gone.”
“Have to look anyway. For what good it will do.” She nodded.
“So, did you notice anything else last night? Any patterns? Any break in patterns? Any damn clue about who it was screwing around with my
crime scene?”
Juliet repeated what she knew of her neighbors’ tobacco
habits. Garret nodded and took notes though it wasn’t much to go on. He had to
be as frustrated as she was, knowing someone was a killer, a murderer who
walked among them but without telltale blemish—no horns, no hooves, perhaps
even fair of face or voice.
Who could it be? Physically, she had to rule out Raphael,
Elizabeth, and Rose—probably. Emotionally she wanted to rule out Darby, Mickey,
Hans—everyone. But anyone could, at least in theory, have an accomplice who was
physically and mentally more ruthless. This was a possibility that she didn’t
want to think about. Accomplices could alibi one another and they might never
find the killer.
“You’re a million miles away,” Garret said.
“Just thinking. It wasn’t marijuana
and I don’t think it was a pipe or cigar, but I couldn’t swear to the last two
things. Sorry.”
Garret grunted and then pretended to admire the creek. Or
maybe he did admire it, but he was also debating whether to share something
with her.
“I thought you might want to know about that Esteban
Rodriguez. He checks out.”
“Is he really a retired private investigator?” she asked.
“Yes.” Garret stared at her and then shook his head in
admiration and annoyance. “Is there anything you want to tell me about him in
return since your sources seem to be as good and maybe
better than mine?”
“Nothing like the horse’s mouth for details,” Juliet agreed. “As long as it isn’t lying, of course. Esteban says
that he and Raphael and Mr. Biggers all served
together. I am assuming he meant in the armed services and not some sentence in
a penitentiary.” Juliet began to add the bumble bee to her drawing. Maybe it
looked a little cartoonish—perhaps too large to be true to scale—but it would
make for a great children’s shirt. She should have thought of kid’s clothes
before.
“He is a veteran,” Garret admitted. “But he also worked
border patrol. Retired after he was shot a second time. I guess he was smart
enough to take a hint and get out before it came to a feet-first exit, which is
more than some guys manage.”
Juliet looked at Garret and then nodded.
“That feels right. He seems….” She thought about it. “He
doesn’t seem like regular law enforcement, not a rules and regulations person,
but he is someone working on the side of order.”
She didn’t mention the gun.
“He doesn’t give you the creeps?” Garret asked. “He’s seems
snake mean to me.”
“He probably is,” Juliet agreed, remembering the feel of his
hand on her mouth and how easily he’d manhandled her. “At
least in the wrong situation. He doesn’t give me the creeps exactly, but
I want to know what kind of dreams he has to make those damn puppets. Now those
give me the creeps. And I think anyone who buys them has lizards in the brain.”
The sheriff nodded.
“So, after a visit with Rodriguez, you came out to paint
flowers?” Garret was staring and Juliet had the feeling he was trying to puzzle
her out. She looked away, watching the road as a red convertible negotiated a
tight turn. She didn’t feel like explaining that their conversation had taken
place late the night before over a friendly cup of tea. That might give him the
wrong—or right—impression.
“Yes, and for a change of view. Things were feeling a bit claustrophobic
up there. I think it has begun to dawn on people that there is a killer among
them and it isn’t good for morale. Hopefully I’ll be able to look at things
with fresh eyes after a break. Right now, I don’t feel like I’m getting
anywhere.”
“There are all kinds of interesting things in the compound
though,” Garret said, rolling up his sleeves. Heat
“Have to look anyway. For what good it will do.” She nodded.
“So, did you notice anything else last night? Any patterns? Any break in patterns? Any damn clue about who it was screwing around with my
crime scene?”
Juliet repeated what she knew of her neighbors’ tobacco
habits. Garret nodded and took notes though it wasn’t much to go on. He had to
be as frustrated as she was, knowing someone was a killer, a murderer who
walked among them but without telltale blemish—no horns, no hooves, perhaps
even fair of face or voice.
Who could it be? Physically, she had to rule out Raphael,
Elizabeth, and Rose—probably. Emotionally she wanted to rule out Darby, Mickey,
Hans—everyone. But anyone could, at least in theory, have an accomplice who was
physically and mentally more ruthless. This was a possibility that she didn’t
want to think about. Accomplices could alibi one another and they might never
find the killer.
“You’re a million miles away,” Garret said.
“Just thinking. It wasn’t marijuana
and I don’t think it was a pipe or cigar, but I couldn’t swear to the last two
things. Sorry.”
Garret grunted and then pretended to admire the creek. Or
maybe he did admire it, but he was also debating whether to share something
with her.
“I thought you might want to know about that Esteban
Rodriguez. He checks out.”
“Is he really a retired private investigator?” she asked.
“Yes.” Garret stared at her and then shook his head in
admiration and annoyance. “Is there anything you want to tell me about him in
return since your sources seem to be as good and maybe
better than mine?”
“Nothing like the horse’s mouth for details,” Juliet agreed. “As long as it isn’t lying, of course. Esteban says
that he and Raphael and Mr. Biggers all served
together. I am assuming he meant in the armed services and not some sentence in
a penitentiary.” Juliet began to add the bumble bee to her drawing. Maybe it
looked a little cartoonish—perhaps too large to be true to scale—but it would
make for a great children’s shirt. She should have thought of kid’s clothes
before.
“He is a veteran,” Garret admitted. “But he also worked
border patrol. Retired after he was shot a second time. I guess he was smart
enough to take a hint and get out before it came to a feet-first exit, which is
more than some guys manage.”
Juliet looked at Garret and then nodded.
“That feels right. He seems….” She thought about it. “He
doesn’t seem like regular law enforcement, not a rules and regulations person,
but he is someone working on the side of order.”
She didn’t mention the gun.
“He doesn’t give you the creeps?” Garret asked. “He’s seems
snake mean to me.”
“He probably is,” Juliet agreed, remembering the feel of his
hand on her mouth and how easily he’d manhandled her. “At
least in the wrong situation. He doesn’t give me the creeps exactly, but
I want to know what kind of dreams he has to make those damn puppets. Now those
give me the creeps. And I think anyone who buys them has lizards in the brain.”
The sheriff nodded.
“So, after a visit with Rodriguez, you came out to paint
flowers?” Garret was staring and Juliet had the feeling he was trying to puzzle
her out. She looked away, watching the road as a red convertible negotiated a
tight turn. She didn’t feel like explaining that their conversation had taken
place late the night before over a friendly cup of tea. That might give him the
wrong—or right—impression.
“Yes, and for a change of view. Things were feeling a bit claustrophobic
up there. I think it has begun to dawn on people that there is a killer among
them and it isn’t good for morale. Hopefully I’ll be able to look at things
with fresh eyes after a break. Right now, I don’t feel like I’m getting
anywhere.”
“There are all kinds of interesting things in the compound
though,” Garret said, rolling up his sleeves. Heat
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