“I think he cared about your mother.”
“He had a damn fine way of showing it.”
“What happened was as hard on him as anyone.”
“Forgive me if I don’t get all misty-eyed over his pain. I don’t know how many times I’ll have to say this, but I don’t give a shit. I’m not here to see you, your father or your brother.” He motioned toward the truck. “Do you mind?”
Tension filled Patrick’s face, evidence of some emotion. But whether it was embarrassment or regret or perhaps frustration Rod had no idea. “It’s not like I was offering you a damn olive branch.”
“Great. Move your car.”
“I had another reason for coming by.”
“I’m waiting.”
“I have information on the murders of those, er, Mexican nationals.”
Rod leaned against the Hummer and crossed his feet. “Since when did you become so politically correct? Don’t you prefer the term wetbacks? I believe that’s what you used to call me. You even made up a song about the wetback bastard with brown eyes the size of saucers. Remember? It was a catchy tune. Made all your friends laugh.”
Pat flinched. “Yeah, well—” he rubbed his neck “—I hope I’ve grown up a bit since then. My, um, wife’s half Mexican.”
If he thought that would give them common ground, he was sadly mistaken. “And she’s living with you? God, she has my sympathies.”
“She’s a good woman. Better than I deserve.”
Carolina had been a good woman, too, yet they’d called her a spic and a whore and did everything they could to make her life miserable. One day she found that someone had gotten into her lunch box—most of the workers left their food in the shade while they worked—and replaced the meat in her sandwich with dog shit. No one came forward to take responsibility for that, but there’d never been any question in Rod’s mind that it had been one or both of his half brothers.
“I’m happy for you.” He made the words a meaningless platitude by adding a careless shrug of his shoulder.
“I’ll bet you are.”
“Listen, you have nothing to fear from me. You or your brother. I’m not after your father’s love, attention or money, if that’s what you’re worried about. As soon as I solve this case, I’m gone.”
“Fine, forget it.” He pivoted to go, but Rod stopped him.
“You said you have information on the murders.”
He paused, deliberated and eventually blew out a sigh. “I heard Leonard Taylor talking in the barbershop the other day.”
“Who’s Leonard Taylor?”
“Moved here about ten years ago from Douglas, when he was hired as a police officer.”
“What’d he have to say?”
“He was going on and on about the killings, which isn’t so unusual. Everyone has something to say about them and how we should prepare to retaliate. It was the way he was talking that got my attention. It was completely callous. He seemed almost…gleeful. He’s hoping this case gets Sophia St. Claire fired.”
Rod felt a flicker of guilt. He probably hadn’t helped Sophia’s situation when he’d made her look inept during that merry chase through town. But he didn’t owe her anything. She wasn’t any better than his half brothers. “Why would he want to see her fired?”
“She took his job. Before the previous chief retired, he had two officers under him—her and Leonard. Leonard had a lot more experience and was the most likely to succeed him. The council was all set to promote him when Sophia came forward with an illegal immigrant who claimed he’d caught her in the desert south of town and offered her a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“Sex in exchange for her freedom.”
“That’s some deal. Did you say he’s related to your father?”
Pat ignored the insult. “It caused a pretty big stink with just about everyone in town choosing sides.”
“How did Sophia find the woman? Did she come in to the station or—”
“No, some Mexican guy she’d thrown in the drunk tank was talking about how the police had done his sister wrong. No one else paid him any mind, but Sophia followed up on what he said and tracked the woman down. Sure enough, she claimed it was true.”
“Did this ass**le—this Leonard Taylor—lose his job?”
“No. The Mexican woman and her brother disappeared soon after, and without either of them, the D.A. couldn’t build a case. Taylor’s reputation was damaged, and he lost the position as chief to St. Claire, but he could’ve stayed on. It wasn’t like they’d proven anything. There was just the accusation.”
“Only then he’d have to work for his nemesis.”
“Exactly. His ego couldn’t tolerate it, so he quit. Went back to working with livestock. Actually, that’s what he did in Douglas before he entered the police academy. Now he manages a chicken ranch.”
Taylor was definitely someone Rod needed to speak with. “Where does he live?”
“On the edge of town, not far from the intersection of Ray and Saguaro. That’s also where he supposedly had sex with the Mexican woman—in his own backyard.”
“You don’t believe it?”
“I don’t know what to believe. Seems unlikely a police officer would do a thing like that…but if he thought he could get away with it, I suppose anything’s possible. Leonard’s wife was in Albuquerque at the time, at a craft fair. She makes dolls. His older daughters were at sports camp. The smallest girl was the only one home with him. She said she heard daddy making funny sounds out in the trees, and he shouted for her to stay away when she tried to find him, but you can’t convict a man based on a five-year-old’s testimony of grunting and ‘don’t come out here.’”
Rod folded his arms. “So this man would’ve been chief of police if not for Sophia St. Claire.”
“That’s right. To top it all off, his wife left him and took the kids. She’s living with her folks in Prescott.”
Rod straightened. “I’ll pay him a visit this afternoon.”
“Be careful. I think he’s got an arsenal out there,” he said, and walked back to his truck.
Rod told himself to let the encounter go at that, but he couldn’t. “Why did you tell me about Leonard?” he called out.