Heartshot Read Online Free Page A

knew that the crash was a multiple fatal. Holman left a small party he was hosting and drove to the office. He stayed out of our way, but when it came time for someone to notify next of kin, he took that job on himself, chauffeuring clergy here and there until the stunning message had been delivered to the four households that still remained innocent of grief.
    He met with me, Estelle Reyes, and Bob Torrez around noon the next day, and he was serious. No veiled sex jokes to make Estelle blush, no cracks about my age, no ethnic jokes meant to rib Bob Torrez, who had a thin skin that way.
    “Let’s have it in order, short and simple,” he said to me. I nodded at Estelle, who shifted in her chair, smoothed her khaki skirt, and flipped open one of the manila envelopes she carried.
    “All right, this is what we’ve got. Four of the five kids in the car were eighteen. One, Hank Montaño, was a minor. Ricky Fernandez was driving. I think Tommy Hardy was riding shotgun. Pretty sure. Jenny Barrie was sitting left rear. Hank Montaño was sitting center rear. I’m pretty sure Isabel Gabaldon was sitting right rear.”
    “Why do you say ‘pretty sure’?” Holman asked quietly. He held a pencil poised over a blank legal pad.
    “I think what happened…” Estelle paused, searching for the right description. “I’ve heard that strange things happen sometimes in wrecks, Sheriff. In this case both Hardy and the Gabaldon girl were crushed up under the dash. Whichever one was riding in the back would have been forced past the front seat, between the seat and the collapsing door. I still need to get some details from the medical examiner. But I’m pretty sure. Both of his shoes were up front, for instance. Only one of hers was. Things like that.”
    Holman shook his head slowly, looking as if he wanted either to say something or vomit. He settled for, “Go on.”
    “There is evidence that Hardy may have turned off the ignition key.”
    “He what?”
    “Turned the key. The driver never would, I don’t think. Not at that kind of speed.”
    “What did the speedometer say?”
    “Zero,” Estelle said. “It didn’t break at speed. Maybe it wasn’t working. But trajectory and skid marks tell us that the car was doing well over a hundred. It had almost a quarter mile of straight road to wind out, and a big engine.”
    “So the kid riding shotgun got scared?”
    “Maybe,” Estelle said. “If Ricky Fernandez knew what was under the seat, he had good reason to panic when he saw the gum balls in his rearview mirror.”
    “Maybe he just thought he could get away,” Holman said dubiously. “Hell, kids run from cops all the time. If they have a motorcycle, they usually succeed.”
    “That’s true. But he must have known that the deputy got a good look at the car and knew who he was. And it should have become readily apparent that Bob wasn’t pressing the chase.”
    “I stayed back,” Torrez offered.
    “So Hardy gets scared and turns the key. Wouldn’t that lock the wheel?”
    “No, not while the car is in drive. But it must have flustered Fernandez enough that he lost his concentration. It doesn’t take much at that speed.”
    “And the cocaine was under the front passenger seat?”
    “I think so. The way one corner of the package was wedged against the seat rail, it seems likely. The only other place is on the floor, between the Gabaldon girl’s feet. That’s unlikely.”
    Holman thought for a long minute. “So what you’re saying is that it’s possible that Fernandez was worried about the coke, and Hardy was just scared about driving so fast. If the drugs had been Hardy’s, he would have been all for a clean, fast getaway.”
    “Maybe,” Estelle said carefully. She reached a hand back and toyed with the bun of black hair at the back of her head, then frowned. “It’s possible they all knew it was there. Or maybe just one of them knew. It’s possible. We have no way of pinning the stuff on any of them,