“Deputy Crockett, drop your weapon.”
Although I couldn’t see him, I recognized Sheriff Chet Carlson’s voice. It came from somewhere in the wash.
“Over here, Jocko,” I hollered, and he and Michelle dashed to the Jeep and crouched behind it with Peter and me.
Crockett maneuvered to put the big truck between himself and the direction from which Carlson’s voice had come. I sent a round from the Winchester into the grille near Deputy Crockett, then turned the barrel directly on him.
“Squeeze play, Crockett,” I called. “The sheriff tags you or I do. Either way you’re out of the game.”
“Now, Crockett, or I take you out!” the unseen Carlson hollered.
Crockett wavered a moment more, then set down his M16 and laced his fingers across the back of his head.
“On the ground,” Sheriff Carlson ordered. “Away from the rifle.”
Crockett prostrated himself and waited.
The men, Carlson, Sprangers, and Vega, wet and muddied, came loping from the wash. Sheriff Chet Carlson was in the lead, a scoped rifle in his grip. When he reached his deputy, he stopped and pulled out cuffs. Agents Jamie Sprangers and Jesús Vega jogged to Ernesto Rivera and checked him. Vega stayed there, but Sprangers moved on to where Frank Harris lay with his arm across the body of his wife. The agent pulled out a cell phone, punched in a number, and requested assistance. Finally, he looked up at Jocko and Michelle and Peter and me. “You folks okay?”
CHAPTER 40
* * *
Justice isn’t always about the law. Full disclosure doesn’t always reveal the deeper truth. And so, in my interview with Sheriff Carlson and Agents Jamie Sprangers and Jesús Vega there at the Jezebel, I didn’t tell them everything. Nor did Peter, who was the only other one among us who knew all the facts. We didn’t tell them, for example, what we knew about Officer Mike Sanchez and the two other dead men at the El Dorado Mine.
“We got an anonymous call about the bodies out there and that one of them was Sanchez,” Carlson explained. “Crockett told me he wasn’t feeling well. Puked, in fact, in the office wastebasket. Said he needed to go home and lie down. Hell, O’Connor, you were a sheriff. A call like that comes in, you’re not going to let an upset stomach keep you from going to the scene. Besides, he wasn’t looking sick before that. Agent Sprangers had shared with me your concern that one of the task force might be leaking intel to Rodriguez. I gave him a call.”
Sprangers looked at me and shrugged. “I had to trust someone. You know that drone I put on you? We decided to put it on Crockett.”
“Few hours ago, we spotted him picking up Kong at his house,” Carlson said.
“Kong?”
“What he calls that monster truck of his. Another man was with him. They came out this way. The drone followed them, we followed the drone. There was no way we could come up that wash in our truck, so we hoofed it. Arrived in time to see Rivera gun down Frank Harris. That’s when I . . .”
Carlson eyed his rifle. He was drained of color. He’d just killed a man, someone he’d trusted, had thought was one of his own. I suspected the killing was a first for him. I wasn’t versed in the protocol in Coronado County, but in most law enforcement, a thing like that would require time with a shrink. Maybe a priest, too, or a minister.
I looked where Michelle Abbott sat comforting Frank Harris. Because of his work with refugees in the desert, Peter kept basic medical supplies and blankets in his Jeep. In her years as a Marine, Michelle had been cross-trained as a medic. She’d done what she could in a rudimentary way while we awaited the chopper that had been called in to medevac Harris to the hospital in Sierra Vista.
Jocko sat in the Jeep. For an old guy who’d been through hell, he seemed to be holding up pretty well. After we’d all given our initial statements, I joined him. He seemed to be nodding off but opened his eyes at my approach.
“How’re you doing?” I asked.
“Haven’t had this much excitement since the war. But I could do with some rest.”
My cell phone rang. I recognized the number.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“At the ranch house where we were supposed to meet,” Mondragón said. “Where are you?”
“Can’t talk right now,” I said.
“Police?”
“I’ll explain when I see you. Stay where you are.”
“Rainy’s okay, by the way. Rodriguez probably needs his arm looked after.”
“Thanks,” I said and ended the call.
I headed back to Carlson and the two agents, who were talking to Peter.
“I think Mr. Wieman could use some medical attention,” I said. “We’ve given you what we can. Is it okay if I get him out of here?”
Carlson said, “I need formal statements from everybody.”
“Tomorrow morning?”
“Is that a promise?”
“Solid gold. Your office. Nine a.m.”
In his way, he looked as beat up as Jocko, and he gave me a weary nod of approval.
Vega said, “One thing, O’Connor. Your wife and Gilbert Mondragón?”
“They had nothing to do with this,” I said.
“They’re safe?” Sprangers asked.
“They’re safe.”
“Any way you could convince them to accompany you tomorrow?”
“I can try.” I waited a moment. “Not thinking of putting that drone on me, are you?”
Sprangers smiled, slowly. “Still don’t trust me? After all we’ve been through together?”
I walked to Michelle and sat down beside her. Frank Harris was lying quiet, his eyes closed. He seemed to be out.
“How is he?”
“Lucky Rivera fired low. Leg wound. Missed the arteries, but might have hit bone. Peter had some morphine in his medical supplies. That’ll help keep him comfortable until they get him to Sierra Vista.”
“Peter and Jocko and me, we’re leaving. Want to come?”
“I think I’ll stay with Frank until the chopper arrives.”
“Thanks for everything.”
“Me? I just loaned you a pickup.”
“Semper fi,” I said.
“Vaya con Dios,” she replied.
*
On our way out of the Sonora Hills and back to Jocko’s ranch house, we met several vehicles belonging to Border Patrol and the Coronado County Sheriff’s Department speeding toward the wash that would lead them to the Jezebel. The storm was long past, and the gush of water had diminished to little more than a trickle. The sun was low in the sky, breaking golden through scattered clouds, and the air that rushed in through the Jeep windows smelled fresh and promising.
The black SUV was parked in front of Jocko’s ranch house. As soon as we pulled up, Rainy rushed out to meet us. I think our senses must be hardwired to our hearts. When I saw Rainy, she was more beautiful to me than anything I’d ever seen before, and although she hadn’t been able to shower or wash her hair in days, when she nestled her head against my chest, she smelled better to me than any flower I’d ever come across.
She hugged Peter and Jocko, too, and we went into the ranch house together. Mondragón waited inside with Joaquin Rodriguez, who was looking far worse than the last time I saw him.