“We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
He was outside, pacing, and hurried to meet us as we drove up. When we got out and he saw who was with me, relief washed over his face. He hugged Rainy’s son as if Peter were his own son and had come back from the dead. “God, I’m so happy to see you safe.”
“What happened, Frank?” Peter asked.
“I was sitting with Jocko at the hospital this morning,” Harris said. “I got a call from someone who said he represented Carlos Rodriguez. He said he wanted to talk to Jocko. In person. I told him to come to the hospital. He said no, bring Jocko to the ranch house. When I told him that wasn’t going to happen, he put Jayne on the phone. She was scared, crying. Then whoever the bastard was, he came back on and said if I didn’t bring Jocko, he’d kill Jayne. And you know Jocko. He was out of that bed in a heartbeat. When we got here, the place was empty. I thought we’d been played. But then cars drove up and men with guns got out. They grabbed Jocko. One of the men, he seemed to be in charge, told me that if I wanted him and Jayne back alive, I’d have to deliver Peter or the location of the place where Peter’s moved the drugs. Drugs? I asked them. What drugs? I didn’t understand any of that. Didn’t matter. They’re going to kill them both if I don’t come through.”
“The man who spoke to you,” I said. “What did he look like?”
“Mexican. Six feet. Clean shaven. Black hair. Forty, maybe a little more. Natty dresser.”
“A name?”
“No.”
“How are you supposed to contact him?”
“He gave me a number.” Harris reached into his shirt pocket, brought out a folded slip of paper, and handed it to me. I recognized the area code for Tucson.
“It’s probably a throwaway phone,” I said. “He’ll use it for this transaction then get rid of it. I think we need to let your father know about this development, Peter.”
He nodded his agreement, and I punched in Mondragón’s number on my cell. When the man answered, I said, “Has Joaquin made the call to his father?”
“Yes,” Mondragón said. “And things have changed.”
“Let me guess. They told you that they have Jayne Harris and Robert Wieman.”
“And someone else that Rainy says you know and care about. A minister.”
“Michelle Abbott? They’ve grabbed her, too?”
“But we have Joaquin,” Mondragón said. “If I cared about any of these people, it would be the proverbial Mexican standoff.” There was some talk on the other end. I heard Rainy’s voice, stern. Then Mondragón said, “I want to speak to my son.”
I gave the phone over.
Peter listened, then said in a voice that would brook no argument, “We make the exchange.” He listened again, and said, “We’re at Jocko’s ranch house.” He nodded at something his father said and replied, “Está bien.” He handed the phone back to me. “They’re on their way here.”
Harris looked like a man who’d just come off the battlefield, beaten and bewildered. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“Let’s go inside, Frank,” I said. “We need to talk.”
We sat at the kitchen table while I explained what we knew for sure and then our speculations.
Harris shook his head firmly. “No way. Not Jocko. I don’t care if it’s true they’ve been using his landing strip, Jocko didn’t know anything about it. And I can tell you right now he’s not the leak in the Desert Angels.”
Peter leaned across the table. “I’m going to say something, Frank, and I need the truth from you.”
Harris looked at him and understood without having to be told. “You’re thinking that if it wasn’t Jocko, then it had to be me, right? It’s not, Peter. I didn’t betray you. You’ve got to trust that.”
I didn’t know Frank Harris well, but I’d been reading people all my life, as a cop and otherwise. I didn’t think he was lying. That’s what my own heart told me. I guess Peter’s heart must have told him the same thing, because he said, “I believe you.”
I heard thunder in the distance and looked out the window of the ranch house kitchen. The fury of that day’s monsoon storm was sweeping toward us.
“If Jocko was in the dark,” I said, “they must have used the landing strip when he wasn’t around. How would they do that?”
We all thought a bit, then Peter offered, “Maybe when Jocko flew me out to meet with a group I was going to guide?”
“How would they know when that was?”
“The leak in the Desert Angels,” Harris said.
“You fed Nikki Edwards the coordinates for the crossings, so she could broadcast them,” I said to Peter. “Would she also have known if Jocko was going to fly you or if you were going to drive yourself?”
“Not specifically, no,” Peter said. “No one but Jocko and I would have known. And Frank.” He looked at Harris.
“I didn’t tell anyone. Well, Jayne.” Harris’s face changed in an instant. His eyes moved to the window and to the coming storm, and I could see his brain working. “No,” he whispered. “Christ, no.”
CHAPTER 38
* * *
Frank Harris stood at the kitchen sink, staring through the window at the storm sweeping toward us. Beyond him in the distance, the black clouds exploded in moments of brilliant white, and lightning split the eastern horizon like rips in a photograph.
“Jayne,” he said, as if she were some long-lost love.
I sat at the table with Peter, pieces of the puzzle falling into place for me. “You said that when your vines were killed, a lot of the other vineyard owners suffered as well and had to sell. But not you. You said Jayne’s investments kept you afloat. What were those investments?”
Harris had his back to us and was slumped over, as if afraid he might vomit into the sink. “I don’t know exactly. Jayne’s always taken care of the business. I grow the grapes. That’s the part I love.” He shook his head. “She must have sold off a lot of stock or something. Everyone else had their land on the market back then, and Jayne was buying it. She had this vision that we would become the largest vineyard in Arizona. Me, I just wanted to make good wines.”
Another thought occurred to me, another piece of the puzzle. “This land she bought. Who brokered those deals?”
“Marian Brown.”
Brown and Jayne Harris. Two women used to handling large sums of money. Two women, perhaps, with similar grandiose visions. Maybe they were the base of a financial triangle in Coronado County, and who was at the apex of that dangerous geometry?
“Did Jayne and Brown have other dealings together?” I asked.
“They met over wine and talked a lot. I wasn’t a part of that. I don’t like Marian much. I don’t know what Jayne sees in her.”
“What did Marian and your wife talk about when they got together?”
“I don’t know. Marian usually came when I was out working in the vineyards. Whenever I came back to the house, she was just leaving.”
“Have their meetings been more frequent lately?”
He thought about that, then turned to me. “As a matter of fact, they have.”