The Cinco de Mayo Murder by Lee Harris Read Free Book Online

some pictures of his parents, a driver's license.”
    “Anything else?”
    “That should be in the file,” Warren said.
    “Do you have the name and address of the people who found him?”
    “That's in the file,” I said. “It was a local couple, people who lived in Tucson.”
    “Then maybe we can find them. I think it would be instructive to hear what they say.”
    “Don't know if they're still around after twenty years,” Warren said, “but you can give it a try. I can't think of a better place to live than Tucson myself. Lots of folks feel that way.”
    I smiled. Then I took a last look around. I asked Warren if I might take a picture of him, just as a memento. He gave me a grin and stood up straight while I pointed and shot. I promised to send him a copy.
    “I think so,” I said.
    “Get any answers?”
    “Just a few more questions.” “Well, in my business, that's considered progress. Let's head back down before we melt.”

We said our good-byes in the parking lot. I promised Warren I would be in touch with him if I learned anything new. He said it had been a pleasure taking us up the trail.
    We got back on the interstate and continued toward Tucson. The traffic picked up as we drove and the speed limit dropped. We exited at Broadway and Congress, two parallel streets, each one-way in the opposite direction. Our hotel was close to the highway; we were soon registered and in our room.
    We had talked about the case all the way down from Picacho Peak. It was the scratches on Heinz's hands that concerned us both. Had instinct overcome his conscious desire to kill himself, or had he fallen and attempted to stop himself all the way down to the stand of trees?
    We decided to try to find the couple who had discovered the body. In the hotel room I located their name, which was in the file, and found them in the telephone directory, although the address was different from the one they had given twenty years before. I made the call and spoke to a girl who said she was their daughter. Her parents would not be home before five thirty. I promised to call back.
    Meanwhile, we were very hungry, so we went downstairs and ate some lunch. By the time we finished, it was late afternoon. We found out we were quite close to the Museum of Art and Old Town, two places on our visiting list. The museum closed at four, so that was out of the question, but we walked across a footbridge that spanned the two streets, finding ourselves in a large plaza with a fountain in the center and a beautiful old courthouse with a mosaic dome at the far end. We continued across the plaza till we came to a street, crossed it, and found Old Town. It was a low historic building filled with shops selling pottery, jewelry, and art objects from the Southwest.
    We walked around until we both agreed that our climb earlier in the day had made us ache too much to continue, so we returned to the hotel. I had brought The New York Times along from Phoenix and we shared it as we rested. A little before six, I called the number listed for Bradley Tower, the husband who had found the backpack.
    Mrs. Tower answered. I explained who I was and why I was calling.
    “You mean that poor fellow who fell down the mountainside? That must have been twenty years ago.”
    “That's the one. I wonder if we could get together and talk, Mrs. Tower. Your husband, too. I know that young man's mother and I'm trying to get as much information about his death as I can.”
    She left the phone and had a long conversation with her husband. “We could come down to your hotel tomorrow,” she said. “How would ten o'clock in the morning be?”
    “That would be great. We'll be downstairs in the lobby. My companion is a nun, so you'll recognize her right away.”
    We left it at that. I called home and had a quick chatwith Jack. Eddie was sleeping and all was well. When I was off the phone, I found I was so tired that all I wanted was to get some sleep myself. I got no complaints from