Desert Run Read Free Page B

body, duct-taped to his wheelchair, flashed through my mind. Yes, a woman could have killed him. Maybe even an elderly woman if she’d been able to get enough leverage. And hated him enough. “Did you hear exactly what this ‘everything’ was?”
    Mrs. Hillman shook her head. “Not all of it. Just some stuff about her reputation, although why she should care, dressed the way she was, is beyond me. And I didn’t hear what he said about it, either, because he kept his own voice down. Until the end, that is, when he lost his temper and started yelling back at her in Kraut.”
    German, I guessed she meant. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that a ninety-one-year-old man had a thing for hookers, and it wouldn’t be the first time a hooker had killed a john, but those incidents were almost always spur-of-the-moment killings. The duct tape around Ernst hinted of premeditation. “Had you seen the woman before?”
    â€œNever. The Kraut lived next door to me for more than twenty years, and other than you, that sweet black care-giver of his, and Little Ms. Skinny over there…” Here she pointed to Lindsey. “…the redhead was his only visitor. Bastard had no friends.”
    I studied her for a moment, watched her eyes narrow every time she said “Kraut,” and went ahead and asked the question. “Mrs. Hillman, did you lose anyone in the war?”
    â€œMy husband. Two uncles. My son-in-law lost his entire family. Jewish, you know.” A combination of rage and grief swept across her face.
    Sensitive to Mrs. Hillman’s old sorrows, I softened my voice. “You really need to talk to the detectives in charge of the case. They’ll want to find that woman and question her.”
    She gave me a hard look. “Don’t want to get involved, huh? I guess I was wrong about you. You’re just like the rest of your generation, you don’t care about anyone except yourself.” With a sniff, she walked away, leaving me staring at Das Kapitan’ s house.
    Thus put in my place, I started toward my Jeep, then stopped as a thought struck me.
    Where was Rada Tesema?
    I didn’t know Ernst’s care-giver well, having met him only a couple of times, but judging from our few encounters he seemed like a nice enough man. Even the hardly PC Mrs. Hillman liked him. A licensed practical nurse, he worked for one of Scottsdale’s many home care agencies, which were enjoying high times as the city’s population aged. From what I knew, he arrived at Ernst’s house at six o’clock, three days a week, to cook breakfast and do what needed to be done. And he really seemed to care about his charge. Once, when I had volunteered to take Ernst home from a location shot—Warren had kept him late to film him silhouetted against the sunset—I’d found Tesema standing on Ernst’s doorstep, fumbling through a jangly mess of house keys. His car, a battered blue Nissan, hissed in the driveway.
    Relief covered Tesema’s face when he saw Ernst in my Jeep. “ Kapitan Ernst , please call when you be late! I worry you hurt in there!”
    Ernst hadn’t bothered to answer. After Tesema helped him out of the Jeep and into his wheelchair, he rolled past the Ethiopian with a barely audible grunt.
    So where was Tesema now? Chauffeuring Ernst around wasn’t in his job description, Lindsey usually took care of that, but since he had promised to do so this morning his absence was odd. Could he have been murdered, too, and his body hidden somewhere? Or had Tesema himself…? No, I refused to consider that possibility. Something must have happened to keep him from his regular rounds. But whatever the reason, I needed to alert Kryzinski.
    Even a man like Das Kapitan deserved justice.

Chapter Three
    After tipping off Kryzinski about Tesema, I had no time to feel guilty. I left Warren to inform the rest of the film crew of