Above The Law Page 5

  "But he went with her sometimes?" Casey asked. "At night? Your sister told me."

  "She had a problem and Ellie, he was such a good man. She needed him to speak Spanish. What was he to say? She was the wife. We had our own house."

  Isodora parted her hair and looked hard at Casey, setting her jaw. "I will tell you this. I know he did nothing. He, Elijandro, he would have this-how do you say-hives, this rash. Big red dots."

  Isodora rubbed her chest. "Here he had them. When he was with me, he would have this. Always. Before we married, I used to tease him and call them diablo se mancha, devil spots. And when he came back after the first time he went with her, I made him show me and he didn't have it. So, you see?"

  Casey nodded and said, "I see why you believed him. I'm just trying to find the reason why Senator Chase would have done this."

  Isodora bit her lip and nodded, as if holding back tears.

  "Maybe he thought like you," Isodora said in a whisper.

  At the sound of the guard rattling the door, Casey stood up.

  "All right," she said. "I'll do everything I can. I should at least be able to get you to a place where you can be with Paquita."

  The guard stood frowning behind the young girl and nudged Isodora's ribs with the baton, telling her to get moving.

  Casey rounded the table and pushed her face so close to the guard's that she could smell the cigarettes on the hefty woman's breath.

  "You touch her with that thing again," Casey said in a low growl. "You so much as wave it at her and I'll have you bounced so far out of this place you'll think you were riding a rocket."

  The guard snickered and said, "Yeah, I heard all about it. A woman like you can't rest when another woman is in need. Lady, why don't you go get some sleep."

  Casey opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out and she could only watch Isodora being led away.

  Instead of lodging a complaint with the sergeant, Casey simply asked when Isodora would be delivered to the courthouse for her appearance on Monday.

  CHAPTER 11

  CHIEF GAGE BACKED HIS CRUISER UP TO THE MOTEL DOOR AND dragged Teuch's body out. He unfolded a thick plastic tarp inside his trunk and dumped the body in, slamming the trunk closed and dusting his hands as he scanned the empty parking lot and the pockets of wan light spilling from cheap fixtures up and down the row of doors. He moved with the confidence of a man who'd been a law unto himself for nearly twenty years.

  He was only a deputy fresh out of community college when the senator's old man died and the senator took over the ranch, bumping his older sister and her no-good husband to a beach house in Galveston. It was a deflowered high school cheerleader who gave Gage the first opportunity to distinguish himself with the senator, who was then just a young lawyer at the attorney general's office in the city. When she awoke in a ditch with her skirt hiked up over her boobs she called 911 from a pay phone outside of town, gibbering so that the dispatcher couldn't understand her.

  They sent Gage out to pick her up and when he saw the black eye and realized where the whole thing was headed, he told her to shut up and drove her straight back out to the ranch. Gage showed his stuff by offering the girl the chance to make up with Chase or be taken in for possession of a small bag of cocaine he removed from his sock and tucked into the low-cut neckline of her rumpled dress and beneath the double-D cup of her bra. The senator never forgot that, and together they had ruled their own little slice of heaven in this forgotten corner of Dallas County ever since.

  Inside the motel room, Gage knelt down beside the bloodstained carpet and mopped it as best he could, putting his back to the flimsy bureau, moving it along the wall toward the bathroom to hide the vast bulk of the mess. He clucked his tongue, satisfied with the camouflage of stains from other bygone accidents and crimes. The towel went into the trunk with Teuch's things, and Gage drove off into the night, tires roaring over the still-warm asphalt.

  Out on Route 45, about twenty minutes and two counties to the south, Gage pulled off at a picnic area. He got out of his cruiser and rousted the lone trucker, who was stripped to his underwear and pulled over for the night, telling him he'd have to move on to the truck stop down in Corsicana. The running lights of the big rig hadn't even disappeared over the next rise before Gage had Teuch's body out on the curb. He dragged the young gangbanger by the armpits out into the scrub a ways where no one had any business being and flopped him down in the parched dirt.

  Somewhere in the distance a coyote sniggered and then wailed in a high-pitched scream, the sound rolling endlessly across the flat land. A chill jiggered Gage's spine, only to be warmed by the metal curve of the hammer on the big pistol at his waist. They'd do a good job on the Mexican, the coyotes would. Gage took only one cursory glance around before drawing the pistol and taking aim at the center of the Mexican's forehead, standing well away so as not to spatter his pants with gore. Orange flame burst from the gun's barrel and the deafening roar rolled right back out across the same flat land, truncating the coyote's call. A hairy divot from the top of Teuch's head took off like a flushed snipe, disappearing into the shadows and drawing a chuckle up from Gage's belly.

  The police chief returned to his car, whipping it around, gravel singing in a cloud of dust, and accelerating on down the highway. He gripped the wheel and let the surge push him back into the seat as the needle pegged 120. Gage was in no particular hurry to get away.

  He just liked to drive fast.

  CHAPTER 12

  WHEN SHE GOT TO HER OFFICE, THE FIRST CALL CASEY MADE was to Norman Case, the district counsel at the Department of Homeland Security. Casey knew of him from his days as an assistant in the attorney general's office. He had the reputation of being a fair and decent lawyer and had won several high-profile drug trials for the federal government.

  Casey called the office, gave her name to the secretary, and spilled out Isodora's story as quickly as she could, hoping to elicit some sympathy.

  The secretary answered her with disinterest, suggesting she send a letter to the office.

  Casey cleared her throat and said, "I don't know if you caught my name, Casey Jordan? I run a women's law clinic downtown, the Marcia Sales Clinic? We've been in the news."

  Silence greeted her. Humiliation swelled up inside Casey's stomach.

  "My client," Casey said, "if you could see her, they took her little girl and it's all a mistake and I'm trying to help her."

  After a moment of silence, the secretary sighed and said, "Hang on."

  Casey opened her clenched fist and beat the side of her leg with an open palm.

  "Ms. Jordan?" said a man. "Norman Case. How can I help you?"

  Casey explained Isodora's situation and said, "I think someone in your office must have mistaken her for someone else. She's undocumented, but she has no record. Her husband was killed in a hunting accident. The thing at Senator Chase's ranch."

  "Rough," Case said. "I don't really know Chase, but you had to feel bad for him."

  Casey recalled the pathetic image of the wildly popular senator talking at a press conference about the tragedy, tears streaming down his face, his broken voice almost impossible to understand.

  "Me, too," she said. "But I feel even worse for the dead man's wife. She's the one I'm talking about. They took her right off the senator's ranch. You'd think after all that-"

  "I doubt the senator even knows," Case said. "Some of the ICE people run things without a lot of cross talk. We just process what they bring us. I'll look into it for you. You know how it goes with these illegals. There's what? Twelve million of them? You can't blame the left hand for not knowing what the right is doing these days."

  "I'm hoping you can release her," Casey said.

  "The hearing is Monday," Case said.

  "If she goes into the hearing and they think she's someone else," Casey said, "the judge isn't going to do anything outside the lines. Even if we can't get her set free, at least let's get her identity right and we get her to Hutto so
she can be with her little girl. I'm hoping we can get it done before the weekend. She's just a baby."

  "Give me her name and I'll see what I can do," Case said.

  She thanked him and gave him her cell phone number, asking for whoever worked on it to call her the minute they worked through the mistake.

  It was four when she realized she hadn't heard from Norman Case or anyone in his office. She ushered a pregnant young woman out of her office and scooped up the phone. This time Case's secretary was short with her. She sounded offended and said that the DHS lawyer was unavailable and that all she could do was take a message.

  "He's there?"

  "Yes, but he's in a meeting," the secretary said.

  "Will he call me when he's done?"

  "Ms. Jordan, he told me to take a message. After that, you're on your own."

  "Look, just help me here. Can you just ask him if he was able to straighten out Isodora's identity? Can you please do that?"

  "Do you use that trick all the time?" the secretary asked.

  "What trick?"

  "About the poor mother and her kid and your do-good clinic."

  "What trick?"

  "You play me and I make a fool out of myself to my boss, telling him you're all this and all that. Fool me once, shame on you. You won't fool me twice."

  "I didn't say anything that wasn't true."

  "They pay in cash, right?" the secretary said. "These drug dealers?"

  Casey snorted and half-laughed. "What are you talking about?"

  "You'll have to talk to Mr. Case."

  "Please," Casey said. "I really don't know what you're talking about."

  "Your client?" the secretary said. "They got the right person. She and her husband? Organized crime. A big gang, one of the biggest. Murder. Extortion. Drugs."

  "It's a mistake," Casey said.

  "You're the mistake," the secretary said.

  CHAPTER 13

  TEUCH DREAMED OF A JAILHOUSE HAIRCUT. THE CLAMMY plastic cape tight on his neck. His hands pinned down on the armrests of the chair, weighted in concrete. And the buzzing as the hundred tiny blades snickered across his scalp. Tufts of dry black hair falling like fat snowflakes, sliding down the front of his face, depositing themselves in his open mouth. A mouth dry as desert dust and buzzing.

  In the dream, he saw his sister-in-law, Isodora, as a child, pushing through the line of prisoners in a blaze orange jumpsuit of her own. He felt shame when her dark eyes found his. Her face crumpled and she began to shriek.

  The sound woke Teuch and he saw a real child in a kid's rugby shirt, his face crumpled like Isodora's in the dream, and in his hand the pelt of a small butchered animal. Teuch moved his dry mouth. No sound came from it, but the movement sent a cloud of buzzing flies up from his face. As in the dream, his arms would not move, nor his legs, nor any part of him except the swollen silent lips. Still, he could listen from his bed in the deep brown weeds.

  "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" The child stood frozen in terror, the pelt gripped tight, black hair woven through his fingers.

  "Finish your business and get back here," a voice said. "If it's a bug, walk away. You want bologna or peanut butter?"

  The father appeared, glasses fogging from the heat, plastic-wrapped sandwich in hand, mouth agog.

  "Put that down!" he said, pointing at the bloody pelt. "Goddamn it!"

  The boy's face spilled tears. The father reached for the pelt.

  "What the hell?" he said, snatching the pelt and throwing it to the ground before he saw Teuch and the flies. "Oh my God."

  The man and the boy disappeared and even though the flies returned, tickling Teuch's face, licking and feeding in the corners of his eyes and nose, he drifted back into another dream until something woke him suddenly. The man had come back without the boy, but with a cop who kicked at Teuch's foot. A dirty white cop. The long mustache on his face hid in the shadow of a tall felt hat.

  "Jesus," the cop said, parting the weeds and kneeling down beside Teuch to touch his neck. "This man's alive."

  CHAPTER 14

  GET MARIA DELGADO IN HERE," CASEY SAID TO STACY, BANGING open the door between her office and where Stacy sat.

  "What got under your skin?" Stacy asked.

  "I just made an ass out of myself," she said.

  Stacy raised her eyebrows.

  "You said I had to see her? That I shouldn't be worrying about a lunch?" Casey said. "I could lose my lunch when I think of her sniveling face. Crocodile tears. Do you know the sister and her husband are gangbangers? Drugs. Murder. All of it. That's why they want her out."

  "Oh, right," Stacy said, picking up the phone and dialing. "Our government couldn't be the ones making the mistake. Not the gang who gave us Iraq."

  "Don't get political," Casey said.

  "Maria?" Stacy said into the phone. "It's Stacy Berg. Can you come down to the clinic?"

  Stacy looked at Casey from under half-lidded eyes.

  "Yes, I know it's Friday afternoon," Stacy said into the phone. "I'm afraid it's very important. Right away. Yes. Good."

  Stacy slammed the phone down and took out a nail file that she began to work at with great concentration.

  Casey worked up her witness list for Rosalita's case while she waited for Maria. She didn't want the woman to get off easy over the phone. She wanted Maria to feel her rage. Half an hour later Stacy knocked once, threw open the door, and announced Maria. Casey pointed to a chair and didn't let her even settle in before she began.

  "You didn't tell me about your brother-in-law, the gangbanger," Casey said.

  "My brother-in-law?" Maria said, touching her chest. "Elijandro? Ellie is a laborer and a hunting guide."

  "What else does he do?"

  Maria shrugged and said, "He teaches Sunday school."

  "Someone's in a gang," Casey said. "The Torres brothers? The Latin Kings?"

  Maria's eyes widened and she said, "Ellie's brother."

  "Who?"

  "My sister's husband," Maria said. "His brother. Teuch is his name. Teuch Torres. He's a Latin King, but Ellie, he doesn't-didn't-even talk to him. Teuch is very bad."

  "Yes, he is," Casey said. "Why didn't you tell me about him?"

  "He lives in San Antonio. My sister met him only twice. Once at Paquita's baptism, then right after that for the last time. I was there. Ellie took us down to Christmas dinner at his mother's. She is a housekeeper there. Teuch and Ellie got into a fight. They have no business together at all. Nada. They don't even speak."

  "Well," Casey said, lowering her voice, "ICE made the connection. I'll do my best, look for some kind of precedent. I'm sorry I was a little rough. I just felt ridiculous."

  "I never thought about Teuch," Maria said. "He's so far away and they have nothing to do with him. There are many people with the name Torres. I don't know how they would find him and put him with Elijandro. I am worried that they would do this."

  "I'm worried, too," Casey said.

  Casey worked alone and didn't realize how late it was until her stomach growled and she looked at her watch. Stacy and Donna had gone on a double date with their new boyfriends, one a guy who owned a shoe factory and the other a financial planner. They'd been talking about it for over a week, so Casey encouraged them to leave while she prepared for Isodora's hearing on Monday by herself. Sharon never stayed late, especially on Friday. She had two kids at home and a husband who expected dinner on the table at six.

  Casey closed the book in front of her with a clump and rubbed her eyes. The room had grown dark around her but for the glow of the computer screen and the small lamp on her desk. Outside she heard the crunch of tires on the broken pavement and she sat up straight. Jose's warning about Domingo Mondo jumped to mind. The wife, Soledad, had been whipped across her backside regularly with an electric cord.

  Casey heard a car door slam and she reached for the desk drawer by her knee. She opened it, removing the nickel-plated.38 Jose had insisted she keep there. Comforted by the cold shape of the
metal in her hand, she dug into her purse, searching for her cell phone. Feet scuffed across the parking lot and came to rest outside the metal door.

  Casey flipped open the phone and saw she'd missed three calls from Jose. Her heart took off at a gallop. The phone had been left on vibrate. She'd missed Jose's warning calls.

  A fist hammered the metal door.

  Casey hit dial on Jose's number.

  The door shuddered under another pounding.

  Jose answered his phone.

  "It's me," Casey said. "I think he's here."

  "Who? Where?" Jose asked.

  "Domingo Mondo."

  "Aren't you at your office?" Jose asked.

  "Yes, and I think he's right outside."

  CHAPTER 15

  SILENCE HUNG BETWEEN THEM A MOMENT UNTIL JOSe SAID, "That's me. I'm outside."

  "Jesus. You?"

  He rapped twice on the door and said, "Me. Three times now."

  He rapped three times.

  "You're not pointing that.38 at me, are you?" he asked.

  Casey looked at the gun in her hand and lowered it quietly into the drawer. "Of course not."

  "Can I come in?"

  Casey hung up the phone and went to the door, calling to him and putting her ear up to it just because she couldn't help herself. When he said his name, she threw the bolt and swung open the door. His big white smile glowed at her from the shadows of the streetlight. He'd slicked his dark hair back behind his ears and wore a clean white shirt, dark jeans, and cowboy boots that showed no wear.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked.

  "I tried to call."

  "I know, I thought to warn me about Mondo. That made it worse."

  "I'm glad you're being safe," he said. "I just put the redheaded wife to bed-so to speak. That little Roadway Inn down by the highway. I thought I'd see if you were around. Did you eat yet?"

  Casey shook her head. "Are you shaking?" he asked, lightly taking hold of her wrist. "I'm sorry I scared you like that. I tried to call and then I saw the light on, so I stopped."