The Territory (Josie Gray Mysteries #1)(74)
She yelled, “Step away from the door before I shoot a bullet through your head!” She unlocked the dead bolt, swung the door open, and pointed the gun toward Kenny’s head in one fluid motion.
He smiled widely. “Nice. Very nice. You win this round.”
He followed her inside the trailer. The air-conditioning had been running all day, and the temperature was almost cold. Kenny sighed and flopped on the recliner, staring at the empty space where the couch used to be.
“They have a Goodwill downtown. Stop by and tell them you’re looking for a couch. Tell Marie you’re my sister. She’s got connections around town. She’d probably get it delivered, knowing her.”
She nodded and threw an old bed pillow on the floor and sat on it, leaning her back against the living room wall. “So what’s the plan?” she asked.
“I want to take you out for lessons one more time before I hit the road. I think you’ll be okay. I got the word around town that you’re a badass. Somebody’ll think twice before coming out here and screwing with you.”
“Why do you want to draw attention to me? Nobody even knows I exist here.”
He laughed. “Red Goff laid out on your couch like a mortuary? Trust me. Everybody knows who you are and where you live. You’re either the joker’s right-hand girl, or they want to take you out for killing the desert’s last messiah. No in between out here in the sticks.”
“I don’t ask for this. This stuff just follows me around. You’re quick enough to stay two steps in front of it. Not me, though. I’m always knee deep in the sewage.”
“You hang out here where I know where you are. I got some guys keeping an eye on you, watching the trailer and the gas station.” He leaned to one side in the recliner and pulled his wallet out of his back jeans pocket. He took out a wad of cash. “There’s five hundred bucks there. I paid Drench your rent for the next six months. That ought to keep you floating until I get things settled.”
“What things?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“So, take me with you. Let me help.”
He stood. “Hide your money. Let’s go shoot.”
*
Josie paced the office after Moss left, thinking through the mayor’s actions and his response to her subterfuge, trying to determine if he was an idiot or a criminal. Otto got annoyed with her and left to buy a snack. She considered his remark about counseling and knew he was right. She had always thought a line-of-duty killing would be something she would attack rationally, break it down into pieces like any other problem. Once she examined the events leading up to the shooting, the act itself, and her actions afterwards, she would determine if the killing was justified. She would answer questions such as, Was it was necessary? Did it save another person’s life? Would she do it again in the same situation?
But that wasn’t how things were turning out. There would be an investigation by DPS into the shootings. She needed to get the details and facts straight in her mind. But she found herself numb to the details, as if she couldn’t feel anything. She wanted to feel guilt or anger or even shame, but she just felt empty.
She called Escobedo to check on the details of the prisoner transfer, and he said it was complete. Three of the prisoners had been housed in solitary confinement until their status could be evaluated. Gutiérrez was in the infirmary but would most likely be transferred out the next day.
She stood at the window, looking at the clear blue sky and wished she were outside, walking through the hills up into the ponderosa pine behind Dell’s place. She imagined the smell of mesquite and baked earth and could feel the heat on her skin. The intensity of the last week was catching up with her. She was exhausted and having a hard time maintaining focus. She walked to the back of the office for another cup of coffee.
After Otto returned, they sat at the conference table and ate packages of mini chocolate-covered doughnuts. To Josie, they tasted as if they were dipped in paraffin, but Otto loved them. He finished his own package and started on hers.
“Someone killed Red and laid him out on Winning’s couch. Why didn’t they just drop him in the dirt? What’s the connection to her?” she asked. “It’s gnawing away at me, and I can’t get past it.”
Otto dipped the last doughnut in a cup of steaming coffee, swearing as half of it dropped to the bottom of the cup. “If Medrano is the connection, who knows? Those people have a flair for the dramatic. You ever notice that? Beheadings, dead bodies hung off overpasses, body parts run up flagpoles. Maybe laying out Red’s body in her trailer was some kind of artsy statement.”
She looked at her watch. “It’s after six. Winning ought to be at work. I’m going to drive over there again.”
“You want me to ride along?”
“No. I just need to get a feel for it again. Someone shot Red, stole his guns, flooded his basement, and moved his body to look as if he’d been shot in Winning’s living room. The only thing that makes any sense to me concerning motive is someone wanted his route. Somebody wanted the connection to the Mexicans. Bloster makes more sense than anyone else, but he’s got an alibi. And I don’t see him moving the body.”
“You ever get his work schedule confirmed?” Otto asked.
“Winning came home at eight thirty in the morning. She went to bed, woke up at five P.M., and found Red dead on her couch. Hack Bloster worked day shift that day. I’ve read the transcript for his radio contact with the dispatcher throughout the day. There were brief periods of time that he could have shot Red, but it seems unlikely. He’d have to have killed him, carried his dead body through the yard, and then positioned him in the trailer by himself, all while in uniform. It doesn’t feel right. Even if Hack killed Red, someone else was involved, too.”