LITMIR.BIZ

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Lanz, Evan Teasdale, and Denny Orlando were the three guards on duty who were slain. Rondo Martin is still missing.”

      “And you’ve rechecked all of the alibis?”

      “Gone through it once, but I’ll do it again,” Brubeck said. “Rondo Martin’s a cipher. I called up the Ponceville Sheriff’s Department. From what I was told, he was a decent deputy sheriff. He wasn’t real social, but he’d drink a round with the guys and the locals now and then. He could be pretty hard on some of the farmers if the mood hit, but mostly he’d look the other way.”

      “By looking the other way, you mean illegals?”

      “It happens.”

      “Any indication of shaking down farmers?” Decker asked.

      “You never know. My father-in-law never had any problems with him, but you can’t say things over the phone. I’d get more out of him if I talked to him in person.”

      “I’ll get the funds for you, Willy. When could you leave?”

      Brubeck winced. “I was supposed to get a few days off for the missus and me for our anniversary. I think I told you about it when you asked me to join the task force.”

      “You did,” Decker said. “I forgot.”

      “I wouldn’t care about canceling, Lieutenant, but I booked this Mexican resort about six months ago. I’ll lose my deposit.”

      “Don’t cancel, Willy, it’s fine.” Decker looked at Marge. “Can you go tomorrow?”

      “Sure.” Marge paused. “Unless you have another thing you want me to do.”

      That’s right. He had asked her to spy on Rina’s two IDs from the mug books. He was throwing out feelers in so many directions, he was losing track. “Nothing that can’t wait a day or two.” He regarded Oliver. “You go with her.”

      “Where is Ponceville?”

      Brubeck said, “You fly into Sacramento and it’s about two hours from there.”

      “Don’t tell me.” Oliver made a face. “You take Southwest.”

      “They still give you free peanuts,” Brubeck said. “I’ll set everything up with my father-in-law. You might even get more outta him than I would. He has a great deal of respect for the police if it ain’t me he’s talking to.” To Decker—“Are you sure it’s okay if I go?”

      “As a matter of fact, Willy, I have an assignment for you south of the border. Rumor has it that one of the guards, Joe Pine going as José Pinon, may be hiding out in Mexico.” He brought the detective up to date on his conversation with Brett Harriman.

      “We haven’t cleared Joe, so he could be involved,” Messing said. “He doesn’t have a record as far as we could tell.”

      “He’s a local boy from Pacoima. Call up Foothill Juvenile and ask someone if he’s ever been in trouble. We could use a set of his prints.” Decker looked at Marge and Oliver. “Rondo Martin was a sheriff. Surely we could get a set of his prints.”

      “I’ve called T in Ponceville,” Brubeck said. “He can’t seem to find Martin’s print card.”

      “You’re kidding,” Decker said.

      “Things move very slowly up there. I’m beginning to doubt if T ever printed him.”

      Decker threw up his hands. “Ask him again, Willy. And while you’re in Mexico, try to make contact with the local law. See if they know anything about José Pinon.”

      “As long as someone here has my back. Mexican jails make me nervous.”

      Decker said, “Stay in contact and we’ll keep tabs on you.” He spoke to Marge and Oliver. “While you’re up north, swing by Oakland and get a little background on Neptune Brady. He was in Oakland with his dad when the murders happened, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved.”

      “What would he gain by killing his boss?” Wanda asked.

      “I don’t know. But I do find it odd that Mace and especially Grant is keeping Brady on as a bodyguard. If my parents were murdered under someone’s watch, he’d be the last one I’d want guarding me.”

      “How far is Oakland from Sacramento?” Oliver asked.

      “An hour’s drive,” Brubeck told him.

      “You can leave from Oakland Airport—Southwest. Moving on, I had a nice little chat with Riley Karns yesterday.” He summarized their conversation. “He said he was sleeping when the murders occurred. That means he was also sleeping when the horse grave was dug and Denny Orlando was thrown into the pit. We don’t know if he’s being truthful or not. What we do know is that he was on the property the night of the murders and he knew about the horse grave. Two strikes against him.” He turned to Drew Messing. “While your partner is in sunny Mexico trying to find José Pinon, you dig into Karns. I think Gilliam Kaffey hired him from one of her horse clubs, so start there. Also, see if you can’t talk him into a polygraph test.”

      “Why would Karns want Guy and Gilliam dead?” Messing asked.

      Decker shrugged. “Maybe someone bought his silence. Find that motive and we’ll have three strikes against him. Who’s been checking up on Ana Mendez and Paco Albanez?”

      Marge raised her hand. “Her story checks out. So does the time frame. So far as I can tell, she wasn’t involved with any crazies. Paco Albanez—like Riley Karns—claims he was sleeping until Ana woke him up. But if he knew about the horse grave, maybe he should be interviewed again in Spanish.”

      “I’ll do it,” Decker said.

      “What’s happening with the surviving son?” Wynona asked.

      “Gil Kaffey is doing fine and might even come home in a few days. His ex-boyfriend, Antoine Resseur, is going to move in with him until he’s fully recovered. I think Grant has hired a nurse to look after him as well.”

      Oliver grimaced. “If I were Gil, I’d move far away and surround myself with my own personal bodyguards.”

      “Come to think of it,” Decker said, “Grant and Mace didn’t mention any bodyguards.”

      “Maybe they plan on using Neptune Brady for the job.”

      The room fell silent. Decker verbalized what everyone else was thinking.

      Having Brady guard Gil was like the fox guarding the henhouse.

       18

      The ranch was a contrast between nature and nurture. The back area was raw land with high desert chaparral, sage, cactus and other wild succulents, and a lot of dirt and gravel. The acreage in front had been controlled and manipulated, turned into garden rooms with towering trees, fountains, flowers, herbs, and beds of roses, their colors glistening in the noonday sun.

      As Decker twisted through the driveway, he spotted a man stooped over yellow and orange marigolds set into emerald boxwood squares. He wore a long-sleeved khaki uniform and a big floppy hat tied under his chin. Decker pulled the car over and parked, leaving just enough room for any other vehicles to pass around his unmarked. He got out and walked through a knot garden. The area was in full sun, and the afternoon heat was relentless.

      Paco Albanez turned when he heard shoes scruff against the loose rock and when he saw Decker, he slowly unfolded upward, his left gloved hand grabbing his hip as he arched his spine backward. His face was tanned and lined. He dropped his hands to his sides as Decker came closer and gave him the courtesy of a nod.

      “Buenas tardes,” Decker said. “Está caliente hoy.”

      “El verano es caliente.”

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