Salvation in death

15

A MORNING STORM RUMBLED OUTSIDE THE WINDOWS. The thunder, a bit dim and distant, sounded like the sky clearing its throat. Rain slid down the windows like an endless fall of gray tears.

As much for comfort as light, Roarke ordered the bedroom fire on low while he scanned the morning stock reports on-screen.

But he couldn’t concentrate. When he switched to the morning news, he found that didn’t hold his interest either. Restless, unsettled, he glanced over as Eve grabbed a shirt out of her closet. He noticed she’d removed the cold patch.

“How’s the shoulder?”

She rolled it. “It’s good. I sent a text to Peabody last night to have her meet me here this morning. I’m going to go down and head her off before she comes up and tries to cage breakfast. What?” she added when he rose and walked to the closet.

He took the jacket she’d pulled out, scanned the other choices briefly, and chose another. “This one.”

“I bet everyone I badge today is going to take special note of my jacket.”

“They would if you’d worn the other with those pants.” He kissed the top of her head. “And the faux pas would, very possibly, undermine your authority.”

She snorted, but went with his selection. When he didn’t move, but stood in her way, she frowned and said, “What?” again.

This time he cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her mouth, very gently. “I love you.”

Her heart went gooey, instantly. “I got that.”

He turned, crossed to the AutoChef, and got more coffee for both of them.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him.

“Nothing. Not really. Miserable morning out there.” But that wasn’t it, he thought as he stood, staring out through the dreary curtain of rain. That wasn’t it at all. “I had a dream.”

She changed her plans, and instead of going downstairs walked over to the sofa, sat. “Bad?”

“No. Well, disturbing and odd, I suppose. Very lucid, which is more your style than mine.”

He turned, saw that she’d sat down, that she waited. And that was more comforting than any fire in the hearth. He went to her, handed off her coffee. And sitting beside her, rubbed a hand gently on her leg in a gesture that was both gratitude and connection.

“It might be all the talk about the old days, childhood friends, and so on kicked my subconscious.”

“It bothered you. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“When I woke it was over, wasn’t it, and I didn’t see the point. And then, just now… Well, in any case, I was back in Dublin, a boy again, running the streets, picking pockets. That part, at least, wasn’t disturbing. It was rather entertaining.”

“Good times.”

He laughed a little. “Some of them were. I could smell it-the crowds on Grafton Street. Good pickings there, if you were quick enough. And the buskers playing the old tunes to draw the tourists in. There were those among them, if you gave them a cut, they’d keep the crowd pulled in for you. We’d work a snatch, pass, drop on Grafton. I’d lift the wallet or purse, pass it on to Jenny, and she to Mick, and Brian would drop it at our hidey-hole in an alley.

“Couldn’t work there often, no more than a couple hits a month, lest the locals caught wind to it. But when we did, we’d pull in hundreds in the day. If I was careful enough with my share, even with what the old man kicked out of me, I’d eat well for a month-with some to spare for my investment fund.”

“Investment fund? Even then?”

“Oh aye, I didn’t intend to live a street rat the whole of my life.” His eyes kindled, but unlike the mellow fire in the hearth, dark and danger flashed there. “He suspected, of course, but he never found my cache. I’d sooner he beat me to death than give it over.”

“You dreamed about him? Your father?”

“No. It wasn’t him at all. A bright summer day, so clear I could hear the voices, the music, smell the fat frying for the chips we always treated ourselves to. A day on Grafton Street was prime, you see. Full pockets and full bellies. But in dreaming it, it went wrong.”

“How?”

“Jenny’d wear her best dress on Grafton day, and her hair would be shining with a ribbon in it. Who’d look at a pretty young girl like that and see a thief, was the thought behind it. I passed to her, clean and smooth, and moved on. You have to keep moving. I set my next mark, and the fiddler was playing ‘Finnegan’s Wake.’ I heard it clear, each note, lively, quick. I had the wallet-and the mark never flinched. But Jenny… she wasn’t there for the pass. Couldn’t take the pass because she was hanging by her hair ribbon. Hanging and dead, as she’d been the last I saw her. When I was too late to save her.

“I was too late.”

Roarke shook his head. “She died because she was mine, part of my past. And I ran to try to get her down, across Grafton, with the buskers playing, still lively and quick, while she hung there. But there was Mick. Blood spreading over his shirt. The kill blood. He was mine, too. He took the knife for me. The fiddler kept playing, all the while. I could see Brian, far off. Too far to reach, so I was there with dead friends. Still children in the dream, you know? Still so young. Even in the dream I thought, wondered, if they were, in some way, dead even that long ago. And me and Bri, all that’s left of us.

“Then I walked away. I walked away from Grafton Street, and from the friends who were same as family to me. And I stood on the bridge over the River Liffey, a grown man now. I saw my mother’s face under the water. And that was all.”

“I could tell you that what happened to them wasn’t your fault. Part of you knows that. But another part will always feel responsible. Because you loved them.”

“I did. Aye, I did.” He picked up his neglected coffee, drank. “They’re part of me. Pieces that make me. But just now, standing with you, I realized I can stand all that, stand the loss of all those parts of me. Because I have you.”

She took his hand, pressed it to her cheek. “What can I do?”

“You just did it.” He leaned over, kissed her again.

“I can reschedule some stuff, if you want me to-”

He looked at her, just looked, and the heaviest of the grief that had woken with him eased. “Thanks for that, but I’m better just for having it out.” He skimmed a finger down her chin. “Go to work, Lieutenant.”

She wrapped her arms around him first, hugged hard. And holding her, he drew in her scent-hair and skin-knowing it would come with him through the day.

She drew back, stood. “See you tonight.”

“Eve? You asked me before if I thought your victim, your Lino, would tell someone who he really was. I think, if they stood as family for him, if he considered them part of him-any of the pieces that made him-he had to. He didn’t go to his mother, but there had to be someone. A man can’t stand on a bridge alone, not at home, not for five years. Even the hardest needs someone to know him.”

She managed to cut Peabody off, but barely. Eve jogged down the steps just as Summerset opened the door to her partner. Eve kept going. “Peabody, with me.”

“But I was just…”

“We’re moving,” Eve said and pointed toward their vehicle. “Get in. One minute.” Eve turned to Summerset while Peabody sulked her Danish-deprived way to the passenger side. “Roarke could use a call from his aunt.”

“He wants me to contact his aunt in Ireland?”

“I said he could use a call from her. He’s fine,” Eve said, anticipating him. “He could just use the connection.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Knowing he would, Eve climbed behind the wheel, and put her mind back on the job.

“Are we running hot or something?” Peabody demanded. “So a person can’t take a minute to have a cup of coffee and maybe a small bite to eat, especially when the person got off a full subway stop early to work off the anticipated bite to eat.”

“If you’re finished whining about it, I’ll fill you in.”

“A real partner would have brought me a coffee to go so I could drink it while being filled in.”

“How many coffee shops did you pass on your endless and arduous hike from the subway?”

“It’s not the same,” Peabody muttered. “And it’s not my fault I’m coffee spoiled. You’re the one who brought the real stuff made from real beans into my life. You addicted me.” She pointed an accusing finger at Eve. “And now you’re withholding the juice.”

“Yes, that was my plan all along. And if you ever want real again in this lifetime, suck it up and do my bidding.”

Peabody stared. “You’re like Master Manipulator. An evil coffee puppeteer.”

“Yes, yes, I am. Do you have any interest, Detective, in where we’re going, who we’re going to see, and why?”

“I’d be more interested if I had coffee.” At the utter silence, Peabody sighed. “Okay. Where are we going, Lieutenant, who are we going to see, and why?”

“We’re going to the bodega beside St. Cristóbal, and I can actually hear you thinking ‘breakfast burrito.’ ”

“Psychic Master Manipulator! What, besides breakfast burritos, is of interest at the bodega?”

Eve went through it, taking Peabody through the interviews, the search results, and the agenda.

“You woke Whitney up?”

She would hone in on that single point, Eve thought. “Apparently. We need the access. Two explosions, one likely in retaliation for the first, both with fatalities. Gang turf. And that’s when Lino Martinez and friend skipped town. Lino was upper rung in the Soldados, he had skills with electronics. No way this went down without his participation.”

“And this Penny Soto may know.”

“Inez knows something, and the something caused a rift. It’s worth feeling Penny out.”

“Do you think he made contact with the old girlfriend, gang friend, and didn’t make contact with his mother?”

“I think he didn’t make contact with his mother. I think she played it straight with me. I don’t think he connected with Inez because the guy was too wigged out to be lying about it. Maybe he burrowed in for five years, but he probably passed the bodega most every day, saw this woman-his girlfriend-nearly every day.”

She thought of Roarke, and his lost Jenny.

“It would take a hell of a lot of willpower not to connect, not to have somebody to talk about the old days with.”

Peabody nodded. “Besides, why come back here, specifically, if you didn’t want to connect?”

“There you go. And if you want to connect, isn’t it going to be with someone you’re comfortable with, who you trust? Mom loves him, sure, but she didn’t like where he was heading, tried to rein him in-and she’s got a new life. New husband, new son. How can he cozy up and tell her he’s pretending to be a priest?”

Eve hunted up parking. “If he connected, if he trusted,” she continued as she squeezed into a spot at the curb, “he might have shared his secrets.”

Even from the sidewalk, Eve could hear the jingle of the bell as people went in and out of the bodega. She spotted Marc Tuluz from the youth center stepping out with a large, steaming go-cup.

“Mr. Tuluz.”

“Oh. Lieutenant…”

She could see him searching mental files for her last name. “Dallas.”

“Right. Morning hit,” he said, lifting the go-cup. “I can’t fire all cylinders without a jumbo sucre negro. Are you here about Miguel?” He paused, looked flustered. “I don’t know what else to call him. Do you have any news?”

“There may be, later today. So, you hit this place daily?”

“Sometimes twice a day. This stuff’s probably corroded all my pipes, but hey.” He lifted the cup like a toast. “Who wants to live forever?”

“Did you run into Flores here?”

“Sure, now and again. Or if we were both up at the center, and one of us got the jones, he might spring for a couple of hits. Killer burritos, too, best in the neighborhood. One of us usually picked up lunch here at least once a week when we had meetings at the center. I still can’t believe… Is there anything you can tell me, Lieutenant? Anything I can pass on to Magda? She’s having a rough time of it over this.”

“We’re working on it.”

“Yeah. Well. I’d better let you get back to that, and get myself to the center.”

“Came in most every day,” Eve stated when Marc walked away. “Just how much temptation can a fake priest handle?”

She went inside, to the jingle of the bell. It was colorful, in looks and scents, with the counter of breakfast choices doing steady business. Others jammed at the coffee kiosk or did morning shopping, filling red handbaskets with items off shelves.

Two women worked the breakfast counter, and Penny was one of them. She had improbably large breasts on a bony build-man-made breasts, Eve concluded. Junk-made build. Ink-black hair streaked with magenta coiled inside a net designed to keep customers from finding stray hairs in the huevos, torrijas, and frittatas. Her mouth, dyed a hard red, clamped in a line of boredom as she scooped, piled, and served.

Eve stepped to the end of the line. The few minutes it would take to reach the counter would give her more time to observe. Gold hoops, wide enough to slide a burrito through, swung at Penny’s ears, while a platoon of bracelets jangled on her wrist. Her nails were painted as dark as her mouth, with the half-moons etched out in black.

On her forearm rode the symbol of the Soldados, with the kill mark.

“Go ahead and order,” Eve told Peabody.

“There is a God.” When she reached the counter, Peabody ordered the hash and egg (substitute) burrito and a café con leche.

“How’s it going, Penny?” Eve said while the other woman filled Peabody’s order.

Penny shifted her gaze up, over, fixed it on Eve. The dark, bored mouth turned sour. “Thought I smelled cop. Got nothing to say.”

“That’s fine, then we’ll go down to Central, see if you change your mind.”

Penny sniffed, sneered. “I don’t have to go anywhere, you don’t have a warrant and cause.”

“You know, you look suspiciously like the suspect who rolled a guy a couple blocks from here last night. Detective, arrange for Ms. Soto to be taken downtown for a lineup.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“While you smell cop, I smell several hours of detention and paperwork. Maybe you should call a lawyer.”

“I don’t need a stinking lawyer. What are you hassling me for? I got a job here. I’m doing my job.”

“Hey, me, too. Do you want to talk here or downtown?”

“Shit.” Penny jerked back from the counter. “Back the alley,” she snapped, then swaggered off.

Eve signaled Peabody to go around by the front, then followed Penny into the cramped back room, and out the alley door.

“Lemme see ID,” Penny demanded.

Eve pulled out her badge. “You’ve had some trouble along the way, Penny.”

“I got gainful employment. My rent’s paid. So screw you.”

“Actually, I think you might be the one getting screwed in all this. Miguel Flores.”

Penny jerked one pointed shoulder, shot out one bony hip. “Dead priest. Everybody knows. So what? I haven’t been inside a church in years. That’s bullshit, too. I figured it out when I was ten.”

“You knew him.”

A gleam lit her eyes, accenting the sneer. “Everybody knew him. Everybody knows all the priests. They’re all over the neighborhood like lice.”

Eve acknowledged Peabody with a glance as her partner turned into the alley. “You knew him,” Eve repeated.

“You hearing defective or what? I just said I did.”

“Lino Martinez.”

The anger wavered for an instant before Penny aimed an unconcerned look a few inches over Eve’s right shoulder. “I don’t know anybody by that name.”

“Oh now, you don’t want to lie about something that stupid. It just tips me you’re going to lie about more. Lino Martinez,” Eve said again, and gripped Penny’s forearm. “You should cover this up if you don’t want to admit to old allegiances.”

“So what? I haven’t seen Lino since I was sixteen. He took off. Ask anybody who was around back then, they’ll tell you the same. Shit, ask his whiny, sainted mother. She’s slinging pasta over in Brooklyn somewheres. Got herself a nice house, a dipshit husband, and snot-nosed kid.”

“How do you know that?”

A flash of annoyance darkened Penny’s eyes. “I hear things.”

“Did Lino tell you?”

“I just said I haven’t seen him since-”

“You know, you can have these removed,” Eve interrupted, giving Penny’s forearm a light squeeze. “So you can hardly tell anything was ever there. Except when you’re meat on the slab, under microgoggles and all that nasty autopsy equipment, pop.”

“So-”

“-what,” Eve finished. “The thing is we know Lino Martinez was masquerading as a priest, right next door. We know he came in to see you nearly every day. For over five years. We know how far back you go with him, with Chávez, with the Soldados. And gee, Penny, you’re the only one here. Tag, you’re it.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“I hear things, too,” Eve said cheerfully. “Like you and Lino used to tango. How he came into the bodega where you work every day.”

“That doesn’t mean shit. I didn’t do a damn thing. You can’t prove I knew Lino was back. You’ve got nothing.”

“Give me time. I’m taking you into custody.”

“For what?”

“Material witness.”

“Screw that!”

Eve made a deliberate move to take Penny’s arm again, and smiled as Penny slapped her hand away. “Uh-oh, did you see that, Detective Peabody?”

“I did, Lieutenant. I believe this woman just assaulted a police officer.”

“Screw that shit.” Temper burning her face, Penny shoved Eve aside, swung toward the door.

“Oops, another assault. And now resisting arrest.” Eve made the grab, twisting Penny’s wrist as the woman dug for her pocket. “Goodness, what do we have here?” she said as she pushed Penny’s face against the wall.

“Why, Lieutenant, it looks like a knife.”

“It really does.” Eve tossed it, hilt first, to Peabody. “This is just turning into a mess, isn’t it?”

“Puta!” Penny whipped her head around, spat in Eve’s face.

“Okay, now I’m no longer entertained.” Eve cuffed Penny’s hands behind her back. “Call for a wagon, Peabody, to take our prisoner downtown. Book her on assaulting an officer, armed, and resisting.”

“Bullshit charges. I’ll be out in twenty minutes.”

Eve took the napkin Peabody passed her, wiped the spit off her face. Then leaned close to Penny’s ear, and whispered, “Wanna bet?”

We won’t be able to hold her very long,” Peabody commented after they’d turned Penny over to a pair of uniforms.

“Sure we will.” Eve took out her ’link, called Homicide. “Jenkinson,” she said when one of her detectives came on-screen. “I’m having a female prisoner transported down. Soto, Penelope. Charged with assaulting an officer and resisting. I’m going to be a couple hours. Jam it up.”

“Got that.”

Eve clicked off, checked her wrist unit. “No time to talk to López or Freeman. Let’s head down and take care of making Lino official.”

“You really just pissed her off.”

“Yeah.” Smiling a little, Eve got behind the wheel. “That was the good part.”

“Maybe pissed her off too much to talk to you, especially if she lawyers up.”

“Oh, she’ll lawyer. I’m counting on it. And that’s why she’ll talk to me about Lino. The lawyer will so advise.”

Baffled, Peabody scratched her head, and at last, long last, bit into her now stone-cold burrito. “Hmcum?”

“How come? Because admitting she knew Lino was posing as a priest, had contact, was friendly with him, should bump her down the list of murder suspects.”

Peabody swallowed. “Are we liking her for it?”

“Not particularly. Not yet. As we’ve just witnessed, she’s hotheaded. It’s hard to see her sneaking into church-where she’d stick out like, well, a whore in church, and poisoning the wine. That’s cunning, and it’s symbolic. She’d just cut his throat and leave him in the alley.” Eve thought about it for a minute. “I almost like that about her.”

Teresa Franco and her husband were already waiting at the morgue when Eve arrived. Tony Franco kept his arm around his wife’s shoulders, his right hand rubbing, rubbing gently up and down her biceps they stood listening to Eve.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting. I checked on the way in, and they’re ready whenever you are.”

Shadows haunted Teresa’s eyes. “Will you tell me what to do, please?”

“We’re going to look at a monitor, a small screen. If you’re able to identify the body, you just tell me.”

“He never sent pictures. And if he called, always blocked video. In my head-my heart-he’s still a boy.” She looked up at her husband. “But a mother should know her son. She should know him, no matter what.”

“It’s not your fault, Terri. You did everything you could. You still are.”

“If you’d just come with us.” Peabody touched her arm, led the way.

In the small room with its single chair, little table, boxy wall screen, Eve moved to a com unit. “This is Dallas,” she said into it. “We’re in Viewing Room One.” She paused. “Are you ready, Mrs. Franco?”

“Yes.” The hand gripped with her husband’s went white at the knuckles. “Yes, I’m ready.”

“We’re go,” Eve said, and turned to the screen.

A white sheet covered the body from armpits to toes. Someone, Morris she imagined, had removed the tag for the viewing. Death didn’t look like sleep-not to Eve-but she imagined it might to some. To some who’d never seen death.

Teresa sucked in a breath, leaned into her husband. “He… he doesn’t look like Lino. His face is sharper, his nose longer. I have a picture. See, I have a picture.” She drew one out of her bag, pushed it toward Eve.

The boy was early in his teens, handsome, smirky, with dark, sleepy eyes.

“We’ve established he had facial reconstruction,” Eve began. But the shape of the eyes, she noted, was the same. The color nearly so. The dark hair, the line of the throat, the set of the head on the shoulders. The same. “There’s a resemblance.”

“Yes. I know, but…” Teresa pressed her lips together. “I don’t want it to be Lino. Can I-is it possible for me to see? To go in, where he is, and see?”

She’d hoped the screen viewing would be enough. Eve realized she’d set it up that way for the same reason Morris had removed the toe tag. To spare the mother. “Is that what you want?”

“No, no, it’s not. But it’s what I need.”

Eve moved back to the com. “I’m bringing Mrs. Franco in.”

Eve led the way out, down the corridor, and through double doors. Morris came in from the back. He wore a suit, the color of polished bronze, without any protective cape.

“Mrs. Franco, I’m Dr. Morris. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“I don’t know.” Clinging to her husband’s hand, Teresa stepped closer to the body. “So tall,” she murmured. “His father was tall. Lino, he had big feet as a boy. I used to tell him he’d grow into them, like a puppy does. And he did. He was nearly six feet when he left. And very thin. No matter what he ate, so thin. He was like a whip, and when he played ball, fast as one.”

Eve glanced at Peabody. “Basketball.”

“Yes. His favorite.” She reached out a hand, drew it back. “Can I, or can you… the sheet. If I could see.”

“Let me do that.” Morris stepped forward. “There’s an incision,” he began.

“I know. Yes, I know about that. It’s all right.”

Gently, Morris lowered the sheet to the victim’s waist.

Teresa took another step. This time when she reached out, she touched fingertips to the body’s left side, high on the ribs. And the sound she made was caught between sob and sigh.

“When he was a little boy, and would still let me, I would tickle him here. This way.” She traced her finger in a quick Z pattern. “The freckles, you see. Four little freckles, and you can make a Z.”

Eve studied the pattern-so faint, so light, so vague. Something, she supposed, only a mother would notice.

“See how long his eyelashes are? So long and thick, like a girl’s. It embarrassed him when he was little. Then he was proud and vain about them, when he noticed the girls noticed.”

“Do you know your son’s blood type, Mrs. Franco?” Morris asked.

“A-negative. He broke his arm when he was ten. His right arm. He slipped while he tried to sneak out the window. Only ten, and already sneaking out. You can tell if his arm had been broken when he was a boy?”

“Yes.” Morris touched a hand to hers. “Yes.”

“This is my son. This is Lino.” Leaning down she pressed her lips to his cheek. “Siento tanto, mi bebé.”

“Let me take you out, Mrs. Franco.” Peabody put an arm around Teresa’s waist. “Let me take you out now.”

Eve watched her go, Peabody on one side, her husband on the other.

“It’s a hard thing,” Morris said quietly. “A hard thing for a mother. No matter how many years between.”

“Yeah. Very hard for her.” She turned back to the body. “He had someone who loved him, all the way, every day. And still, it looks like every choice he made brought him here.”

“People are messed up.”

“Yeah.” It lightened her mood, just enough, made her smile into Morris’s understanding face. “They really are.”