She turned back to the deputy, whose story didn’t jibe with the expression on his face. “And then?”
“I bailed out of the unit, and I don’t even remember doing it, but I drew my weapon. I had to have done it as I was sliding out of the unit.” Estelle glanced down and saw that the large automatic was holstered-hammer cocked, safety on, in exactly the condition that the deputy had been trained to carry it.
She held up a hand to stop the flow of words, a well of dread already rising in her gut. “Slow down,” she ordered. “Is anyone else here injured?” She saw the woman across the parking lot wave off Torrez’s attempts at first aid. “What’s going on over there?”
“I think she cracked her head on the trunk lid,” Collins said morosely. “That’s what I think happened, anyway. The bullet didn’t hit her.”
“You fired a shot?” She glanced across at Black, who now had the five young people sitting along the sidewalk beside the store.
“I didn’t mean to,” Collins said. “That’s what I was saying. I got out of the unit, saw that it was just a bunch of kids over by the store, and probably not an armed robbery or something. Then I saw the glass scattered all over the place and smelled the beer. I heard another vehicle, and that’s when Rick Black pulled in. I holstered the weapon. I mean, I went to holster it, but I guess I fumbled it. I dropped the gun.”
Silence hung heavily between them for the count of ten. “That’s when it went off?” Estelle asked, incredulous. She didn’t add, That’s not possible, because she knew perfectly well that with the right combination of bizarre circumstances, nearly anything was possible.
“Not when I dropped it. It bounced off the side of the truck. You can see the mark right here.” He turned and pointed at a tiny ding in the white paint just below the name badge on the fender. “I made a grab for it. You know…like anybody would. I caught it, and that’s when it went off.”
“Just once?”
“Just once. Christ, that’s enough.”
“Yes, it is. Where did the bullet go?”
“Bernie says that it ricocheted through the grill of his Cavalier, over behind the store.”
Estelle twisted and looked back to the spot where Collins had to have been standing when he fumbled the gun, on the street side of his vehicle, close to the door. A straight line between there and the Cavalier, which Estelle couldn’t even see from where she stood, would pass through the Expedition’s fender, its engine block, and the opposite fender, then through the corner of the store itself. Not possible.
Before she could ask Ricochet off what? Sheriff Torrez caught her eye and beckoned. At the same time across the parking lot, Black pulled one of the youngsters to his feet, spun him around, and cuffed him. The bottle thrower had fessed up, she guessed.…Either that or in a moment of misplaced bravado the kid had said the wrong thing.
“Hang tight a minute,” she said to Collins. “Stay right here.” The sheriff met her halfway across the lot, and storm clouds touched his dark, handsome features. “Is everyone all right over there?” Estelle asked. She saw the woman pat her temple again with a folded handkerchief.
“She just cracked her head on the trunk lid,” Torrez said. “That ain’t the problem. Dufus over there,” and he nodded grimly toward the deputy, “dropped his goddamn gun. The bullet hit the base of the gas pump and then ricocheted into Bernie’s car.…At least Bernie says it did. I ain’t looked at it yet. You can see a little dent and smear of lead on the lower skirt of the pump.”
“Did you call Linda?”
“No.”
“We need her over here ASAP,” Estelle said. She knew that the sheriff understood the situation as well as anyone-that a discharged weapon, even an accidental discharge where the bullet struck no one and caused no serious property damage, was cause for serious concern. In this case, the repercussions could go far beyond the department having to pay for some broken plastic and a punctured radiator. The woman had apparently injured herself, perhaps when the gunshot startled her. This was not a situation where an oops, sorry, folks was adequate.
Estelle also knew-as did Bob Torrez-that if they interviewed each of the dozen people currently in the parking lot, and some of the curious spectators now gathered on the sidewalk across the street, there would be as many versions of the incident as there were people. There were unlikely to be many versions that favored Dennis Collins.
Finally, beginning with these very first moments, when everyone was trying to sort out what happened and why, Estelle was determined that wheels would be set in motion to reduce the likelihood that something like this would ever happen again.
“You want to talk to her?” Torrez asked, turning to glance at the woman by the Volvo. “She’s a little hot under the collar.”
“As well she should be,” Estelle said. “And yes, I want to talk to her.”
“I’ll see what Black’s got goin’,” Torrez said, and stalked off. He didn’t look Collins’ way, didn’t say a word to the deputy. That in itself told Estelle that they were going to face another interesting challenge in the hours ahead.
As she approached the Volvo, she recognized the woman, who looked up at Estelle and shook her head in disbelief. The undersheriff recognized Marge Chavez, wife of the service manager at the Chevrolet-Oldsmobile dealership.
“Are you all right?” Estelle asked. She reached out and touched Marge on the cheek to turn her head slightly so that the glare of the parking lot vapor light caught her full on. A tiny nick marked her temple at the end of her right eyebrow.
“Oh, that’s nothing,” Marge said. She was a pleasant-faced woman, wearing a housecoat over what appeared to be flannel pajamas and loose slippers. “But my God, this whole thing just about did me in.”
The two girls, one whom Estelle knew to be fourteen or so, the other a bit younger, had slipped back into the car’s backseat, where they sat silent and wide-eyed.
“I’d like to hear what happened, Marge.”
“Oh my,” the woman said. “Look, I don’t want to get Denny in trouble, but my gosh.”
“I understand that, and appreciate it, but I need to hear what happened.”
“It happened so fast. Just unbelievable.”
“That’s how these things go. Tell me what you remember.”
“I had picked the kids up after a little party that one of their friends was throwing after the basketball game. I told them I’d come and get them at midnight. It wasn’t a stay-over or anything like that. But then Barbie called and asked for another hour or so. They were watching a movie, and wanted to see the end. And I said all right. Just this once. So I did that, and on the way home, I saw that I had forgotten to get gas.…I’m always doing that, sheriff. Always. My husband has given up on me. He bought me a cell phone to keep in the car just for that reason. So when I run out, I can call for help.” She smiled gamely and dabbed at her eyebrow again.
“Anyway, here I was. The two kids wanted to go into the store to get something, and I said no. For one thing, they don’t need to eat any more junk this time of night, and for another, I was a little apprehensive about those kids across the lot. I knew they weren’t local, and it didn’t take rocket science to know that they were drinking.”
“Where was Mr. Pollis during all of this?”
“Bernie was standing in the doorway of the store. I could see one of the other kids who clerk there behind him, standing behind the counter, I suppose. But Bernie-he was standing there in the doorway, watching the group of kids. He had a phone in his hand. So I assumed there had been some kind of trouble. That’s just about all I saw, until Denny arrived. I had just finished gassing up the car and was around back when he pulls in real fast from the south, there, and boom! I heard a loud pop and a tinkle, like breaking glass hitting the pavement.”