Chapter 31

Sunday was a slow day. We'd slept late and missed church, and though Cecelia had gone out eventually and done her weight lifting, she'd come back in and after her shower she'd remained near me the rest of the day. I hadn't broken down again, but when I went to bed that night, the happiest I'd been all day was when I'd woken up next to Cecelia.

Monday morning Rudy came by. He looked tired, and probably was. I suspected that he'd been explaining to his commander how and why he'd been involved in the Barelas/Bestwick case. On top of that he was the one who'd brought Beth in, and it couldn't be easy for him to know that as a result she'd shot Bestwick.

He sat in the company chair, the recliner that sits beside Cecelia's rocker, the chair he usually sits in. He looked at Cecelia, who was next to me with my hand in hers, and said in his soft Chicano voice, "¿Cómo estás, amiga?"

"Bien, Rudy, ¿y tú?"

"I'm fine, Cecelia." It's common for Chicanos, at least in New Mexico, to use both English and Spanish in a conversation – sometimes in the same sentence – but Rudy always switches to English when I'm around because I barely speak any Spanish. Cecelia's fluent, but I'm far from it. "And how are you, Darvin?"

"I'm living. I've been better, but I've been worse too. At least I'm not the guy who did Bestwick. How's Beth doing?"

"Her husband said she was sleeping when I called earlier today. The doctor apparently gave her some sort of sedative."

"I just hope he doesn't let her lean on pills instead of dealing with the situation."

"I won't let that happen, Darvin. And I don't think Jeff will, either. We talked for a long time, and I think he'll be good for her."

"Cool."

"She blames herself for what happened. She'd gone on a walk around the area, and apparently while she was behind the building Bestwick came into the parking lot. We don't know whether he was outside the fence, or on the property, and we probably never will know. But he saw Beth leave, apparently, and decided it was time. He was approaching Cinda's door when she came out to get something from her car. She spoke to him, begged him to leave her alone. And he hit her. Just then Beth came around the building, and Cinda ran back inside and locked the door. And, I guess, that's when she called you."

"Yeah, probably."

"What I came for, amigo, is to tell you what it looks like. They're wrapping up the investigation now, and it looks like when you visited Bestwick the last time, it set him off. Probably it would have happened anyway. From what you and Cinda said, he was working up to it. He was getting bolder and bolder all the time. Eventually he'd have gone to force anyway, I think. You just changed the timetable."

"So if I'd stayed out of it he might be alive today." I felt Cecelia's hand bearing down on mine, and I realized she was telling me to remember what she'd said.

"Yeah, he'd be alive today. But somewhere down the road, would she be alive? Darvin, I'm never happy when someone dies, but si tendría que elegir I'd choose for Ms. Barelas to live."

"The reassuring thing, Rudy," Cecelia said, "is that neither of you had to choose. Mr. Bestwick walked his own path, and it would have eventually led to the same end. Thus you have assured us, Rudy. Thus I believe. I am not an expert either on police work or the thoughts of those who would harm women, but I believe I am familiar enough with human nature to conclude that there is no blame here for either of you, nor for Ms. Martinson."

"Tienes razón, Cecelia. You're right as always. And I hope you tell your husband the same thing."

"I have, Rudy, and I shall continue to do so. If mere perseverance can affect Darvin's mind, then the effect shall assuredly come to pass."

"You listen to her, Darvin. She's right."

"I know she is, Rudy," I said. "I've known it for years now. And maybe it'll be tough, but I'll listen, and not just with my ears either."

"Another thing. Beth is blaming herself for what happened, like I said. She thinks if she hadn't gone for a walk Bestwick would have stayed hidden. Maybe. But I told her – and I want you to tell her – that it's not her fault. Patrolling was part of her job. And if she hadn't come back when she did, ¿quién sabe? Maybe Bestwick would have gotten Cinda inside, and beat her up. Maybe he would have killed her. That baseball bat was no toy, Darvin. It was a lethal weapon. Beth saved Cinda's life. I really believe that. And I want you to tell her so."

"I'll do that."

"Bueno, amigo. I've got to go, then – there's plenty of work on my desk."

I got up and gave Rudy a hug. "Thanks, Rudy. You helped me out with the job, and you've helped me out with how it ended. If you ever need me..."

"Hey, amigo, that's how it with friends, ¿no?"

"Sí, Rudy – you're right again." And I smiled, the first full-fledged genuine smile I'd had on my face since the shooting.

In the afternoon I went to the office. Cecelia had decided to take some more of Darlia's clothes over to Sara's place, and ask her to watch Darlia for a few more days, and the minute she said it I knew it was right. I hadn't realized it, but I needed some time alone with just my wife; I love Darlia dearly, but Cecelia is my first love and when it's just us it almost seems as it was in the first year or so of our marriage, before Cecelia got pregnant.

At the office I did all the usual things – got a bottle of Coke out of the refrigerator, put my feet up on the scarred corner of the desk, looked out at the mountains. Even in autumn the afternoon light is not kind to the face of the Sandias. That's the one sight in Albuquerque which looks to me like it really is desert, for in the desert the light is just as cruel, just as unsparing as that afternoon sun on the bare rock of the Sandia Mountains.

I had gone to the office to figure up Cinda's bill, and calculate how much I owed the people who'd helped me guard her. I knew already I was going to give Beth a bonus, but I needed to total up their hours and multiply that by the rate of pay we'd agreed on. That was why I'd gone there, but I found myself inert. Having gotten myself into the chair with my feet up, I didn't want to move. I literally didn't feel like moving – my body was a log, it seemed, without nerves or muscles.