Chapter 31

The next morning I woke up a bit after 7, got dressed, and carried a pair of socks out to the living room to drop into a boot by the door. Cecelia was there on the sofa, her legs curled bonelessly under her, reading aloud in Spanish while Darlia nestled into the arm of the sofa on "my" end. I bent down to glance at the title, and saw that it was a volume of Federico García Lorca's Obras completas. I love García's poetry – though most Americans, not knowing Spanish customs, would call him Lorca or García Lorca – but my Spanish isn't good enough to enable me to read his poetry in the original with any sort of real comprehension. Cecelia and Darlia, on the other hand, are truly bilingual. Shoot, Darlia's trilingual – she's become nearly perfect in Lahtkwa, my father's Indian language which I only know a few words of.

I'm the only one in the family who's not a linguist. My brother Memphis speaks Korean in addition to English and Lahtkwa, and his wife, Miss Kim – even Memphis calls her that – speaks Korean as her native tongue, fluent Lahtkwa, and broken English. I guess there's a language gene that somehow missed me, since I've been unable to become fluent in Spanish even though I've been trying since I was a kid.

I went into the kitchen to poke around and see what I might snack on, and had just decided on toasting some of Cecelia's raisin bread when the phone rang. We've got extensions all over the house, and I checked the one that sat on the kitchen counter – it was Unavailable. That could be anything or anybody, so I let the answering machine get it – I'm old fashioned enough that the only voice mail I've ever had is the new system for the office phone ... oh, and my cell phone, but I use that only when absolutely necessary. After three rings the machine rattled off its message, and then came a near-whisper: "Darvin Carpenter? Are you there?"

Something about the voice got my attention, and I grabbed the phone and pushed the Talk button. "This is Darvin Carpenter." As I spoke I could see Cecelia standing by the sofa, looking at me ... and I had the feeling that just then if she had a gun in her hand and the caller in front of her, she might pull the trigger. It might be just an irrational feeling, for Cecelia hates violence at least as much as I do, but just then she seemed to be the most dangerous person I'd ever met.

But the voice was in my ear. "Darvin Carpenter: Life is short and pain is long."

"You're using that out of context," I said.

"That's not your concern. I'm leaving another body. You'll find it where the freeway passes and the mountains are clear." And I heard the call disconnect.

I hit the End button, and then Talk. I dialed the direct number for the task force. When an officer answer I had him get me Lt. Stubblefield.

"Stubblefield," came the task force commander's voice in my ear.

"Loo, I need you to grab the phone records for my house. I just got a call from someone who claimed to be our doer. He was probably using a throwaway cell phone, but if at all possible we need to locate this creep."

"I'll do it."

"Thanks, Loo. Meanwhile, he said he's dumped another one. From what he said I believe the site's that big undeveloped area along I-25 south of San Antonio. Was I you, I'd shoot uniforms and a crime scene team thataway."

"I'll do that too. Where will you be?"

"I'll go up to the possible site. Nothing against the officers, but they ain't trackers an' I am, an' if I can get there first or nearly first maybe I can find something."

"He hasn't left anything yet."

"No, but maybe he made a mistake this time."

"Maybe so. Okay, I'll do all that and meet you there."

"Thanks, Loo," I said, and hung up.

As I started into the living room Cecelia and Darlia came out of the hall. Cecelia had changed out of her robe into a pair of jeans and a Kevin Harvick t-shirt that billowed around her and then tucked into her pants. I'm the stock car fan in the family, but Cecelia knows how I love seeing her in stuff featuring my favorite driver, and buys it for me to look at.

Darlia was on her cell phone, and it sounded like she was talking to Sandra, asking for a ride to school. She might be only 13, but she's exactly what I'd told her the day before – smart and wise. It won't be long before we'd be able to leave her on her own if we have to take off, though getting to and from school will still require someone else, since there aren't any bus routes near Calvin Academy.

Maybe most women follow the stereotype and take forever to get ready. Cecelia doesn't. She had her engineer boots and a light jacket on by the time I'd put on my boots and light jean jacket, and she unlocked her door and swung into the Blazer as I went around the hood, unlocked my door, and got in. As I twisted the key in the ignition she held out my gun – I hadn't consciously noticed she'd fetched the guns, but something in my mind clearly had for I hadn't gone to get them myself. I slid the holster into the clip under the seat as she stowed hers in the glove compartment, we buckled our seat belts, and we were off.

When I pulled up at the undeveloped area – the Brits would have called it waste land – there were a couple of patrol units there with lights going, and I could see two officers about 10 yards apart walking slowly in the northwest corner of the area, with the freeway not far away. Clearly they hadn't found anything yet. I turned off the engine and said to Cecelia, drawing on my memories of the place, "Go east to the dirt road by the gazebo and start. Be very careful about where you step – anything could be evidence. I'll start here." Here was the southwest corner of the area, where Forest Hills took off east from the frontage road.

"Okay," she said, and we were out of the Blazer. For once I didn't bother to lock it – there would soon be so many cop cars and cops around that it would be safe from theft.

It was 30 minutes later when a uniformed officer, who'd reached the middle of the field, yelled something. I looked up from where I was examining the ground, and he was waving frantically. Just then I wished I'd thought to bring a couple of radios – I'd bought a set back in 2008 when I'd needed to coordinate several people who were working with me on a case, but there's so seldom a need for them that they mostly sit on their chargers. I pulled out my cell phone and called Cecelia, telling her to stay put till I said otherwise. I then called Stubblefield and had him tell the cops to do likewise. And then I moved toward the officer who'd signaled.