The Cinco de Mayo Murder Read online

  “A lot of hiking for one day,” I said.

  “You bet. But we were in good shape then, right, Mary Ann?”

  She smiled. “Those were the days.”

  “I understand there was a backpack on the trail.”

  “Right. I didn't open it. I figured it was his.”

  “Funny that no one found it before you did.”

  “There aren't always a lot of people on that trail. What time of year did that happen?” he asked his wife.

  “May.”

  “Right. May seventh. They figured he'd fallen a couple of days earlier, Cinco de Mayo, fifth of May. I remember it was real hot, too hot to climb, but we'd been planning that for a while.”

  “Was there anything that you saw that struck you as strange?”

  “The whole thing was strange. I'd never seen a dead body before in my life. I see how he could've fallen, but he shouldn't have. He didn't have his backpack on, so he wasn't weighed down. I couldn't figure what made him fall.”

  “He was from the East,” I said. “He may have gotten dehydrated. You said yourself it was hot.”

  “That's what I said,” Mary Ann declared. “The heat got to him, he felt dizzy, and he fell.”

  “You mean he put his backpack down nice and neat by the side of the trail and then toppled over?” Brad sounded scornful. “I could almost believe it if he had the backpack on. It could've unbalanced him.”

  “Well, we'll never know,” his wife said dismissively.

  “Did you go up that same trail that you came down?”

  “Sure,” Brad said.

  Sister Joseph leaned forward. “Didn't you come upon the backpack on your way up?”

  The couple looked at each other. “I didn't see it,” Mary Ann said.

  “Neither did I.”

  “Could you have missed it?”

  Brad shook his head. “I don't think so. That's not a wide trail. Even if we weren't looking, one of us would've been sure to kick it as we went by.”

  “Are you suggesting that the backpack wasn't there when we went up and someone put it there while we were coming down?” Mary Ann looked deeply concerned.

  “It's a possibility,” Joseph said. “Did the police ask you which way you were walking when you spotted the body?”

  “I don't remember,” Brad said, looking at Mary Ann.

  “I was awfully upset. I didn't go back up with them when the deputy came. I wasn't thinking too clearly. It was such an awful sight.”

  “So you may not have been asked,” Joseph said thoughtfully.

  “What are you getting at?” Brad asked. “They said it was an accident. It looked like an accident. You think it was something else?” He seemed reluctant to use the word that we were probably all thinking.

  “We can't say at this moment. Chris and I both read the file and neither of us noticed whether you were asked which direction you were hiking when you found the body. Maybe it didn't occur to the deputy to ask. It was twenty years ago; he was young and less experienced. I wouldn't be surprised if that was the first time he'd encountered a body.”

  “But what you're saying is important,” Brad said. “Everyone assumed this guy died by accident. You're saying it could have been murder.”

  “I'm not saying that. There are several possibilities. Perhaps some hiker reached the backpack before you and took it off the trail to a secluded place to see what was in it. Maybe he was interested in finding the owner.”

  “Or stealing what was in it,” Mary Ann said.

  “We can't exclude that. I just wanted to point out that the disappearance and reappearance of the backpack doesn't necessarily add up to murder.”

  “Sorry I jumped the gun,” Brad said. “I wish someone had thought of this twenty years ago. It's kind of late in the game to be discovering new facts.”

  “It's not too late,” I said. “This young man's mother wants to know what happened. If we can find out, we'll be doing her a service.”

  Brad looked at his watch. “Honey, we really have to go.” He turned to Joseph and me. “Will you let us know what happens? I mean, if you find out that there was some kind of foul play, we'd really like to know.”

  “I have your name and number,” I said. “You'll hear from me. It may be awhile.”

  “Hey, after twenty years, what's another couple of weeks?”

  We all shook hands, and they left. Joseph and I decided to have some lunch in the hotel as we were driving down to the San Xavier Mission that afternoon. Sitting at the table after we had ordered, we talked about this disquieting new piece of information.

  “Obviously,” Joseph said, “the original questioning of the Towers was deficient. It's interesting that neither of them thought anything was unusual about not seeing the backpack on the way up and finding it on the way down.”

  “They were upset. I'm sure they weren't thinking clearly. And no one had reason to suspect anything besides an accident.” I drank half a glass of ice water. “I wonder if Heinz had a car with him. The rangers must check the parking lots in the evening. If a car is left—”

  “It puts up a red flag. That didn't happen.”

  “He might have thumbed a ride from his starting point.”

  “That must have been the case.”

  I pulled my notebookout and made a note. If Heinz had rented a car, the company would have had Heinz's home address and would have contacted the Gruners when he didn't return it. Or the sheriff's department would have intervened. Thinking about it, I barely noticed when the food arrived.

  “It doesn't make sense that he drove,” I said, putting the notebook on the table. “Are you convinced that someone took the backpack and returned it, Joseph?”

  “I am. It's possible that the backpack was taken as early as May fifth and was returned on the seventh after the Towers passed the spot going up.”

  “Why would someone take it? Why would they return it?” “They took it to see if something in it was worth stealing. They returned it to identify the body.”

  “Which means the Towers weren't the first ones to see the body or the backpack.”

  “It still doesn't add up to murder, Chris, if that's what you're thinking.”

  “It is what I'm thinking even if I'm taking giant leaps here. In fact—” I put my fork down as ideas flooded my mind. “What if Heinz drove to Picacho Peak with someone else in the other person's car?”

  “That would answer some questions we've just asked.”

  “Like what became of the car.”

  “Then it could have been a murder that developed from hitchhiking,” Joseph said.

  “How awful. But you're right. That would make it a crime of opportunity.”

  “And no way to trace whoever drove the car and pushed Heinz off the edge of the path.”

  She was right. Two men drive into the park, pay the entrance fee, park at the base of a trail, and start up together. They have just met, perhaps an hour or two earlier. They are talking, enjoying each other's company. They walk the trail, come to the fateful spot, and something happens.

  “But once again,” Joseph said, “even if we insert this additional person into the mix, the man driving the car, it could still have been an accident. The other person felt he wasn't able to scale the slope to help him. He panics, grabs the backpack, and goes back down. A day or two later, he returns with the backpack. Do you have the file with you, Chris?”

  “Right here.” I took it out of the canvas tote bag.

  “I'm sure I remember seeing a list of the contents of the backpack. What was in it?”

  I rummaged through the file. “No money,” I said. “But I think there was a wallet in his pant pocket. A hat, just as I thought. One unopened bottle of water.”

  “He could have drunk another bottle and discarded it.”

  “Right. Half a sandwich, two ice packs to keep food cold, both thawed. A hand towel, a case for eyeglasses. His glasses were near the body. A small transistor radio. He probably wanted to hear the
news or some music. Look at this. A postcard to his parents. Had no stamp on it. He was going to mail it when he got some stamps. That doesn't sound like he was planning to kill himself. Kleenex, hand wipes. That's about it.” I sat looking at the list.

  “Do you see what's missing?”

  I went down the list a second time. “Nothing pops out.”

  “Clothes.”

  “Of course,” I said. “He had no extra clothes with him. He had them in a suitcase or a larger backpack.”

  “And he left it in the car he came in. I think this tells us that there was a car and driver.”

  “Or that he had a room in a hotel somewhere—but that means the hotel would have called his parents’ number looking for him to pay the bill. Mrs. Gruner didn't say anything about that, but I can ask her. And if he was staying in a hotel, he needed transportation to get to the park.”

  “What this says to me is that it's unlikely he committed suicide,” Joseph said. “He had to have traveled with clothes. If the clothes were left in a hotel, why didn't they turn up?”

  I returned to the file. There was no mention of anyone looking for a hotel room. “I'm going to call Deputy Gonzales,” I said. “I'll be right back.”

  I found a pay phone and dialed the number. Gonzales answered immediately.

  “Warren, this is Chris Bennett.”

  “Well, hello there. You and the sister still thinking about that death in the park?”

  “We are, and we have some questions. Do you know if Heinz Gruner was registered at a hotel at the time of his death or the night before?”

  “Well, we did some digging on that, called a bunch of places, came up with nothing.”

  “Sister Joseph and I just realized that he had no clothes with him except for what he was wearing. We read the list of the contents of the backpack and all it had was a sandwich and some Kleenex and things like that.”

  “Young folks don't always travel with a suitcase, you know,” the deputy said. “They rough it.”

  “He didn't have a toothbrush. He didn't have a change of socks or underwear.”

  “You're right about that. But we never recovered any.”

  “There's something else.” I had made a split-second decision to tell him what we had learned that morning. “We spoke to that couple who found the body, the Towers. They were on their way down the mountain when they spotted the body and the backpack.”

  “OK.”

  “They had gone up the same way earlier in the day. I'm not surprised they didn't see the body because of the angle, but they didn't see the backpack on the way up.”

  There was silence from the deputy. Then he said, “They were coming down when they saw the body and on the way up they missed the backpack?”

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting.”

  “They couldn't have missed it if it was there, Warren.

  The trail is narrow. Even if they were looking away, they would have kicked it as they went by. We think the backpack was taken after the accident and brought back just before the Towers came down the mountain.”

  “I suppose that could have happened,” Warren said. “Someone could've seen it, thought it had money, taken it away with him to check, and brought it back when he'd taken what he wanted out of it. Could've been a piece of jewelry in there that the fellow didn't want to wear in the heat, like a ring.”

  “That's what we were thinking,” I said, not wanting to get involved in a discussion of possible homicide.

  “Well, that's interesting. It's so long ago, I don't remember whether I asked those folks if they were going up or down, and if it's not in the file, they didn't volunteer it. But I agree with you that because of the curve of the trail, you'd see the body coming down easier than going up.”

  “I just wanted you to know what we found out.”

  “My recollection is the father flew down and identified the body, and we gave him the backpack and whatever we had. There was a wallet in his pocket, as I remember.”

  “I saw that, yes. Well, thanks for your time.” I went back to the table and told Joseph what I had learned.

  “So no suitcase, no clothes, no big backpack. I'm sure the parents were too distraught to think about such mundane things.”

  “And as far as the police were concerned, young people just roughed it and didn't bother changing their clothes. Or using a toothbrush,” I added.

  “I think we've learned something valuable,” Joseph said. “Whether the companion took the backpack or a third party did, I'm convinced there was another container of possessions that he left somewhere rather than carry it as he climbed. And the place was very likely the car he came in.”

  “OK,” I said. The check had been dropped on the table in my absence. “We've accomplished something. Let's go look at that mission.”

  Everyone knew of the San Xavier Mission, which was on a reservation not far south of our hotel. The drive was barely twenty minutes. I took the wheel and Joseph kept her eyes peeled for the first sight of it, which turned out to be quite dramatic.

  “Look,” she said, leaning forward. “Over to the right, that magnificent white structure rising out of the desert.”

  I could hear the excitement in her voice. I glanced to my right and saw it, a white dome atop a long, low white building. A moment later we passed a sign that we were entering the reservation, and soon I came to the exit. We drove through farmland, finally approaching the mission, which stood just beyond a wide-open space with parking along the left side. We got out of the car and began to walk through the dusty open area. Off to our right, well beyond the building, was a small hill with a large cross planted on the top. Several people were climbing toward it.

  We entered the church and went into the dark interior. Old wooden pews, smoothed by age and use, flanked a center aisle in the narrow sanctuary. Candles burned ahead of us in the nave. The atmosphere was hushed. In the left transept was a statue of San Xavier, reclining under a coverlet adorned with tokens representing desired miracles.

  These tiny arms and legs and hearts had been pinned in place by visitors.

  We made a slow round of the church, then left to visit the museum in a wing off to the right. There we found historical pictures and artifacts going back hundreds of years. The building had been started by Father Eusebio Kino in 1700, but most of it had been constructed by Franciscans and completed almost a hundred years later. Exiting behind the building, we walked through a beautiful courtyard with flowering plants and tropical trees.

  “What a wonderful place,” Joseph said, “and built by Franciscans. If I saw nothing else on this trip, I would consider it successful to have come here.”

  On the way back, we stopped and bought candles that we tookinside to light. Whenever I have the opportunity, I light three, one for each of my parents and one for Aunt Meg.

  Outside in the hot sun, we decided to take a hike up to the cross.

  “I think we'll both be a few pounds lighter when we get back,” Joseph said.

  “And more muscular. I feel every step in my legs.”

  We took it slowly, spending close to an hour on the hill. Many of the people around us spoke Spanish. Others looked as though they might be Indians from nearby reservations.

  Back at ground level, we sauntered toward the car, the late-afternoon sun beating down on us. A priest walked by and stopped to talk to Joseph. I left them and continued toward the car, which was as hot as an oven. I opened the windows and turned on the air conditioner till it was cool enough to close up. Joseph was striding toward the car. She got in, thanking me for cooling it off.

  I drove back to the hotel, Joseph turning to look at the mission for the last time.

  * * *

  We ate at a well-known Mexican restaurant a few blocks from the hotel. It was pleasant enough that we could eat outside in the garden. In the desert, I learned, the nights were cool most of the year, affording relief after the hot days. The food was different from any I had ever eaten. Unsweetened ch
ocolate was used as a flavor with the meat, and skeptical as I was when I placed my order, it was delicious. I knew Jack would love it.

  “This was certainly a successful day,” Joseph said. “We learned some important things connected to your investigation and I satisfied a desire I have had for more than twenty years. We couldn't ask for much more.”

  “But I have much more to find out. Now that I suspect there was another person present when Heinz fell, I know I have to continue digging into this. I've been wondering whether Heinz traveled to Arizona alone. He might have come with someone from school.”

  “His airline ticket was missing. It may have been in the missing suitcase.”

  “Or among the things that were stolen out of the backpack.”

  “Good thought,” Joseph said. “Twenty years ago you didn't need picture ID to travel. Any man could have posed as Heinz Gruner and gotten a free flight back to wherever he came from. I think you have many questions to ask his mother, Chris.”

  I agreed. “I hope she doesn't find it too stressful.”

  “She'll overcome it. This has been the agony of her life. She wants answers, most of all to the question of whether her son committed suicide. While it seemed a likely possibility a few days ago, it doesn't anymore.”

  “It's hard to imagine anyone would have wanted to kill him,” I said. “He wasn't a bully, he kept to himself, he was pleasant enough even if he wasn't outgoing. I know so little about him, it's hard to know where to begin.”

  “You know little about any of the victims whose deaths you have investigated. They come to you out of the blue with no history, no known friends or business associates. You learn all that when you look into their deaths. You're ahead of the game here. You remember this person and you've met his mother. That puts you two giant steps ahead of most of your other inquiries.”

  I had begun writing notes to myself as she spoke, things I wanted to ask Mrs. Gruner, other things I wanted to find out from Heinz's college. They might have a record of the people in his dormitory, especially those whose rooms were near his. It made sense that he would live near friends he had made in previous years.