Harry knew Nelda, but he wouldn't be either in the city or on duty for hours; he lived a full hour, minimum, from central LA. Besides, I didn't want to alert anybody at Central Station who might then call in Eldon Washington or Lewis Banks. I still did not know who had alerted Eldon that night I was at Central with Harry, or how Banks always seemed to know where to find my video crew. I wouldn't call Kenny for the same reason; didn't need Eldon on the doorstep when I arrived. Harvey Bing was a good possibility, as were several others.
In the end I decided that among them all, the person I trusted the most to come alone, to take Nelda into custody and protect Mayra and Julia in the process, was the man Mike trusted to take care of him after his last act. A colleague whose name had never come up in any reference to Boni or Jesus or Nelda. I called Mike's last partner, Nick Pietro.
Nick didn't need a long explanation when I reached him at Parker Center, where he was preparing for a Monday court appearance. He repeated the address I gave him and said he would be there, alone, as soon as he could get there. I asked him to give me half an hour, and he said that half an hour would probably be as soon as he could make it across downtown.
When I hung up, I was on the Harbor Freeway headed south. I kept my eye on traffic flow ahead, kept route options open, flipping between radio traffic reports, always looking for the wormhole. Sometimes I reached Mach speed, sometimes I got stuck behind herds of turtles. Overall, I was pretty lucky and pulled up in front of Julia's little green house within an impressively short time. I didn't see Nick's Crown Vic. There was still a full hour before Julia would close her bodega and come home. And find Nelda Ruiz sleeping in her bed. I would have a few minutes alone with Nelda.
I didn't knock on the front door because I didn't want to waken Nelda if she were still asleep, or to announce myself if she were already awake. The door was ajar. I peeked through, saw Mayra waiting for me on the other side. She put a finger to her lips to quiet me as I pushed the door open, and then she pointed toward a back room.
Nelda Ruiz--I could hardly believe my good fortune when I saw her. She lay on her left side on a narrow, frilly pink bed in a tiny bedroom, facing the door, mouth open, sound asleep.
Nelda was a ruin. Her clothes were stained and she smelled like a wet dog. Her hair was covered by a grimy do-rag, but some greasy tendrils had escaped to crawl down her neck. She was also emaciated, dehydrated, eyes sunken, skin tight and dry. I took out my palm-size video camera, checked to make sure the battery had charge, and, using the room's natural light only, videoed her, for proof that she had been there in case she made a sudden flight. When I put down the camera I felt Mayra touch my hand. I looked down at her and she shrugged: Now what? was the question in her face. I turned and wheeled her back to the living room.
I knelt to be at her level. In a very soft voice, face close to hers, I said, "I called a friend of mine in the police department because I don't want you to get into trouble. When we turn Nelda over to him, you'll be all right, even with Julia."
She hesitated.
"But I want to talk to Nelda first, before the officer gets here," I said.
She nodded. She said, "I trust you," but she was shaking, frightened, so I put an arm around her to reassure her.
"You did the right thing," I said. "Everything will be fine. I'm going to go in and try to talk to Nelda. Detective Nick Pietro will be here pretty soon. You can trust him. It would be helpful if you would wait for him outside to tell him what's happening. Is that okay?"
She nodded. "Please, yes. I don't like to be anywhere near Nelda. She is too much trouble for me."
As I stood up I had one of those brain flashes when I imagined the scene when Nelda would be frisked and taken into custody.
"Do you know if she's armed?" I asked.
Mayra reached under the pillow on her wheelchair seat and brought up a snubnosed Smith and Wesson .38, holding it by the butt between thumb and forefinger as if it were alive and might bite. "I took this from her when she was asleep."
I held out my hand and Mayra put the revolver on my palm. I flipped open the cylinder and saw that it was fully loaded, then flipped on the safety before I slipped the barrel of the little weapon into the back of my waistband and pulled out the tail of my shirt to cover it. Then we clasped hands, both of us nervous about what would happen next. I walked Mayra to the door, held the door open for her, and waited until she wheeled herself out onto the porch.
She turned and looked at me, a little smile on her face. "Smells nicer out here."
I shut the door softly and went back to the bedroom. I positioned the video camera on the dresser to capture the entire bed in the frame. When the camera was running, I pulled up a chair next to the bed, flipped on the bedside lamp, did a quick light check on the monitor, and when all was set, I said, "Nelda, time to wake up."
Nelda's eyes popped open but she didn't change her position, just lay there as if frozen in place until she could assess the danger, a con always on her guard. She blinked against the light as she looked at me, looked past me to see if anyone else was there before she raised her head to look around the rest of the small room.
"You the police?" she asked. "Parole Office?"
"No. My name is Maggie MacGowen," I said. "I want to ask you some questions."
Her right hand slid to her pocket, found it empty. She blanched.
"The gun is gone," I said. "Right now, it's just you and me. Looks like you've been having a rough time, Nelda. A few nights on the street?"
Slowly, she sat up. Her eyes were still heavy from sleep, probably also from whatever she had taken to help her sleep. She looked closely at me.
"MacGowen?" she said. "On the TV?"
"Yes," I said.
"You've been looking for me?"
"I sure have."
"Why should I talk to you?"
"I might be able to help you."
"Help me how?"
"First you need to help me," I said. "I need you to tell me about the day that Jesus Ramon disappeared."
She frowned, confused. Obviously, Jesus was not a topic she expected to be hit with. She said, leery, "That was a long time ago. What do you want to know?"
"Someone gave your friend Mayra Escobedo some uncut heroin that day. I think someone also gave uncut heroin to Jesus. She lived, he didn't." I watched for her reaction, saw rectitude replace confusion. "You used to supply drugs to Mayra."
"I didn't give her that H." Her denial was firm. "Who told you that?"
"I went up to Corcoran a couple of days ago and had a long conversation with Boni Erquiaga."
"He told you that?" Suddenly she was fully alert, both outrage and fear bringing life into her ravaged face. "He said I did that?"
"Did you do it?"
"He's a bastard," she spat. "I never did that to Mayra and I never did that to Jesus. You ask him who did it. You ask Boni."
"What will he say?"
"That lying piece of shit will say anything."
"Then you tell me what happened."
"Why should I?"
"Because you're frightened and alone and you have nowhere left to go. It isn't only the police who are looking for you, is it?"
She shook her head, fatigue overwhelming her anger. "They're going to kill me."
"Who?"
"Just some people I know."
"I can help get you safely off the streets. But I need something from you, too," I said. "Who did that to Mayra? Who wanted to hurt her?"
"It was Boni," Nelda ejaculated. Tears made runnels through the grime on her cheeks. "Mayra wanted to get clean. She was scared. This big dealer got himself shot up and a lot of people didn't want nothing to do with selling drugs no more, just like Mayra."
"These were people who were selling drugs you gave them," I said plainly. "When Rogelio Higgins was gone, were your dealers afraid they would be targeted by his killer, or were they afraid to sell for the people who replaced him?"
"Both of those. But mostly the last one.
"
"Boni," I said.
"It wasn't just Boni," Nelda said. "But he's the only one I know."
"Was Mayra supposed to be an example for your dealers who wanted out?" I asked.
She sighed heavily as she nodded. "No one wanted to hurt Jesus, though. But I think Mayra shared some shit with him. She owed him some money she didn't have because she put it in her veins. She promised Jesus she would give him something. And that's why she didn't die, I think. She didn't get it all. But Jesus, he was a cherry, never shot up before, and that was pure H. It didn't take very much."
"He died," I said.
When she shrugged, I asked her, "Where is Jesus' body?"
This time she reacted elaborately, eyes round and innocent. "I heard lots of things. Someone said Boni took him up to the mountains and buried him. It rained hard right after that, and I also heard he got put in the river and got washed away."
"Who said?"
"I don't remember."
I leaned forward. "Do you remember Detective Mike Flint?"
"Sure, I know him. Everybody knows him."
"Ten years ago when Jesus disappeared, did anyone ever say Mike Flint did anything to hurt Jesus?"
"No way," dismissing the suggestion out of hand. "That detective, he was trying to help Mayra get clean. He was nice to her. I think that's why Boni chose Mayra, to punish her for having someone who wanted to help her. He was afraid she would talk to the detective, be a snitch. Boni was an officer, too. He didn't want Mayra to talk."
She looked past me and suddenly bolted to her feet.
Nick Pietro stood behind me. He put a hand on my shoulder.
"Sit down, Nelda," he quietly ordered. She immediately obeyed.
"I didn't hear you come in," I said, startled by his sudden presence, unsettled. "How long have you been here?"
"A few minutes," he said. "I was in the other room, heard what I wanted to hear from Nelda."
"I don't know you," she said to him, a challenge.
He handed her his card. His shiny detective shield was attached to his belt at the left side, his side arm to the right. None of that was necessary to identify Nick as a policeman, even though he wore a suit and tie. In common with his friends on the job, you knew from the way he carried himself, from the way he entered a room, who he was.
"The way I see it you have a couple of problems, Nelda," he said. "If you stay on the street you have one set of problems, you come in with me and you have a different set of problems. From what I know about your so-called friends out there, right now I think coming in with me and facing the music solves the more immediate of your issues. At least no one will be gunning for you. What do you think?"
"I don't want to go back to prison," she said firmly.
"I can understand that," he said. "But given the choices you've made since you got out, and the choices you have in front of you now, Frontera should be looking pretty good to you."
She stood, turned her back, held out her wrists behind her and waited for him to snap on handcuffs. He obliged by pulling a set from his belt and locking them on her.
"Miss?"
I turned when I heard Mayra's voice. Behind her in the gloom of the living room beyond the narrow hallway stood Sgt. Lewis Banks.
"Nick," I said, dismayed, "did you call for backup?"
"What?" He turned and saw Banks, registered surprise and anger at once. As he finished cuffing Nelda and patting her down, looking for contraband, he said, "How'd you get here, Lewis?"
"Neighbor called. Said she'd seen Nelda in the neighborhood and she was worried about Mayra here being in trouble. I drove over to make sure everything is okay." Banks met Nelda's eyes. "How are you, Nelda? You've given us quite a chase, haven't you?"
"Bastard," she spat. "Fucking righteous bastard. Get him out of here."
Nick pulled on the cuffs to rein her in. "No need for that, Nelda. We're all leaving now."
Nick held the cuff chain with one hand, her shoulder with the other, and impelled Nelda forward, out of the room in front of him, forcing everyone to backtrack down the hall or get run over; the room was very small, the hall was very narrow. In the living room Lewis Banks maneuvered himself into position beside Nick and took hold of Nelda's elbow.
"Thanks, Detective, but I'll take her from here. We're in the territory of the Central Division. I'll take the prisoner in and book her."
"Thanks just the same." Nick shifted his shoulder and skillfully deflected Banks, maintaining control of his prisoner as he did so. "Robbery-Homicide is taking this one downtown."
"I believe--" Banks didn't get the chance to finish his objection.
"What do you believe, Banks?" Nick said, voice low and full of challenge. He nailed Banks with a narrow-eyed glare. "We both know Central doesn't have facilities for booking and holding a woman. You going to drive her all the way over to Hollenbeck yourself? You'll miss roll call. And I believe that it doesn't make a good goddamn bit of difference whose territory this is, Robbery-Homicide is taking this one downtown."
On the way out of the bedroom I had picked up the video recorder, and it was still recording. Lewis Banks saw it.
"You have permission for that?" he asked.
"I don't need permission," I said.
"We're leaving now," Nick announced. He stopped beside Mayra and leaned toward her. "You okay, dear?"
"Yes, sir."
Nelda turned and shot Mayra the ojo malo, the evil eye. "I won't forget what you did."
"Hey, Nelda?" Mayra said, assertive at last. "I won't forget what you did, either."
I kept my hand on Mayra's arm as we stood on the porch and watched Nick put Nelda into the backseat of his plain car and cuff her to the inside of the door. Lewis Banks lingered back a few paces from the curb, then seemed to give up. He got into his black-and-white, left a little rubber on the street when he sped away.
Nick came back to say good-bye. He was thanking Mayra for her courage when Julia drove up. Because Nick's car blocked her driveway, she left her car in the middle of the street, driver's-side door hanging open, as she ran across the tiny lawn toward the porch, clutching her chest as she ran, sobbing so loudly that she could be heard half a block away.
Mayra crossed herself, muttering, "Holy Mary. Now I'm in trouble."
Nick understood what was about to happen. He gestured for me and Mayra to stay put as he jogged over to intercept Julia. He had an arm around her, head close to hers, as he talked to her all the way up to the house.
"Mayra called for help as soon as Nelda showed up," he said. "She knew we were looking for Nelda and she wanted to make sure Nelda stayed put so we could bring her in. Mayra was very brave. I think I'll put her in for a citation for bravery."
"Mayra." Julia dropped to her knees on the porch and wept into her sister's lap. Mayra patted her back as she smiled up at me.
"Thank you," Mayra said.
"How much did you hear?" I asked.
"I heard what I needed to know."
"And you're all right?"
"I think so." She stroked Julia's hair. "Maybe you'll show me all that she said, later. But right now, I heard what I need."
I walked Nick back to his car.
"Thanks," I said. "I'm beholden to you. The outcome here could have been very different if you hadn't come so quickly."
I was expecting a hug or a cheek kiss or a back pat. Instead I got a lecture.
"Damn right the outcome could have been very different," he said, with force, finger stabbing the air between us. "You should have waited for me to get here before you went in. What if Nelda had been armed? What if?"
Just then I remembered the little .38 tucked into my jeans. Should have handed it over, and I would, but that moment was absolutely the wrong moment. I bit my lip, said nothing.
"We aren't finished yet, Maggie, you and me. I don't know all that you think that you're doing. But this is clear, the stench that Boni Erquiaga left behind him in this neighborhood hasn't altogether cleared up. I'm ha
ppy you called me to come get Nelda instead of calling 911 or the desk at Central, but you should have waited outside for me to get here before you went in. Capisce?"
"I do," I said. "I respect where you're coming from. But don't forget why I'm here."
"Keep looking into Mike, please find Jesus. But the deep-background stuff, meaning Rogelio Higgins, you should drop."
"That's the second time I've been warned off."
"Maggie." He reached up as if he were going to grab me by the shoulders and shake me, but he got control over himself before he did. Clasping his hands together he pleaded, "Listen to the warnings, please."
I looked into his anguished face and asked, sincerely, "Why? What is going on?"
"When it's safe to answer that, I will personally help you make one whopper of an expose video. Okay?"
"Maybe."
"Sancta Maria," he muttered as he spun on his heel and walked away. When he got to the car he looked back at me. "I want to see what you got on that video."
"Sure," I said. "Call me."
He had that finger aimed at me again. "But you listen to what I said, got it?"
"Got it."
He muttered something under his breath as he yanked open his car door.
"Hey, Nick," I called. He turned to me, face set as if he were already organizing a rebuttal to anything I might say. "Thank you."
He gave me a last cautionary word and drove off.
I said good-bye to Mayra and Julia--I thought Mayra had the home front under control--and headed for the Santa Monica Freeway, and home.
Chapter 16
At the west end of the Santa Monica Freeway, the McClure Tunnel serves as an abrupt transition. You enter the tunnel with the noise, smog, and hubbub of urban LA in the rearview mirror. You come out the other end with the Pacific Ocean filling your windshield; white sandy beaches, breaking surf, barely clad people at play, a fantasy land stretching ahead as far as the eye can see. That first glimpse of ocean out the end of the tunnel is always a potent tonic, no matter what ails you.
There was less than an hour of daylight left when I came out of the tunnel onto the Pacific Coast Highway. The sun hung low in the western sky, washing the ocean below with vivid, shimmering gold. Beautiful time of day, sunset on the Pacific, unparalleled color when the sun sinks into the smog line.
In the Guise of Mercy (Maggie Macgowen Mysteries) Page 20
