Outlaw Road Page 2

  Raymond said the cookout was to celebrate. She’d asked him, Celebrate what? He’d said, Iowa’s starting two-a-days next month, oh, and I’m making a trip to Odessa tomorrow. It didn’t take much for Raymond to bring up Iowa in a conversation, or to grill something. Hunter thought about his wife Connie, and was glad she and Connie had declared a truce, not friends again, but not enemies, either. It sure made going to their house a lot easier.

  Besides, why not call it a day? She hadn’t seen a track all day, it was over a hundred degrees and her air conditioner was on the blink. She put the Tahoe in Drive and started forward. The next crossing was Lagarto, and she would check it, and then head home. Tomorrow she would come back and cut Tortuga. The Bronco hit another pothole and dust settled on her. That made it final: check Lagarto, then go home and hang out with her best friend to eat fajitas and drink ice-cold beer and not think about anything else for the rest of the day. Tomorrow would take care of itself.

  ***

  The next morning Hunter drove south as the sun broke over the horizon and worked its way down the slopes and into the river valley. First thing, she told herself, Go check Tortuga.

  Yesterday after work had been a good evening, with Raymond wearing the threadbare number 51 Iowa jersey from his third-string linebacker days in the eighties. He talked like a wind-up doll about Iowa’s upcoming chances for a national championship and how his good buddy and ex-Iowa alumnus Chris told him some inside scoop she found out from “sources” that the team this year would be the best ever.

  Of course, the other agents, her included, gave a bunch of raspberry sounds and hoots at that, with most of them giving their own personal takes on who would be the big dog of college football. Each of them also got their turn at receiving the same recognition as Raymond. Good fun, with lots of laughter. She went home at eleven and slept hard, waking up refreshed and ready for anything. She had been the first one out of the station and was dropping into the river valley by six. She had a feeling this was going to be a good day.

  Hunter drove down the rock-studded road, stopped far from the river and walked a circular three-mile-long route so she could check the entire river area from Lagarto to Tortuga Crossing up close and personal, right at the river’s edge.

  ***

  As she dropped off the high second bank a quarter-mile from Tortuga, Hunter saw where someone had brushed out the entire trail. She took time working it out as she descended through the brush and grass toward the river.

  Hunter found bits and pieces of track still visible, and she read their history: One man walking down toward the crossing and over a dozen sets of tracks coming out. There was evidence of several heavy packs or bags that had been put on the ground in places, as if the carriers were resting. Their tracks were less than twenty-four hours old. Hunter was close enough to hear the gurgling river when a faint smell caused the hairs on her neck to rise.

  The young girls and the baby were near the river’s edge where a grass-covered area butted against a jumble of boulders. She walked closer and saw the small bodies.

  The two girls were young, with the first or second year’s pubescence showing on their nude bodies. Ants worked at a fever pitch on their faces, disappearing and reappearing from their nostrils and mouths.

  Scavenger birds had taken the eyes. The girls lay on their sides, facing each other. Both had dried blood on their genitals and buttocks. The only clothes anywhere were two bright colored shawls tucked under their heads like pillows. The baby lay between them. The baby, maybe two years old, was obviously not theirs. The girls had their arms over the infant, their hands together, fingers interlaced. Someone had shot all three of them in the head.

  Hunter said, “Dammit, dammit, dammit,” and the tears started coming and Hunter couldn’t stop them.

  ***

  When Raymond returned from Odessa that afternoon and heard about it, he went straight to Hunter Kincaid’s big white Spanish-style house on the north end of town. There was no answer to the knock, so he circled to the back and saw her sitting in a lawn chair, still in her Border Patrol uniform, sipping a tall glass of orange juice. He noticed the Tito’s Vodka bottle beside her chair.

  He opened the waist-high gate, walked across the yard and said, “Hey?”

  Hunter wiped her eyes before looking at him. “Hey.” Her voice was hoarse.

  Her eyes were red, with dark circles under them. Raccoon eyes. A faint breeze was blowing and he recognized the smell coming from her. Raymond sat on the grass and looked up at her. She’d been crying hard.

  “I could have saved them,” Hunter said. She took a long sip from the glass.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “If I’d stayed on the trail yesterday, instead of being lazy, they’d still be alive.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Hunter took another sip and looked at Raymond. “The M.E said they died yesterday between noon and two. I started back to Marfa around two. You know how close I was?”

  “Hunter…”

  Hunter talked as if she hadn’t heard him. “All I had to do was check one more crossing,” She shook her head.

  “Some scumbag killed them, not you.”

  Hunter’s head was down and Raymond watched two tears wink in the sunlight as they fell into the grass. She said, “Those little girls and that baby, god-o-mighty.” She shook her head and sat up straight, wiping her eyes and nose. “I’ve seen adults before, but those kids…” She took a long drink.

  Raymond watched the breeze blow in the huge conifers at the south end of the yard. He said, “Maybe you ought to tell me about it.”

  ***

  Hunter had checked the girls for any signs of life, but knew they were dead. She wiped her eyes, then took a deep breath and blew it out before calling Sector on her handy-talkie. She told them what she had, her location, and to notify the Sheriff’s office. The Radio Operator 10-4’d, and then asked her to hold until she got an ETA. It was only a few seconds before the voice crackled and said the Sheriff was on his way and would be there in less than thirty minutes.

  Hunter used the time to look around. She crouched by the bodies and studied them in detail, staying careful not to touch, but so close that the reek was almost overpowering. When she finished on the children, Hunter turned her attention to the ground. She found indications that there was more than one person. Hunter went over the area several times, but whoever had done it was good, sprinkling dust, leaves and twigs over the brushouts so the sand looked almost untouched.

  Hunter found one other thing near the boulders: a small, match-sized twig someone had sharpened. Hunter thought maybe to pick their teeth. She marked it so the S.O. could bag it, maybe get a blood type off saliva, or DNA from blood if they were lucky and the person had bad gums.

  ***

  Hunter heard the engines long before she saw the dust curling into the air as the units left the main road and drove down the path to the Tortuga. Christ, she thought, They must have brought the whole town. Several four-wheel-drives, beige ones the color of the Sheriff’s department, came sliding to a stop, sending roiling clouds of pale dust over her. Other vehicles stopped further up the road out of her sight, the occupants slamming doors as they hurried to the scene.

  Sheriff Wayne Rockman got out of the first vehicle and put on his western hat, pulling the brim low over his eyes. There must have been fifteen others coming up behind him. The new Deputies crowded close, eager to be in on the excitement.

  Hunter knocked dust from her pants as she said, “No need for a big entrance Sheriff, they aren’t going anywhere.” She had to tilt her head back to look up at him: a wide-shouldered six-feet-four and wearing cowboy boots.

  Wayne gave hand signals for his men to fan out and start to work. “It’s always Wayne to you, Hunter. You know, like old times.” He moved to put his hand on her shoulder and Hunter turned so his fingers only brushed her arm. Rockman smiled. He waited a few seconds and said, “No need for you to hang around this stuff longer than you have to. I remember how upset you were after El Lobo.” The skin around Hunter’s eyes tightened. Rockman looked beyond Hunter’s shoulder toward the boulders and said, “How many?”

  “Three.”

  “You find anything?”

  She pointed out the marked place, “There’s a whittled twig there. I think somebody used it for a toothpick.”

  “A toothpick,” Rockman said.

  Hunter said, “They brushed out the tracks, and did a good job of it. There were three of them, one real heavy, and they met a fourth, giving him a duffle bag they had. They brought those girls and a baby across on an inflatable raft. Then they did their business, brushed out the area and took the raft back across the river.

  Rockman said, “You found enough to tell you all that?”

  “Yep.”

  “What about this fourth one. Anything you could tell on him?”

  “Like I said, they did a good job of brushing out. All I could tell from partials was that he wore old military boots. The lugs were almost worn off. I never did find a complete print, never found anything larger than a postage stamp.”

  “All right. We’ll take it from here. You need a ride back to your vehicle?”

  Hunter wanted to say no, but man, it was a long way back. “I could use one.”

  Wayne motioned for one of his deputies and told him to get his vehicle, take Agent Kincaid wherever she needed to go.

  Hunter almost made it out of there before Rockman set her off. The Sheriff was talking to his men near the boulders when Hunter turned to leave. He said, “You boys open their legs up and double-check ‘em. We don’t want another wetback drag queen causing us embarrassment like last year.”

  Hunter turned, “Don’t do that, Wayne.”

  “Oh, it’s Wayne now, is it?” The deputies at the boulders stopped what they were doing. Rockman kept his eyes on Hunter and said to the men, “Do what I said, boys.”

  “Don’t, they don’t deserve that.”

  Rockman laughed at her, “Hunter, get a grip. They can’t feel anything. What the hell are you thinking?”

  “You bastard,” Hunter said. “I already checked them.”

  Wayne looked at her for a full beat before saying, “You touched them already? Contaminated the scene without gloves?”

  “No, I didn’t touch them. But I looked them over.”

  “So you didn’t open their legs.”

  Hunter wanted to hit him. “No.”

  Wayne nodded to himself, then said, “Boys, do what I said.”

  “This is bullshit,” Hunter said. She walked toward the deputies. “Move out of there. I’ll check them.” She turned to Rockman, “That all right with you, Sheriff?

  The deputies looked at Rockman, who grinned, waved them away, and said to Hunter, “Whatever lifts your skirt.”

  ***

  The smell was all over her, and she almost felt sorry for the young reserve deputy who was driving. He had the AC on High Max and his nose near the whistling, two-inch gap where the window was rolled down. Even with that, he was pale.

  She got out at the Tahoe, thanking the deputy for the ride. He didn’t wave as he left. The drive to the station took almost two hours, and when she reached it, she had reports to complete before she left. Chief’s orders, no matter how long you’d been working.

  A half-hour later, she put the last copy of the report in the Watch Commander’s In-Basket and glanced at the clock as she went out the door. She’d been at work for thirteen long hours. She was whipped. The drive to the house took only a couple of minutes and as she entered the door, the phone rang.

  Hunter hurried into the living room and picked up the receiver. Her mother, Belinda, said, “Why haven’t you called me?”

  Hunter closed her eyes and shook her head in slow motion. “Hello, Mom.”

  “I didn’t know if you were working nights or not.”

  “I start mid-to-eights tomorrow night.”

  “Well, I was worried about you. You know, you haven’t bothered to call me in over two weeks. Ronald calls me three times a week. He never misses.”

  Hunter sat down and rubbed her eyes. They felt gritty, “Mom, I’ve been busy, I just haven’t-”

  Belinda said, “I know,” a little hurt coming through in her voice, “You’re always busy, Hunter. Ronald’s busy, too, you know. He’s a very busy man, with his law practice and as the regional President of the ACLU and head of the local Democratic Party. But he makes time to call me. I guess I’m more important to him than to you.” She gave a sniffle with the last word.

  Not tonight, Mom. Hunter took a deep breath and said, “Mom, I’m not Ronnie-”

  “It’s Ronald. You know how he hates that other name. He says it presents him as immature.”

  “He’s not there listening, all right? He doesn’t know I’m calling him Ronnie right now.”

  “He’s just very sensitive about it, that’s all.”

  “God, don’t I know it.”

  “Please don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, Hunter.”

  There was a long silence before Hunter said, “Mom, why’d you call? I know it’s not to visit. You don’t make calls just to visit.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about your case. Has the Border Patrol provided you with an attorney?”

  “Yes.”

  “I hate it that my children are going after each other in court.”

  “Tell Ronnie to drop it.”

  Belinda let it go by, “Ronald says it’s clear to him that those poor people need someone to protect them from renegade policemen. He says vigilante justice by those with badges can’t be tolerated, and that the victims are always the poor and the minorities.”

  “He wants to run for governor and he thinks making a sacrificial goat out of me will show how tough he is on crime. You know, prosecuting his kid sister in a courtroom with television coverage. It’ll be El Paso’s answer to the O.J. Simpson circus.”

  “He’s just trying to defend the innocent,” she said.

  “He’s in it for himself, Mom.”

  “Well, did you or did you not shoot that Mister Lobo in front of his wife and child?” She sounded indignant.

  Hunter said, “You bet I did. Three times. Two in the chest and one in the head.”

  Belinda started crying. Hunter felt terrible, guilty.

  “Baby,” her mother said, “I love you…no matter what. No matter how hardened you’ve become or what you did wrong.”

  Hunter rubbed her forehead. How could her mother think that? “I didn’t do anything wrong. Garcia pulled a gun, he was bringing in heroin, he was a bad man, and he was going to kill me if I didn’t shoot first.”

  “My baby, my baby,” the soft crying continued, “I believe you think that, but what Ronald said, what the papers printed, even that song…”

  Oh, not the song, Hunter thought, “That was a corrida, Mom, a Mexican ballad. It wasn’t true, what it said. It was just a song.”

  “I don’t want my baby girl to go to prison,” Belinda said in a small voice, “I wish your father was here.”

  Hunter wiped at the sudden sting in her eyes, “Me too, Mom.”

  “I miss him so.”

  “Yeah,” Hunter heard the faint clink of ice in a glass, “Mom, things will work out. You just get some rest, it’ll be better in the morning.”

  “I worry about you, honey, especially since you and Wayne broke up. He seems like such a fine man.”

  “Don’t worry about me, okay?”

  “All right, Hunter,” there was another clink, then a sigh, “You were your dad’s favorite, you know.”

  “I’m hanging up now. I’ll call you next week.”

  “I love you, my baby. Call me when you can, okay?”

  Hunter sat there, head hanging, phone loose in her hand. Finally, she hung it up and rubbed her forehead where the throbbing was coming on strong. “Damn, Ronnie,” she said, thinking about her brother, a man so handsome women sometimes stopped in mid-stride to look at him. He was so much fun when they were little. She had idolized him, followed him everywhere around the small town where they grew up.

  He’d been exceptional in school, so brilliant and eloquent that he was the leader in everything he did. Valedictorian, Class President, Most Likely to Succeed, Captain of the football team, basketball team, baseball team, and two dozen other honors. The achievements listed by his senior picture were twice as long as anyone else and it hadn’t included the academic scholarship to Harvard.

  He graduated Magna Cum Laude, entered Harvard Law School, graduated with Juris Doctor Honors, and then worked for three years in Washington on the staff of the Democratic Senator from Texas. Men in power made him promises, political events were nonstop, and always, always, Ronnie was in the front and center of the action. It had started there, his ambition for politics.

  But they weren’t rich, so Ronnie joined a law firm in El Paso, worked his way up to partner, became a big player in the ACLU, and an integral force in the state’s Democratic political machine. Things were falling in place for him, except for the public’s perception that he was soft on law enforcement officers.

  Hunter went to the kitchen, got out the bottle of Tito’s Vodka and some orange juice from the refrigerator, made a strong one, and walked into the back yard.

  ***

  Hunter finished her story and looked at Raymond, “And that brings us to now.”

  Raymond shook his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Hunter took another drink and looked at the trees.

  Raymond stood up, dusted the loose grass from his pants and said, “I’ll be around, you want to talk.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “See you.”