L.A. Confrontational Page 5

  “There was another private detective working on the case. Are you good friends with Sarah?”

  She nodded, but added. “We are, but I haven’t seen her in a while.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “It’s been like since the spring sometime.”

  “Was that the last time you talked to her?”

  “Well, she texted me.”

  “When was that?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe April.”

  “Do you still have the text?”

  She shifted in her seat. “No, I checked when the other detective asked the same question.”

  “Do you remember what she said in the text?”

  “She was going to live with her father and maybe get a job for the summer.”

  “Anything else?”

  “She said something about hangin’ out at a club in Albuquerque.”

  “Did she mention any names?”

  “No, it was just a short text.”

  “Is there anyone else she hung out with in Santa Fe?”

  She glanced at Principal Griffith.

  “It’s okay Pam. Mr. Caldwell is trying to find Sarah so any information you provide will be helpful.”

  She spoke softly. “There’s Troy.”

  “Who’s Troy?”

  “I don’t know his last name. He’s older. Sarah dated him briefly last year. Her parents didn’t know about him.”

  “How long did they date?”

  “Maybe six months.”

  “Can you tell me anything about him?

  “He has long hair. He looks kind of like a hippie.”

  “How can I find Troy?”

  “He attends Santa Fe Community College. And he has a really cool car.”

  “Can you describe it?”

  “An old bright red sports car. Like a Mustang, I think.”

  “Well, it should help find him. Anything else she might have said that could help us locate her?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t think of anything. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. You’ve been very helpful. Principal Griffith has my phone number, so if you do think of anything else, please let him know.” I thanked her as she left the office. The principal accepted my card, wished me luck, and promised to contact me with any new information.

  I checked my Santa Fe city map in my New Mexico Gazetteer, but it didn’t include the community college. I pulled into a gas station near the interstate and got directions. I followed a road called Dinosaur Trail, imagining a line of prehistoric animals falling into tar pits to be preserved for the rapture of future paleontologists.

  I turned south on Richards Avenue and drove through an undulating landscape of parched grasslands mixed with juniper trees. The rural area seemed an unlikely location for a community college until I ascended a slight rise and noticed the symmetry of brand new residential developments erupting on both sides of the road. Many homes stood in various stages of construction among recently paved driveways. The fresh growth of the community around the college explained why it didn’t show up on my outdated map.

  The college appeared on my left and I suddenly found myself in a bizarre traffic circle preventing a turn into the parking lot. Finally, after going around a second time, I found the correct lane and entered the college.

  The campus consisted of limited parking areas, which made my job of finding a red Mustang easier. Driving around the main lot, I spotted the shiny, sultry vehicle parked among the traditional metallic blue, silver, and green cars. It looked like an expensive antique car. Too expensive for a kid going to a community college. I could barely afford the maintenance on my Dodge Charger.

  I parked across from the Mustang and waited, leaning against my car to soak up the remaining warmth as the sun descended in the western sky. The wind, a reliable New Mexico tradition in itself, chilled the mild autumn temperature.

  A Grateful Dead sticker was plastered like a scar on the bumper of the Mustang. Why would someone want to blemish a vintage sports car? The remainder of the vehicle’s exterior didn’t have a single imperfection. The interior hadn’t held up quite so well. The front leather passenger seats were littered with wrappers, books, pens, and empty Starbucks coffee cups. The trail of debris extended into the car’s rear bucket seats, cluttered with songbooks for The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, and the Doors. Evidently, Troy’s taste in music favored classic rock. I guessed he played an instrument.

  I returned to my car. An hour later, students began trickling out of the buildings. A guy with long reddish-blonde hair headed towards me.

  As he got closer, I noticed a goatee, dark blue jeans with bleach spots, green Converse sneakers, and a checkered dress shirt loosely tucked into his pants. He could have been a handsome guy if he lost the 60’s flashback look.

  “Nice car.” I said as he stepped up to the Mustang.

  He turned as if just noticing me. “Thanks. It’s a sixty-seven. I did a lot of the work to restore it.”

  I exaggerated my nod and gave him a pinched grin to let him know how impressed I was with his work. “Are you Troy?”

  “I might be. Who’s asking?”

  “Arch Caldwell. Pamela Simmons gave me a description of your classic car and said I might find you here.” I reached out my hand and he shook it with a firm grip.

  “What can I help you with, dude?” He looked suspicious as if trying to determine whether I represented the Man.

  “I’m a private detective, not a cop. I was hired by Sarah Minor’s parents. She’s disappeared and they’re quite concerned. I was hoping you could help me.”

  He frowned. “Yeah, man. I’m bummed she’s gone. I really dug her.”

  “Do you know where she is?”

  “No, man. I’d tell you if I did. She was a great chick, but got too much into the drug scene. I mean we smoked some grass, but you know, recreationally.”

  I shrugged, not sure what he defined as recreational pot smoking. “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “Wow, maybe four months ago. She tried to get me to come down to Albuquerque again and I said no way.”

  “What do you mean ‘again’?”

  “She was hanging out with these well-dressed dudes who had a lot of money and drugs, going to fancy clubs and shit. It wasn’t my scene, man. I want to get an education, do something meaningful with my life. I thought she felt the same way, but when she started hanging out with that crowd, I knew we were through.”

  “Do you remember where you went or anything about the people she was hanging out with?”

  “We went to a couple of fancy clubs on Central, you know, downtown. I can’t remember any of the names. I was pretty fucked up that night because I knew we were breaking up. I don’t remember anybody’s names either. It was the last time I saw her.”

  “Have you communicated with her since then?”

  “Yes, we were texting each other about three months ago. Then we broke up. I was pretty bummed, but didn’t know what to do, you know? I mean she wanted things I just couldn’t afford for her, man.”

  I shook my head to let him know I got it, although I was dubious that a high school romance required such a high level of commitment.

  “Tell me about those other people Sarah was with in Albuquerque?”

  “I don’t know. There was this one Hispanic dude hitting on her and trying to ditch me. Like I said, it’s a bit fuzzy. He reminded me of a pimp because of all the hot women surrounding him. I’m sorry, man, I can’t remember any more details.”

  I reached into my wallet and handed him my card. “Thanks Troy. Please call me if you remember anything else.”

  “Yeah, sure man. I hope you find her and she’s all right. I didn’t trust the dude she was with.”

  “You’re the second person who said that. You play an instrument?”

  “Yeah, guitar. How’d you know?”

  “Chord books in your back seat. I’m a detective.”

  “Yeah, cool. Well
, I gotta cruise. Band practice tonight.”

  I shook his hand again. “Thanks for your help. Good luck in school and take good care of that car.”

  “Oh yeah. You know it, dude.” He turned, using his hand to pull back his straggling hair from his face. Once in the car, he turned on the ignition, the engine roared to life like an adult male lion and then settled into a quiet even cub-like purr as he backed out. He nodded as he drove past.

  I made it about halfway back to my car before he stopped and slowly backed the car up. As the rumble of his car settled, he addressed me through the open window with an apologetic wave. “I just remembered. Sarah had another friend she hung out with who may know more about those guys down in Albuquerque. I don’t remember her name, but she worked at a Mexican restaurant called Manny’s Café near the Santa Fe plaza. I saw her there not long ago, so she probably still works there. Sorry, it just registered, man.”

  “No problem. What does she look like?”

  “She’s pretty, but goes for the punk rock thing. You know, short spiked hair and lots of piercings.”

  “What color is her hair?

  “Dark. She’s a bit on the heavy side.”

  “How old?”

  “Not sure. About my age. Early twenties.”

  “Thanks, I get the picture.”

  “No problem, dude.” I guess he had forgotten my name already even though I had just handed him the card. Maybe he had watched the Big Lebowski too many times.

  Troy drove out of the parking lot. Without a smartphone, I had to find the restaurant the old-fashioned way by paying extra to call ‘Information.’ If this new case brought in enough dough, I could afford to buy a new phone.

  …

  Manny’s Café resembled a small adobe fortress on Palace Avenue just down the street from the plaza in the center of old town Santa Fe. I envisioned a Mexican drug cartel snuggled in with their weapons behind the tall tan blockade. The wall next to the restaurant entrance featured a painting of a typical desert southwest scene, complete with dramatic mesas sliced by plunging canyons in front of an ancient adobe church. Above the church, a cloudless sky formed a solid blue horizon, as though the artist had run out of white paint.

  I entered through the screen door into a bright room with a small bar to the left. The reception podium was vacant, but behind the bar, a tall bartender in a white apron covering a blue dress shirt nodded to me as he stood drying glassware. “You need a table?”

  “Yeah, one for dinner.”

  “Inside or out?”

  “Seems like it’s going to be a nice evening. I’ll sit outside.”

  “We’ve got a nice patio if you keep going down the hallway. It’s pretty slow this early, so just go out and sit. Tanya will find you.”

  “Thanks.” Another screened door appeared at the end of the hallway. Green wood tables and matching chairs huddled behind the tall curved adobe wall. A barrier of juniper poles stood wired together, the end posts bolted to the adobe wall and attached to the large wood beams that stabilized the roof. Uneven rows of juniper poles rested on the pine beams running across the under surface of the roof. The intertwined Christmas lights must have become a permanent fixture.

  An older couple sat at the only other occupied table, nursing a couple of margaritas. They ignored my arrival. I decided not to spoil their experience and chose to sit at a small table on the opposite side of the patio. My table and chair wobbled slightly on the uneven flagstone floor. Hummingbird feeders and clumps of bright red chiles hung from the ceiling like grapes on the vine.

  A waitress appeared and checked on the elderly couple. They had hardly touched their drinks, so with a smile she headed over to my table.

  Her short black hair lay unevenly on her scalp like a lava field. Her ears, nose, right eyelid, lip, and, as I realized when she spoke, her tongue were all pierced with some type of small shiny ornamental globes. She could have been pretty, if she ditched the purple lipstick and the S & M theme. She stopped in front of my table and pulled out a small notebook. “What can I get you?”

  “Well, I was going to order a margarita, but that couple doesn’t seem to be enjoying theirs very much.”

  She laughed. “They come in for happy hour every now and then, order margaritas, eat the chips and salsa and then leave. I don’t think they’re big drinkers, but they order a drink so they can munch on the chips.”

  “Sounds like a pretty good plan. I’ll try one. Without salt.” She nodded and headed off to the bar.

  She handed me a menu when she returned with the drink, and a basket of chips with a cup of salsa nestled inside. “Just in case you get hungry, the food’s pretty good here. The green chile chicken stew is my favorite.”

  I ordered a bowl. A deep sip of margarita brought immediate refreshment. Before the waitress brought the food I had finished the drink and ordered another. She returned and hovered by the table. “What’s your name?”

  “Arch. Are you Tanya?”

  “Yeah, how’d you know?”

  “Bartender mentioned your name.”

  She moved in a bit closer. “So, Arch. What brings you to Manny’s?”

  “A kid named Troy over at the community college said this place had good food. You know him?”

  “Yeah, I know Troy. How do you know him?”

  “I don’t really. I got his name from Pamela Simmons. He gave me your name. I’m looking for Sarah Minor. Her father hired me. He thinks she might be in trouble. I was hoping you could help me find her.”

  She gave me a stern gaze. “Let’s see some ID.”

  I pulled out my private investigator certificate and my driver’s license and handed them over to her. She scrutinized them for about twenty seconds before handing them back. “You look better in person.”

  “Thanks. Sarah’s family is very concerned about her. There hasn’t been any contact with her in at least four months.”

  “Well, I’m not sure what I can tell you. I haven’t heard from her in a while.”

  “When did you last talk to her?”

  “She called. I’m not sure how long ago.”

  “Can you give me an estimate?”

  “Probably about the same time. Four months ago.”

  “Can you remember anything about what she said?” I took a sip of my drink.

  “She hooked up with some slick Hispanic guy in Albuquerque. The guy liked to spend money on her. She bragged about some expensive necklace he bought her.” Her smile gave me the impression she was sizing me up to determine if I might be in a similarly lucrative position.

  “This Hispanic gentleman have a name?”

  “Freddie. Freddie Martinez. I’m not sure why I remember his last name.”

  “You’re the first person I’ve spoken to who could. Did she tell you anything else about him?

  “No, she seemed really into this guy. He had money.”

  “How did she sound?”

  “Sarah’s emotionally elusive. She bragged about snorting coke with the well-to-do, but she didn’t sound very happy.”

  “What made you think she wasn’t happy?”

  With a scrape of the chairs on the flagstone, the older couple headed for the exit. Tanya glanced over at the vacant table and then at the couple’s retreating backs. “Have a nice evening.” On the table, a mound of singles and the bill lay fluttering in the breeze. She turned back to me. “I don’t know. Just the tone of her voice. Like being stuck in a situation with no exit if you know what I mean. Though she seemed to be enjoying having some money thrown at her.”

  “Well, they say money doesn’t buy happiness.”

  “It’s a convenient saying, Arch Caldwell. I’d like to test it out sometime.”

  She used my full name with a hint of intimacy. Would she have slept with me if I could also lavish her with pricey gifts? Well, I doubt I could have gotten past the spiked hair and all the facial jewelry. “So, you think she had become hooked on drugs?”

  She shifted her weight and put her
hands on her hips. “Duh, yeah. Why do you think she was there?”

  If Sarah had become an addict, it would make my job of bringing her back much more difficult. “Thanks. That’s helpful.” I reached into my jacket. “Here’s my card. Please call if you think of anything else.”

  “No problem. Are you staying in Santa Fe tonight?” She flashed me a seductive smile with her pierced tongue, effectively turning me off.

  “No, I have to get back to Albuquerque.”

  “Too bad. You’re kinda cute.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not rich.”

  “I wasn’t lookin’ to get married.”

  I laughed, being too old to blush. “It’s a good thing, you’re too young. I tried it once.”

  “What happened?”

  “I screwed things up. I’ve got a daughter.” I’m not sure why I added the last part, except maybe to emphasize the differences in our age and let her down easy.

  She seemed to get the hint. “If you find Freddie and he isn’t treating Sarah right, you kick his ass for me. Okay?” She turned and strolled back into the restaurant, not bothering to wait for a reply.

  Tanya came back out with the bowl of stew and the check. I finished the stew and downed the remainder of the drink. I dropped two twenties for an $18.50 bill. The tip was mostly for the information, but maybe I appreciated her hitting on me. It was the thought that counted. I slipped back out through the restaurant to my car.

  Chapter 7

  Detective Burns called me with a partial confirmation of the ballistic info. Three bullets had entered Andy’s body at close range. No one heard the shots. The killer used a silencer. Before he died, Andy had dragged himself to the sliding glass door that opened to his backyard. The police found Andy’s blood on the lock and handle, evidence of his Herculean effort to reach the yard in his last moments of life. He must have known I would be the first one to reach him after he failed to show up for breakfast. Perhaps, he had gripped his cell phone in one last struggle to call me. Or maybe his effort to reach the yard represented a message to me. That possibility had me awake and slipping out of my apartment at 2:00 am.

  I cut the headlights and eased past Andy’s house. The yellow police investigation tape formed a netted barrier across the front porch. I drove around the corner and parked, returning to the house to retrieve the hidden front door key, the police failed to remove. I cut through the cat’s cradle of yellow tape and opened the front door, severing the multiple taped seals. I hoped the neighbors were sleeping soundly. I didn’t want to further test Detective Burns’ patience with me.