AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“David, you really believe he’s on a special assignment…”
Sharon let the sentence hang, not quite a question.
“Don’t you?” I said.
“Mike and I have had our bad times. You know that.”
“You divorced him once.”
She smiled and nodded.
I said, “I still haven’t heard the story of why you two decided to get back together. The daughters are grown and gone.”
“It’s a long story. Maybe on another night drive. But you really believe he’s a good guy, too, right? Still?” Although her voice was gentle, her eyes were black with emotion.
It seemed to be a moment requiring a speech to buck us both up, about Peralta’s unwavering integrity, even when he could also be demanding and domineering and difficult as hell to work for. But the ground started shaking and suddenly intense light came out of the east, followed by six thundering locomotives and a freight train doing at least fifty.
When it was bit quieter, as container cars full of the scrap from de-industrializing America heading for Asia swept past us, I kept my response simple. “I do.”
Then I ran through the scenarios, which were basically two. Either he was working a case for a law-enforcement agency that required him to go deep undercover. Or he was under coercion to steal those diamonds for reasons and persons unknown.
He must have had different license tags on the truck when he got to the mall—there wouldn’t have been time to change them in the immediate aftermath of the shooting and robbery. So something didn’t suddenly happen to cause his trip to the High Country. It was planned.
For whatever reason, the media still didn’t know that the diamond thief was former Maricopa County Sheriff Peralta. He was one of the better-known people in the state. Merely walking into a mini-mart to use the restroom would be taking a chance. That this information hadn’t been released made me think he was on assignment.
But one he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell me about.
Then there was the empty gun case. That made no sense under either scenario.
Finally, I told her about the woman who had stopped us earlier, what really happened behind the car as her finger was on the trigger of the semiautomatic pistol, and my doubts that she was really a DPS officer.
“Then,” she said, “ don’t you think you should do as Mike wrote on the card, and as he said when he was playing Paco? Let it alone. Let it play out.”
“Aren’t you worried?”
She put her hand on my wrist. “I’ve never been more worried in my life.”
“Me, too. What about his diabetes?”
“All his insulin is gone. So is his blood-sugar meter.”
“So he planned this.” The thought gave me no comfort.
Then I checked the rearview mirror and saw it—a pay telephone across the street.
The mile-long train was still loudly passing through as I whipped the convertible around, turned onto Santa Fe Avenue, made an illegal U-turn, and stopped in front of this artifact of twentieth-century communications technology. I was even old enough to remember phone booths. This was a simple hooded stand that held the phone.
I put on the flashers and stepped out. It had gotten colder. The hard plastic receiver was freezing, battered, would not pass a health-code inspection—but it carried a dial tone. I slipped it back in the cradle and looked around.
The slip of paper was slid into the top of the phone casing, sheltered from the wind by the minimalist stand. It was actually a business card. My business card. They got around. And to think I had wondered if I would even need them when I became Peralta’s partner. I turned it over and read the familiar draftsman printing:
FIND MATT PENNINGTON
I pocketed it and stepped off the curb as a Flagstaff cop cruised slowly past. By the time I slid into the driver’s seat, he had picked up a call and sped off silent code three, emergency lights but no siren.
I showed Sharon the card. “Ever hear him mention this name?”
“No. It doesn’t sound familiar at all.”
