Wolf in the Shadows - Marcia Muller [129]
* * *
Ten minutes later John still hadn’t returned—giving us time alone, I supposed. The shadows of the yuccas lengthened and turned purple, bleeding into the dusk. The cars climbing the streets below began to put on their lights. One stopped at the foot of the driveway, and I heard its door open and close. I stood to see who it was; a long, lean figure started up the hill.
Gage Renshaw.
Hy stood, too. “What’s that son of a bitch doing here?”
I shrugged, watching Renshaw. He came up the drive in his long, loose-limbed gait, wearing the same rumpled suit and frayed tie that he’d had on yesterday afternoon. I wondered if the man possessed any decent clothing.
Renshaw spotted us and came over. Before he could speak, Hy said, “Don’t you think we’ve spent enough time together this week, Gage?”
“When’re you going to brush that chip off your shoulder, Ripinsky?”
Hy made a disgusted sound.
I said, “Why don’t we let Mr. Renshaw tell us why he’s here?”
“You can call me by my first name, Sharon.”
I ignored that. “Why are you here?”
For a moment he seemed at a loss for words—surely an unusual state. Then he said, “I have some information and two offers. First, Fontes and Julio Sandoval, Navarro’s contact in the comptroller’s office at Colores, were picked up when they tried to draw on the L.C. at Banco Internacional in Mexico City yesterday afternoon. They’re admitting nothing, of course, but I assume being held in a Mexican jail will loosen the tongue of one or the other.”
When he didn’t go on, I prompted him. “And second?”
“Jaime’s okay. You can’t seriously hurt anybody that stupid by hitting him on the head. And he’s talking. You wondered how Salazar knew you’d be crossing with a coyote?”
I nodded.
“After you snatched Mourning, Salazar began phoning, tapped into his network of contacts here in the South Bay. Someone saw you talking with Luis Abrego in the Tradewinds Sunday afternoon. Salazar put it together, then got in touch with his contacts in T.J.”
“Al Mojas gave us away?”
“That I don’t know. But Salazar knew him, knew where he’d be likely to take you across. My guess is he paid Mojas to deliver you.”
“But why did Mojas warn us about something being wrong?” Hy asked.
Renshaw shrugged.
I said, “I think in his odd way he’d come to like us. He tipped us, figuring we’d at least stand a chance.” I turned to Renshaw. “Anything else?”
He smiled grimly. “The last missing piece: who shot Diane.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Her husband.”
“What?” Hy and I spoke in unison.
Renshaw nodded. “Seems that a lot of drinking went on at Fontes’s villa Saturday night and early Sunday morning. Security got lax. Before they doped Tim up and broke his glasses, he managed to get hold of Jaime’s gun. Fool could’ve escaped, but instead he encountered Diane hitting up the living-room liquor cart and decided to sever his marital ties. Failed miserably.”
“Good Lord,” I said. “She’s not going to try to press charges, is she?” If so, it would be on a par with the mugger who sued the San Francisco cab driver who pinned him to a wall with his taxi while trying to apprehend him. In a great miscarriage of justice, the mugger actually won the initial round.
“No, ma’am,” Renshaw said. “Diane’s not admitting to complicity in the kidnapping, of course, and Tim’s willing to overlook her participation in exchange for her not going to the Mexican authorities about the shooting, a speedy divorce, and a distribution of their community property that’s weighted heavily in his favor.”
“I wouldn’t be that charitable toward her,” I said.
Renshaw glanced at Hy. “Don’t ever marry this woman.”
Hy grunted.
I said, “Okay, you’ve given us your information. What about the offers?”
He hesitated, then addressed Hy. “The partnership’s still open, Ripinsky. We need somebody with your talents.”
Hy’s lips tightened. He stared straight ahead, arms folded across his chest.
“Listen, you can’t hold a grudge forever because I shot off my mouth and made a stupid threat.”
“Which you would have made good on if