“Probably all three,” Decker said.
“I’m not a nutcase. I’ve been with the courts for almost five years.”
“How’d you come to work for the courts?”
“Another personal question?” Harriman gave Decker a white-toothed smile as he tilted his head to the right. “Aren’t you trying to solve a murder?”
“Murders, actually. How’d you come to work for the courts?”
“A friend of mine who works downtown told me that the courts were hiring witness translators. Mostly for Spanish but other languages, too. I applied and that was that.”
“They weren’t bothered by your blindness?”
Harriman grinned. “I wore tinted glasses. I don’t think they knew until later. Besides, they would never fire me. I help their federally mandated numbers in hiring the handicapped. I’m also damn good at my job!”
“Where were you working before the courts?”
“I was a patient translator for six different hospitals. The job was getting a little monotonous. How many times can you translate ‘take two of these pills for regular bowel movements’?” The pause was awkward. “It was more than that. It was hard day after day delivering bad news.”
“That’s miserable.”
“Depressing as hell. Lucky for me I never had to look at the eyes of a patient who just got the news. I sure as hell heard it in the voice. And it didn’t take me long to learn if the doctor was feeding bullshit, letting the patient or the families cling to hope when I could tell by the nuances in his voice that Tia Anabel was a goner.”
Decker said, “There’s a police detective in the Netherlands. He’s blind. They use him to decipher accents and voices—like terrorists. He can tell the origin of the speaker even if he or she is speaking fluent and unaccented Dutch.”
“Nobody speaks unaccented anything.” Harriman rocked his head to the other side “There are always giveaways if you know what to listen for.”
“Could you ever see?”
“I still can see. You see with your brain, not with your eyes. But there was a time I was sighted. I was five when I lost my sight from a rhabdomyosarcoma—bilateral tumors.” He tapped his foot on the floor. “Are you interested in what I told you or do you still think that it’s worthless?”
“You’re confusing worthlessness with a healthy dose of skepticism. I’m very interested in what you’ve told me, Mr. Harriman. If you don’t mind, let’s go over it again.”
The blind man gave an exasperated sigh. “It’s Brett, and I told you everything I know. The story’s not going to change.”
“But maybe my perception will. Please?”
He waited a few moments, then he said, “I was standing around the waiting area of the courtrooms eating a power bar. Two Hispanic guys were talking about the Coyote Ranch murders. One of the guys was from Mexico, the other from El Salvador. They kept on calling the victim Mr. Café because Kaffey is coffee in Spanish. Then they segued into talking about a guy named José Pinon who had gone missing and that the boss was looking for him in Mexico. Are you writing this down again? I can hear your pen scratching.”
Decker said. “Just squaring what I wrote the first time against what you’re saying now. You said then that the Mexican was doing most of the talking.”
“That’s correct. The Mexican said that the boss was looking for José. He—the boss—was very mad at José because he fucked up. And he fucked up by running out of bullets.” A pause. “Does that mean anything to you?”
Damn straight it does. José Pinon translates to Joe Pine. Decker said, “It could. Go on.”
“So José ran out of bullets,” Harriman said. “So the El Salvadorian asked the Mexican why someone else didn’t finish him off. And the Mexican said because José is a retard. Then he said Martin was very angry. Both agreed that Martin was a very bad man, but not as bad as the boss—whoever that is. They also both agreed that José was a dead man. At that point, I felt very uncomfortable eavesdropping. The way that the two of them were speaking … it sounded authentic. When I got home that night, I looked up the murders on my computer … It’s voice activated, in case you’re wondering.”
“I figured.”
“The son … Gil Kaffey … he was shot but he survived. I may be assuming too much but I surmised that they had been talking about Gil Kaffey and that José hadn’t made sure that Gil was dead.” Harriman rolled his head in the other direction. “I’m just relating the information to you. Maybe it’ll do you some good.”
“I appreciate your coming in. You mentioned José’s name as José Pinon. How about Martin?”
“Just Martin.”
“Did he mention Rondo Martin?”
“Just Martin as far as I can recall.”
“Okay,” Decker said. “If you heard these men speak again, do you think you could pick them out from other El Salvadorians or Mexicans?”
“Like a vocal lineup?”
“Something like that.”
“Have you ever done something like that before?”
“No. It might be a first with the courts. Do you think you could ID the voices?”
“Absolutely.” Harriman seemed insulted. “Why? Do you have a suspect?”
“Right now what we have are lots of people of interest.”
“No arrests then.”
“If we had an arrest, your voice-activated computer would know about it. Is there anything else that you’d like to add?”
Harriman thought for a moment. “The El Salvadorian sounded like a smoker. That might narrow it down to a gazillion people.”
“I appreciate your information.”
“Does it help?”
Damn straight. “It might.” Decker reread part of Harriman’s statement. “What’s my best option for getting hold of you in case I need to speak to you again?”
Harriman took out his wallet, pulled a card from one of its compartments. He handed it to Decker. “My business and cell number. And how do I reach you in case I think of anything else?”
Decker dictated the number while Harriman entered it into his PDA by voice. Then Decker said, “Thanks again for doing your civic duty. People like you make our lives much easier. I’ll walk you out.”
“No need.” Harriman activated his locator. “I came in alone, I’ll go out alone.”
On his way over to Coyote Ranch, Decker pondered what to do with the information. Without physical descriptions, the men were nonexistent, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have options. His first call was to Willy Brubeck. “Hey, Detective.”
“What’s going on, Loo?”
“I’m on my way to a dig at Coyote Ranch.” Decker explained what was going on there. “What was on your agenda today?”
“Five guard interviews today, hope to do at least that many tomorrow. One of them had to cancel, but the rest were cooperative. No radar tweaking. Four were pretty freaked by the murders, one was pissed that he was out of a job. All of them gave me a cheek swab.”
“Good work. Have either Drew or you found Joe Pine?”
“Joe’s