Precinct Puerto Rico by Steven Torres

Author:Steven Torres [Torres, Steven]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-312-28580-7
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group
Published: 2002-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The moment he saw Hector disappear around the corner on the motorcycle, Gonzalo was sorry he had sent the young man in pursuit. The sheriff liked to have enough time to make rational decisions. With only a few extra seconds, he realized he might have just sent a fine young officer on a suicide mission. In the next moment he realized that there might be other gunmen still in the bank.

“Is it over?” Officer Calderon asked. She was still sitting next to the squad car, her gun lying in the street by her hand. Her tone was one of utter exhaustion.

“Not by a long shot,” Gonzalo said. “You’ll be all right, but keep that gun in your hand. I’ll be back in a second.”

Gonzalo ran over to Collazo, crouching low as he went in case another gunman showed himself.

“How you doing old man?”

“Not too good, son. I can’t stand up.”

“What do you mean?” Gonzalo asked, but he was already looking at his deputy’s back, checking for a spinal injury.

“It hurts,” Collazo answered, sounding very much like a frightened child.

“Will you be all right here until the ambulance comes?”

“Sure. I’ll be fine. Go do what you have to do.”

“I’m going to check on Rosa—”

“She’s dead,” Collazo said, as he lifted his hand part of the way off his wound and took a first look at the damage done to him.

Gonzalo walked towards Rosa Almodovar, his crouch less pronounced now. The force of the shotgun blast to her head had knocked her flat on her back. Time seemed to stop or slow as Gonzalo neared the corpse. He didn’t notice the pool of blood on the sidewalk until he had knelt in it. He checked her neck for a pulse, and, not finding one, he turned her head to look for a wound.

The mess at the back of Rosa’s head was profound. There was a flap of skin with bits of bone. Blood with small flecks of brain spilled when Gonzalo turned the head. A wave of nausea swept over the sheriff and he turned the head back to the face up position. After a moment used to compose himself by looking around and in through the bank door, he studied Rosa’s face. There was no calm in Rosa’s countenance. Her brow was furrowed with anger, her eyes were still open, the flesh around her mouth seemed to hang on her face, loose now that nothing at the back of her head restrained it; this made it seem as though Gonzalo could easily lift the death mask from her face and reveal the living woman. He was tempted to straighten her arms and holster the gun she still clutched. He wanted to button her collar and find the tie officers wore in formal settings, but all of this would be tampering with evidence that might someday be needed in court. There would be pictures of the body and a chalk outline. It could turn out to be the last case in which she testified.

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