Arizona Dreams (David Mapstone Mystery 4)

“You have the right to an attorney…”

“Oh, you’re a hard ass cop, huh? You don’t do it well.”

“You have the right to an attorney.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, giving a dismissive wave of his napkin, “and if I can’t afford one, the county will appoint one for me. Quit dicking with me. I was on the Mesa force for twenty years. I think I know the bit. Why the hell you trying to come after me now, for something that happened six months ago and has all been settled.” He scooped a huge piece of enchilada in his mouth. Through bites he said, “My lawyer’s gonna love this false arrest case.”

“Your guys weren’t protecting the other property,” I said. “I talked to the landowner this morning. He didn’t know anything about it. He’s never heard of you.”

Fife put his fork down and picked out a pack of Camels. He lit one. His hand shook.

“So,” I said, “the sheriff would naturally wonder why your employees were out there. When they attacked me, they were nowhere near the other land anyway. They were on the Bell property.”

“So maybe Bell hired us to do that?” Fife muttered.

“Why didn’t you say that in the first place,” I said.

“Well…”

“Why didn’t Louie Bell tell that to the deputies when they were talking to him?” I said. “He said he didn’t know anything about them.”

“I do a lot of security,” Fife said. “I don’t even remember the particulars of that. Look, it was a couple of bad apples…”

“It was almost as if they were out there looking for trouble,” I said. “I didn’t see any environmental terrorists out there, Jack. There wasn’t anything to steal, either. It was like they were looking to teach somebody a lesson.”

“Look, Mapstone…”

He stared at me, little eyes imploring. I went on, “We know that Tom and Dana Earley were trying to buy that thousand acres from Louie Bell, and Louie was balking.”

“I don’t know anything about this,” he said. “Tom Earley, the county supervisor?”

“Tom Earley was sending letters demanding that the sale go through. Somebody else was doing more than writing letters. A little muscle to encourage the old coot. Then he ends up dead, in a casino, with an ice pick in his ear.”

“What’re you telling me this for?” he said, rolling his head around his fat neck, taking a drag on the Camel.

“You sent muscle out to the property, Jack. I met them.”

“The Earleys are good, God-fearing people,” he pleaded. He was sweating profusely now, matting down his comb-over and soiling his short-sleeved shirt.

I just sat and watched him. Then, “Maybe you had Louie Bell killed. There was a lawyer working with the Earleys named Alan Cordesman. He was killed with an ice pick, too. Pretty high body count for a land deal, Jack.”

“I don’t know any Cordesman.” He suppressed a violent belch and made a face. He stubbed out what was left of the Camel and lit another, sucking on it greedily.

“You like to hire out muscle, Jack,” I went on. “I’ve had a run-in with a big man who has a tattoo that covers his entire upper arm. The same man was seen at Louie Bell’s trailer, and trailing Cordesman. Does he work for you?”

“No!”

“What about blackmail, Jack. Did Dana Earley hire you because she said she was being blackmailed?”

“She never said anything!” He pounded the table. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He stared at me. He had small dark reptilian eyes. The effect was completed with his tongue darting in and out after each puff on the cigarette. He said, “You don’t know anything. You’re bluffing.”

A bus girl came and took away the plate of food. Fife had barely touched it. I said, “We have documents.”

“You…you can’t.”

“We have the documents,” I repeated. “Now we also know that after Louie Bell died, somebody came in and paid the taxes on the property and bought it. The new owner is called Tonopah Trinity LLC.”