“The five-foot rattlesnake didn’t move. It took me a good twenty minutes to risk getting back in the house. I called Eddie. He refused to come home.
“Finally, I called Doc. He lived about a mile up the road. He and his wife always treated me real nice and he stopped by once when he heard that Justin had the flu. Doc drove his Cadillac down and managed to get the snake in a bag. I wasn’t sure where he was taking it, but I just knew it would come back.
“The next day I drove into Gila City, went to the used car lot and told Eddie that Justin and I wanted to move to the city. I was thinking Gila City.
“Eddie got angry. At first, I really thought it was because I was telling him what to do. Later, I figured out it was because I was telling him what to do in front of his so-called friends.
“He grabbed me by the hand.”
Mary looked at Mitch. “I do know that he didn’t mean to break three fingers. By this time, he was just so used to strong-arming that he didn’t remember who he had hold of.
“Once Eddie realized what he’d done, he got even angrier and stomped off. One of his buddies drove me and Justin to the emergency care center.
“Later, when we got back to the used car lot, my father’s car was in the parking lot and nobody was talking. Then, my father came out of Eddie’s office and told me and Justin to get in his car. And just like that, my marriage was over and we went to live in Phoenix.”
Mitch waited for Tiffany to show some sign that she knew exactly who Mary’s father was. Obviously she did because she didn’t ask why Mary allowed her father to take control.
“Eddie never touched you again,” the caseworker said.
Mary’s face contorted. “Seldom.”
“Because your father threatened to kill him?”
Mary shook her head. “No, Eddie was a bit too valuable to kill. Instead, my father said that whatever Eddie did to me, he’d do to Eddie.”
Probably not the thing to confess to a caseworker, Mitch thought, waiting to see how the caseworker would react. Tiffany stopped writing, looked up at Mary as if ascertaining she told the truth, and then looked back at her notes. “Your husband continued to live with you after that, correct?”
“Sort of. Every Sunday for two years he drove to Phoenix.”
Mitch frowned. Of all the bizarre tales. No wonder Eric and Mary finally turned their backs on the family. After his father left, his home life had been devoid of joy but there’d been no violence. And he’d always believed that if his mother had not worked two jobs, she’d have had time to show him and his sister the love they’d so needed.
Maybe in his own way, Yano Santellis had done the same thing. After all, he’d stopped Eddie from abusing Mary again. “How would your father know if Eddie hurt you?” Mitch asked.
“My father had my brother Kenny move in with us.”
In some ways, Mitch realized, this had stopped being a caseworker conducting a needs assessment and had turned into the interrogation he’d been hoping for. Making a mental note to call Tiffany’s supervisor and emphasize that Mary had turned and was still willingly turning state’s evidence, he asked his next question. “I thought Eddie and Kenny were friends?”
At the mention of her youngest brother, her only remaining sibling besides Eric, intense sadness settled over her features.
“Kenny didn’t really have any friends besides my older brothers. He tolerated Eddie.”
The caseworker cleared her throat. “So I’m supposed to believe that you let Justin go off with Eddie because if Eddie hurt Justin, Eddie would be hurt in return.”
Mitch watched as Mary swallowed hard. “No, not really,” she finally said. “Eddie wasn’t a monster. He loved Justin.”
“When did you and your husband legally separate?” Tiffany asked.
“Justin had just turned four.”
Now this was new. Looking over at Mary, he found her looking at him to judge his reaction. He tried to smile reassuringly, suddenly wanting to hold her close, smooth her hair and comfort her fears.
He’d had no idea she’d been separated for so long. According to their files, until his death, Eddie and Mary Graham were still a couple. Eddie’s mailing address was the Phoenix residence and the FBI had photos of Eddie and Mary at restaurants, Justin’s school events and family gatherings. Mary’s oldest brother, Tony, had taken over the family business when Yano started developing signs of Alzheimer’s. Eddie was in Phoenix often.
“You separated?” Mitch repeated, somewhat taken aback. He realized that he was pleased to think of Mary and Eddie as being separated before Eddie’s arrest.
“Yes.”
“Seven years ago?”
“Yes.”
Mitch sat back on the couch. That was a long time. And he felt inordinately pleased that the woman at the forefront of so many of his investigations was looking like a better person every day.
FOURTEEN
For now, apparently, Tiffany Mayhew seemed to believe that Justin was not a child in danger and that there was opportunity for change. The caseworker arranged for twice monthly meetings. In two weeks, Mary and Justin needed to go to Phoenix. Then, in two more weeks, Tiffany would come back to Broken Bones. She seemed to like the place.
She seemed to more than like Mitch.
Hmm.
Before leaving, Miss Mayhew, as she insisted on being called, wanted to talk to Justin for a minute alone. Justin willingly came in from the shed and the two of them, looking more like peers than caseworker and assignment, sat on the front porch in twin rocking chairs and chatted. Alma stayed by the shed. Her head was bowed. She certainly believed in the power of prayer.
“I hate that I can’t hear what they’re saying,” Mary muttered.
“If you taught Justin to be as candid as you are, you have nothing to worry about,” Mitch said.
Mary moved to the living room window and peered out. “I’m tired of lying. I’m tired of being scared. And I’m tired of running. The one thing I’m not tired of is keeping track of my son.” She watched as Justin took his earbuds out of his pocket and passed them to the caseworker. She put one in her ear and soon nodded her head to the beat and smiled.
Mitch put his hand on Mary’s shoulder and said, “It’s going to be okay.”
“Easy for you to say,” Mary argued jokingly. “I’ve seen the CDs in your care. You listen to music without words.”
“I’ve listened to rap,” Mitch protested.
“He has,” Ruth agreed, speaking up for the first time. “We were working on a case and the lawyer claimed the lyrics of a certain rap song ‘told’ his client to commit murder.”
Finally, Tiffany took out the earphone, shook Justin’s hand and picked up her briefcase.
Mary stayed inside, letting Justin end the meeting while she studied the list of goals to meet by the next meeting.
Mitch still stood behind her. He was so close she almost stepped away, except she liked the feeling.
Hmm.
She was saved from any further introspection by the sound of Justin stomping up the front steps. Mary folded her list and put it in her back pocket before heading outside to meet him.
“I like her, Mom,” Justin said.
“I’m glad,” Mary managed to say.
Suddenly, Ruth’s cell rang.
So did Mitch’s.
“That was Rico,” Ruth said as she hung up and moved toward the door. “He’s ready to go. We’re heading to Williams. I’ll have Alma back around six. That all right?”
Mary nodded. Agreeing to house Alma would be somewhat like having two kids. As a matter of fact, Alma came with a folder for Mary to read in agreement for housing Alma. “I’ll get a key made for her today and I’ll be getting Justin and myself updated cell phones and local numbers.”
“Good idea,” Ruth said and started to get back in the cruiser.
“Wait!” Mary shouted.
Ruth paused.
“What’s the name of Megan’s doctor in Gila City?”
“Engalls.”
“Mom,” Justin said. “I don’t need a doctor.”
“How do you know it’s for you?” Mary queried.
“Because if you were looking for a doctor for you, you would ask who Ruth’s doctor was and you wouldn’t be smiling.”
Her son had been spending too much time with cops lately. He was starting to figure things out without her wanting him to. “Oh, hush” was the only reply she could think of.
Even Alma was smiling as the two women drove off. Of course, Alma had plenty to be smiling about. She was about to start searching for her son, again, and this time with help.
Mitch closed the door behind him. “I’m taking off, too. I need to go to my office…”
“Check e-mails, phone calls, etc?”
“No, I can do all that from the cabin. My call was from the attorney general, my boss. I need to see her, try to smooth things over and see if she’ll help me. I’m thinking that since it involves missing babies, she’ll bend even if she won’t break.”
He didn’t leave space for more questions. He left the porch and started up the road to his own cabin. Mary watched him, enjoying the sight. She didn’t even mind it when, halfway up, he turned to look back at her and caught her staring. His smile said he had expected it.
She turned to Justin. “Well, it’s just you and me, kid.”
“Can I go to Carl’s?”
“I thought we’d go into Gila City, find out where this doctor is, get new cell phones, maybe take in a movie.”
“Carl’s dad is taking him out on the four-wheelers. They’re going to check fences.”
“How do you know this?”
“I called him while I was out in the shed. Alma was a little too scared to go down in the root cellar because I didn’t know how to get a lantern going. We were sitting out there and I got bored. I wanted to see what Carl was doing and I didn’t think you wanted me to come back right away.”
Touché, Mary thought. “I’m not so sure those quad ATVs are safe.”
“His dad will be with us and they have helmets.”
“Are you sure his dad knows Carl invited you?”
“I’m sure.”
Thirty minutes later, Carl’s father, George, confirmed the invitation to ride and stay for dinner. He showed Mary the quad Justin would be riding and the helmet he’d be wearing. Mary took down George’s cell phone number and stuffed it in the back pocket of her jeans.
Then, for the first time in too long, Mary found herself behind the wheel of her car with hours of solitude ahead of her. It felt…strange. Yet liberating. She headed for Broken Bones to explore her old stomping grounds.
The corner grocery had remained pretty much the same. The tiny bank was next door, pushed up against the jail. Mary figured there had to be a reason the century-old jail was the only two-story building in town, but she didn’t want to know it. A beauty parlor that used to be a barbershop came next. She liked the way the place looked now. White paint, green leaves and flowers crisscrossed the establishment’s name. In the window were announcements like who was selling, who was hiring and what community activities the church was sponsoring. There was also a picture of José Santos, missing now for over a week.
The first thing Mary would do when she and Alma got together tonight was start putting together a flyer and getting Tomás’s picture out.
Across the street was an antiques store nestled between the post office and a mining store.
It beckoned her, and Mary didn’t resist. She was putting down roots and they might as well be fertilized with the old things she loved.
There were people, Mary supposed, who wouldn’t consider digging through mildewed chests and scratched furniture fun. Mary wasn’t one of them. She felt more at peace than she had in days, years maybe. Antiques were just what she needed to chase the memory of the caseworker—and her own feelings of inadequacy—away.
The owner of the antique store, a gum-chewing California transplant, was too high on prices and too low on customer service. She couldn’t name the type of wood on an aged frame nor did she know the difference between the vintage embroidery and vintage needlepoint scissors she was selling.
The embroidery scissors had ornate gold-plated handles so were worth the low price tag the owner accidentally put on them. Mary paid for them and dropped them into her purse.
The walnut picture frame she left. As she browsed among the old cabinets and poster beds, Mary decided she’d find antiques to replace the ones the cabin was missing. Restoring her home to its original rustic look would give her something to look forward to while Justin was in school.
Then, it came to her that maybe she could use her inheritance to sell used furniture: antiques. The used car lot was the perfect size. She could spread out, put certain kinds of antiques in different rooms. She could use the bay as a place for repairs. Plus, Alma needed employment. It might be the perfect solution for all of them. Excited by her new mission, Mary made the hour drive to Gila City to explore the antique stores there. On her way, she stopped and bought the updated cell phones she and Justin needed to get service in these isolated areas.
Most of the antique shops in Gila City were carbon copies of the one in Broken Bones, only with more knowledgeable owners. They mostly sold replicas as well as furniture that in no way, shape or form could be called antiques. The ancient microwave from the hospital would feel right at home with some of the junk that could not, should not, be mistaken for antiques. Mary made up her mind that her store would be different. She was knowledgeable and her prices would be fair. Searching for the perfect antiques would be just like Justin’s desire to pan for gold—a way of sifting the treasures out of these old towns, polishing them up and letting the world see them.
A giant hand covered in pink shag carpeting and designed to act as a chair caught her eye. It was retro—cool, but not antique. A Monkees album hung on the wall, again was retro—cool, but not antique. Mary purchased it and started hunting for a turntable.
The last antique shop was a bit off the beaten path and had an address in a neighborhood instead of a main street. The two-bedroom home now housed a pack of yellow labs in the backyard and furniture for sale with no price tags. The neighbors probably loved the barking dogs, the old tires in the front yard and the crowd of broken chairs on the porch.
Mary was obviously the only customer, and she made her way through the deserted main room and to the first bedroom before she heard the sound of someone coughing outside.
Startled by the sudden noise, Mary bumped into a stack of bed frames and spotted the heavy armoire that used to be in Eric’s cabin.
Mitch maybe made it to his office once or twice a month. Located in the state capitol building in downtown Phoenix, he’d always considered the space allotted him a waste. Surely there were people sitting in cubicles who needed the space while he considered his real office to be the front seat of his car, his laptop on the passenger side, his cell phone pressed to his ear. Most of his work was in the field.
Still, it was unusual for the office to feel so much like it belonged to somebody else as it did today. Maybe it was that the information on his desk computer had been made available during the investigation of his shooting, and for the first time he felt vulnerable, violated. Maybe it was that the office personnel, who answered to the attorney general, all looked past him when he walked in. Maybe it was because he wanted to be in the field looking for José and Tomás instead of mending fences with his boss.
The attorney general’s office door was closed. A secretary claimed that Melody Griffin-Smith was busy. The secretary supplied the information along with a dirty look and went back to her work without giving Mitch the come-hither smile she usually reserved for him. Still, it looked to be the only information any of the staff was willing to give.
For the first time Mitch wished he simply answered to the chief of police instead of the attorney general. When he’d first started with Internal Affairs, most of his cases end
ed with written reprimands, suspension without pay, extended probationary periods or letters of counseling or termination.
But now, working exclusively with high-profile cases, almost every case he worked on sent a fellow police officer to prison or, worst-case scenario, to death. It didn’t make him very popular.
Mitch looked around his office.
Maybe it wasn’t his office that had changed, maybe he had.
The office suddenly looked too clean, too sterile.
He crossed the room and sat down. The chair squeaked under his weight. The sounds of people talking in the hallway floated in. That was a change. He usually closed his door and immersed himself either on the phone or with e-mails.
The time off, even under such painful circumstances, had been good for him. It made him realize what he was missing, namely a life. He turned on the computer and stared at the screen. It took him only a moment to log in and get lost in the search. He started with Gila City and José, and soon he had the name of the man who’d hosted the festival at which José had disappeared, as well as the names of all the merchants, vendors and performers who had been there. At first, about two hundred people a day were calling the hotline to report José sightings or suspicious behavior. This morning only five calls had come in.
Mitch would contact every last one of them. It’s what he did best, separate the tares from the wheat.
Mitch paused at the last thought. Tares from wheat? It was an analogy straight from the Bible and straight from the lips of Eric Santellis, who’d make a good preacher if he wasn’t already going for public defender.
Mama Santos and Alma’s assertions that Mitch was chosen to find their babies combined with Eric’s not-so-subtle Bible stories were having a field day with Mitch’s determination not to put his faith in—well—faith.
In a way, Mitch was chosen, had felt chosen for such cases ever since his sister went missing. This morning had only cemented what he already knew. He switched from Gila City and José to Patrick Wagner, who’d started life as an only child of two seemingly doting parents. He’d been a model kid until age twelve, and then an older cousin moved in. The cousin came with a penchant for stealing and other petty crimes. He taught young Patrick everything he knew, and Patrick was an apt student.
Broken Lullaby Page 12
