scrunched up against the wall? There just isn’t very much space there. About four feet or so. And that’s how tall the tire is, give or take.”
“I don’t get it,” Martinez said.
“Me, neither. We picked up that tire with a chain, just the way Jim Sisson might have. We can’t be sure, of course, but the chain marks on the tire,” and I tapped another photo, “indicate that Sisson—or someone—lifted the tire with a chain that in turn was looped around the bucket teeth of a backhoe. From what we could pry out of Grace, old Jim was working alone out back. And that tire is flat, so it’s logical to assume that’s what Jim was doing.”
“And the chain just slipped off?”
“So it would appear. We tried the same thing. Hoisted it up, knocked the chain loose, and let the tire drop. It hit the ground and stopped dead. No bounce. Bob stepped up to it and balanced it in place with one hand.”
Martinez chewed his lip in thought. “He would have to be kneeling down or sitting or something to be caught like that.”
“When we tipped the tire over, it just leaned against the wall. It didn’t slide down. Not until we forced it with the bucket. And that explains the chain marks, there.” I indicated one of the photos.
I leaned back and folded my hands over my stomach. “Bob went out there on three separate occasions yesterday. He never was able to determine what Jim and Grace were arguing about, but apparently it was a doozie. The first call came when a neighbor who happened to be walking by heard a screaming match and the sound of shattering glass. From what we can gather, a large mirror in the living room was the target of a flying object.” I grinned. “And that was the first call. Right after lunch, they went at it again, apparently when Jim returned from a job he was doing at Bucky Randall’s place. The third time was early in the evening, just before dark.”
“When Jim came home again,” the chief said.
“Probably. The interesting thing is that the Sissons wouldn’t tell Bob what the argument was about. Grace still won’t. She took the kids down to Las Cruces, and the city PD there confirms that all four of them are staying with her parents. The city cops are keeping an eye on her for us until we sound the all clear.”
Reaching across the desk, I pulled the photo of the tire hanging from the chain. “We have a video of our little test, Chief. You might want to look at that, too. You asked me what I think happened, and I’m sure of this much: That tire didn’t just drop off the chain and crush Jim Sisson to death. It had help.”
For a long time Chief Martinez looked at the photo as if the still picture might come to life for him.
“Marjorie always gave them troubles,” he said, and glanced up at me. “The oldest daughter.”
“The blond bombshell,” I said. “I remember an episode or two that involved her. But she’s off in college somewhere.”
“Over in California,” the chief said. “But they had three at home, still.”
“Todd, Melissa, and Jennifer,” I offered.
“And when people argue,” he said, “you can bet that it’s about money or their kids. And if I had to bet, I’d find out a little more about that girl.”
“Jennifer, you mean? Or Melissa?”
He nodded. “Jennifer. I see her around town, you know. All the time. Her tail…wag, wag, wag.” He fluttered his hand back and forth but didn’t crack a smile.
“And maybe the argument between Jim and Grace didn’t have a damn thing to do with Jim Sisson’s death,” I said. “There’s always that. He might have been working back there, and someone came in without Grace hearing, without one of the kids looking outside and seeing who it was. We just don’t know. They all say that they didn’t see anything, didn’t hear anything.”
Eduardo Martinez settled back in the chair and folded his hands in his lap. “What did Tomas tell you?” he asked, and I didn’t make the connection. Eduardo saw my
“I don’t get it,” Martinez said.
“Me, neither. We picked up that tire with a chain, just the way Jim Sisson might have. We can’t be sure, of course, but the chain marks on the tire,” and I tapped another photo, “indicate that Sisson—or someone—lifted the tire with a chain that in turn was looped around the bucket teeth of a backhoe. From what we could pry out of Grace, old Jim was working alone out back. And that tire is flat, so it’s logical to assume that’s what Jim was doing.”
“And the chain just slipped off?”
“So it would appear. We tried the same thing. Hoisted it up, knocked the chain loose, and let the tire drop. It hit the ground and stopped dead. No bounce. Bob stepped up to it and balanced it in place with one hand.”
Martinez chewed his lip in thought. “He would have to be kneeling down or sitting or something to be caught like that.”
“When we tipped the tire over, it just leaned against the wall. It didn’t slide down. Not until we forced it with the bucket. And that explains the chain marks, there.” I indicated one of the photos.
I leaned back and folded my hands over my stomach. “Bob went out there on three separate occasions yesterday. He never was able to determine what Jim and Grace were arguing about, but apparently it was a doozie. The first call came when a neighbor who happened to be walking by heard a screaming match and the sound of shattering glass. From what we can gather, a large mirror in the living room was the target of a flying object.” I grinned. “And that was the first call. Right after lunch, they went at it again, apparently when Jim returned from a job he was doing at Bucky Randall’s place. The third time was early in the evening, just before dark.”
“When Jim came home again,” the chief said.
“Probably. The interesting thing is that the Sissons wouldn’t tell Bob what the argument was about. Grace still won’t. She took the kids down to Las Cruces, and the city PD there confirms that all four of them are staying with her parents. The city cops are keeping an eye on her for us until we sound the all clear.”
Reaching across the desk, I pulled the photo of the tire hanging from the chain. “We have a video of our little test, Chief. You might want to look at that, too. You asked me what I think happened, and I’m sure of this much: That tire didn’t just drop off the chain and crush Jim Sisson to death. It had help.”
For a long time Chief Martinez looked at the photo as if the still picture might come to life for him.
“Marjorie always gave them troubles,” he said, and glanced up at me. “The oldest daughter.”
“The blond bombshell,” I said. “I remember an episode or two that involved her. But she’s off in college somewhere.”
“Over in California,” the chief said. “But they had three at home, still.”
“Todd, Melissa, and Jennifer,” I offered.
“And when people argue,” he said, “you can bet that it’s about money or their kids. And if I had to bet, I’d find out a little more about that girl.”
“Jennifer, you mean? Or Melissa?”
He nodded. “Jennifer. I see her around town, you know. All the time. Her tail…wag, wag, wag.” He fluttered his hand back and forth but didn’t crack a smile.
“And maybe the argument between Jim and Grace didn’t have a damn thing to do with Jim Sisson’s death,” I said. “There’s always that. He might have been working back there, and someone came in without Grace hearing, without one of the kids looking outside and seeing who it was. We just don’t know. They all say that they didn’t see anything, didn’t hear anything.”
Eduardo Martinez settled back in the chair and folded his hands in his lap. “What did Tomas tell you?” he asked, and I didn’t make the connection. Eduardo saw my
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