Joe Baca studied the ground in front of his boots as Estelle approached.
“How do you know this man?” she asked without preamble.
“I don’t,” Baca said, but he wouldn’t look at her.
“He was coming to see you,” she pressed. “Betty Contreras said that she was worried about that. Why does he want to see you? Is he after money?”
Joe’s eyes flicked up at that. “Maybe. Maybe that’s it.”
“And maybe there’s more to it,” Estelle said. “It would be much simpler if you would tell me what’s going on, Joe.”
“He is just…” And his hands waved helplessly. “He is just like any of the others. You know.”
“Except you know him, Joe,” she said impatiently. “And so does Betty. And so does Father Anselmo. This man, Ricardo Ynostroza, was with Felix Otero, the young man who died up north. That’s what Betty says. Do you want to talk to me about that?”
Another vehicle appeared, and an expression of relief washed across Joe’s face. Estelle recognized Lucinda Baca’s car. “Maybe she knows,” he said.
“Officer Allen, would you take a statement from Mr. Baca?” Estelle asked. “I’ll talk with Lucinda.” She could see that obviously wasn’t what Joe Baca had in mind, but feeling adrift might loosen his tongue a bit.
Chapter Twenty-three
“Why would we know who this guy is?” Lucinda Baca snapped as she led Estelle inside the house. She was as thorny as her husband was mellow, a surprising woman who at first glance looked as soft and compliant as a marshmallow. “And what’s that state cop want with Joe, anyway?”
“He’s just taking a short statement, Mrs. Baca.”
“About what now, may I ask?”
“We have several unanswered questions. I stopped by earlier to talk to Joe about the sweepstakes.…” She hesitated. The young Mexican worker in the back of Jackie Taber’s Bronco was a separate issue, and if there were any ties between him and the case involving Chris Marsh and the lottery winners, they weren’t obvious at the moment-other than the natural attraction that piles of money presented.
Before Estelle could continue, Lucinda interrupted, “Sweepstakes? Por Dios, is that the whole county’s business now?” She turned to face Estelle, one hand on an ample hip. She punctuated with a wagging finger. “All of a sudden I got a yard full of cops because maybe we won a few dollars?”
“That’s not quite it,” Estelle said.
“Well, you tell me what is it, Estelle Guzman. We’ve known you since you were this high,” and she swept her hand down to her knees. “And now all of a sudden…” She might as well have just said, You remember your place, young lady.
“I stopped by to see if Joe recognized this man.” She held out the eight-by-ten glossy morgue photo of Christopher Marsh.
“Oh, my poor soul,” Lucinda said, instantly softening. “Isn’t that…That’s the boy who made the sweepstakes deliveries. Barry something.”
“His real name is Christopher Marsh, Lucinda. He was the driver of that truck that went over the side up on the pass.”
“Dios mío,” Lucinda breathed. “Is this the crash all the cops were at last night?”
“That’s when we found it. It happened sometime Wednesday evening. Right after he left you folks.”
Lucinda sat down abruptly, still holding the photo. She stared at the image for a long time, and Estelle didn’t interrupt her thoughts. The expression on the woman’s face was impossible to read. She could have been saying a prayer for the young man who had lost his life, or for the $30,413 check that police might have found in the wreckage.
“Betty said that he hit a deer,” Lucinda said finally.
“That appears to be the case, Mrs. Baca. I’m sorry.”
“They picked up all his deliveries and things? He’d just left here, you know.” A light came on. “Now wait a minute. You said the accident happened Wednesday night?”
“That’s what we think. You spoke with him sometime early that evening. He was found by a highway department patrol on Friday evening.”
“Oh, no,” and Lucinda softened again. “You mean this boy just lay out there all that time?”
“It appears that way.”
“Was he killed outright? Oh, how awful.” A single tear formed in the corner of Lucinda’s left eye, and she brushed at it with an index finger.
“Probably,” Estelle said. If you consider drowning in beer outright.
Some of Lucinda’s previous armor hardened again. “And now what does the lottery have to do with the cops?” she asked. “Sit down, at least.” She waved toward one of the chairs, and sat back, arms folded over her chest. The photo of Marsh lay on her lap. “The taxes were taken right off the top. We don’t owe anyone.”
“It’s not the state lottery that’s of interest,” Estelle said. “But the Canadian sweepstakes thing sets off some alarm bells.”
Lucinda fell silent, her small eyes assessing. She ran a hand around the crease at the base of her throat where a necklace would have been hidden had she been wearing one.
“Was Marsh alone when he came to your door?” Estelle asked.
“This boy?” She touched the photo. “Yes, he was alone. Both times. Just him and that little truck. You know the ones that they drive.”
“Mrs. Baca, when did you deposit the second check-the larger one?”
She bristled and hugged her ample bosom closer. “Who said that I did deposit it?”
“Did you, ma’am?”
“And now tell me why that should be the business of the Sheriff’s Department?” She lifted her lower jaw as if pointing at the horizon with her chin. “How’s your mother, by the way?” We’re all family, remember.
“She’s fine, thank you. If the check is bogus, Lucinda, then it is our business. Ours, and the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s, and then we can include the Internal Revenue Service, the U.S. Postal Service, and all sorts of other interesting people. We won’t know the answer to that until you take the check to the bank.”
“Well, I did that…Friday afternoon. We just-we just had things to do on Thursday and Friday morning, and we didn’t get to it.” She took a slow, deep breath. “Maybe it was partly…Well, it was for a lot of money. It was sitting there on the television set, and each time I walked by, I’d look at it just a little.” She smiled. “Like maybe it wasn’t real, you know? Like maybe one time I’d look, and it wouldn’t be there?”
“Lucinda, we have every reason to believe that Chris Marsh worked for a bogus company…a fake delivery service.”
“This boy? I don’t believe that,” Lucinda said smugly. “He had an ID, and he didn’t want anything, after all. And listen.…I cashed the check that we won the first time, and it cleared just fine. So there’s that. And-”
“And both of Serafina’s cleared, too,” Estelle interrupted. “We know that. But the fact of the matter is that if this fourth check doesn’t clear-if it’s as fake as we think it is-then you’ll be out more than thirty thousand dollars.”
“But we won already,” the woman insisted. “I cashed a check for something like eight thousand dollars, por Dios…It cleared. I paid the taxes and fees on that one, just like I did this last time.”
“You gave Chris Marsh a cashier’s check for thirty thousand this past Wednesday evening.”
“Yes. And received a sweepstakes check for more than $178,000 in return. So I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Estelle Guzman. Now I’ve heard of all those scams that are going around. What do they call it…the Niagara thing.”
“Nigerian, I think.”
“Whatever. Now how ridiculous is that one? Who’s going to send money or bank account information to some foreigner. If they’re anything like some of the telephone solicitors we get, por Dios, you can’t even understand a word they’re saying.”