Versions of the Truth by Richard Parrish

Versions of the Truth by Richard Parrish

Author:Richard Parrish
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00


Chapter 12

She showed up at the BIA like clockwork at ten o’clock the next morning. She was at least seventy years old, dark-skinned, with long well-groomed gray hair and black eyes, either a Papago or Mexican, tall and a little overweight, wearing a clean cotton muumuu with Gauguin-like figures on it, yellow people and beige animals reposing under emerald green trees in a purple tropical jungle.

“I came as soon as I saw the newspaper,” she said in a heavy Mexican accent, putting stresses on words in strange places. “That nice boy, he change my tire. I am too old, I got arthritis, I can’t change no tire. He change my tire.”

Joshua looked at her and nodded sourly.

“It was at midnight, I am positive. I look at the clock at the market, I look at my own watch.” She held up her left arm and rotated her wrist, displaying the watch to Joshua. “It take him maybe half hour.”

“Had you ever seen the man before?”

“No, uh-uh. First time.”

“How do you know it was Franklin Carillo?”

“I seen the picture in the papers, two times now.

I thought I recognize him, and then I see the ad, and I know he’s the same guy.”

“How long have you known Martha Joslin and her daughter Erma?”

She stared at him, thinking. Then she shook her head. “What do you mean, mister?”

“I mean just that. Do you know Erma Carillo or her mother?” Joshua asked.

“I dunno dem.” She shook her head.

“Where do you live?”

“Tubac.”

“That’s thirty-five miles from here. Why were you here that night?”

“Visiting my daughter. She marry to a Papago, live near San Xavier Mission on the Reservation. Not far from Franklin Carillo. He told me when he change tire he was live on Reservation right off Valencia, near Ochoa Market. My daughter, she just have her eighth baby. Antonio we baptize him two weeks ago.” She smiled sweetly at Joshua.

Joshua studied her thoughtfully. He walked to the doorway, looked back at the old woman, and waited. She shifted uneasily in her chair, then stood up and followed him out of the BIA.

“This yours?” He pointed to a battered fifteen-year-old Ford Model T pickup truck.

She nodded.

“Which tire was changed?”

She hesitated, then pointed to the front passenger side. Joshua stooped next to it. The nuts were rusted hard and years of road tar and dirt were caked around them.

Joshua took a pen and pad out of his shirt pocket. “Okay, give me your name and address.”

“Esmeralda Bojorquez,” she said. “Rural Route 3, Tubac.”

Joshua wrote it down. “I’ll need you to testify at the trial. It’s on the eighteenth. Will you come to the courthouse at ten in the morning?” He wrote the date and time on a sheet of paper and handed it to her.

“Sure, sure, Mr. Rabb. I come.” She walked away to her car.

Joshua went back into his office and telephoned Erma Carillo. He said that he wanted to talk to her in person about the witness and would like to come over right now. She was pleased at finally having so much attention from him and gave him directions to her house.



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