Fast Friends (Iris Thorne Mysteries Book 3) Page 5

  Iris and Lily looked at their mother.

  “You heard me.”

  “He’s never stayed out all night before,” Lily remarked.

  Just then, Les Thorne opened the front door that led directly into the living room. His khaki work clothes were fresh and his hair and skin smelled of soap.

  “Dad!” Iris exclaimed. “We had an earthquake.” She ran up to him expectantly as if to hug him.

  He just looked at her and said, “You shouldn’t be walking around barefoot like that.”

  Iris’s face fell.

  “I told them, but they don’t listen to me.” Rose began pulling the rollers from her hair and slamming them onto an end table. She rarely allowed herself to be seen with her hair undone and her face raw. She looked uncharacteristically vulnerable. “Where have you been?”

  Iris gave them both a fatigued look. “Great, a fight.” She walked outside.

  Les answered without looking at his wife. “I was at Sonja’s all night.”

  Rose put her hand on her hip. “You admit it, just like that?”

  “Rose, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Lily skeptically looked her father over. “At least he showered before he came home.”

  “I’m going to check the house.” He walked back outside.

  Rose followed him, her arms tightly clasped across her chest. “You think you’re the lord and master of the house and you don’t have to answer to—”

  “The phones are back on!” Lily shouted exuberantly from behind the Venetian blinds over the kitchen windows.

  Iris stood on the corner of the front lawn. “Skippy!” She whistled with several short breaths. “Here, Skippy.”

  Houses a few blocks away had electricity, the twinkling lights fading in the dawn. Neighbors wearing nightclothes had begun to wander out of their dark houses and onto their front lawns. Sirens screamed in the distance.

  The couple who lived across the street stood on their lawn, listening to a transistor radio that broadcast thinly. “Everything okay over there?” the man shouted to Rose.

  “We’re just fine,” she said gaily, self-consciously smoothing her hair. “Everything’s a mess, of course. You?”

  “We made out okay.”

  “Have you seen my dog?” Iris asked.

  “Sorry dear, we haven’t.”

  Jack Rossi pulled his pickup truck, the car radio blaring rock music, to a screeching stop in front of the house. Almost simultaneously, the screen door flew open and Lily, her freshly brushed, long, wavy blond hair flowing down her back, bounded down the cement porch steps, the wooden soles of her clogs clicking smartly. She was dressed in skintight jeans and a similarly tight T-shirt. A thin strand of love beads bounced on her braless chest. She ran across the grass and through the truck’s passenger door in half a second.

  “Let’s go,” she told him urgently.

  “Lily!” Rose shouted. “Where are you going?”

  “Just to see what’s going on.”

  “What about school?”

  “The radio said they’re closed until they can check them.”

  Iris let out a whoop and ran across the lawn. “Wait up.”

  “Get lost, weirdo,” Lily said. “Let’s go, Jack.”

  “Iris, you have to stay here,” Rose said. “Go clean up your room.”

  “I never get to go anywhere.” Iris stomped up the front steps and stood on the edge of the porch with her hands on her hips. “When I get old enough I’m going to do whatever I want and no one’s going to stop me.”

  Her mother warned, “Don’t wish too hard for what you want, young lady. You just might get it.”

  “Why wouldn’t I want to get what I want? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  A black-and-white Los Angeles Police Department patrol car rounded the corner at the bottom of the hill and began to speed up it. All the neighbors walked to the edge of their lawns to watch as the police vehicles went into Las Mariposas.

  Rose looked at Les. “What happened? Why don’t you go see?”

  Les shrugged. “I’m going to check my vegetable garden.”

  “You and that damn garden. If you spent as much time with your family as you spent…”

  Iris went inside the house. While she was changing her clothes the electricity was restored, powering all the appliances that Lily had left on. Iris let the television blare and the blender churn and left the house via her bedroom window, disguising her departure by replacing the window screen.

  She walked across the narrow strip of grass separating her house from the chain-link, barbed-wire-topped fence that encircled Las Mariposas, and crawled through an unfastened spot. In her backyard, she saw her father examining his garden, stooping periodically to check something, and her mother following a short distance behind with her arms folded across her chest.

  The citrus grove was littered with a fresh blanket of white blossoms and fruit on top of the existing layer of dead leaves and tender, new wild grass. A pair of squirrels chased each other across the treetops. Sparrows tittered from the smaller branches. Crows strutted among the fallen fruit. The oily leaves of the trees clattered in the breeze, which carried the sweet smell of citrus through the air.

  “Skippy!” Iris whistled three short notes. She walked many yards before the familiar sound of her parents arguing—her mother’s screeching, her father’s flat responses—finally faded.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “I didn’t kill him.” Tears streaked Humberto’s cheeks. His thick beard was in disarray and he sorrowfully hung his big head. His hands were handcuffed behind his back. “I was passed out in the bedroom. I didn’t wake up until the earthquake,” Humberto wailed. “He was my friend!” The giant’s clothing reeked of perspiration and sour beer.

  Officer Gil Alvarez turned to Bill DeLacey. “What makes you think this man killed Gabriel Gaytan?”

  “Old Humberto has a tendency to get violent when he drinks. I have several witnesses to that effect.” DeLacey’s fine brown hair was disheveled, exposing the bald spot that he usually tried to camouflage with artful hairstyling. He hadn’t yet shaved and his whiskers were salted with gray. His white shirt was hastily donned, its tail partially hanging out the back of his pants. “Gabriel was going to throw him out. He’s been freeloading here for a month. And this is the thanks poor Gabriel gets. Gets his head bashed in with a pickax.”

  “He’s trying to set me up. He’s the one who killed him! They were always fighting.”

  DeLacey raised his index finger like a baton. “Now I want to know why it took you men almost an hour to get here. Between the personal and business taxes I pay—”

  “Frankly, Mr. DeLacey,” Alvarez interrupted, “we made a special effort to get here as soon as we could because the call came from Las Mariposas.”

  DeLacey reached down to pat Perro, who was tethered to a short rope that he held. The dog recoiled. “Well, you fellows must be very busy today.” He smiled, his broad cheeks drawing up into round apples. His long yellow teeth were glossy. “I guess I’m out of line.”

  “If I killed him, where’s the blood?” Humberto asked. “Why aren’t my clothes bloody?”

  Alvarez considered that and looked at DeLacey.

  DeLacey confidently replied, “He obviously changed his clothes. Once you start digging around, I’m sure you’ll find everything you need.”

  A second officer, Ron Cole, was looking at the crime scene through the toolshed’s feeble door which had been propped open with a broken cinder block. Dust particles danced in a wedge of sunlight. Tools had fallen from their places along the raw walls. Some of the jam jars on the worktable had fallen over and broken, spilling nails and screws. A can of paint on the table had tipped over, popping its flat round top and spilling white paint onto the floor. A stack of twenty-pound bags of manure against a wall tilted precariously. One had fallen from the top and split open, partially covering Gabe’s head and shoulders.

  “I’m confused about something,
” Cole said. “How did your wife know he was murdered? His body’s half-covered. He could have been hurt in the earthquake.”

  “She came down before the earthquake.”

  “Dios mio,” Humberto moaned.

  “Will you stop your whining?” Cole snapped.

  Alvarez said, “Let’s review the chain of events. Mr. DeLacey, your wife came down the hill to her father’s house at five this morning to get an early start on housework.”

  DeLacey nodded enthusiastically. “She’s an insomniac. Doing housework relaxes her. I tell her to take vitamin C and B complex but…”

  Alvarez rubbed his chin. “On her way to her father’s house, she hears his dog crying and follows the sound. She looks in the shed, sees her father lying there, presumably dead…”

  “She said his skull was bashed in,” DeLacey volunteered.

  “…then runs back up the hill to get you. You head down, by yourself, and while doing so, the earthquake hits.”

  DeLacey indicated his pants leg, which was stained with mud and grass. “Knocked me down. Must have slid ten feet.”

  “You come to the shed, have a look around, notice the bloody pickax, and then you go all the way back up the hill to your house to call us.” Alvarez turned to Humberto. “Through all this, you said you were asleep until the earthquake. Then you got up and started looking for Mr. Gaytan.”

  Humberto nodded excitedly. “That’s right. Why would I be looking for Gabe if I murdered him? When you came, you saw me calling for him. Why would I be doing that if I—”

  “Knock it off!” Cole yelled. “If there’s one thing I hate it’s a loud-mouthed Mexican.”

  Humberto glowered at Cole.

  A smile pulled at DeLacey’s lips.

  “Mr. DeLacey,” Alvarez said, looking warily at Cole. “I’m confused about a few points. Why did you go all the way back up the hill to your house to telephone when your father-in-law’s house is just a few yards away?”

  “I was afraid I’d run into Humberto. After all, he bashed Gabriel’s head in. How did I know he wouldn’t bash mine in?”

  “But I don’t see anything here that connects Mr. de la Garza with this crime.”

  “The pickax!” DeLacey raised his index finger. “You forgot the pickax. Humberto de la Garza is the only one here strong enough to smite a man down that way.”

  “Couldn’t be that heavy,” Cole commented.

  “Not for a healthy man, but a woman or a child couldn’t wield it with the strength necessary to bring a man down.” DeLacey avidly gestured toward himself. “Neither could someone like myself with my bad back. I’ve been under a doctor’s care for years. Can barely reach down to tie my shoes.”

  “Can’t you see through that?” Humberto cried.

  “It’s that pickax part I don’t get,” Cole said.

  “Why’s that?” Alvarez asked.

  “C’mere,” Cole said. “Have a look.”

  Alvarez walked to the toolshed, stepping on the rotting wood front step that creaked precariously. He bent over as if he were getting a closer look at something. He then left the shed, walking straight to DeLacey. “How did you see blood on the ax when it’s covered with white paint?”

  “Paint?” DeLacey said.

  “Looks like a can of paint fell over in the quake. The head of the pickax is covered with it.”

  Humberto dropped to his knees and looked up at the indifferent blue sky. “He didn’t look! He set it up and forgot to check it. Thank you, God. Thank you for the earthquake!” He began sobbing and laughing at the same time.

  Alvarez and Cole exchanged a glance.

  DeLacey put his hands into his pockets, which reached far down his thighs because of the low rise of his pants underneath his belly. A multitude of keys tinkled from one pocket and loose coins rang from the other. “You forgot the other thing. My wife saw Humberto running from the shed.”

  “You never told us that,” Alvarez said.

  “It was a detail I’d forgotten until now.”

  Humberto looked at DeLacey with horror. “She wouldn’t say that. You couldn’t get her to.” He looked beseechingly at Alvarez. “The woman’s not strong in the head. He’ll never get her to say that.”

  “Maybe we’d better talk to your wife,” Alvarez said.

  DeLacey still jingled his keys and coins. “You can’t right now. She’s resting. I had to give her a tranquilizer. Humberto’s right. My wife’s not psychologically sound but she saw what she saw. You can’t do better than an eye witness, now can you?”

  “Oh Lord, no.” Humberto, his hands still handcuffed, clumsily climbed to his feet. “This is not happening.”

  Perro began wildly barking, as if sensing an impending threat.

  “Hey,” Cole warned. “Just cool down, amigo.”

  “Can’t you see what he’s doing? I won’t be blamed for this. I didn’t do it!” Humberto ran. He bolted into the trees and was gone.

  “Shit.” Cole ran into the trees after him with Alvarez close behind.

  “Skippy! Where are you?” Iris called despairingly as she walked through the grove. She stopped walking when she heard a rustling noise. “Skippy?” She whistled three short notes. Something was running, trampling the fallen leaves and fruit, and it was coming closer. She tentatively whistled three short notes again.

  Humberto burst through the trees with Cole close behind him. Iris ducked behind a grapefruit tree and clung to it, pressing her cheek against the pebbly bark. She heard a moan and a thud and peeked around the tree to see Humberto on the ground, his hands still cuffed behind his back, and Cole on top of him.

  Alvarez, out of breath, reached them. “You caught him. Good.”

  Cole tried to drag Humberto up by the handcuffs but he was too heavy. “Get up, you stinking son of a bitch.” He drew his baton.

  Humberto rolled over on his back and tried to raise himself to a sitting position. One of his big legs swung out and kicked Cole.

  Cole reared back his leg and kicked Humberto in the side. “Fucking beaner!”

  “Hey!” Alvarez shouted. “Cool it, Ron.”

  Humberto’s face hardened and he pulled both legs toward his chest and let them fly at Cole’s shins, knocking him backward.

  Cole rolled on the ground, grabbing his legs.

  Iris held her breath and tried to make herself small.

  Humberto clambered to his feet and started to run. Alvarez drew his baton and swung it against the backs of Humberto’s knees. The giant again went down face first. Alvarez, his face red with anger, whacked the baton against Humberto’s shoulder blades.

  “Stay down!” he screamed. He hit him again when Humberto tried to get up and then hit him two more times across the backs of his legs.

  Cole got up, ran to the giant, kicked him in the head, hit him with his baton, and kicked him in the head again.

  Humberto writhed on the ground.

  “Stay still!” Cole yelled as he continued to beat him.

  Alvarez stepped away and wiped perspiration from his upper lip with the back of his hand. He gaped at Cole as if he had just become aware of what was happening. “Ron, c’mon! Knock it off.” He tried to pull Cole away.

  The giant bled from his nose and mouth. He was mumbling, “Stop, please.”

  Iris held her stomach. She felt ill, but didn’t dare move.

  Finally, Cole stopped. He smoothed his wavy blond hair and took a few steps into the grove. He was out of breath and seemed dazed.

  Alvarez looked at him with disbelief.

  Cole stared back. He jerked his head to indicate Humberto, who was moaning on the ground. “The suspect resisted arrest. Guess he got pretty banged up on the rocks and bushes when he fell down the hill.”

  Alvarez shook his head. “What the hell got into you?”

  Cole glared at Alvarez. “Don’t you be talking about me. I saw you smack him too.”

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  It took both of them to haul the semiconscious
Humberto to his feet. They were half dragging him through the grove when Cole put his finger to his lips and hissed, “Shhh.”

  Alvarez cocked his head.

  Cole whispered, “I thought I saw a girl when I first ran in here.” He took a few steps in the direction of the noise. “C’mon out, honey. Don’t be afraid.” He drew his gun when he saw a shadow move behind a tree.

  Skippy ran out in a flurry of dead leaves, spotted the men, and began to bark.

  “Stupid-ass dog.” Cole leveled his gun.

  Alvarez said, “It’s just a dog, man. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  Skippy turned and ran.

  They dragged Humberto to the toolshed, where Bill DeLacey was sitting on the step.

  He climbed to his feet. “What happened to him?”

  Alvarez said, “He fell down the hill when he was resisting arrest.”

  “It’s flat over there. Looks like he’s been beat up to me.”

  “I feel dizzy,” Humberto wheezed. Blood streamed down his face, which had begun to swell and turn black and blue. “Bill, don’t let them get away with it.”

  Cole looked evenly at DeLacey. “We attempted to arrest this man for the murder of Gabriel Gaytan. He fled, which to my estimation indicates his guilt. When in flight, he fell down a hill. You have a problem with that?”

  Humberto lost consciousness. The two officers let him drop to the ground.

  Alvarez said, “Look, DeLacey. I think you’ve got a very flimsy cover-up going. If you don’t ask us too many questions, we won’t ask you too many questions. Deal?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The magnitude of the San Fernando quake was 6.6 on the Richter scale. Fifty-eight people perished and 2,400 were injured. There was $511 million in property damage. The quake’s strong motion lasted only twelve seconds. Most of the L.A. city schools were closed for inspections and would probably remain closed for several more weeks. It was a windfall for Paula, but Iris was already bored.

  She cleared hard, round acorns from the ground and sat among the cluster of eucalyptus trees that shared the crest of the hill with the adobe ranch house. The long, stiff, silver-gray leaves swayed lazily in the breeze, releasing their heady scent and clattering like wind chimes. The adobe ranch house, where Bill DeLacey and his family lived, was on the highest hill in the neighborhood. From there, Iris viewed her world. To the west were the towers of downtown Los Angeles. To the east, snow-capped mountains glistened beyond the rolling foothills. In between, modest homes dotted the hills and valleys.