Statute of Limitations Read online

  With her tangled black hairdo, curvaceous body poured into tight jeans, and a white, tucked-waist blouse that left three inches of flat belly and a diamond navel stud exposed, it would be difficult to mistake her for a him.

  Miranda, turned, saw Estelle and Gastner, and quickly cut off her telephone conversation.

  “Miranda, is Mr. Patel here?” Estelle asked.

  The girl nodded vigorously. “I called him. He said he’d be right down?” Her voice was clearly teenaged and as feminine as the rest of her. Estelle wondered who had told the sheriff that a man had called dispatch...or if someone had just made an innocent assumption.

  “You mean he’s coming from home? Or is he here on the premises?”

  “No. He was home, like when...,” and Miranda trailed off doubtfully. “What’s happening? All the ambulances and stuff?”

  Estelle smiled sympathetically but ignored the questions. “You’re working by yourself?”

  Miranda nodded.

  “Did you see Chief Martinez earlier this evening?”

  Miranda nodded again and bit her lip. “Is that what...?”

  Estelle gave the girl a few seconds, but the nod was apparently going to suffice, the question and thought left unfinished.

  “You obviously know him, then. Did you talk to him?”

  “He wanted to buy some aspirin?” Miranda said. She leaned over the counter and pointed down the hall beyond the ice maker. “That vending machine right there?” Miranda’s voice was a soft singsong, marked by her tendency to make sentences into questions, the tail end of the phrase rising like a little check mark.

  “Did you see him buy aspirin?”

  Miranda nodded. “He wasn’t feeling so hot, I don’t think. He asked if he could use the desk phone.”

  “He just came in, bought aspirin, used the phone, and that’s it? When did he go back outside?”

  “Well, I had to give him change? He was all...I don’t know...all kind of like confused, and stuff? He almost lost his balance, like when he went back out the door?” Miranda glanced outside. “He used the phone to call a doctor, I think. But then he kind of just wandered, you know? Is he okay? I was worried about him. And that girl was so pregnant I thought maybe she was having her baby or something. I thought may be the ambulance was for her.”

  “Which girl is that?” Estelle asked. “There was a girl with him?”

  “No, no,” Miranda said. “I mean earlier? The van people? They checked in a little while ago.”

  “Ah. Okay. Did you happen to see what kind of car Chief Martinez was driving?”

  Miranda shook her head. “He just came in? I guess he was parked along the side, there? I didn’t see him until he came inside, though. I mean, I was talking on the phone, and turned around, and he was just like, there?”

  “So you couldn’t see his car? You didn’t see where he parked?”

  “No. I couldn’t. I think he parked, like down there?” She gestured vaguely toward the north.

  “After he used the phone, and then left, did you walk over to the door?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have any idea what happened after he left?”

  “No...and then the police cars came, and the ambulance. I looked out the door then. They were all down at that one car.”

  “Did you call 911, Miranda?” Gastner asked.

  The girl shook her head, a quick little I didn’t do it expression.

  “You’ve been here by yourself all evening?” Estelle asked.

  “Sure,” Miranda said. “I called Mr. P, though, ’cause of the people in the van. He said he was coming down a little bit later? And then this happened, and I called him again. So he should be here pretty soon. You want me to call him again?”

  “I don’t think so,” Estelle said. “But no one from here called 911? No one that you know of?”

  “Well, I didn’t. That’s all I know. I didn’t like know anything was wrong and stuff until all the cops started showing up? I mean, maybe one of the guests saw something out the window. You think?”

  “We’ll talk to them,” Estelle said. “Did you happen to see the owners of the little blue Dodge sedan that’s parked over around the side?”

  “I don’t think so. Well, maybe...I’m not sure. One guy, he like came to the door? It looked like he was going to come inside? And then he didn’t? He was talking to someone else?”

  “What did he look like, Miranda?”

  “He was like a big guy, you know?”

  “Tell me what you mean by big.”

  “Well, he was just big, like huge. He had on this funny little cap. All peaky and stuff?”

  “Like a welder’s cap?” Gastner asked gently, but Miranda just looked puzzled.

  “He pulled the door open a little? And then it like sounded like someone yelled to him outside. I think he went back down the sidewalk?” she said.

  “And you could hear someone else talking?” Estelle asked.

  “You said it sounded as if someone called out to him. This big guy in the funny cap?”

  “I think so. Oh, and he had this real long ponytail,” Miranda said, a trace of pride creeping into her voice. “When he turned and stuff, I could like see it? It hung right down his back.” She pivoted and reached around to touch her own back with her thumb.

  “Anglo?”

  Miranda nodded. “I think so.”

  “Did you see this man, or anyone else, talking with Chief Martinez? In all this coming and going?”

  “No. I think he like came in afterward?”

  “The chief did, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long afterward?”

  Miranda shrugged. “Just a few minutes, I think.”

  “Let me make sure I understand you, Miranda. The big guy comes to the door, starts to open it, and then changes his mind when someone yells to him. Just a few minutes later, Chief Martinez comes in, buys some aspirin, uses the phone, and then goes back outside. That’s the way it happened?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Gastner leaned on the counter and regarded Miranda impassively. “When you say ‘a few minutes,’ young lady, what do you mean? Are we talking, say, two minutes? Five minutes? Ten minutes?”

  “I...,” Miranda started to say, and stopped.

  “Just take your time,” Gastner said gently. “Relax, take your time, and remember what you were doing. Remember what you saw. We have all night.”

  Miranda looked down at the computer keyboard, frowning. “Okay,” she said. “Those people in the old van—she’s the pregnant lady—she and her husband had just gone, like to park? That’s when this guy comes to the door? The big guy with the ponytail.”

  “Seconds later, you mean?” Gastner prompted.

  “Like, just seconds. The van was parked right there by the door, and they started up and like swung around?” Miranda pointed to her left. “I mean like, right away, they’re gone and this ponytail guy is at the door.” The words came in a rush, as if she had finally warmed up to her role as key witness. “Like he would have had to almost step out of the way when the van pulled around. And then, this ponytail guy just like changes his mind and leaves. He walks off that way?” Miranda pointed to her right. “That’s when the chief came in, just after that.”

  “How long would that be?”

  “Like just a little bit.”

  Gastner smiled encouragement. “If you started counting from the time when Ponytail left to when the chief entered, how far would you get?”

  Miranda closed one eye, the opposite eyebrow lifting. Estelle watched as the girl replayed her mental tape. “I think I’d like get to thirty, maybe?”

  “That soon. Just thirty seconds?”

  “Yes. It wasn’t very long and stu
ff.”

  Estelle frowned at Gastner. “That’s why he chose to park along the side, rather than pulling under the portico. The van would still have been in the way.” To Miranda, she said, “I’d like the room number of the van folks. May I see their registration card?”

  The girl hesitated. “She was really pregnant?” Her hand drifted down to her own flat belly. “For a minute I thought all the ambulances and stuff was for her.” She slid the card across the counter toward Estelle. “They’re in 110? That’s the room down at the end. That’s where Mr. P said they should go.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I had to call him, ’cause they said they didn’t have any money and stuff? And she wasn’t feeling too good?”

  Estelle looked at the card. “He filled this out? The man did?”

  “Yes.”

  Neat block letters filled the card. “Todd Willis,” Estelle said. “Las Cruces.” She glanced at Gastner. “Why does that name ring a bell?”

  He shrugged. “No bells in this old head.”

  “They seemed like nice people. I was kind of afraid that she was going to have her baby like right here in the lobby,” Miranda said.

  “Are you up on first-aid procedures?” Gastner chuckled, and Miranda flashed a quick, nervous smile.

  “Not hardly.”

  Estelle continued to examine the card. “They both came into the lobby to check in?” she asked without looking up. Miranda glanced first at Gastner and then at Estelle, as if unsure whether or not to answer the question.

  “I think they did ’cause they couldn’t pay. Like maybe they thought...” Miranda let the rest of the thought trail off.

  “Good technique,” Gastner said.

  The door behind Miranda opened, and a dapper, swarthy man in razor-creased tan slacks, white shoes, and salmon-colored polo shirt stepped into the office.

  “Mr. Patel, good evening,” Estelle said. She reached across the counter and shook the man’s hand—his return grip so light and limp that it wouldn’t have supported a pencil.

  “Hey, Adrian,” Gastner said. “Good to see you.”

  “Miranda tells me there has been a problem,” Adrian Patel said precisely, with just a hint of rolled r’s in his speech.

  “Yes, sir,” Estelle replied. “Chief Eduardo Martinez was just taken to the hospital. We think with a coronary. It also appears that his vehicle may be missing.”

  “You mean all this while he was here at my motel?” Patel asked.

  “Yes. Apparently he came into the lobby to purchase some aspirin. There’s a possibility that he may have had a confrontation with someone outside, in the parking lot. But we don’t know yet.”

  “This is all most unfortunate.” Patel heaved a deep sigh. “A confrontation, you say? With a guest?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Ah. What may I do for you, then?”

  “For one thing, sir, we need to talk to two guests who might have seen the incident. We understand that they’re in Room 110, down at the end.”

  “Ah,” Patel said, and nodded. “Yes. We have those from time to time. Sometimes a bed and a meal may make a world of difference to them.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Gastner said.

  “I should think that they would still be in their room at this time,” Patel said. “Should you need to talk with them.”

  “Just a couple of quick questions would be helpful,” Estelle said.

  “I will remain here,” Patel said. “Should you need to talk with myself or Miranda again about this, you will feel free.” He nodded as if to add, and that’s that.

  “We appreciate your help,” Estelle said. She paused, regarding Miranda. “They didn’t call 911 from the lobby. Is that correct?”

  “No, ma’am,” Miranda said promptly.

  “And not from their room?”

  “I don’t think so. The panel here lights all up and stuff if a phone line is in use?” Miranda said.

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Once outside, Estelle stood under the portico, hands thrust in her pockets. “Interesting,” she said.

  “Yep,” Gastner agreed. “Interesting and stuff.”

  “The young couple can’t afford to pay for a room, but they have their own cell phone and van.”

  “These are the times we live in, sweetheart. And stuff.”

  “That new baby is going to have an interesting life.” Estelle grinned. “And if you’re going to talk like that, you have to have a bare midriff, sir.”

  He looked down at his gut. “Scary thought.”

  Estelle hunched against the drizzle, breathing the clean, wet air outside, relieved to be clear of the aroma of carpet cleaner and disinfectant. The two of them walked back to the county car and then drove the length of the motel toward Room 110.

  Chapter Three

  The van was parked with its tires cocked against the concrete curb. If the occupants of Room 110 had pushed aside the lightproof plastic curtain, their view outside would have been of the van’s blunt, rusted, and dented face. Estelle pulled the county car in behind and perpendicular to the vehicle, stopping just far enough away that she could both read the tattered license plate and watch the yellow door of Room 110.

  “That old boat has seen some miles,” Gastner said. He leaned back in the seat and cocked his head, looking at the ski-laden Toyota. “Oklahoma skiers,” he said. Two spaces farther down, the white utility truck was parked facing out, its doors clearly marked with magnetic signs. “And a Deming plumber.”

  Estelle nodded as she reached down to turn the radio up a bit, never taking her eyes off the van. The back windows were plastered with an array of stickers, most from national parks. The registration sticker on the license plate was valid. She keyed the mike.

  “PCS, three ten.”

  “Three ten, go ahead.”

  “Ten twenty-eight New Mexico four niner seven, Baker Edward Charlie.”

  Dispatcher Brent Sutherland responded before the computer had a chance to search the NCIC brain. “Three ten, four niner seven, Baker Edward Charlie should appear on a 1972 Ford Econoline van, color green, registered to Paula Ann Hart.” He spelled the last name. “Fourteen thirty-seven Mesa Park, Las Cruces. Negative twenty-nine.”

  “Ten four. Thanks.”

  “Three ten, be advised that the occupants of that vehicle were the subjects of a complaint earlier this evening.”

  “Ten twenty-one,” Estelle said, requesting a change from radio to phone. She hung up the mike. She turned and raised an eyebrow at Gastner, who shrugged.

  “Who the hell knows,” he said. Estelle had her phone in hand when it rang.

  “Guzman.”

  “Estelle,” Sutherland said, “you might want to talk with Jackie Taber about that van. She responded to a complaint at...just a sec.” Estelle could picture Brent leaning forward to read the log. “At the Prairie Rest B-and-B over on North Tenth. Apparently the young couple driving that van stopped there looking for a room. They claimed that they didn’t have any money.”

  “What was the complaint?” Estelle asked. Asking for a room was hardly grounds for a complaint.

  “Ah, nothing really specific. Mrs. Melvin—that’s Rachel Melvin, the owner? She called here and said that there was something suspicious about the couple...couldn’t put her finger on what it was. She wanted the police to check them out. I logged that call at 18:04.”

  “They were up front about not being able to pay for the room?”

  “Jackie didn’t say anything to me about that when she called in.”

  “But they left the premises of the B-and-B when requested to do so by the owner?”

  “I guess so. You might want to talk with Jackie, though. She talked to them a few minutes later over at Pershing Park. It looked
like maybe they were going to camp there.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Brent. And by the way, did you log the caller’s name for the 911 involving Chief Martinez?”

  “No, ma’am. He hung up on me. He reported a man down at the Posadas Inn, then just hung up.”

  “But the caller was a man. You’re sure of that?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We’ll be out of service for a few minutes with the owners of that van, Brent. Bill Gastner’s with me, and the sheriff went over to the hospital with the ambulance.”

  “Right.” Sutherland sounded relieved. Estelle was reasonably sure that Bob Torrez hadn’t informed dispatch of his intentions. She clicked off the cell phone and glanced up as a sweep of headlights flashed in the rearview mirror. A white, older model Ford Bronco nosed in and stopped. “Let’s see what Jackie has to say,” Estelle said.

  She got out of the car and joined Deputy Jackie Taber on the walkway in front of one of the service rooms, where the narrow overhang would provide some protection from the weather.

  “Nice night,” Jackie said by way of greeting. She was a large young woman, square through the shoulders and thick through the waist. “Good evening, sir,” she said, as Bill Gastner ambled up to join them.

  “Well, it was,” Gastner said.

  “I’m really sorry about Chief Martinez,” Jackie said. “It doesn’t look good for him.”

  “Nope,” Gastner said, and let it go at that. Estelle glanced at her old friend. Gastner and Martinez had been friends for decades, and with the village-county consolidation of public safety services, the two colleagues had met a dozen times in the past month.

  “Brent tells me that you had occasion to talk with the owners of this van earlier,” Estelle said, and the deputy nodded.

  “That’s why I shagged down here,” Jackie said. “I’ll go back and help the guys sweep in a minute, but I wanted to tell you—” she nodded in the direction of the old van “—they stopped at the B-and-B over on Tenth,” she said. “They told the owner that they didn’t have any money, but asked if they could stay the night. I guess Mrs. Melvin didn’t like the looks of them.”

  “Rachel Melvin doesn’t like the looks of anybody who’s younger than sixty,” Gastner observed.