlocked the door and it slammed into his face, knocking him backward. The woman and a man with a pistol forced him facedown on the carpet, handcuffed him, and searched him before yanking him to a sitting position.
Charlie Perry cocked his weapon and put the barrel an inch away from Terjo's right eye.
"You've got one minute to tell me who Phyllis Terrell had sex with the night she was murdered."
"And if I do?" Terjo asked, stammering to get the words out.
"You go home to Mexico and you live," Perry said.
"But if you ever come back to this country, you die, Ignacio."
"I'm Santiago, not Ignacio."
"Drop the game," Perry snapped.
"You're wasting time."
"What about Rebecca and my daughter? I need to see them, por favor.
Perry pushed the barrel against Terjo's eyeball.
"That's not an option. Maybe we'll have the Mexico authorities throw you in prison as a drug smuggler. Now you have three choices. Pick one."
Terjo pulled his head back and looked through watery eyes at the woman, who stared at him without expression.
"His name is Ran dall Stewart. He lives up the hill from Mrs. Terrell, behind Alexandra Lawton's house. He was with her the last time I saw the senora alive. She asked me not to say anything."
"You're a good boy, Ignacio," Perry said as he released the hammer to his weapon and turned to the woman.
"Get him out of here."
Agent Applewhite nodded and pulled Terjo to his feet.
"Don't even think about killing him," Perry added. Applewhite smiled wickedly and marched Terjo out the door.
At the office Kerney worked his way slowly through a large group of smiling officers and civilian employees who'd gathered for an informal celebration of Larry Otero's promotion. Folks who'd been reserved, distant, or hesitant with Kerney praised his selection. Even two senior captains who'd been passed over for the appointment seemed pleased, as did several sergeants and lieutenants who could now think seriously about the possibility of moving up in rank. But the officers active in the police union were conspicuous by their absence.
Helen had bought a bouquet of flowers that sat on the vacant secretary's desk outside Otero's new office. She'd had a metallic silver banner hung above the door that read in bold letters, CONGRATULATIONS. A large coffeepot and pastries arranged on platters filled an
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