“It’s possible. Or maybe one member of the family’s snapped and decided to do something drastic to protect the other two from the threats they perceive.”
“If you had to pick one, who would it be?”
This surprised Sophia. He wasn’t asking her for hard evidence. He knew if she had any, she would’ve presented it already. He was asking for her opinion—as if he valued it despite her lack of experience working big cases like this one.
Remembering Kevin Simpson’s callous responses when she’d mentioned the victims, Sophia had no trouble deciding on her answer. “The father. He’s grown tired of the situation and has no empathy for the illegal immigrants. He acts like they’re not even human.”
“Good to know. Instinct counts for a lot in police work.” He pointed to another spot on the map. “What about this parcel?”
“That’s Charlie Sumpter’s place,” she said. “I’ve been trying to reach him but can’t get a response.”
“I know Charlie,” Roderick put in. “He was a friend of my father’s, used to come by the ranch quite a bit.”
Sophia could tell the word father left a bitter taste in Rod’s mouth, but he’d used it for ease of explanation.
“He’s probably in Wyoming.” Rod went on. “From the bits and pieces I overheard as a child, he used to go there for several weeks every summer.”
“Not anymore.” Sophia’s gaze had automatically moved to Rod, since he was the one speaking, but the sight of him with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles and one elbow slung over the back of his chair reminded her of what’d happened at her house an hour and a half earlier. So she directed her attention to Van Dormer instead.
“He’s gotten too old for that,” she continued. “I’m guessing he’s with his daughter and her family in Yuma. When I bumped into him at the café not too long ago, he mentioned planning to see her over the summer. He said he can’t handle Wyoming anymore but felt he could manage driving someplace that’s only a few hours away. I didn’t get the impression that he’d be gone for an extended visit, so he should be back soon.”
“Any idea how he feels about UDAs?”
“Ever since that rancher near Portal was killed—apparently by an illegal alien—he’s been pretty vocal about his hatred.” Sophia had heard him spouting off plenty of times, but it had seemed harmless enough, a reaction to the loss of a friend. “He and the victim were close. They went to the same school when they were young, at least for a few years, and became lifelong friends.”
“Then he’s someone to watch,” Van Dormer said.
The SAC pointed out several more parcels, and Sophia gave him the owner information. She’d talked to almost all the ranchers in the past six weeks, including Charlie, but now that there were new victims, they needed to be interviewed again.
“Are you considering calling someone in to do behavioral profiling?” she asked when he’d split up the workload by geographic area and given them their assignments.
“I’m not a strong believer in that,” he admitted. “Unless you know quite a bit about a killer or he has a very unique signature, it can mislead as much as it can help. But—” he rubbed his chin as if deep in thought “—maybe. Let’s get what’s out there already and meet again day after tomorrow.”
They arranged a time. Then everyone stood. Sophia had her assignment and was about to leave without mentioning the safe house. She didn’t want Lindstrom leaking word of it to Leonard, or at least not before she could visit there. She preferred to call Van Dormer about the house and its location. Except then she’d have to explain why she hadn’t shared it with the group, and telling him that Lindstrom might have a conflict of interest could make her look paranoid, petty or both.
No, she had to risk speaking to everyone. She just hoped the FBI’s involvement would keep Lindstrom honest. “One last thing,” she said.
All eyes turned her way.
“I received a call from someone at that number I found on the body of José Sanchez.”
Van Dormer stopped folding the map he’d been trying to wrangle into submission.
“He wouldn’t reveal his identity,” she added. “But he told me about a safe house in Bordertown where José and Benita were supposed to spend the night.”
“And you didn’t bring this up until now?” Lindstrom snapped. “I mean, having you part of this isn’t going to work if you keep holding out on everybody.” She looked at Van Dormer. “She does this with everything. She didn’t even tell me about the cigarette butt, and we’ve been working together for a month.”
Van Dormer frowned at Lindstrom, revealing that he wasn’t too impressed with her waspish reaction. So Sophia figured less was better and didn’t respond to the accusation. “It might be owned by the Mexican Mafia.”
“What makes you think so?” Van Dormer asked.
“That’s what my informant believes.”
“Have you pulled up the deed?”
“I did. The owner of the house is listed as a limited partnership—Cochise Partners—but it could be backed by the Mafia.”
Paper crinkled again as he finished with the map. “You know your town better than anyone else, Chief St. Claire. What do you suggest we do?”
“I’d like to go there tonight. See what I can learn. Someone was expecting José and Benita, knew when they were due to arrive. I’d like to find out where that person was at the time of the killings. There’s even the possibility that certain details or suspicions about the murderer are circulating underground. If we could tap into what’s being said on the Mexican side, we might come up with additional details.”
“I agree,” he said. “But…you plan to do this alone?”
“I think that would be the least threatening and most effective approach. I—”
Rod interrupted. “No way.”
Glancing up to see him towering over her, Sophia placed her hands on her hips. “Excuse me?”
“You are far too white and far too female for that job.”
“You think it should fall to you.”
“In short, yes.”
Van Dormer didn’t get involved. His eyes shifted to her as if awaiting her answer. “But I came up with this lead,” she said.