Adios Angel Page 2

  “The bleachers are down. Hopefully the lights in the auditorium are on.”

  “If they’re not, I know how to turn ‘em on,” said Delbert. “I used to help the janitor sweep the floor during the summers.”

  “Use your flashlights to check in the corners. Deputy Steele, you enter at the west end doorway, under the time clock. Stay toward the front of the bleachers. Deputy Funke, you go under the bleachers in the middle by the scorer’s table and go along the back wall. I’ll enter by the east end and go down the middle of the bleachers. We’ll do two quick sweeps, one up and one back. Make certain nothing is taped up underneath the seats. Give the bottom bleacher a real close look-see. Check every corner closely. Got that?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied the junior officers.

  “If we find nothing on two sweeps, check the time. If we have time, we will sweep the home side of the gym in exactly the same fashion. If we find nothing, exit the building at two minutes of nine. Two minutes before nine. Got it?”

  Once again in unison the law officers replied in the affirmative.

  The bright lights, turned on for the assembly, gave clear visibility throughout the gym. Sheriff Hanks’ heart pounded with anxiety as he led his team under the bleachers. Two trips under the opposing team’s bleacher section took six minutes. The results were negative.

  “Clean as a whistle,” said Delbert. “Not even a dust bunny.”

  “Nothing harmful visualized,” reported Kate.

  “Let’s check the other side and hope we have the same luck. Keep your fingers crossed this is just somebody’s idea of a bad joke.”

  Josh Diamond’s silhouette in the doorway cast a sinewy shadow. At his side a pair of highly trained bloodhounds attentively awaited his signal.

  “Sheriff Hanks,” said Josh. “What sort of device are we looking for?”

  “We’re looking for a bomb with a timing device. We don’t know the size or type. It might be dynamite. It’s allegedly set to go off at nine.” He used a single finger to outline the already searched area. “We’ve completed a visual inspection of the visitor’s side.”

  Sheriff Hanks’ words echoed eerily off the tall ceiling of the empty gymnasium as somewhere off in a distant part of the building a phone began to ring.

  “Take your dogs and search the area where we’ve just been. You’ve got three minutes. If you get nothing, you have another two minutes on this side. We are all out of here at eight fifty-eight.”

  Josh’s hand signals set the bloodhounds into action. With great precision the precisely trained animals went into search mode. As the clock above the scoreboard ticked away five fast minutes, nothing resembling a bomb was evident.

  “Everyone out. Move it. Now!” shouted Sheriff Zeb Hanks.

  Safely away from the building the quartet formed a semi-circle facing the school. The dogs, with their noses in the air, sat by their master’s side. Josh pulled a pack of gum from his pocket offering a piece to the others. Delbert took one. The others declined.

  “Ten to one it was a crank call. Some pissed off kid getting his jollies,” said Josh.

  “I bet you’re right. I bet it was a prank. When I was in high school, we’d pull the fire alarm just to get a little time off. Kids these days got a weird idea of humor, that’s for sure,” said Delbert.

  “What’s the plan, Sheriff?” asked Kate.

  “We wait. If there is a timer on the bomb, most likely its next click through will be at quarter after the hour. Right, Josh?”

  “If there is a bomb, that would be the most likely scenario. If there was one, Mutt and Jeff would have found it. There is no bomb in the gym.”

  “They are true professionals,” he said, giving each dog a treat. “Nothing escapes their sense of smell.”

  “I’m inclined to agree with you. Let’s give it fifteen minutes. Then we will give the building an additional once over,” added the sheriff. “Deputy Steele, would you go inform the principal that we are going to do a building search? With the dogs, it shouldn’t take more than an hour. Have her hold tight. No sense sending the kids home for nothing.”

  “How’d ya’ come up with names like Mutt and Jeff for your dogs?” asked Delbert.

  Josh Diamond chuckled, patting the dogs on their heads and tickling their ears.

  “When they were pups they were exploring around at my store, like young dogs do and they came across a case of Bazooka Joe Bubblegum.”

  “Mutt and Jeff. You mean those cartoon guys inside the gum wrapper?”

  “That’s right. The little fellas, at least they were little fellers back then, started in on that gum. The next thing you know they were chewing away. Funniest damn thing I’ve ever seen a dog do.”

  Delbert slapped his knee. His body spasmed with uncontrollable laughter.

  “Dang, I’da paid a whole week’s worth of wages to see that one. They were okay, weren’t they? I mean they didn’t get sick from it, did they?”

  “They were none the worse. I would like to think they were a little smarter for the experience.”

  “Don’t that beat all? Dogs chewing gum. Well, I betcha you couldn’t hardly teach a dog to do that if you tried, now could ya?”

  Sheriff Hanks stared at the low hanging, sparse clouds over the northwestern horizon of the morning sky. Behind the clouds the peaks of Mount Graham were beginning to reveal the stable unchanging nature of a mountain. The scene calmed him. Something told him they would find nothing--there would be no explosion. Everything about the call pointed in a single direction. Somebody, a disgruntled student, a sick practical joker, had wasted his time, his deputies’ time and that of hundreds of children and their teachers. God, as they say, was probably the only one who knew why. Sheriff Hanks glanced at his watch. Nine-sixteen.

  “Let’s go back in and have another look around. Let’s be thorough but make quick work of it. Josh, I imagine you have a plan already?”

  “Yes, sir, I do. I’ll take the dogs and one of the deputies. We will do the first floor. You and the other deputy do the second floor. Then we will double back and check each other’s work. We will finish up with the locker rooms.”

  “Deputy Funke, come with me,” ordered the sheriff. “Deputy Steele, you go with Josh.”

  A search of twenty-four rooms, six lavatories, two locker rooms, miscellaneous nooks, crannies and janitor’s closets took the team exactly fifty-seven minutes. Relieved that nothing was found, Sheriff Hanks gave brief consideration to kidding the young principal about making her students stay late to make up for the classroom time they had missed. The stressed look on her face made his decision for him. Something about the way she carried herself told him she would not find his remark humorous--especially under these circumstances.

  “The school is clear, Principal Newlin. You can let the students go back in now.”

  “You’re absolutely certain there isn’t a bomb in there somewhere?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We have searched the school thoroughly.”

  “What am I going to tell the parents? The school board? The superintendent?”

  “Ma’am?” asked the sheriff.

  “How do I explain a bomb threat? Do you know how many reports I’m going to have to file?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I believe I do. Deputy Steele will be talking with you. If you need anything, do not hesitate to call us. She can help you with the specific details from our end of things on any reports you may have to file.”

  Sheriff Hanks knew all too well about report filing rules and regulations. He would have to file multiple reports. Delbert and Kate would have to do theirs. Under new state regulations someone from his office would have to interview the principal, vice-principal, superintendent, and possibly the teachers, janitors and some students. Plus, he would need to get an official statement from Josh Diamond. His head felt light. His stomach rolled with queasiness. It was a bad day to have skipped breakfast. He searched his pockets for an antacid but came up empty handed.

  “Delbert, give
me your report in a one page summary.”

  “Can I double space it?” asked Delbert.

  “Sure,” replied the sheriff. “Just get it done today before you forget anything.”

  “Right on, big boss man.”

  “Kate, I want you to interview Principal Newlin. See if she knows of anyone who has made any threats against any of the teachers. Get a list of recently expelled students. If anything looks the least bit fishy, check it out. Josh, I want you to know we appreciate you volunteering your time on this one. Can you give me a paragraph or two for the record? Something simple, give Mutt and Jeff a little mention too.”

  “No problem. Federal regs I suppose?”

  “State, Fed, County, local. Hell, in the old days it was just good enough to do your job. These days it’s all paperwork. And when we nab the s.o.b., he’ll probably only get a slap on the wrist, if that. This kind of crap, interference with the peaceful conduct of an educational institution, is a class six felony. But even more than that, it’s a waste of county time and money. Deputy Funke, Deputy Steele, I want your reports before you go home tonight. Josh, get your statement to me when you can. I’m headed back to the office.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Zeb felt the acid in his stomach backwash against the bottom of his throat. Gastric reflux? Is that what Doc Yackley had called it? A sharp stabbing pain in his grumbling gut led to a foul smelling belch. The belch contained enough bile to leave a harsh bitter taste in his mouth. Mental note, he thought, always have some food before you drink an entire pot of black coffee.

  “Sheriff, is everything okay? You’re looking a little green around the gills.”

  “Yes, Helen. Everything is fine. It was a false alarm.”

  Helen Nazelrod, long time sheriff’s secretary, eyed her boss up and down. He was looking like a horse that had been “rode hard and put out wet”, as the local saying went.

  “Why would somebody do such a thing, Sheriff? It’s just not right. I mean scaring everyone like that. What’s wrong with people today?”

  “That’s a loaded question. Maybe you should write a book and go on one of those daytime talk shows and make a million bucks. I bet people are just begging to know what’s wrong with everybody else.”

  “Oh, Sheriff. You’re kidding, aren’t you? Me…on the TV…with Oprah?”

  Helen primped her hair for an imaginary camera. She was the perfect secretary, calm, tough, sassy and naive all rolled into one. Most of all, she was relieved.

  “Before you head off to Hollywood, you got any other bad news for me this morning?”

  The attempted humor of the sheriff’s remark was short-lived.

  “As a matter of fact, since you asked, I do. And, not just a little bit of it either. I’ve got the freshly compiled, county-wide monthly report right here.”

  Zeb placed his forehead in his hands, squeezing his outstretched fingers against his temples, pressing against the rising intensity of a sudden headache.

  “Three more stolen vehicles were reported, a little car, an old Chevrolet Vega--”

  “A Chevy Vega? I don’t know one Latino worth his weight in tamales who would be caught dead in one of those babies. I thought they were all on the scrapheap.”

  “At least one of them is still out there. It looks like you are going to get the opportunity to look for it.”

  “It’s probably better off lost. But, it does tell us one thing.”

  “What’s that, Sheriff?”

  “The thief is probably a gringo.”

  “That kind of talk isn’t politically correct, Sheriff.”

  “Neither is car theft. What’s the second vehicle?”

  “The second vehicle is a monster truck?”

  “What?” He knew what she meant but was surprised that Helen knew.

  “A monster truck. One of those that sit way up high.” Helen held her hand up as high as it would go. “It has those great big tires. The owner uses it for going into remote hunting areas. He also said one of the taillights glows like a halo. He thought that might help you spot it.”

  “That’s what I call a conscientious citizen,” said the sheriff.

  “All told that makes for a total of six stolen vehicles, county wide, in the last week.”

  “Not exactly a crime wave, but it’s more car thefts than we’ve had in a month of Sundays. What about the third car?

  “It’s a 1987 candy-apple red Corvette. It was stolen right off the lot. It seems as though somebody came in for a test drive and decided to keep it.”

  “What kind of a jerk would do that?” asked the sheriff.

  “The guy at the car lot says it was your brother, Noah.”

  The sheriff rubbed his knuckles deep into his forehead. Zeb’s older brother was the polar opposite of the law enforcing sheriff. He had an embarrassingly long rap sheet, which included multiple car theft charges. He had even done time in the state prison.

  As far as Zeb was concerned Noah was nothing but trouble. If blood wasn’t thicker than water, he would have cut all ties with him years ago.

  “Noah, Noah, Noah.”

  “A state trooper gave him a speeding ticket on the interstate just outside of Tucson.”

  “Did the officer arrest him?”

  “No. He wasn’t aware the car was stolen until after the fact.”

  “Noah has some drinking buddies up there. I’ll contact the locals to be on the lookout for him.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s not the worst of it,” said Helen.

  Sheriff Hanks leaned back in his chair. There were many things worse than his brother Noah being a car thief, but at the moment Zeb was having trouble figuring out what. Thank God his parents weren’t around to know of this.

  “Go ahead, make my day.”

  “One of the vehicles stolen last week--Lorenzo García’s classic 1982 powder blue LUV pickup--was found in Tucson. The Pima County Sheriff’s Office called about a half an hour ago. They are sending over a report for you.”

  “Did they say when they were going to release it back to the owner?”

  “I don’t think that is going to be possible.”

  “What? Why not? Lorenzo has been calling me every day. He is going to want to know when he can get it back. I just bet it’s going to get caught up in some big city paperwork mess.”

  “It’s worse than that. There is no more truck. There is only a pile of melted steel.”

  “What happened?”

  “Somebody torched it.”

  “Lorenzo is not going to be happy about that.”

  “The truck went up in flames. To make things worse there were three five-gallon cans of gas in the back.”

  Among his brother’s laundry list of crimes was arson. Could it be that Noah was involved in this one too? Zeb made a mental note to call Noah’s parole officer.

  “So the car thief was an arsonist as well?”

  Helen’s expression turned dour. Her voice became deadly serious.

  “There was a dead body inside it…burned beyond recognition.”

  “Was the victim ID’d?”

  “No. Oh, and there was one more thing.”

  “It just never ends around here does it? What other bad news do you have for me?”

  “They found Lorenzo García’s truck in a part of town called “The Village”. The officer who called here seemed to think “The Village” might mean something to you. He told me to be sure and mention it.”

  “Did he leave his name?”

  “Detective Maximilian Muñoz.”

  Sheriff Hanks had not heard that name in years.

  “He said you might remember him by his nickname, Shotgun. Is he a friend of yours? ”

  “Yes he is. He was my first partner when I worked on the Tucson police force. I haven’t talked to him in years. How did he sound?”

  “He was arrogant and long-winded. Just like you would expect a big city cop to be.”

  “Now that is funny.”

  “What’s so funny abou
t that?”

  “He’s from the booming metropolis of Double Adobe.”

  “Double Adobe?”

  “Heard of it?”

  “No,” replied Helen. “Should I have?”

  “It’s a little watering hole on the southern Arizona border, half way between Bisbee and Douglas. Max used to say, if you count the dogs, cats, skunks and coyotes, it had a population of a hundred and six.”

  “I never heard of it.”

  “No, I don’t suppose. Max Muñoz. Detective Maximilian Muñoz. Talk about a blast form the past.”

  “A shotgun blast, maybe?”

  “You mean his nickname? He’s a funny guy, full of baloney. He tells one story right after another.”

  “I gathered that from talking to him on the phone.”

  “He liked to say that he and his brothers were the best shots in all of Cochise County. He claimed they would sit on their front porch and practice shooting by holding a rifle barrel between their toes. They took pot shots at a ten penny nail pounded sideways into a board. He claimed he could clip the heads off nine out of ten of them at a hundred yards. He also claimed he could wing a house fly in mid-flight at fifty feet.”

  “You believed that?”

  “He’s a funny guy.”

  “It sounds like he’s a little funny in the head.”

  “Being a little bit loco is a prerequisite for becoming a homicide detective.”

  Helen gave him a look that said she had no more time to listen to tales of days gone by and that perhaps the sheriff’s brief stint working with a man who became a homicide detective had made him a bit loco.

  “Do you have any antacids?” asked the sheriff.

  “Is your stomach acting up again? Look in the middle drawer of your desk. I put two brand new rolls in there yesterday. I told you. Remember?”

  “Oh, that’s right. I guess I forgot about them. Thanks.”

  Helen knew he had not been listening. The sheriff reached into his desk and popped three of the tablets.

  “Deputy Steele is interviewing Principal Newlin up at the school.”

  “Hoping to find a bad egg?”

  “Yes, something like that.”

  “Did you get a recording of the bomb threat?”