Blood Sweep (4 page)

Chapter Five

“He's comfortable, and will have surgery first thing in the morning, Camille. Up in Albuquerque as soon as we can arrange a transport.” Estelle's delivery of the news prompted a loud sigh. Gastner's eldest daughter had married an oral surgeon, and would understand that euphemistic word “comfortable
”
perfectly well when she saw for herself the X-ray and the illuminated jumble of bone fragments. Unless
Padrino
was slumbering under anesthesia, he wasn't comfortable.

“He just fell
in the garage?”

“That's how it appears,” Estelle said. “The most dangerous thing is that he spent eighteen hours there, on the concrete floor, wedged between a pile of old boxes and the truck. He couldn't move himself, so there he was.”

“Why are they waiting until morning for the surgery, then?”

“To make sure he's stabilized before anesthesia, I suppose. And he has a little cough. I think they want to make sure he isn't working on pneumonia or something like that. And his heart issues, you know.”

“Oh, my. A really bad break, then? Although I guess
all
broken hips are bad, huh.”

“Yes. That's why the choice of UNMH. My husband's favorite orthopedic surgeon is there.”

“What's that, six hours by ambulance?”

“They'll fly him up. Maybe an hour.”

“Well, at least
that's
good news.” Camille fell silent for a moment. “He wasn't wearing his alert call-button, was he?”

“Of course not.”

“And the cell phone…”

“Was in the kitchen. And he couldn't reach the sheriff's radio in his truck. He was stuck.”

“What are we going to do with this old guy, Estelle?” Her tone had softened, her vexation draining away.

“Just the best we can.”

“I want to come out for a little while, at least. He's going to need somebody underfoot.”

“He'll enjoy seeing you,” Estelle was not sure if that was the truth. She knew that Gastner was sometimes as much irritated by his eldest daughter as charmed. “Whatever time you can spare would be good.”

“Well, there's a whole bunch of things we're going to have to decide, I suppose. Rehab, things like that. The recovery time for a new hip isn't just a day or two, after all. Not for somebody his age. He'll need help even with a walker for a long time.”

“We'll just see,” Estelle said. “He's sedated now, but he's been lucid. He'll have time to think about all this. Time to make up his mind.”

“You have power of attorney?”

“Yes, I do. He made sure it was active when he had his kidney stone last year. He said he wanted to leave the POA in place. Just in case.”

“That's a relief then. Are you going to Albuquerque with him?”

“I
think
I'll be able to, if things stay quiet here. I could fly up with him and figure out the ride home when the time comes.”

Estelle turned as a couple of chatting nurses walked past the waiting room, and to her surprise saw Dennis Mears sitting across the room in one of the yellow plastic chairs, forearms on his knees, hands clasped together, steady blue eyes regarding her with a mixture of patience and sympathy.

“I'll talk to Mark and see what he says,” Camille said. “And when I get there, I'll sit down with your hubby and see what
he
says.”

“Sure.”
And don't forget to talk to your father to see what he wants,
Estelle almost amended, but she kept the thought to herself.

“I'll let you know when I'm on my way,” Camille said. “Don't worry about picking me up. I'll just rent something at the airport. I should be able to fly out tomorrow, so maybe you and I can meet up there. Then we could ride down to Posadas together. I'd enjoy that.”

Dennis Mears rose as Estelle approached and extended his hand. He held the position while Estelle finished her call, then shook her hand warmly.

“How's he doing?”

“He needs a new hip,” Estelle said. “We'll be leaving for Albuquerque here in a few minutes. Last we heard, the air ambulance was in Gallup, so we have a little time.”

“Hip…that's a bad deal.” Mears turned and nodded down the hallway. “The atrium is half in shade. Shall we use that—if you have a couple of minutes?”

The warmth of the sun-warmed concrete was welcome after the sterile, refrigerated air of the hospital's interior. Estelle sat at the small concrete table in the shaded corner, and the banker sat on the bench across from her as if he were astride a horse. Despite his hours behind a desk, Dennis was fit and trim, looking like a polished version of his brother, Lieutenant Tom Mears. Maybe he even awoke each morning with his blond hair perfectly coiffed, with not a whisker in sight.

He frowned and examined the pebbled texture of the table for a moment, running a manicured fingertip along the edge. “Estelle,” he said finally, “I'm a little bit concerned about your mother.” When she didn't respond, Mears added, “As if you didn't have enough on your plate at the moment.” He smiled gently. “This is really a difficult position for me professionally, so I'm going to ask you to forgive the indiscretion.”

“Of course.”

“Your mother has requested a significant withdrawal.” Mears stopped, and Estelle felt the first surge of uneasiness. He grimaced as if uttering the news was actually painful. “This is none of my business, of course, but I'm assuming that you have some sort of understanding with your mother? I mean, she's how old now?”

“Just turned ninety-nine. And yes. I have power of attorney for her as well.”

“As well?” Mears looked puzzled at first, then the light dawned. His sparse, nearly white eyebrows rose. “Oh…for Bill, you mean. Of course. Now, in your mother's case…and she's a remarkable lady. She's still sharp as can be, isn't she?”

“She's been fortunate.”

The banker shifted on the concrete bench. “Your mother's account has not been particularly active.”

“I wouldn't expect it to be.” Estelle smiled. “If she buys anything at all, she must store it under her bed. I never see it.”

“Needs are few at her age, I suppose.”

“We try to make it so. You mentioned a withdrawal. How much is she asking for?” When it came to figures, Mears didn't back and fill. He rested his hand flat on the table.

“Eight thousand dollars even.”

“
Ay,”
Estelle startled.

“Now,” Mears hastened to add, “my problem is that, first of all, the transaction is none of my business. I mean, it's her money, in her account. And just because she's elderly doesn't change the rules.”

“I understand that. But she must have a good reason. When did all of this come about, Dennis? She called you?”

“That's exactly what she did, late last week. Friday, in fact. She wouldn't talk with either of the tellers who were working, or with my VP. She could have, of course.”

“What time did this happen?”

“She called me shortly after ten-thirty Friday morning.”

“And she just wanted the money deposited in her checking account? An even eight thousand?”

“This is the part that worries me, Estelle. She asked for a cashier's check, and as you well know, those are on demand, negotiable by anyone.”

Estelle found it difficult to imagine her mother doing any of this. The details of a vacation trip in 1947 to Monterey might be crystal clear in Teresa Reyes's mind, but remembering the topic of a sentence just started was a challenge.

“She just called you and asked for a cashier's check?” Dennis Mears nodded. “Did she say who was going to pick it up for her?”

“She asked that we bring it over to her. Now, we normally wouldn't do that sort of thing, but in some instances we will. Your mother has been a good customer for twenty years or so. And we understand that she doesn't get around like she used to. She said that you would be doing this, but that you were busy with court.”

“And I wonder what
I
was supposed to do with a bank draft for eight thousand dollars.”

Mears held his hands palm up in surrender. “Will you talk with her? I'd worry a whole lot less if you would.”

“Of course. Maybe she's giving a donation to someone, but why not just write a normal check?”

“We can always hope that's the case, Sheriff. I tend to be cautious, though. There are a number of scams going around, and some of them specifically target the elderly. When someone who is beyond the normal consumer's loop suddenly wants a large sum of money, my ears perk up a little. If she was buying a new car, the sum would most likely be a whole bunch of numbers. Eighteen thousand, six hundred and twelve dollars and thirty-eight cents. You know what I mean. And I have to tell you.” He patted the table top gently. “I got a scamming letter last month myself. An e-mail from someone I met years ago, saying he was stuck in the Philippines after his wallet was stolen. He needed twenty-two hundred dollars to get out of there. The police were dragging their feet, things like that.”

“Only twenty-two hundred, though?”

“Interesting number, I think. The sort of thing where someone
might
be willing to just dash off a check, or an electronic transfer. I didn't respond in any fashion, and just deleted the e-mail after making a copy for my collection. So when your mother called me…”

“You haven't cut the check for her yet?”

“No. I confess to dragging my feet. I had just the one call from her, and she said she'd get back to me this week to arrange the transfer. I'll certainly cut the check today if you give me the word. And that's what makes me uncomfortable. Your mother is perfectly cogent. If she wants the money, she'll get it. That's the rule of the game. But…I didn't think waiting a day or two would hurt. If it inconveniences her in any way, I apologize.”

“No, no. Let me talk with
Mamá
and get back to you, Dennis. I'm sure there's a simple explanation.” Estelle extended her hand. “Thanks for taking the time to give me a head's up. I appreciate it, Dennis. You did the right thing.”

As they rose, the banker's face brightened. “Any chance of another local concert soon?”

“September in Chicago is the next one I've heard about.”

“No CD releases?”

“You know, Francisco isn't in any hurry to do that. I'm not sure why. He told me that he walked into one of those huge chain book-and-record super-stores in Joplin, saw the racks and racks of CDs by hundreds of artists, and said it all made him want to run the other way.”

“He's fortunate that he understands the concept of exclusivity at such a young age.”

“We'll see where it all goes. Right now, he's still excited about live concerts. That's what he loves to do. And he loves all the related academic work, believe it or not.”

Mears nodded and pointed at the doorway to the atrium. Estelle turned and saw the nurse waiting.

“Sheriff Guzman,” the young man said, “Mr. Gastner wishes to talk with you for a minute when you get the chance.”

“I'm on my way.” Estelle shook hands with Dennis Mears once more. “And thank you, Dennis. I'll be in touch. And yes…please hold the check until you hear from me.”

“Give Bill my best wishes, please.”

The thirty-year Sheriff's Department veteran, former New Mexico livestock inspector, inveterate historian and repository of a gazetteer's worth of information about the Southwest in general and Posadas County in particular, lay plumbed, padded, and monitored in one of the two intensive care beds. His eyes were closed and as Estelle Reyes-Guzman hesitated at the door, he opened first one and then the other. He reached for his glasses and settled them in place. Owl-eyed, he regarded Estelle with something akin to amusement.

The undersheriff stood beside the bed for just a moment, then reached out a hand and patted his left knee, letting her fingers trace the outline of his kneecap.

“So,” she said.

“I'd walk out of here if I could.” Gastner's voice was raspy.

“We've done that before, haven't we? Are they managing the pain all right for you?”

“Oh, sure,” he said dismissively. “Some really good stuff. And maybe I need it. Your hubby showed me the X-rays. I'm in a hell of a lot of pieces.” He eyed Estelle critically. “You're lookin' good.”

“Well, up until your taking a dive, it's been kind of a downtime. Lots of sessions with Leona on the budget, everybody behaving themselves…I think I've finally caught up on some sleep.” She smiled at him as he raised his right arm in slow motion and settled it on top of his head, fingers idly scratching his closely cropped hair. “You'll be okay,
Padrino.
They were kind of worried about some congestion.”

“Nah. A little too long camped out on the garage floor is all. But I did a thorough job on the hip. Anything worth doing, you know. They've really got me cornered this time.”

“You were just standing beside your truck when you lost your balance?”

“Well, essentially. I turned a little bit for something, I don't remember what, and the next thing I know, I'm examining the concrete floor. I'd like to be able to say, ‘you should see the other guys,' but I can't claim heroism for this one.”

Estelle glanced at her watch. “The plane should be here in less than an hour,
Padrino.
Then you'll get a new bionic hip, and you'll be running sprints in no time.”

He huffed a feeble chuckle. “Sure enough.” He lifted his left hand, the right still in place on his head, and examined the tips of his fingers. “You know, a few dozen times over the years, I've watched other folks play out this same scene. I know what the goddamn score is.” His face brightened. “But see, I know some things they don't. The secret road to healthy bone growth and repair lies in green chile. We'll find out how good my credit is with Fernando Aragon.” He lifted his head a little, looking hopeful at his own mention of Aragon, owner of Gastner's favorite restaurant, the Don Juan de Oñate. “I don't suppose you happened to bring a snack with you.”