Blood Sweep by Steven F. Havill Read Free Book Online Page B

present the challenge of a complete lifestyle change, from ambulatory and independent to dependence on home health care. She thumped her forehead against her husband’s chest and then drew back a little.
    â€œI need to talk with Bobby before I go. He’s got something going on with a couple of the deputies out at Waddell’s. And I need to talk with Mamá , too,” she said. “Dennis Mears came to see me.”
    Francis stood with his hands featherlight on her shoulders. “What, she tried to rob the bank?”
    She laughed. “I wish it were that simple. He’s concerned about her request for an eight thousand-dollar withdrawal—all in a negotiable cashier’s check. And asap, of course.”
    The physician frowned. “New solar-powered hearing aids, maybe? An electric wheelchair with jewel-studded mud flaps? Is she making a down payment on a new golden flute for Francisco?”
    Estelle took a fistful of his neatly trimmed beard and twisted. “I don’t think so.”
    â€œShe hasn’t mentioned any of this to you?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWell, talk to her sooner rather than later, then,” Francis said. “I’m not surprised that Mears came to you if there’s a problem, but I’m very surprised that Teresa didn’t talk to you about it first. I didn’t think that you two guys had any secrets from each other.”
    â€œ Yo tambien,” Estelle murmured. “We’ll see.”

Chapter Six
    Turning his phone so that the two officers could see the tiny screen, Torrez gave Linda Real-Pasquale and Sergeant Jackie Taber a digital tour of the shooting scene. The phone images were disappointingly flat and featureless.
    â€œYou go to the top of this ridge.” He nodded eastward. “And where I was shootin’ from about a hundred yards from there, downhill to the east. I left a broken piece of the scope on a rock to mark it. The antelope were another four hundred yards out.” The close-up he had taken of his shattered rifle and jacket was spectacularly blurry. He saw Linda’s right eyebrow drift upward. “It’s a damn phone,” he said.
    â€œMaybe one day you can move up to a pinhole camera, Sheriff,” Linda said, sober-faced. He gave the pudgy young woman a withering glance. Half his size, she was never intimidated by his glowering, his abrupt manner of speech, his ignorance of tact.
    â€œWe’ll find where you field-dressed the carcass,” Taber said.
    â€œYes!” Linda chimed in with mock enthusiasm. “A pile of guts!”
    â€œThat’s it. Then just back up due west four hundred yards or so, and you’ll have the spot where I was shootin’ from. I want pictures ,” and he looked hard at Linda, “that show something.” He swept an arm in a large circle. “And then I want to know where the shot came from. Got to be to the south. I’d guess maybe as far as five hundred yards out. And then here,” and he turned to face the old truck. “Tire tracks, boot prints, see if you can lift a print off the hood release. Maybe off the hood near the latch.”
    â€œSome measurements will be easy,” Taber added. “The way he pulled in there in front of your truck, that’s a tight turning radius.”
    He held out his hand. “I need to take your unit,” he said to Linda. “If I ain’t back right away, you can ride with Sarge.”
    â€œYou got it. Let me get my camera bag.”
    As she half skipped, half jogged off, little bursts of dust rising from her boot falls, the sheriff regarded Sergeant Taber. “Gonna be hard,” he said. “But from up there, you can get a good lay of the land. Maybe you’ll see something.” Torrez was not alone in believing that Jackie Taber saw patterns in the land that no one else did. Her thick sketch pad and art pencils always rode in the patrol unit for those quiet moments