Chapter LXVI
CHAPTER LXVI
I had assembled a file on Blas Urrea, but it made for grim reading over morning coffee. Urrea might have qualified as cultivated by the general standard of Mexican cartel bosses, but that was a low bar when it came to men whose brutality had altered language itself. In Mexico, a zacahuil was a tamale up to six feet long. Thanks to the activities of the Los Zetas cartel, to zacahuil meant to roast another human being alive in an oven. Urrea hadn’t cooked anyone, not as far as I could tell, but he wasn’t above acts of beheading, burning, and dismemberment when pushed too far, in addition to his fondness for the sledgehammer as a speedy method of execution. I even had the pictures to prove it.
Zetta Nadeau was really beginning to irritate me. I couldn’t be sure she was trying to protect her boyfriend by stashing him with her parents, but I couldn’t think of a better reason for her to reach out to her mother. It looked like I’d have to visit Anson, though I was still trying to find excuses not to. Negotiating with Ammon and Jerusha Nadeau was guaranteed to leave me with a headache. Unfortunately, the telephone rang, and the ensuing conversation made a trip to Anson unavoidable.
“Doing anything interesting?” Carrie Saunders asked, as I closed an image of five heads placed side by side on an overpass in Coahuila.
“Putting myself off breakfast. I may be in the market should you have a vacancy for a one-off therapy session. I can pay cash, but I’ll expect a discount.”
“If you’re serious, I can refer you to someone I don’t like, but only out of pity.”
“I suppose I’ll just have to cope alone,” I said. “Are you very lonely, or did you have something you wanted to share?”
“I spoke to Noah Harrow, Wyatt Riggins’s clinician,” said Saunders. “He was, needless to say, reluctant to disclose very much, but he did confirm that Riggins had been in touch.”
“Recently?”
“About three days ago. Riggins said he’d misplaced his medication and wanted a new script. Noah said he thought Riggins sounded antsy, but that wasn’t a surprise if he was struggling without his meds. Noah asked him if he wanted to come in for a talk, but Riggins said that wouldn’t be possible for a while. A phone consultation followed, because Noah’s by the book about these things. Ultimately, it ended with Noah agreeing to email a script to a pharmacy and Riggins promising to arrange an appointment down in Saugus as soon as circumstances permitted.”
“Did Harrow tell you which pharmacy?”
“He hemmed and hawed, but eventually decided that identifying it wouldn’t break any oaths. The script went to a Walmart up in Skowhegan.”
“Huh.”
“Does that mean something to you?”
Skowhegan was about eleven miles from Anson, home to Ammon and Jerusha Nadeau.
“It might.”
“Then I want you to listen carefully. Like Noah Harrow, I can square what I’ve told you with my conscience. Right now, there’s no proof that Wyatt Riggins has committed any crime, and if it turns out he has, the law can deal with him, not you. Are we clear?”
“We’re clear.”
“And that goes for those two thugs who travel with you—in fact, double for them.”
“I’ll be sure to let the thugs know.”
“Don’t screw me on this,” said Saunders. “You can’t afford to lose friends.”
“Wow, are we friends now?”
“No, that was just a general observation. I’m going to give you Noah’s cell phone number, with his consent. I’ve advised him that Riggins may have managed to get himself into a serious quagmire, but I spared him the part about the missing children. If you think Noah can be of assistance, you’re free to contact him, day or night. If you need me, I’m also available, but Riggins isn’t my patient so there are limits to my assistance. Still, I can try.”
Saunders and I parted on reasonably good terms. As she said, I couldn’t afford to lose friends, or even acquaintances. On enemies, I was running an unhealthy surfeit. What Saunders had told me supported the view that Wyatt Riggins had found sanctuary at or near the childhood home of Zetta Nadeau.
But once again, why had Riggins stayed in Maine if he knew that Blas Urrea’s people might be looking for him and could track him to the state? Perhaps he liked Zetta as much as she did him. As Moxie had suggested, Riggins might even have been concerned that Urrea would find out about her. Anson was roughly ninety minutes from Falmouth—fewer, if you put your foot down, which struck some balance between accessibility and remoteness, however imperfect. Then again, if Wyatt Riggins was sharing living space with Ammon and Jerusha Nadeau, he had my sympathies. He might even have been tempted to take his chances with the Mexicans.
I shut down my computer and armed myself with pepper spray, a telescopic baton, and, as a last resort, my gun. I hoped Wyatt Riggins wouldn’t make me use any of them. I wanted to help, if only to do the right thing where the children were concerned. More than that, I still wanted to protect Zetta. I debated asking Angel and Louis to come along for the ride, but decided against it. I believed I had a better chance of making Riggins see reason if he didn’t feel threatened.
In retrospect, that was a mistake.