Free Convenient Disposal by Steven F. Havill

the office first thing this morning, before the meeting. They chatted for quite a while…and Kevin seemed upbeat about something. He didn’t say what.”
    “William Page…?”
    “That’s his roommate.”
    “Okay,” Estelle said, “I guess I knew that. Do you happen to know where Page works? It’s Belen, isn’t it? Someplace like that?”
    “He’s up in Socorro,” Penny said.
    “You don’t know where, exactly?”
    “Oh…” A pause followed and it sounded as if Zeigler’s secretary was flipping through a Rolodex. “William Page,” Penny murmured. “William Page.” Estelle waited, and she glanced up as Torrez sidled past her, headed for the front door.
    Penny Barnes came back on the line. “Estelle, I don’t have it here. I know he has a company in Socorro.” She paused again and her tone changed a fraction. “That’s about all I know. Big help, huh. But they talk all the time.”
    “Can you check Kevin’s desk for me?”
    “Oh…”
    “On second thought, don’t,” Estelle said quickly, hearing the indecision in Penny’s tone. “It’s not all that important. I’m sure Kevin will show up in a few minutes. When he does stick his nose back in the office, please tell him I need to see him? And I mean before he talks with anyone else, okay?”
    “Is everything all right?” Penny asked.
    “I just need to catch him,” Estelle replied cheerfully. “We have a lot to go over after the commission meeting this afternoon.”
    “Which he skipped,” Penny said reprovingly. “That’s the mess he left me in.”
    “We’ll nail him for you,” Estelle said. “Thanks a lot, Penny.”
    “If I find William Page’s card or something, I’ll get right back to you.”
    “Thanks. He probably won’t know anything, but it’s a place to try.” Estelle followed Robert Torrez outside. The sheriff was standing on the gravel driveway with his hands in his pockets. He appeared to be regarding Zeigler’s pickup truck.
    “Zeigler’s front door is locked,” he said as Estelle approached. “I checked earlier. Nobody answered the bell or my knock.” Through the side window off the front step, Estelle could see a neat, thoroughly appointed living room. A mammoth entertainment center faced a large, pillowy, winged sofa.
    She and Torrez circled the house but found nothing of interest, nothing that might hint what Zeigler’s activities might have been, beyond driving off to work in the morning.
    “I have a warrant comin’ from Judge Hobart,” Torrez said. “Not that we need one. Pasquale’s bringing it.” Two more county units pulled into the street, and Torrez left to brief the officers.
    Estelle sat down on Zeigler’s back step and fished her phone from her jacket pocket. After a brief a moment, she jotted down the Socorro phone number for William Page that the electronic voice from directory assistance provided. The phone rang five times before connecting.
    “Hello. You’ve reached the residence of William Page. Either leave a message, or try me at PageLink, Incorporated.” The number he gave was also a Socorro listing.
    Estelle dialed again.
    “Good afternoon,” a cheerful voice responded. “This is Marci at PageLink. How may I help you?”
    “Hi, Marci,” the undersheriff said as if they were old, close friends. “This is Estelle Guzman down in Posadas. Is William there?”
    “Sure,” Marci replied brightly. “Hang on just a sec.”
    In a moment, a soft tenor voice came on the line. “This is Page.”
    “Mr. Page, this is Undersheriff Estelle Guzman, calling from Posadas.”
    There was a pause. “Yes?”
    “Mr. Page, we’re trying to reach Kevin Zeigler. An emergency has come up, and it’s something where we need the county manager’s input. I was hoping maybe he’d called you…that perhaps you knew where he was at the moment.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Mr. Page, apparently Kevin had some urgent business out of the office. He left a meeting of the county commissioners at