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He shivered, turned the faucet, and splashed water on his face. Then he let water pour into a glass, took a drink, and immediately heaved into the sink.
“Are you all right?”
He grabbed a paper towel and wiped his face before he turned to face Samuel. “I’m fine. Just washing my face.”
His brother studied him, disbelief written across his face. “Ray will monitor the phones. He’s in contact with Alex about Chavez. Juice Morin’s sister works a corner on Broadway. Let’s see if she knows where her brother is staying.”
* * *
Alex pulled on to the dirt road that led from Ray’s ranch to the highway. After the scene at Suarez’s place and a couple hours of watching dogs sniff at nothing on a property that covered fifty acres, he was hot, sweaty, and hungry. Oh, and tired, and unsure whether he should be elated or disappointed that the search had turned up no clue as to what had happened to the Chavez family—so far. “You know what’s weird?”
Cooper snorted. “Besides the disappearance of a woman and five children five years ago and we can’t find a single piece of information that tells us what happened to them or where they went?”
Alex swerved to avoid a possum crossing the road. “It’s weird that I can’t find any information on the private investigator Chavez hired. I had a coworker run a background on him. The address is still good for his office, but she checked out the home address and he hasn’t lived there for four years. The apartment manager is new—says he never heard of the guy. Claims the rental records were destroyed when a pipe broke in their storage facility. Phillips hasn’t renewed his driver’s license or his in the last four years. He’s divorced, no family, doesn’t own any property. He slid off the radar.”
Cooper adjusted his seatbelt and leaned back against the headrest like he might take a nap. “One thing at a time, Alex. We’ll track him down. His shop is still there. It’s on the to-do list for tomorrow.”
Right. Alex wanted to move faster. He really wanted to be in two places at once. Too bad Deborah messed up. They could use her help. He’d tell her that—next time he saw her. Which, with these two cases now apparently intertwined, might be a while. He forced himself to focus on the road. And the case. Both cases.
A few minutes later, he slowed on the rutted road that led to Chavez’s trailer. A dozen trucks and cars dotted the driveway. Alex eased his car in behind the last one. He jabbed the button to roll down the window. The sound of accordion-drivenConjuntomusic blared from the trailer’s open windows, accompanied by the smoky odor of sausage and chicken being grilled somewhere behind the structure. “A lot of company for a Sunday night.”
Cooper nodded. “I imagine they’ve had a few. Do you think we need backup on this?”
“We just want to talk.” Alex shoved his door open. “We’re not accusing anyone of anything—yet.”
Cooper shrugged and got out. They didn’t quite make it to the trailer door. A skinny Latino man jerked it open and tumbled out. “Who are you?” The slur was thick.
Alex waved his badge under the guy’s nose. “We’re looking for Tómas Chavez.”
“Right here,vatos.” Chavez stood in the doorway, one hand wrapped around a longneck Corona, the other around the waist of a pretty, young girl wearing too much makeup and not enough clothes. “Come on in, have a beer.”
Chavez sounded as if he’d had enough for all three of them.
“No, thanks. Why don’t you come on out? We need to talk.”
“What? You get a positive ID on my little girl?” Chavez gave the girl a slight shove and she disappeared into the trailer. “We’re having a little wake for her this evening.”
“We’re still working on it.” Alex introduced Cooper as the lead investigator on the two cases.
Chavez stomped down the stairs, the bottle dangling from two fingers. “Must be a big man, head honcho over two investigations at once.”
Alex ignored the challenge in the man’s voice. “So how well did you get to know Jorge Morin when you were in jail?”
Chavez halted. “Jorge? I know lotta guys named Jorge.”
“Maybe you knew him by the name of Juice or Jugo.”
“Nope.Nada.” Chavez took a long swallow from the bottle. “Why don’t youseñorespull up a couple chairs. We got sausage, we got chicken,arroz con frijoles borrachos, we feed you good.”
“Thanks, but we’re working.” Alex held out a mug shot of Juice Morin. “You were in at the same time as Morin. You were involved in an altercation in the jail. Both your names are in the report. Your paths crossed. So why not come clean and tell us about it?”
Chavez sat down on the step and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. “So what? I got nothing to say about Jugo.”
A huge guy with a bandana wrapped around his head appeared in the doorway. “You need some help,ese?”
“Tranquilo.”Chavez jerked his head. The man disappeared.
“What was the fight about?” Alex took his hand from the butt of his weapon.
