James patted his horse’s nose. “I did a cursory run. Didn’t find anyone. But that doesn’t mean they didn’t come through. I do what I can, but I can’t sit out here night after night. Why?”
“That’s when these people crossed.” She showed Kevin the pictures. “I need to come up with a suspect, and I’m thinking those who saw them last might be able to help.” That included the border patrol agents who’d encountered them, if the Simpsons could help her narrow down which ones they were.
Kevin handed the photos to his son. “I thought that’s why you dropped by.”
She knew they had to have considered it. “These victims bring the total to twelve.”
“Poor bastards,” James muttered.
Kevin took exception to his son’s sympathy. “I don’t feel sorry for them.” He climbed onto his horse. “They had no business breaking the law in the first place.”
Sophia squinted up at him. “We’re talking about murder, Mr. Simpson. As bad as the situation may be, becoming a vigilante isn’t the way to solve it.”
He stiffened in the saddle. “Which is why I haven’t become a vigilante, Chief.”
She took the pictures back from James. “You have friends who are border patrol agents, isn’t that right?”
“Most people in this area have friends in the CBP.”
“Since you and the agents are both trying to stop these people from breaking the law, you probably have more than most.”
“Maybe. I have enough interaction with them, I guess.”
“Have you heard any talk?”
Kevin squinted at her despite the shade provided by his hat. “What kind of talk?”
“About killing Mexicans. Bragging. Someone who seems to be losing it or is especially angry or bitter.”
“No. None.”
“You haven’t noticed anything odd or unusual.”
Both men spoke at once. “No.”
“Would you tell me if you had?”
Kevin used a bandanna he pulled out of his pocket to mop the sweat from his forehead. “I’d like to say I would. But I’m guessing you’ll ask the border patrol agents the same thing about us, and I’m hoping they don’t see anything I’ve said or done as ‘unusual,’ either. Besides, the government’s never been much help to me. I’m not sure I’d be too eager to bend over backward now that the shoe’s on the other foot.”
“We’re not talking about the government. We’re talking about a very tense situation that could blow up in our faces.” Sophia turned to James. “What about you?”
“I haven’t heard a thing, and have no idea who’s killing these people. But…”
“But?” she echoed.
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t glad someone’s finally doing something.”
“Even if that something includes murder?”
“If people were punished for breaking the immigration laws, maybe we wouldn’t have such a terrible problem to begin with.” He swung into the saddle and reached down to help her up behind him.
These men, who in most ways seemed like such decent, hard-working citizens, were definitely jaded by what they’d experienced. Were they really telling her everything they knew? “Who else should I talk to?”
Kevin merely shrugged and trotted on ahead of them.
But when they arrived at the ranch and James helped her down, he whispered, “Try Charlie Sumpter. He said he called the border patrol on a pretty big group that came through his property last weekend. He hates them as much as we do, especially since his best friend was murdered by illegals.”
“Last I heard, that hadn’t been proven.”
“The poor guy had just called to say he’d stumbled upon a group of Mexicans and was found dead an hour later. Draw your own conclusions.”
Was that the start of all this? She couldn’t picture Charlie as dangerous, but she knew how he felt about UDAs, particularly after Byron Gifford’s murder six months ago.
Leonard Taylor’s trailer looked empty and probably was. It was midafternoon. Chances were he was at work.
Roderick stood on the landing and leaned over the railing to see through the kitchen window.
A cat jumped onto the counter, startling him, but that seemed to be the only movement—other than the dog chained up under a tree in a fenced-off section of yard. He’d been barking ever since Rod drove up.
“Shut up already,” Rod grumbled when the dog kept at it, and walked around to the back. He had no right to snoop, but he wasn’t a cop, and that allowed him a little leeway. That leeway could get him into trouble, and did on occasion, but Milt was pretty good about bailing him out of jams. Rod was beginning to rely on it.
“Mr. Taylor? Anyone home?” He knocked at the back door, then tried the knob. Open. Taylor didn’t have much worth stealing and, after losing his family, he obviously didn’t care enough about what was left to bother protecting it.
From the looks of the trailer, anything of value had already been carted off by Mrs. Taylor. Leonard had an old TV he’d probably pulled out of some landfill, and a recliner that could’ve come from the same place. The rest of the furniture was gone. Pictures had been stripped from the walls, and area rugs had been taken off the floors, which was easy to tell because of the rectangles of cleaner carpet beneath. Instead of feeding the cat in a bowl, someone had simply ripped open an entire bag of the dried stuff and left it spilling out on the linoleum.
“Wow, buddy. You’re living in a world of hurt.” Rod picked his way through the mess. He was particularly interested in finding the “arsenal” Patrick had mentioned. He’d bet Mrs. Taylor hadn’t taken her husband’s guns.
Turned out he was right. In one bedroom wallpapered with pink roses—what had most likely been one of the daughters’ rooms—Rod found a Czech .32-caliber pistol, a Rohm .22-caliber revolver, an F.I.E. model A27 .25-caliber pistol and a Ruger .22-caliber rifle sitting on the top shelf of the closet.
If Leonard was becoming as dangerous as it seemed, his wife had been smart to take the kids and get out.
After using his cell phone to snap a picture, Rod moved into the master bedroom. There, he saw a mattress lying on the floor, with clothes piled along the periphery. Even the shower was missing its curtain, but there was enough hair in the tub to suggest Leonard was using it.
“Pathetic.” With a grimace, he turned away from the filthy bathroom. He needed to leave. It was getting late enough that Leonard could show up at any moment—and he wasn’t in a good mental state. But then a splash of red caught Rod’s eye. Something was taped to the back of the bedroom door.