Assumption, page 10
Manny and Rick had met Ogden at this very restaurant, the Blue Corn, to try to get him drunk before he took the train to California and Camp Pendleton. They’d failed to get him intoxicated, but they managed to persuade him to drive them north to Questa for a surprise. As he slid to a stop on the gravel yard outside a crummy barn, Ogden had a bad feeling. There were many cars and pickups already there.
“What is this?” Ogden asked. Then he saw a brown and white pit bull standing, barking in the bed of a truck. “Is this a dogfight?” He kicked the gravel. “Jesus Christ! You know I hate shit like this.”
“You gotta see it once,” Manny or Rick said.
“That’s not true,” Ogden said. He was arguing with them as they stood at the tall barn doors. “That’s just not true.” Behind Manny, Ogden caught glimpse of a brindle dog tearing into the side of a white dog. He turned away at the sight of blood and marched back toward his father’s old Jeep Cherokee. He ignored his friends’ pleas for him to come back, then their voices were gone and he knew they’d moved inside. As he passed by the brown and white dog in the back of the pickup, he found he just couldn’t leave her there. He untied the end of the rope attaching her to the truck and led her to his own car, put her in, and drove away. It was all quite surreal as he skidded onto the dirt road, the dog panting and staring forward through the windshield. He understood that he had taken the dog because he was trying to save it from fighting, he understood his act to be theft, yet he didn’t know what he was doing with it or what he was going to do with it. As he skated down the washboard road to the highway he began to grasp the full gravity of his moment of idiocy. This animal belonged to someone, an objectionable someone certainly, possibly a dangerous someone. He drove into Plata and under the lights of the gas station at the flashing signal at the north edge of town. He wanted to consider his options while he pumped his gas, but he could think of none. Then a Ford LTD station wagon filled with a family and a collie pulled up to the pump beside him. The pit bull went wild, barking and throwing himself into the closed passenger-side window, trying to get at and probably eat the collie. The children in the station wagon screamed and cried. The parents stared holes through Ogden as he crawled in behind the wheel and drove away. He was terrified of the dog himself, especially now, but the beast’s attention was focused away from him and so he could drive. As soon as the collie was removed from view, the pit bull became quiet, eerily quiet, staring once again out the front window. He drove all over, afraid of the dog and afraid the dog’s owner would find him. He spotted the car of a state trooper outside a dingy restaurant in Arroyo Hondo and did the only thing he could think of to he tied the dog to the door handle of the trooper’s car and drove away.
Ogden now looked at his so-called friends at the bar and said, “I hate both of you.”
“What’d we do?” Rick asked.
Ogden wondered what he was doing in the tavern at all. He could never last more than an hour, if that long. Just chatting briefly with Manny and Rick made him feel exhausted.
“Warren and his wife are over there,” Manny said.
Ogden looked and saw his fellow deputy sitting at a table at the window. He walked over. “This is what I like to see,” he said.
“What’s that?” Warren asked.
“Lovebirds out at night.”
“Well, it’s our anniversary,” Warren said.
“Happy anniversary,” Ogden said.
“You have fun babysitting today?” Warren asked.
“It is sort of babysitting, isn’t it?”
“A little bit,” Warren said.
“Well, you know, good foreign relations and all that.”
“So, you find her?”
“Not yet.” Ogden smiled at the couple. “Enjoy your evening.” He turned and walked back toward the bar, bumped into Caitlin.
“Deputy,” she said.
“I see you made it out.”
“It’s a beautiful night,” Caitlin said.
Ogden nodded. “Well, I’d better get home and water my bonsai.”
“Your bonsai?”
“Don’t have to walk it. Quieter than a cat. Still, it is my second. I killed my first one.”
“See you in the morning?”
“Pick you up at eight. Have fun.”
The next morning was surprisingly cool, perhaps because of the clear night. Clouds had rolled in and blocked out the sun and some rain was falling. The sage-covered flat ground outside Ogden’s trailer looked unusually glum, though the rain was much needed, as it was always much needed. Ogden drank some orange juice and then drove toward town.
Caitlin was standing outside the little registration office of the motel when Ogden rolled up. He leaned over, pushed open the passenger door, and she climbed in.
“Dreary morning,” she said. “It was difficult to get out of bed.”
“Not my bed. My mattress is lumpy and too soft.” Ogden drove out onto the highway and headed north.
“Why don’t you get a new one?” she asked.
“Then I might not get up.”
“Where again are we off to?”
“Questa. Red River.”
“May I tell you once more how much I appreciate your time,” Caitlin said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Besides, my boss told me to do it and so it’s my job. My boss tells me to water his garden, I water his garden. I like having a job. Not necessarily this job, but a job.”
“What would you rather be doing?”
“There’s the problem. I don’t know. What do you do back in Ireland? Where in Ireland are you from?”
“Galway. And I’m a librarian.”
“You mean like the public library?”
“Yes.”
“I know this is a stupid thing to say, but you don’t look like a librarian.”
“What’s a librarian look like?”
“I told you it was a stupid thing to say. I’d like to think I don’t look like a deputy sheriff, but I’m afraid I’m not so lucky.”
The rain came and it came hard. Ogden turned the wipers on fast and leaned a bit forward in his seat.
“Wow,” Caitlin said.
“We call this a drizzle in these parts.”
Just as quickly as the rain had come they were driving out of it. Ogden glanced in his mirror to see the edge of the shower behind them. “This will happen on and off today,” he told her.
Caitlin nodded. She looked out her window at the mountains. Ogden imagined her concern for her cousin.
Ogden drove past Questa and on up to Red River. His thought was that they would work their way back. Perhaps in that way hope might start to spiral away, but there might also be a feeling of zeroing in, however illusory. They asked questions at the little stores at either end of the village, showed Fiona’s photo to a gas station attendant and to the clerks in a couple of shops. They had no luck, so drove on down to Questa. Questa was a poor hamlet, not a ski resort like Red River, but a collection of rough adobes and one little restaurant with an attached market. Ogden and Caitlin sat down to lunch.
“This is some of the best food in these parts,” Ogden said. “The real deal.”
A teenage girl brought out a plastic basket of sopaipillas and some salsa. “I heard you were at the county clerk’s office.” Ogden hadn’t meant to wait so long to mention it, but he had forgotten about his chat with Leon. Now he worried that his question made him sound suspicious.
“I went to look at a detailed map. I had to do something.”
Ogden nodded. “See anything helpful?”
“No.”
“Maybe today we’ll find out something,” he said.
“What do you recommend?” Caitlin looked up at the menu on the wall above the counter.
“I like the caldillo, that’s a green chile stew. The enchiladas here are really good. You can’t go wrong.”
“I’ll try the stew.”
Ogden nodded.
The girl came back and stood by their table.
“Caldillo for both of us,” Ogden said. “Have you seen this woman?” Ogden handed the girl the photograph of Fiona.
The girl nodded. “She used to come in here.”
“She did?” Ogden said. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“She came in a few times. Always had the hamburger. Almost nobody has the hamburger. She drove an old blue Bug. I remember because I liked her car.”
“The last time you saw her?”
The girl looked out the window at the gravel parking lot. “She didn’t come in. She drove up, parked for a while, then backed up and drove off. There was a man with her.”
“Did you ever see the man before?”
The girl shook her head.
“Can you describe the man?” Ogden asked.
“He didn’t get out,” she said. “I couldn’t really see him. He had a beard, I saw that.”
“Did anybody else who works here see her?”
“It’s just me and José and he never comes out of the kitchen.”
“Okay, thanks. What’s your name?”
“Olivia Mendez.”
“I’m Deputy Walker.” Ogden shook her hand. “Thanks again.”
“I’ll go put your order in.”
“One more thing,” Ogden said. “Did you notice which way she came from and which way she went when she left?”
“Yeah, she went up the dirt road toward the lake.”
“Thanks again,” Ogden said. He watched the girl walk away. “Well, what do you know about that?”
“This is great,” Caitlin said.
“There are only a few cabins between here and the lake.” Ogden looked out the window and observed the patches of fog floating in. The fog would be thicker up the mountain. “I hope we can see well enough to find them.”
After their meal, they drove up the muddy track that ran parallel to a swollen creek.
“Must have rained real hard last night,” Ogden said.
“And it’s starting up again,” Caitlin said, pointing at drops hitting the windshield.
“Shit. This road is bad enough right now.”
The rain fell harder as they slipped and slid their way up. It was difficult enough to see the road, much less anything set off into the woods like a cabin. Caitlin asked if they were wasting their time.
“Possibly,” Ogden said.
Ogden drove slowly, so they could see better and so he could keep his rig on the road. He hit the brake and fishtailed to a stop.
“What is it?” Caitlin asked.
“Look,” Ogden said. He nodded to the west side of the road. “In that thicket.”
Caitlin looked.
“A blue Volkswagen,” Ogden said.
The rain fell harder as they climbed out and walked toward the car. There was a cabin beyond it. The chimney was smokeless and the front door was ajar. When they stood under the overhang, at the door Ogden had a bad feeling. The rain pounded loudly on the metal roof. He knocked as hard as he could. Then he called out. “Hello, the house,” he said. He knocked while he pushed open the door.
Ogden saw the feet first, a woman’s sneakers. He pushed quickly into the room. The woman was lying near the cold wood stove, facedown, her left arm twisted behind her back so that the back of her hand was on her butt. There was blood under her middle, spreading across the floor and into the bricks under the stove.
“Oh my god,” Caitlin said.
Ogden fell to his knees beside the woman and turned her over. He put his fingers to her neck.
“That’s not Fiona,” Caitlin said.
“What?”
“That’s not Fiona.”
“She’s alive,” Ogden said. “She’s been shot.”
“Oh god.”
“I’ve got to go call for help.” Ogden looked at the injured woman. By the time the medics made it up that muddy road the woman might be dead. No helicopter was going to fly in this weather, even if there was a place to land, which there wasn’t. He stood there, trying to make a quick decision. Should he move her and meet the ambulance at the road? He looked at the wound to her side. She’d lost a lot of blood. “We’re taking her,” he said. “Get the door.”
Ogden picked up the woman and carried her cradled in his arms through the rain to his rig, where he laid her across the backseat. Caitlin sat in the back with her, holding the woman’s head in her lap.
Ogden called in. “Felton, get me an ambulance to the Questa Lake road. I’ve got a woman who’s been shot.”
“Who’s been shot?” Felton asked.
“The ambulance, Felton.”
“On it.”
Ogden tried to get down the mountain as fast as he could, without letting his adrenaline push him to drive and slide into trouble. The rain let up a bit, but the track was truly a mess. He drove with his tires on the center ridge to avoid getting sucked into the mud of the ruts.
“She’s still breathing?” Ogden asked.
“I think so.”
“Do you recognize her?”
“No.” Caitlin was shaking. “Is she going to die?”
“Felton,” Ogden spoke into the radio, again. “Felton, where’s that ambulance?”
“They’re on the way,” Felton said. “Where are you?”
“Still on my way down the mountain. Another ten minutes, I think.”
“Copy that. I’ll let them know,” Felton said.
“Keep pressure on her wound,” Ogden said.
“She won’t stop bleeding.”
Ogden didn’t say anything, but attended to his driving. The rain was letting up even more and though the fog was thicker, it was in patches so he could see well enough. He thought about the volume of blood and the way the wound looked. The woman could not have been shot too long ago, yet they’d passed no vehicles on the way up. Was the shooter on the way up the mountain? Or still near the cabin?
There was an anxious moment as Ogden rounded the last bend and saw the gravel yard of the little restaurant but no ambulance, but then the paramedics rolled in, red light flashing in the fog.
They had the woman out of the rig and in the back of the ambulance in a matter of minutes. Bucky pulled into the yard just after the medics. One of the medics asked Ogden if he knew the woman’s name or anything about her and Ogden said he did not. Then they rolled away, siren screaming. They had wanted the helicopter, but there would be no flying today.
Bucky walked to Caitlin under the overhang of the restaurant boardwalk. “You okay?” he asked.
“I think so.”
“What about you?” Bucky asked Ogden.
“I think so. How’d you get here so fast?”
“I was down in San Cristobal.”
“We found her in a cabin almost to the lake. I’ll be driving back up there now,” Ogden said.
“Wait for Warren. He’s on his way.” Bucky turned to Caitlin. “Young lady, I’ll take you back to town. You can give me your statement and we’ll get you dry and warmed up.”
Caitlin looked at Ogden. She didn’t want to ride back with the sheriff. Ogden understood. People often wanted to remain with the person with whom they’d experienced something profound or frightening. He nodded to her, letting her know it was okay. He looked to the highway for Warren Fragua’s rig.
“See you back at the office, Ogden,” the sheriff said.
Ogden watched them walk through the now light rain and get into Bucky’s car. He stepped inside the restaurant and looked back through the window as they rolled away.
“Can I get some coffee?” he asked the teenager.
The girl was standing beside the register with the cook. “Was that the girl you were looking for?” she asked.
“No.”
“Is she going to be all right?”
“I don’t know,” Ogden said.
“I’ll get the coffee.”
It took Fragua another five minutes and then the two men were traveling up the slick road in Ogden’s Bronco. The rain had stopped and the fog had thinned considerably.
“No idea who she is?” Warren asked.
“None.”
“All I know is I didn’t drive by anyone on my way up and nobody’s driven down since.”
“How’s the girl?”
“Shaken up, like you’d expect.”
“How’s the boy?”
“You mean me?” Ogden asked.
“Yes, you.”
“Shaken up, like you’d expect.”
“I hate guns,” Warren said.
“That’s because you’ve got a brain.”
“Did you notice anything strange when you were in there?” Warren asked.
“Other than the bleeding woman? Nothing. I didn’t even think that I might be in danger until I was headed down the mountain.”
Half an hour up the trail Ogden spotted the blue Bug again. He parked beside it. The men got out and examined the car. Ogden put his hand on the hood; it was cold. He looked under the car and saw that the ground was soaked underneath.
“This spot look flat to you?” Ogden asked.
“Pretty flat.”
This time Ogden approached the cabin with his weapon drawn. Warren had his pistol out as well and they came at the structure wide from either side. The front door was open just as Ogden had left it. They stepped inside.
“Everything looks normal,” Ogden said. “Right down to the big puddle of human blood on the floor.”
“Did you look in this back room?” Warren pointed to a curtain hanging in a doorway.
“Didn’t even see it.”
Warren moved the fabric aside with his pistol and peeked in. “Just a bed.”
“Made or unmade?” Ogden asked.
“No bedding at all.”
“Well, let’s see if we can figure out who’d been living here.”
“I’ll call down and see if Bucky can find out who owns this place.” Warren left and went back to the truck.
