They climbed into the GMC and left Drake Trucking, drove down the highway to the address at the other end of town where Conchita Hernandez lived with her three kids.
“She has to know about the deposits,” Carly said. “Twenty thousand dollars shows up in your checking account, you’re bound to notice.”
“Yeah, and you’re probably going to ask your husband where the hell the money came from.”
Linc pulled up in front of a small yellow house with a clapboard front and brown metal roof. Both of them got out and started up the frontwalk. Linc rapped lightly on the door. The kids would be at school this time of day, but he’d called ahead, so Conchita was expecting them.
The woman opened the door and stepped back, inviting them into the living room. “Please come in.”
She was petite, late twenties, with glossy black hair pulled into a single long braid. Linc figured under different circumstances, Carly would have hugged her, but too much intrigue swirled around them. No way to know whom to trust.
“How are the boys and your little girl?” Carly asked.
“They miss their father.” Conchita led them farther into the living room, which looked very Latin, with a colorful serape draped over the sofa and a statue of the Virgin Mary in an alcove at the end of the hall.
“Please sit down,” Conchita said. “Would you like something to drink? Some coffee or a soda?”
“Nothing, thank you.” Linc urged Carly toward the sofa and both of them sat down.
Conchita sat in a chair across from them. “You said you wished to see me. What is this about?”
“The sheriff’s still trying to find the man or men who killed your husband,” Linc said. “We’re trying to help him. A couple of days ago, something turned up we need to ask you about.”
“Sí,what is it?”
“Apparently you and your husband recently came into a good sum of money. Twenty thousand dollars. The deposit into your bank account was made in cash. In order to clear things up, we need to know where that money came from.”
Eyes wide, Conchita straightened. The hands she gripped in her lap began to tremble. She moistened her lips. “I-I told him not to take it. I told Miguel it was wrong, but he wouldn’t listen.” A sob slipped from her throat.
“Just take your time,” Linc said.
“Miguel, he was afraid for our daughter. Our . . . our little Angelina . . . she is sick with the asthma. There was a doctor who could help but he wanted money. Miguel was frantic. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t . . . couldn’t stand to see his little girl suffer.”
Conchita bent her head and sobbed against the arm of the chair. Carly walked over and crouched beside her. “We all do things we regret,” she said, reminding Linc of words he’d once said. “Miguel was trying to do what was best for his family.”
Conchita raised her head. “I will find a way to pay the money back. My children need me. I cannot go to prison. Please, I am begging you. Tell the sheriff I will find a way.”
Linc was good at reading people. No way was this woman involved. “It’s all right, Conchita. You don’t have to worry about the money. We just need to know who gave it to Miguel and what they expected him to do in return.”
Conchita wiped tears from her cheeks. “I do not know,SeñorCain.” She swallowed. “Miguel would not tell me. He said it was better if I did not know.”
Linc sat back on the sofa. He figured it was the truth. Latino males didn’t like to involve their wives in business.
“So you don’t have any idea what he was being paid to do?” Carly asked.
Conchita just shook her head. She glanced up. “Do you think that was the reason he was murdered? Maybe he was paid to do something but he changed his mind. Maybe that is why they killed him.”
Linc glanced over at Carly, whose eyes met his. “It’s possible,” he said. “Joe Drake trusted your husband. If Miguel had agreed to help the hijackers in exchange for the money, he might have had second thoughts.”
Fresh tears rolled down Conchita’s face. “He was a good man. A good husband and father. He never did anything bad, not until this.”
Linc stood up and Carly joined him. “I know some people who might be able to help your daughter,” Linc said. Pulling a business card out of his wallet, he jotted down a number.
“Tell the woman who answers I told you to call. She’ll make sure Angelina gets whatever treatment she needs.”
“You are not calling the sheriff ?”
“No. Just take care of your family.”
