report it—he had to call his uncle. His mother’s big brother was a homicide detective for the Cochise County Sheriff’s Department. Uncle Jaime would know what to do.
When Luis got back to the house, he was relieved to find that his mother was still asleep. She wouldn’t want him to get involved in whatever was going on. He picked up the phone. When it was dead, he didn’t assume it was out of order. He thought, instead, that his mother had simply forgotten to pay the bill. That had happened often enough in the past.
Quietly, Luis left the house once again. This time he made his way on foot to the golf course. In the wintertime, the trailer park across the street was crammed with campers. Now, in the dead of summer, the place was almost deserted, so Luis kept on walking. When he reached Naco Highway, he stopped and waited. He realized as he stood there that his clothes had taken a beating during his run through the desert. He worried that someone from Border Patrol might see how he looked, assume he was an illegal, and pick him up, but that didn’t happen. Two marked Border Patrol vehicles drove past without giving him even a second glance.
Finally a private vehicle came toward him. Luis stuck out his thumb and a beat-up Chevy Lumina with Sonora plates pulled over and stopped.
“Where to?” the driver asked in Spanish.
“To town,” Luis replied.
“You have a funny accent,” the man told him.
That’s because I’m not a real Mexican, Luis thought.
The man was on his way to Wal-Mart in Douglas. He gave Luis a ride as far as the end of the Warren cutoff. There, Luis got out, thanked the driver, and headed for the Cochise County Justice Center. Luis had never been inside the place; he had only driven by, but he knew this was where Uncle Jaime worked—Pepe had told him. Someone there would be able to help him.
The buildings were painted pink on the outside. They looked bright and clean and cheerful—not at all like a jail, even though Luis knew the jail was there. As he walked up the gravel drive toward the parking lot, he began to have second thoughts. What if this was a bad idea? What if bringing this to Uncle Jaime’s attention also brought attention to Marcella? What if doing this somehow ended up causing trouble?
Even though he was beset with doubt, Luis kept walking—through the parking lot and up the long wheelchair ramp to the front door, which turned out to be locked. Unsure what to do next, he was about to turn away when a disembodied voice asked him, “May I help you?”
That’s when Luis realized there was a speakerphone of some kind attached to the door. The woman was speaking to him through that.
“I’m looking for my uncle,” he said. “I need to talk to him.”
The door clicked. “It’s unlocked now,” the voice said. “You can come in.”
Luis entered the polished lobby area. At the far end was a glass-fronted display case full of pictures of people wearing guns and badges and cowboy hats. Over to his right, from behind another thick wall of glass, a woman beckoned to him. She didn’t look very friendly. In fact, Luis thought she was going to tell him to go away.
“You say you’re looking for your uncle?” she asked. “Is he a prisoner here?”
It didn’t surprise Luis that she would make that assumption. He shook his head. “He works here,” he said.
“What’s his name?”
“Jaime,” Luis answered. “Jaime Carbajal. He’s a homicidedetective, and that’s why I need to talk to him. I just found a body.”
The expression on the woman’s face changed remarkably. “Oh, my,” she said. “You poor thing. I believe Detective Carbajal’s out on a call right now, but please have a seat. Someone will be right with you.”
CHAPTER 4
BY THE TIME JOANNA LED CAROL SUNDERSON BACK OVER TO HER boys, her cell phone buzzed with a voice mail notification. She was relieved to know that at least the telecommunication situation had improved.
Marianne was talking on
When Luis got back to the house, he was relieved to find that his mother was still asleep. She wouldn’t want him to get involved in whatever was going on. He picked up the phone. When it was dead, he didn’t assume it was out of order. He thought, instead, that his mother had simply forgotten to pay the bill. That had happened often enough in the past.
Quietly, Luis left the house once again. This time he made his way on foot to the golf course. In the wintertime, the trailer park across the street was crammed with campers. Now, in the dead of summer, the place was almost deserted, so Luis kept on walking. When he reached Naco Highway, he stopped and waited. He realized as he stood there that his clothes had taken a beating during his run through the desert. He worried that someone from Border Patrol might see how he looked, assume he was an illegal, and pick him up, but that didn’t happen. Two marked Border Patrol vehicles drove past without giving him even a second glance.
Finally a private vehicle came toward him. Luis stuck out his thumb and a beat-up Chevy Lumina with Sonora plates pulled over and stopped.
“Where to?” the driver asked in Spanish.
“To town,” Luis replied.
“You have a funny accent,” the man told him.
That’s because I’m not a real Mexican, Luis thought.
The man was on his way to Wal-Mart in Douglas. He gave Luis a ride as far as the end of the Warren cutoff. There, Luis got out, thanked the driver, and headed for the Cochise County Justice Center. Luis had never been inside the place; he had only driven by, but he knew this was where Uncle Jaime worked—Pepe had told him. Someone there would be able to help him.
The buildings were painted pink on the outside. They looked bright and clean and cheerful—not at all like a jail, even though Luis knew the jail was there. As he walked up the gravel drive toward the parking lot, he began to have second thoughts. What if this was a bad idea? What if bringing this to Uncle Jaime’s attention also brought attention to Marcella? What if doing this somehow ended up causing trouble?
Even though he was beset with doubt, Luis kept walking—through the parking lot and up the long wheelchair ramp to the front door, which turned out to be locked. Unsure what to do next, he was about to turn away when a disembodied voice asked him, “May I help you?”
That’s when Luis realized there was a speakerphone of some kind attached to the door. The woman was speaking to him through that.
“I’m looking for my uncle,” he said. “I need to talk to him.”
The door clicked. “It’s unlocked now,” the voice said. “You can come in.”
Luis entered the polished lobby area. At the far end was a glass-fronted display case full of pictures of people wearing guns and badges and cowboy hats. Over to his right, from behind another thick wall of glass, a woman beckoned to him. She didn’t look very friendly. In fact, Luis thought she was going to tell him to go away.
“You say you’re looking for your uncle?” she asked. “Is he a prisoner here?”
It didn’t surprise Luis that she would make that assumption. He shook his head. “He works here,” he said.
“What’s his name?”
“Jaime,” Luis answered. “Jaime Carbajal. He’s a homicidedetective, and that’s why I need to talk to him. I just found a body.”
The expression on the woman’s face changed remarkably. “Oh, my,” she said. “You poor thing. I believe Detective Carbajal’s out on a call right now, but please have a seat. Someone will be right with you.”
CHAPTER 4
BY THE TIME JOANNA LED CAROL SUNDERSON BACK OVER TO HER boys, her cell phone buzzed with a voice mail notification. She was relieved to know that at least the telecommunication situation had improved.
Marianne was talking on
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