Read Online Before She Dies by Steven F. Havill - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Steven F. Havill
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caption.
“Despite being physically attacked, Undersheriff William K. Gastner managed to wrestle a handgun away from Salvador Trujillo (left) during an altercation at Friday night’s basketball game.”
I grunted. “That’s nice. They had to label him ‘left’ so people could tell us apart?”
“At least the caption doesn’t mention that it’s your own gun, Bill.”
“There’s always that.” The three column headline below the photograph read
Veteran Cop’s Quick Thinking Prevents Tragedy
.
“You may need that headline,” Holman said, and I looked up sharply. “Schroeder said that he needs to see you in connection with Trujillo’s death.”
I started to fold the newspaper. “I don’t have time for that shit, Martin. You talk with him. We’ve got a murder investigation, for God’s sake. You’d think Schroeder of all people would have his priorities straight on this one. And you’d think that Linda’s own goddamned newspaper might feature something about her, rather than this nonsense.”
Sheriff Holman held up both hands to slow me down. “Whoa, whoa. The DA said he needs to talk with you when you have time. Not this instant.” He made little rotating motions with his hands, as if I were supposed to turn the newspaper over.
“That’ll be in about seven years, the way things are going.”
I turned the folded paper over and a box with a heavy black border at the bottom right corner of page one drew my eye. The shooting late Sunday night had caught the
Register
right at deadline. The article showed that Frank Dayan was as frustrated as we were. I read it quickly.
Deputy Killed, Reporter Wounded
Police are investigating the apparent murder of a Posadas County Sheriff’s Deputy and the wounding of
Posadas Register
reporter Linda Real last night.
According to Posadas County Sheriff Martin Holman, the double shooting occurred sometime after 10 P.M. last night on State Highway 56, nine miles west of Posadas. Holman reported that Deputy Sheriff Paul Enciños, 26, was dead on arrival at Posadas General Hospital.
Ms. Real, 25, is listed in critical condition in Intensive Care with shotgun wounds to the head and neck, Holman said. Ms. Real had been riding with Deputy Enciños as a civilian passenger, Holman said.
No other details were available, although Sheriff Holman said that several leads were being pursued.
I dropped the newspaper on my desk and shook my head. “Christ, I wish I had some answers, Martin.”
“Something will turn up. I really believe that. I have confidence something will break.”
I shoved my right hand in my trouser pocket and groped with my left for a cigarette in my shirt pocket. Of course there were none there, but old habits died hard. “We’ve got nothing on this one, Martin. Nothing. No gut feelings that tell us where to go or where to look. Nothing. Some stranger could have burned ’em both and been to hell and gone over the border long before Francisco Peña ever happened by.”
“Estelle can give us full time on this one?”
I grunted a monosyllabic reply to what I thought was an abysmally stupid question.
“And you’ll make a note to see Schroeder today or tomorrow? Try to fit in a few minutes.”
“I’ll see.”
“There has to be a hearing on Trujillo no matter what.”
“I know it, sheriff.” I took a deep breath. “It’s hard to put some useless drunk choking to death on his own vomit in the same ball-park as one of our deputies being murdered, and the kid who was riding with him shot to pieces as well.”
Holman shrugged and raised both hands, palms up. “Schroeder tells me that apparently Juanita Smith has decided this is her chance to get back at all of us.”
“Who the hell is Juanita Smith?”
“Sonny’s mother.”
“I didn’t know he had a mother.” Holman grinned and I added, “I mean alive and living in town.”
“She married Woody Smith a year or so before he drank himself to death. Before that she was living with Sal
“Despite being physically attacked, Undersheriff William K. Gastner managed to wrestle a handgun away from Salvador Trujillo (left) during an altercation at Friday night’s basketball game.”
I grunted. “That’s nice. They had to label him ‘left’ so people could tell us apart?”
“At least the caption doesn’t mention that it’s your own gun, Bill.”
“There’s always that.” The three column headline below the photograph read
Veteran Cop’s Quick Thinking Prevents Tragedy
.
“You may need that headline,” Holman said, and I looked up sharply. “Schroeder said that he needs to see you in connection with Trujillo’s death.”
I started to fold the newspaper. “I don’t have time for that shit, Martin. You talk with him. We’ve got a murder investigation, for God’s sake. You’d think Schroeder of all people would have his priorities straight on this one. And you’d think that Linda’s own goddamned newspaper might feature something about her, rather than this nonsense.”
Sheriff Holman held up both hands to slow me down. “Whoa, whoa. The DA said he needs to talk with you when you have time. Not this instant.” He made little rotating motions with his hands, as if I were supposed to turn the newspaper over.
“That’ll be in about seven years, the way things are going.”
I turned the folded paper over and a box with a heavy black border at the bottom right corner of page one drew my eye. The shooting late Sunday night had caught the
Register
right at deadline. The article showed that Frank Dayan was as frustrated as we were. I read it quickly.
Deputy Killed, Reporter Wounded
Police are investigating the apparent murder of a Posadas County Sheriff’s Deputy and the wounding of
Posadas Register
reporter Linda Real last night.
According to Posadas County Sheriff Martin Holman, the double shooting occurred sometime after 10 P.M. last night on State Highway 56, nine miles west of Posadas. Holman reported that Deputy Sheriff Paul Enciños, 26, was dead on arrival at Posadas General Hospital.
Ms. Real, 25, is listed in critical condition in Intensive Care with shotgun wounds to the head and neck, Holman said. Ms. Real had been riding with Deputy Enciños as a civilian passenger, Holman said.
No other details were available, although Sheriff Holman said that several leads were being pursued.
I dropped the newspaper on my desk and shook my head. “Christ, I wish I had some answers, Martin.”
“Something will turn up. I really believe that. I have confidence something will break.”
I shoved my right hand in my trouser pocket and groped with my left for a cigarette in my shirt pocket. Of course there were none there, but old habits died hard. “We’ve got nothing on this one, Martin. Nothing. No gut feelings that tell us where to go or where to look. Nothing. Some stranger could have burned ’em both and been to hell and gone over the border long before Francisco Peña ever happened by.”
“Estelle can give us full time on this one?”
I grunted a monosyllabic reply to what I thought was an abysmally stupid question.
“And you’ll make a note to see Schroeder today or tomorrow? Try to fit in a few minutes.”
“I’ll see.”
“There has to be a hearing on Trujillo no matter what.”
“I know it, sheriff.” I took a deep breath. “It’s hard to put some useless drunk choking to death on his own vomit in the same ball-park as one of our deputies being murdered, and the kid who was riding with him shot to pieces as well.”
Holman shrugged and raised both hands, palms up. “Schroeder tells me that apparently Juanita Smith has decided this is her chance to get back at all of us.”
“Who the hell is Juanita Smith?”
“Sonny’s mother.”
“I didn’t know he had a mother.” Holman grinned and I added, “I mean alive and living in town.”
“She married Woody Smith a year or so before he drank himself to death. Before that she was living with Sal
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