transportation from Nogales to Tucson, Teresa settled back in one chair with her feet and swollen ankles propped on another. Her cell phone rang as she started to doze off. She expected the call to be from her mother. It wasn’t.
“It’s Donnatelle, from Yuma. I just heard what happened,” Donnatelle Craig said. “How bad is it, and what can I do to help?”
Donnatelle and Jose had been classmates at the police academy. When Jose and Teresa got married, Jose had invited several of his fellow recruits to the wedding. Much to their mutual surprise, Teresa had hit it off with Donnatelle Craig, a black woman who was both a single mother and a deputy for the Yuma County Sheriff’s Department. The two women had stayed in touch ever since, sharing the occasional e-mail.
Teresa had been holding herself together for hours, and Donnatelle’s long-distance sympathy sapped her hard-won composure.
“It’s real bad,” Teresa said, her voice breaking. “Jose’s in the ICU. He may not make it.”
“Where are you? Which hospital?”
“Physicians Medical in Tucson.”
“Who’s there with you?”
“Nobody. My mother’s on her way. Right now it’s just the girls and me.”
“You’re there by yourselves?” Donnatelle demanded in disbelief. “You mean there’s no one there from Jose’s department?”
“Not so far. One of the deputies gave us a ride here. After he dropped us off, he had to leave again. I’m sure someone will show up eventually.”
“Do they have any idea who did it?” Donnatelle asked.
“From what Sheriff Renteria told me, Jose was shot in the course of a routine traffic stop.”
“Routine my ass,” Donnatelle muttered. “And somebody from his department should be there with you.”
That was what Teresa thought as well, but she didn’t say so.
“Let me make some phone calls,” Donnatelle said. “I’ll get back to you.”
Teresa closed her phone. Her mother was coming. Donnatelle would do what she could to help. What Teresa needed was a few moments of peace and quiet and maybe even a minute or two of sleep, but just then a firefight broke out between the two girls over who got which of the few toys Teresa had brought along. In the process of breaking up the fight, Teresa discovered that Carinda’s diaper needed to be changed. By the time she did that, Lucy was announcing she was hungry.
No, for Teresa Reyes, there was no time to sleep.
8
2:00 A.M ., Saturday, April 10
Vail, Arizona
Alonzo Gutierrez was up early even though he had barely slept. All night long, whenever he drifted off, he’d been plagued with a recurring nightmare about being burned with cigarettes. He knew where that came from. After starting coffee, he went outside to collect his newspaper.
Yes, Al was twenty-five years old. Yes, he had grown up in a world where microwave ovens were everywhere. He didn’t remember a time when computers hadn’t been readily available. Even though he was a full-fledged member of the digital generation and reasonably computer-savvy, he still liked reading newspapers; liked the feel of newsprint in his hands. Delivering newspapers back home in Wenatchee was the first job he’d ever had.
He and three other young Border Patrol officers shared a four-bedroom house in Vail, outside Tucson. The house had been built before the real estate crash. When it didn’t sell, the developer had turned it and many of the other unsold houses in the neighborhood into rentals. It was a cost-effective place to live for four guys who weren’t making tons of money.
Al was the one who paid for the newspaper subscription. He also endured plenty of teasing from his roomies about reading a “dead-tree” paper, although he noticed that once he finished with it, the sports pages, at least, got plenty of use from guys who never helped pay for them.
That morning Al scanned the news pages of the Arizona Daily Sun, checking for any mention of the Three Points assault and wondering if the woman was
“It’s Donnatelle, from Yuma. I just heard what happened,” Donnatelle Craig said. “How bad is it, and what can I do to help?”
Donnatelle and Jose had been classmates at the police academy. When Jose and Teresa got married, Jose had invited several of his fellow recruits to the wedding. Much to their mutual surprise, Teresa had hit it off with Donnatelle Craig, a black woman who was both a single mother and a deputy for the Yuma County Sheriff’s Department. The two women had stayed in touch ever since, sharing the occasional e-mail.
Teresa had been holding herself together for hours, and Donnatelle’s long-distance sympathy sapped her hard-won composure.
“It’s real bad,” Teresa said, her voice breaking. “Jose’s in the ICU. He may not make it.”
“Where are you? Which hospital?”
“Physicians Medical in Tucson.”
“Who’s there with you?”
“Nobody. My mother’s on her way. Right now it’s just the girls and me.”
“You’re there by yourselves?” Donnatelle demanded in disbelief. “You mean there’s no one there from Jose’s department?”
“Not so far. One of the deputies gave us a ride here. After he dropped us off, he had to leave again. I’m sure someone will show up eventually.”
“Do they have any idea who did it?” Donnatelle asked.
“From what Sheriff Renteria told me, Jose was shot in the course of a routine traffic stop.”
“Routine my ass,” Donnatelle muttered. “And somebody from his department should be there with you.”
That was what Teresa thought as well, but she didn’t say so.
“Let me make some phone calls,” Donnatelle said. “I’ll get back to you.”
Teresa closed her phone. Her mother was coming. Donnatelle would do what she could to help. What Teresa needed was a few moments of peace and quiet and maybe even a minute or two of sleep, but just then a firefight broke out between the two girls over who got which of the few toys Teresa had brought along. In the process of breaking up the fight, Teresa discovered that Carinda’s diaper needed to be changed. By the time she did that, Lucy was announcing she was hungry.
No, for Teresa Reyes, there was no time to sleep.
8
2:00 A.M ., Saturday, April 10
Vail, Arizona
Alonzo Gutierrez was up early even though he had barely slept. All night long, whenever he drifted off, he’d been plagued with a recurring nightmare about being burned with cigarettes. He knew where that came from. After starting coffee, he went outside to collect his newspaper.
Yes, Al was twenty-five years old. Yes, he had grown up in a world where microwave ovens were everywhere. He didn’t remember a time when computers hadn’t been readily available. Even though he was a full-fledged member of the digital generation and reasonably computer-savvy, he still liked reading newspapers; liked the feel of newsprint in his hands. Delivering newspapers back home in Wenatchee was the first job he’d ever had.
He and three other young Border Patrol officers shared a four-bedroom house in Vail, outside Tucson. The house had been built before the real estate crash. When it didn’t sell, the developer had turned it and many of the other unsold houses in the neighborhood into rentals. It was a cost-effective place to live for four guys who weren’t making tons of money.
Al was the one who paid for the newspaper subscription. He also endured plenty of teasing from his roomies about reading a “dead-tree” paper, although he noticed that once he finished with it, the sports pages, at least, got plenty of use from guys who never helped pay for them.
That morning Al scanned the news pages of the Arizona Daily Sun, checking for any mention of the Three Points assault and wondering if the woman was
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