Shutter(58)

“Are you family? I’ve never seen you over here before.”

“No, ma’am. I was actually trying to reach Mr. Armenta and I knew his wife was here.”

“Mr. Armenta lives down by Mora, not here.”

“I’m with the Albuquerque Police Department. I have an urgent message for him,” I lied. “If you could let me know where I could find him, it would really save the department some time.”

“You would think that the police would know where one of their own was.” The woman looked suspicious, her arms crossed.

“You’re right, ma’am. Detective Armenta left without giving us his permanent address.” I showed her my ID. “I’m from the forensics unit.”

“He’s in Ledoux, past Mora,” she said. “He lives in the old bottle house down by the lake.” The phone began to ring, and she answered. I walked out into the billowing snow. I shuffled through my glove compartment and found my little Sony camera wrapped inside my folded map. It was strange to be alone, but the quiet was inviting. I figured if I just kept working, it would stay that way. I raised my camera and turned it on, taking a photo of the nursing home sign covered in snow. I was surprised it still worked.

By the time I made it up the twists and turns of the forest road by Ledoux, the snow had turned the landscape a rich and vast white. I took the lake road until a local in a rattling pickup rolled down their window and waved down my vehicle.

“I don’t think you’re going to make it much further up this road. Not with that.” The man pointed at my car.

“You’re probably right.” I smiled. “I’m looking for a Detective Armenta. I heard he lives in the old bottle house. Do you know where that is?”

“Yeah.” He signaled up the road. “You’re almost there, maybe a half a mile more.” He began to roll up his window then stopped. “I didn’t know old Mr. Armenta was a detective. He never told us that.”

I wondered if I should have divulged it.

“Thank you for the directions.” The snow was already stacking on my door.

“Be careful out there.”

I pulled up to the bottle house. A steady stream of gray smoke billowed into the sky from the stacked stone fireplace. I could tell why they called it the bottle house, as I could see the different colors of bottles built into the walls, giving them eyes even through the thickly falling snow. I walked toward the gate in absolute quiet, except for the wind shaking a chime on the porch.

Then: the click of a gun being cocked.

“Stop right there.”

I stopped and raised my hands above my head. The gun poked into my shoulder.

“Who are you? They called me from the nursing home and told me you were coming.”

“My name is Rita Todacheene.” I tried to turn around, but the gun poked me again. “I work at forensics at APD.”

“And what the hell do you want with me?” I felt him lower his gun. He stepped in front of me and stared like I was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place me.

“I’m working on a case and thought you might be able to help me.” I kept my arms raised. “I’m just a photographer in the Crime Scene Unit.”

“I remember you. What do you want to know about?”

“Garcia.”

“I have nothing to say about Garcia.”

“Please, sir. I know there is something going on—we just need your help to figure it out.”

“I came out here to get away from what was going on in the department, and here you are getting me involved in it again.”

“I think he may be involved in something much bigger.”

“And you’re a photographer? What is that to you?” He turned and headed toward his house.

“Please, sir.”

He paused and looked at me, shaking his head. “Well, you might as well come in. You’re not getting out of here tonight in that little car.”

I followed him inside and looked around his cabin as he made coffee. The drinking glasses stacked on the shelf made prisms around the room.

“I moved here for my wife. So she could be near her family.”

“I heard what happened. I’m sorry.” I looked at his photographs on the wall. There were two of him and his wife standing by the lake, holding their catch.

“Life,” he said. “The department isn’t for everyone.”

“How is your health since the heart attack?”

“I didn’t have a heart attack.” The coffee maker hissed, then dripped into the glass. “I had to get out, and it had to be quick. I was tired of getting sucked into things I wanted no part of.”

“What were you getting pulled into?” I watched the man stare out of the window. “Can you tell me?”

“Why are you investigating anything if you work in the crime lab? If you want to know about Garcia, wouldn’t you be with the IAB?”

“He’s already being investigated.” I tried to think fast. He was right. Why would I be the one asking? “He is putting a couple of my cases in jeopardy. I don’t want to be pulled into it either. I think he would kill me if he knew what I already know.”

Armenta sighed deeply. I could see that he was trying not to tear up.

“When you get to be my age, you really began questioning your decisions in life. I wished I had brought my wife up here a long time ago. Instead, I worked. It took its toll on both of us.” Armenta took a mug from the cupboard. “Now my wife doesn’t even know who I am and my doc says my diabetes has done a number on my body. It’s only a matter of time. With both of us.”