The Darker Hours Page 12

  “I bet he did.”

  She shook her head. “You men. You figure the poor little woman can’t take care of herself.”

  “Yeah, I bet he’s thinking about taking care of you.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “I can think of something he wants to take care of.”

  “Why do you men turn everything to sex?”

  “Not our fault?”

  “Not your fault?”

  “Oh heck no. Right off the top God made man horny so he could fill up the world with babies. I read there weren’t many around at first. Read the Bible. All those old guys had twenty, thirty wives. Women took care of the home and the babies. Men were out hunting and gathering and stopping into a Coors Lite cave once in a while for a cold one. The waitress is wearing a skimpy little animal skin and he’s a man, so he checks her out. What’s he supposed to do.”

  She looked at him. “Jackson, if it wasn’t against the law, I’d just shoot you.”

  “But I can’t speak for your boyfriend,” Jackson continued. “About protecting you.”

  “Dammit, he’s not my boyfriend!” Boyce said.

  “My point is that Mendoza’s right. It may not be this one guy. Could be a gang. Right?”

  Boyce didn’t say anything. She drank her beer. Jackson just looked at her. “Somebody’s shouting out gang slogans while they’re spraying people with hot lead. Right?”

  Boyce shrugged. “That’s just a smoke screen.”

  “Really? How so?”

  “They are shouting a slogan that a gang of kids, call themselves the Trey Aces, like to spray paint on walls. Trey Aces are just a bunch of young punk kids. No way they are doing the shooting, but they are the only ones that use that slogan. Except for the somebody who’s blowing smoke.”

  “So, who is it?”

  “So far, Marcelino Torres.”

  “Got to be more. What’s his motive?”

  She shrugged. “Damned if I know.”

  “You don’t even act like you care.”

  “You goddammed right I care. Somebody is trying to kill me. I just haven’t figured out why.” Her color was up.

  Jackson got up and took his empty into the kitchen. He didn’t know if she recycled so he rinsed it and set it beside the sink. When he came back, he said, “I’ve got Nacho coming over. He’ll sit outside in his Jeep till I get back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out to the boat to get a bag of things. All I had at El Patron was old clothes I was using to paint in.”

  Boyce set her empty at her feet. She got up and went to the kitchen. She opened a drawer then came back and handed him a key. “Don’t get all yanked up if I’m not here when you get back.”

  “Where are you going?” he said, sliding the key into his pocket.

  “I may not go anywhere. Look, I appreciate you staying here till we figure this out. But I can’t have you glued to my butt all the time. And I don’t need Nacho. I’m not Elena or one of your little Cottonwood dumplings. I’m a police officer. I’ve been shot at and missed. I’ve been shot at and hit. And most of the time I’m doing the shooting. I can take care of myself.”

  “Then why am I here? I thought you agreed with Mendoza.”

  “To a point. You can stay here at night and you can tag along to and from the precinct just to watch my back. But I can’t have you dogging me if I want some privacy.”

  “Like on a date?”

  “Maybe like on a date or just out. And, speaking of that, if you come here and the doormat is upside down, that means don’t come in. I want my privacy.”

  “So, I drive all the way back to the boat?”

  “There are hotels just up the way.”

  “You paying?”

  “Give Mendoza the bill. This was his idea.”

  Jackson stood up. “I’ll lock the door behind me.” He waved a hand at the shotgun. “The gun’s loaded. It’s a pump, just jack a shell in and let’er rip.”

  “I know how to use a shotgun. Call Nacho off,” she said.

  He looked at her for a long time. Finally, “Okay. I don’t like it, but okay.”

  “And don’t forget the doormat,” she said as he went to the door.

  He turned and looked at her with a grin. “If it’s upside down I’m supposed to come up and ravage you, right?”

  She pushed him out the door. “Get out of here.”

  34

  It irked Boyce no end to be a prisoner in her own house. She went up to her bedroom and changed into running shorts and shoes with a loose ASU tee shirt. She kept a .38 revolver in the drawer next to her bed. She put it and her phone in her fanny pack and went out her back door. The weight in the fanny pack made it awkward to jog but better with it than without it.

  One of the things she loved about her new place was the proximity to the Mountain Preserve and all the hiking and jogging trails it had. At the closest trailhead there was a small parking lot and it was usually full. She wasn’t the only one that enjoyed the trails.

  The trail she chose was tricky; though mostly beaten down, there were occasional rocky areas where you could turn your ankle if you lost your focus. The trail started uphill and by the time she crested it, her heart rate was up, and she was sweating. She kept running and after a while she could feel the muscles beginning to limber and her breathing came easier. Her heart rate was more normal. The air temperature was warm, and the sunlight was hot. She realized she had forgotten to put on sunscreen. The trail could lead a long distance, or you could loop back to the trailhead. She took the loop. An hour later she was back at the parking lot with her tee shirt and shorts soaked through. She stepped into some shade and let her heart rate come back down. She walked back to her place.

  As she reached the lane that led into the town homes she abruptly stopped. She paused, then turned and went back behind the perimeter wall. Seventy yards away she could see two men at her door. They were bare headed, with one carrying a backpack and the other with a satchel sitting at his feet. He was rummaging around in it. Backpack man had something in his hand. Something dark but due to the position of his body, Boyce couldn’t make out what it was.

  She moved the fanny pack around to her side, unzipped it and put her hand inside on the pistol. She took a breath then walked nonchalantly into the compound, turning immediately left. When they were turned from her she swiftly walked, putting parked cars and trees between her and the men. They stood on her small porch and didn’t appear to be in any hurry to leave.

  Behind the parked cars she bent over and began moving faster. There was a head-high oleander hedge skirting the parking lot. She went through it, the branches ripping at her arms and legs. On the other side she pulled her phone and speed-dialed Jackson. He answered on the second ring.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Where are you?” Boyce said.

  “Just pulled in. Just now grabbing the shuttle, why?”

  “I’ve got two men on my porch. How soon can you get here?”

  “Ten minutes to the highway, ten minutes to Thunderbird, five minutes to you. Call 911.”

  “I’ll hold them till you get here.”

  “Jesus, Boyce. Don’t be stubborn. Call 911.”

  “Quit yapping and start driving,” she said.

  “You are the most hardheaded…….”

  She disconnected.

  She zipped the phone up and checked the loads in the revolver, even though she had done that before starting her run. She bent low and ran along the line of oleanders until she was past her place. When she drew even with the back of her house she slipped back through the bushes. This time she moved more carefully, trying not to scratch herself up. A low branch stretched out and grabbed her foot and she almost fell. She came through the other side in a rush to keep her balance. She crouched into a shooting position.

  The back of her place was empty. She didn’t really have a back yard. Every home sat on common areas of grass, so her back yard was shared with the
front yard of the place behind her, with a winding sidewalk between. She moved quickly to the back wall and flattened against it. She cautiously leaned up to look in her kitchen. It was empty. The back door was connected to her kitchen. She knew she had locked it but she tried it anyway. It was still locked. She moved past it and went to the other window. This was a small narrow window that showed the laundry room. No one was doing her laundry.

  She moved to the corner and squatting low, looked around the edge. No one was there but a car was coming down the lane toward her. She moved the pistol down by her leg and watched it drive by. A woman was driving. Boyce recognized her as an older woman that lived alone in townhome in the last row of houses.

  She peeked back around the corner. No one there. She moved silently along the side wall. She could hear voices. The men were still on the porch. She froze when she heard a new sound. At first, she didn’t recognize it, but then realized that one of them had turned on the outside water faucet. It was located on the front of her building on the other side of the porch from her. It had proven to be handy when she wanted to wash the Miata.

  She slowly moved one eye around the corner. The guy with the backpack had taken it off and it sat at his feet next to the other guy’s satchel. The other guy was the one using the faucet. He stood waiting, one hand under the water. Waiting for it to turn cold. Good luck with that in Phoenix at this time of year. Finally, when it got as cool as it was going to, he leaned down and splashed some on his face and then cupping his hand under, drank from it.

  Good timing, Boyce thought, and stepped around the corner.

  “Freeze,” she shouted. They both jumped. She was in a shooter’s stance.

  “Put your hands where I can see them,” she said in her best cop voice.

  They both stared at her, incredulously.

  “Do what I tell you or I will put a bullet in both your heads!”

  The one at the faucet lifted his hands. The water was splashing on his shoes. The other raised his hands. They both were very young. Curly hair and pink cheeks. They were dressed alike. White shirts and dress trousers. They looked like brothers. They both were scared to death.

  Twenty minutes later Jackson came roaring into the compound. Boyce and the two men were sitting in the shade of the porch. Jackson came boiling out of the Mustang, an automatic pistol in his hand.

  “Whoa, don’t shoot,” Boyce laughed. “We surrender!”

  Jackson lowered the pistol and walked up to them.

  “Jackson, this is William and Timothy,” Boyce said. She was still laughing. The boys looked sheepish. “Boys, this is my friend Jackson.”

  She looked at Jackson, a broad smile on her face. “Jackson, the boys would like to talk to you about Jesus.”

  35

  Boyce was in her kitchen trimming the fat off a chuck roast. The slow cooker sat on the counter. She had wrestled it from the low cupboard shelf where she normally kept it and now it awaited whatever she was preparing to slow cook in it. She already had the onions, potatoes, and carrots prepped. The problem with this recipe is that it would feed six and she was only one. Historically, by the third round of leftovers she would tire of it and chuck it into the garbage. She heard the sudden yelp of a patrol car’s siren. It sounded close, like it was right out front.

  She set the knife down and wiped her hands on her apron as there came a knock on her front door. She picked up the .38 from the counter and keeping her hand on it, she put it in the pocket of the apron. She went through the living room and looked through the peephole. A cop was standing on the porch in his street uniform. Still cautious, she left the chain on and opened the door until the chain stopped it.

  “Yes?”

  “Detective Boyce?” he said.

  “That would be me,” she said.

  “Ma’am, I’m Officer Broadman. Captain Mendoza sent me to bring you to him.”

  “Why didn’t he call?”

  “I have no idea, ma’am. He thought you might be a little wary so he told me to tell you that it might have something to do about Livvy.”

  “Who’s Livvy?” Boyce said, testing.

  “I have no idea, ma’am. I assumed you would know. I’m just here to take you to him.”

  “Give me a minute,” Boyce said. She closed the door. When she came back, she was dressed for work, her Glock on her hip. She had stored all the food in the refrigerator, hoping to get back to it soon. The patrol officer was sitting in his vehicle. She could tell he expected her to ride with him. She went to his window and signaled for him to lower it. He did.

  “I’m taking my car. I’ll follow you.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  She slid into her Miata and followed him.

  Mendoza was in his office with Danny Rich. As Boyce walked in, he waved to a chair. She sat.

  “We’re not getting anywhere,” Mendoza said without preliminary. “Torres has dropped off the map.”

  Boyce shook her head. “I’m not sold on Torres anyway. I know he shot at me because Blackhawk said it was him, but I don’t get him shooting Livvy, Wade Huang, the kids at the Burger King and DiMartini. Why would he do that? What’s the motive? Hell, what’s the motive to shoot me?” She shook her head. “None of this makes sense.”

  “Money,” Rich said.

  “Usually,” Boyce said.

  “Maybe we’re looking at this backwards,” Mendoza said. “Or, at least, maybe I’ve been looking at it backwards.”

  “What do you mean?” Boyce said.

  “I have been focusing on Livvy. A case could be made that Livvy was killed to get at me.”

  “Hell of a coincidence, you being her uncle,” Rich said.

  Mendoza nodded. “But, let’s look at the others. The Burger King drive-by seemed to be staged to draw DiMartini out. Did someone want to eliminate DiMartini. If so who. If so, why?”

  “He was at Livvy’s scene also,” Boyce said.

  “Maybe they didn’t have an opportunity in that kind of neighborhood,” Rich said. “Maybe they did the Burger King kills because they saw the first time they could draw DiMartini out. Someone put some planning into the Burger King shoot. Pull in behind the Walgreens and wait for a shot at DiMartini.”

  “Or Boyce,” Mendoza said. “Maybe he wasn’t that great a shot after all and he missed his target?”

  “So, somebody’s got it in for me instead of you,” Boyce said.

  “Or both,” Rich said.

  “You were right the first time,” Boyce said.

  “What was that?” Mendoza said.

  “We’re not getting anywhere.”

  They sat silently for a long moment.

  Boyce said to Mendoza, “Have you talked with Bennett and Barbieri? Do they have any ideas?”

  “Not that they told me.”

  “Did you know DiMartini and Bennett were partners back in the day?”

  “Yeah, I remember that,” Mendoza said. “Back when they both got their detective Shields.”

  “Why did they split up?”

  Mendoza looked out his window, thinking. He turned back to Boyce. “I remember it was DiMartini that instigated it. Called it a clash of personalities. Usually, not enough to split up a team, so someone wrote off on it.”

  “Is Bennett hard to get along with? DiMartini was a pussycat.”

  “Depends and where you are at,” Danny Rich said.

  “What’s that mean?”

  “In here Bennett, and Barbieri for that matter, are cops’ cops. On the street they can be pretty rough.”

  “Not the first rough cop,” Mendoza said.

  “Hey, I’m not pointing any fingers,” Rich said. “I’m just saying that those two guys can scare the shit out of anyone out there.” He smiled, “Which is okay with me. I want them on my team. DiMartini never came off that way.”

  Finally, Mendoza said, “Let’s concentrate on Torres. He’s the one shooter we know. We get him picked up maybe he’ll lead us to the answer.”

  “Let me back o
n the street. Danny can go with me. I want to go back down by Esteban Park. Those kids know something. And they all know Torres. Or Mookie as they call him. Maybe we could get a lead on him.”

  “The Baker street irregulars,” Mendoza said.

  “The what?” Danny Rich said.

  “Sherlock Holmes,” Boyce said.

  “Just stay out of Chief Sawyer’s way.”

  “Will do,” Boyce said. She looked at Rich, “I want to stop by and talk with Wade Huang’s parents again.”

  “Again?” Rich said.

  “Yeah, I talked with them once. Something’s not right there.”

  “Like what?” Mendoza said. “I didn’t see anything in Bennett and Barbieri’s report. I didn’t know you had talked with the Huangs.”

  “Not officially. Just was curious. The boy was a friend of Livvy’s. Mr. Huang said she and other kids used to come there after school and get soft drinks and Mrs. Huang would make egg rolls for them.”

  “Where’s their place, again?”

  “Two blocks from the school.”

  Mendoza leaned back, “Don’t get in Sawyer’s way.”

  “Roger that,” she looked at Rich. “You ready?”

  “Let’s do it,” he said, standing.

  36

  “You had any lunch?” Danny Rich said.

  They had checked out a city ride, grabbed a radio and were heading across to the 51.

  “No,” Boyce said. “I was fixing a late dinner when Mendoza sent for me. I was just going to snack on junk till then.” She was driving. She glanced over at him. “Why did he send a patrol for me anyway? He could have just called.”

  “He wanted you to have an escort,” Danny said. “You don’t know how much it shook him up when that asswipe tried to shoot you.”

  Boyce started to say something but didn’t. Finally, she said, “You hungry?”

  “Starved,” he said.

  “I wanted to go to the Half-Moon anyway, we can eat there,” she said. “Wade Huang’s parents’ place. Get some Chinese and see if you get a vibe like I did.”

  “Describe your vibe.”

  “Mamma-san was definitely agitated but it was more than grieving or angry. Something else. You ever seen someone so frightened of something they’re about to freak out. She looked at me like I was a cockroach. Like she didn’t have a chair to jump up on.”