“That she wasn’t coming out or moving,” Lucy said.
“Until what?”
Lucy took a few steps and peered at the crushed cactus under the RV’s front tire. “She didn’t say until what.”
I banged on the door so hard that the flimsy aluminum shook in the door frame. “Carla! Open the door. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Not until I talk to the judge.” The voice was small but determined.
“That’s what telephones are for, Carla,” I said, and when she didn’t respond added, “You can’t just camp out here.”
“Oh, yes, I can,” Carla Champlin said.
“Can you believe this?” I said to Torrez, who grinned.
“I can just pop the door open,” he offered.
“No, don’t do that,” I said. “Carla, open the damn door, You’re going to roast in there. And I’m going to roast out here.” There was no answer, but I detected more shifting. “Carla,” I added, “come on. I’m dying out here.” I hoped the feeble attempt at humor might loosen her tongue, but she didn’t say a word. “For Christ’s sakes, Carla, I’ve known you for twenty years. Talk to me.”
“I talked to you before, and you didn’t do anything. Now I’ll talk to Judge Hobart,” she said. “And that’s that.”
“I thought you already talked to him. Earlier this morning.”
“He wouldn’t listen to me,” Carla said sweetly. “Now maybe he will.” I could imagine her nodding her head with satisfaction.
“Carla…”
“I said I’m not going to talk to you. Now just go away.”
“Ma’am, I can’t just go away. What you’re doing is illegal. Not to mention silly.”
She didn’t reply and I took a deep breath. “Suit yourself,” I said and walked back to 310. I settled into the seat, found the phone, and called the office. “Gayle,” I said when her calm voice answered, “we’re going to need a matron out here. If Linda’s handy, send her on over.”
“She and Tom are downstairs, sir. In the darkroom. I’ll buzz her up.”
I hesitated. “Well, on second thought, let’s wait on that. Tell her to sit Dispatch for a bit, and you come on over.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And tell Thomas that I don’t want him anywhere near this place, all right? If Carla catches sight of him, she’ll go ballistic.”
“Yes, sir. I don’t think he’s going to stray far. Howard Bishop found a little blood smear on the underside of the grab rail of the backhoe. Linda took close-up photos, and they’ve been processing the prints. The lab’s got the blood sample.”
“Outstanding. We’ll be out here just a few minutes.”
“Is Miss Champlin all right?”
“Well, that’s a hard question to answer just now. The sooner you can get here, the better.”
I twisted around at the sound of tires crunching on gravel. Judge Hobart’s minivan drifted to a stop. He didn’t get out immediately but sat with both forearms resting on the top of the steering wheel, gazing at the new addition to his landscape.
“Carla Champlin’s inside,” I said when I reached the door of his vehicle. “She refuses to move or even to talk with anyone but you.”
“She does, does she,” the judge said in a tone that promised a sentence of twenty years to life. “Damn crazy woman spent all morning down at the county building. Looked like a goddamn old bag lady camped out in the hallway. I told her once what she should do, but I guess that wasn’t good enough.” Hobart popped the door and got out, moving slowly.
He took his time making his way along the flank of the RV until he reached the door. The tinted glass made it impossible to see inside.
“Miss Champlin?” he said, keeping his tone conversational and light. “It’s Lester Hobart. You’ve got to move this damn thing out of my yard.”
“Not until you sign an eviction order I won’t.”
The judge looked at me and then rolled his eyes heavenward. “Carla, look…I told you earlier what you have to do. It isn’t all that complicated.”
“Well, apparently it is, since you won’t sign an order.”
Judge Hobart frowned, and I could see the color creeping up his neck. “Miss Champlin, I won’t be threatened or coerced. Get this damn thing out of my yard, then go and talk to your lawyer, and we’ll take it from there. That’s what I told you this morning.”
“I know you did.”
“Well, nothing’s changed. This is nonsense.”
Carla Champlin’s tone reminded me of a starched elementary school teacher. “Well, nonsense or not, this is the way it’s going to be. I’ve got rights, just like anybody else. Everybody thinks they can just ignore me, but well…you sign that eviction order, and I’ll just trot on.”
Hobart thrust his hands in his pockets and regarded the pebbles by his feet. Perhaps he was counting to ten. Finally he looked up at me and said, “Goddamn woman is nuts.”
“I heard that,” Carla Champlin barked, and I saw Bob Torrez grin.
“I bet you did,” the judge muttered. He turned and walked toward the house, stopping as he passed me. “Goddamn woman deserves to be committed,” he said between his teeth.
“You want to bother with a formal trespass complaint?” I asked.
Hobart looked pained. “Don’t be ridiculous, Bill. Just get her the hell out of my yard without killing anybody.”
He nodded curtly at Robert and strode into the house.
“You guys want anything?” Lucy Hobart asked without enthusiasm.
“No, thanks,” I said. “Gayle Sedillos will be here in a few minutes. Then we’ll see what we can do.”
I stepped up to the side of the RV. “Carla? Did you hear the judge?” She didn’t answer. “He’s not going to negotiate with you, sweetheart. It’s time to pack up and move this beast out.”
“I told you what I was going to do,” Carla said.
“Carla,” I said patiently, “you can’t stay here. Either you move the bus or we’re going to come in there and move it for you.”
“Don’t you threaten me.”
“I’m not. It’s just the way things are. If I have to bust the door, I will.” I reached out and ran a hand down the polished aluminum frame. “And it’s a pretty nice door, too.”
“Go away. If you cause any damage, I’ll sue you, too.”
I glanced over at Bob Torrez. “What’s your suggestion?” I said. “She’s a voter, remember.”
Torrez grinned. “When Gayle gets here, pop the door, remove Miss Champlin from the vehicle, let Gayle drive the RV back to Miss Champlin’s house, and you can take the woman in your car. Maybe by then she’ll be settled down.”
“Oh, sure. And I notice that you’re conspicuously absent from that formula.” I walked away from the RV and took up the number-two position against the fender of the car. “And by the way, Bishop found a small blood smear on the underside of one of the grab rails of the backhoe. They’re processing it now. Prints, photos, the whole nine yards.”
Torrez straightened up, his face coming alive with interest. “I better get back there, then. You’re on top of this?”
“Does it look like I’m on top of it?” I chuckled. “But go ahead. But the time Gayle gets here, Carla might have reconsidered.”
Gayle Torrez arrived two minutes after her husband left, and in that time Carla Champlin did not reconsider. The afternoon sky didn’t help me any-blank blue without a trace of clouds. No afternoon thundershowers were going to cool things off. I could feel the sun that bounced off the patrol car baking the underside of my chin, and just when I was beginning to feel a touch sorry for Carla Champlin simmering inside her tin can, the RV’s engine burst into life, and the air-conditioning unit on top kicked in. She was probably enjoying a glass of iced tea, content to let us broil outside.
Gayle stepped out of the car with Linda Real in tow. “Tom’s sitting the desk,” Gayle said, and I nodded.
“This is the deal,” I said. “Carla Champlin is inside that thing, and she says that she won’t come out until the judge signs an eviction order against your friend and mine, Tom Pasquale.”
“She’s never even talked to us, face-to-face,” Linda said with wonder. “I told Tom that he should just find someplace else, but he doesn’t see why he should have to move for no reason. I guess he’s talked to her a couple of times, but she won’t listen to anything he says.”