Casey shook her head at Jessica to go along with this and they both returned to their vehicles.
Casey sat looking out over the low stone markers lined in rows beneath a smattering of red cedars that lent the feel of a golf course to the place. When Gage's cruiser arrived five minutes later, the big chief got out wearing his mirrored sunglasses, spoke to Morris, and got back into his car without looking their way. Casey studied the big man's mouth, certain his lower lip protruded in a pout. Morris cranked up the old wagon and rolled in through the gates. Gage followed him, then came Jose and the county van. The little caravan wound its way through the stones and the trees until they reached a slope many acres into the cemetery.
Here the path turned to dirt. The grass and trees ended, as did the shiny granite headstones. They traveled only a short way over the rough ground before the wagon stopped and Morris got out, followed now by the two Mexicans, who bore spades they removed from the back of the wagon. The investigator with Jessica, a heavyset man with dark wavy hair, also removed some tools from the van to assist.
Insects buzzed and a hot breeze wafted the high, parched grass. A band of cicadas added to the sound of heat, singing from a twisted mesquite tree on the edge of the cut grass where the paying customers rested. Morris pointed out a spot of freshly turned dirt marked by one of the hundreds of gravestones that looked like small loaves of bread laid down in the weeds. The group stood around the grave and when Gage saw Jose, he surprised Casey by offering him a small smile.
"I've got this," Jessica said, offering up a copy of the court order to Gage.
The chief held up his hand. "All set. I got mine faxed to me yesterday."
Casey waited for the big man to explode. She searched his face, unable to fathom how he could go along without making any protestation or at least showing discomfort or disdain.
To the Mexicans, Gage said, "Get digging. I got work needs getting to."
Jessica's ME investigator spoke up and said, "When they get close, I'd like to do the last part of it."
The undertaker spoke to the men in Spanish and they nodded their heads without stopping their work.
"They'll need to dig a bigger hole than that," Casey said under her breath, not wanting to betray her ignorance. She'd never seen an exhumation before.
The Mexicans stopped suddenly and spoke to the undertaker, who waved Jessica's investigator forward as though offering him a seat in a fine restaurant.
"How about a little more than that," the investigator said, pointing with the small trowel he held, the jowls of his heavy face trembling at the sight of the small hole.
The undertaker shrugged and sent the Mexicans back at it. Three more strokes and one of the shovels struck metal with a clang. The Mexicans stepped back and looked at the investigator, who stood.
"What?" he said, peering into the small, shallow hole.
"Pay dirt," the undertaker said. "Want them to finish it up, or you looking to use that spoon?"
The investigator knelt at the hole's edge and scraped away some dirt.
"This is an…" the investigator said, puffing and continuing to dig.
Casey peered over his shoulder as the trowel scratched away. She saw the circular gleam of stainless steel.
"Urn," the investigator said, finishing his sentence and looking back over his shoulder at Casey and Jessica. He wiggled the trowel and extracted what looked like a martini mixer. "It's an urn."
"So much for DNA," Jessica said.
Everyone looked at Morris, who stood smoking and looking off at the other graves, unconcerned. Gage fought back a smirk.
Casey stepped toward the chief and said, "You people cremated him?"
"What the wife wanted," Gage said, removing a piece of paper from his front pocket, unfolding it, and handing it to Casey. "Signed it right there."
Casey looked down at the creased paper and saw Isodora's signature.
"You like playing games?" Casey asked, looking back at the chief.
"Yeah," Gage said with a puff of laughter. "When I win."
CHAPTER 33
DO I LOOK LIKE A TURNIP?" THE DA ASKED. "IF THIS WERE Brad Pitt, maybe you could get the National Enquirer to run with it. You want me to convene a grand jury on a US senator?"
Casey glanced at Jose, who sat with her across from Dustin Cruz's desk.
"We're not looking for an indictment yet," Jose said. "We just think that if you investigate, that's where this is going."
Cruz looked at Jose and blinked, as if noticing him for the first time.
"Did she tell you about the last conversation we had in this office?" Cruz asked Jose.
Jose looked at him and cocked his head.
"Last time," Cruz said, "she sat there telling me about how the press was going to react to me prosecuting a young woman for murder. Forget that I've got a confession. She's going to make the killer look like the victim with a bunch of talk about old rape cases, and stink me up for women voters.
"Remember that conversation?" Cruz asked, turning to Casey. "Rosalita Suarez?"
"She's an innocent woman," Casey said with a shrug, "and my client."
"So that means you can fight dirty?" Cruz said. "Go to the media?"
"We're not here about that," Jose said, spreading his fingers and raising his hand. "This is different."
"This is a US senator," Cruz said, his thick eyebrows arching.
"Exactly," Jose said. "Your office could investigate this thing and get people to talk. They've got a hundred or so Mexicans out there, people in the house, on the grounds, the ranch-you could get in there with some subpoenas and get things going. Hell, the undertaker, the police chief, the wife even, get them on record, build a case."
Cruz huffed through his nose. "You think that makes me hungry to stick my neck out? Let's say you can prove the dead guy was banging the wife, which you can't. You got headlines, but not much else. Let's say you get a DNA match with the blood on the shotgun slug, so what? They already said he shot the guy. They said it was an accident."
"With a deer slug?" Jose said. "They were hunting turkeys."
Cruz made a face. "That's what? Maybe fifty-fifty that a jury will even follow you?"
"What about cremating the body like that?" Jose said. "Destroying the evidence?"
"The wife signed off," Cruz said.
"She had no idea what she even signed," Casey said.
"Look," Cruz said with a grim smile, "Chase's no Sunday-school teacher, but you go to kill the king, you better damn well make sure you do it. That's advice for you two. I have no interest in this. None."
"Looking for a spot on the federal bench?" Casey said, blurting out her words.
Cruz forced a smile and said, "Nice thought. Wrong party. I'm not a fan of Chase. All those white-toothed television commercials with a bunch of happy kids around him don't fool me for a second.
"I'm just not stupid," he continued, narrowing his eyes at Casey, "and maybe the enemy of my enemy is my friend? You ever heard that one?"
CHAPTER 34
CASEY AND JOSe CLIMBED BACK INTO HIS TRUCK AND HEADED for the coffee shop where their day had begun so she could get her car. The sun beat down on the metal snake of traffic, glinting off windshields, pulverizing the blacktop so that it quavered in the heat.
Traffic on the highway suddenly slowed to a crawl. Up ahead, Casey could see the flashing lights from the accident that had slowed things down. As they closed in, she saw the belly of a tractor trailer turned on its side. Pallets of disposable diapers had spilled from the truck onto the road and median, like snow from a land of giants.
A burst of white foam and smoke drew her eyes back to the wreck. A fireman sprayed down the naked engine of the big truck. The cab of the rig had plowed a compact car into the guardrail. Emergency workers scrambled to extract what looked like a body from the accordion of steel.