The River and the Roses (Veronica Barry Book 1)

by Sophia Martin

  “You heard me. Why would she do that?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now Evander’s brother was murdered?”

  “I’m not surprised you didn’t know. Your partner kicked him out when he tried to make a statement!”

  “Veronica, I have no idea what you’re talking about. And we’re almost there. Maybe we could wait to talk about this until a little later?”

  Veronica sighed and crossed her arms. “Fine.”

  ~~~

  Carla’s married name was Parker and she had a nice mission-style house in the Del Paso Heights neighborhood of north Sac. Daniel rang the bell and he and Veronica stood on the small covered porch among potted cacti. A child’s voice rang out and after a moment, the door swung open about a foot. A girl around ten years old stood gazing at them with big brown eyes. She was wearing a pink tee shirt with frilly sleeves and blue jeans.

  “Mom!” she shouted over her shoulder. “There’s people at the door!”

  A moment later Carla appeared behind her wiping her hands with a dishtowel. “May I help you?” she asked. The little girl disappeared.

  “Hello Mrs. Parker, I’m Detective Seong,” Daniel said. He gestured to Veronica. “This is Miss Barry—you may remember meeting her at your sister’s viewing.”

  Carla looked at Veronica and her face registered recognition. She gripped the dishtowel more tightly and she looked back at Daniel, her eyes wide. “What’s this about?”

  “I’m following up on some leads in your sister’s case, Mrs. Parker, and I have a few questions for you based on something Miss Barry has told me. May we come inside?”

  Carla seemed to consider refusing, but after a pause she nodded, her eyes cast down, and opened the door wide enough for them to enter. Veronica followed Daniel in, looking around. It was a nice house. The walls were cream-colored. Carpet everywhere—gray in the entry hall and butter yellow in the living room, where Carla led them. The couch was upholstered in a flowery yellow and blue print. Daniel sat down on it so Veronica sat beside him.

  Carla sat on the very edge of one of the two armchairs in the room—they matched the couch. The coffee table had magazines all over it. In one corner of the room there was a ruin of a fort built with dining room chairs and two pink blankets. Some toys stuck out from under it.

  “How many children do you have, Mrs. Parker?” Daniel asked.

  “Three,” she said. She set the dishtowel on the armrest of the chair and then picked it back up again. “Two girls and a boy.” Daniel opened the notepad and started writing. Carla saw this and rumpled the dishtowel. “Is there a problem, Detective?” she asked. “I thought they caught the guy who did it.”

  “We believe so,” Daniel said and gave her a small smile. “I’m just making sure the defense won’t have anything to come after us with when this goes to trial.” Veronica glanced at him and wondered if that was true. Maybe all this was just him covering bases. He probably still didn’t believe a word she said, but he wanted to make sure no lawyer could come along and accuse him of not investigating every lead. Veronica looked down at her hands and began picking at her nails.

  “What ages are your children?” Daniel asked Carla.

  “My eldest is thirteen,” she said. “Pamela.”

  “Was she the one who answered the door?” he asked. Veronica glanced at him. Was he blind? That girl was not thirteen.

  “No, that was my second. Beatrice. She’s ten. And my youngest, Bobby, is five,” she said. Veronica looked at her. Carla’s brow was furrowed. “I don’t understand what this has to do with anything.”

  “Mrs. Parker, were either of your daughters involved in an incident at a club?” he asked.

  “What?” Carla breathed. Then she looked directly at Veronica.

  “Did something happen at a club?” Daniel said.

  Carla began folding the dishtowel, trying to line up the edges exactly. “I don’t know anything about a club.”

  “Miss Barry told me something interesting that Sylvia told her, Mrs. Parker, apparently something Sylvia felt bad about,” Daniel said. Veronica held her breath. He was really fishing. Would Carla realize they didn’t actually know what happened? “I’m intrigued, especially considering the ages of your children.”

  Carla’s eyes flicked up to his face. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Well, even your oldest seems a bit too young to go out to a club,” Daniel said. “How did Sylvia get involved in this? Did she take her out?”

  Carla’s frown deepened and she closed her eyes. “Detective, I’m sorry, you’re not making any sense. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Country club, came Sylvia’s voice in that strange, pushing-through-a-filter way. The pool.

  Veronica gasped. Daniel’s eyes shot to her. She turned to Carla. “It wasn’t that kind of club, was it,” she said in a quiet voice.

  Carla rumpled the dishtowel again, but said nothing.

  Veronica looked at Daniel. “It was at a country club. Something to do with the pool.”

  Carla closed her eyes and her shoulders slumped. She let out a long breath. When she opened her eyes, she gazed at them with a weariness Veronica could hardly imagine feeling.

  “Okay,” she said. “I didn’t want to talk about this. Especially not to the police. But you’ll see, it has nothing to do with Sylvia’s—with how she died. It was just a nasty thing and it’s over and I wish I could just forget about it, but Sylvia had to tell you about it—” she gestured to Veronica— “and it keeps coming back up. What’s the saying? Like a bad penny?” She sat back in the armchair and laid back her head, wrapping her arms around her middle. “I know Sylvia was sorry, but it wasn’t even her fault.”

  “Please, just describe what happened,” Daniel said.

  “My family belongs to the Del Paso Country Club,” Carla said. She remained leaning back, and she closed her eyes, as if shutting Daniel and Veronica out visually would make them go away. “We invited Sylvia and her husband and son to have lunch there, and go swimming.”

  “When was this?” Daniel asked, writing in his notes.

  “The Sunday before Sylvia died.”

  “Alright.”

  “Anyway—we all went for a swim—before lunch—and then the kids kept swimming and I went to see about a table. And my husband saw someone he knew. So it was just Sylvia and Albert watching the kids. And then something happened—I can’t be sure because I wasn’t there. But when I came back the lifeguard was giving Pamela mouth to mouth.”

  “Your daughter needed CPR?” Daniel asked.

  Carla opened her eyes and raised her head. “You see, it has nothing to do with anything.”

  “Did they tell you what happened? Why she got in trouble?” Daniel asked.

  Carla hugged herself more tightly. “It was horseplay,” she said.

  Daniel cocked his head to the side.

  Carla swallowed. “The kids. They were playing in the water, and somehow—she got held down too long.” Her face crumbled and she covered her eyes with one hand. “Sylvia felt responsible, I guess.”

  Veronica took all of this in. She frowned and chewed on her bottom lip, feeling very strange. She wanted to ask something, but it just seemed too outlandish to be possible. But another near-drowning? Could it really be a coincidence?

  “Mrs. Parker,” she said. Daniel shot her a look, which she ignored. “How old is Sylvia’s son?”

  Carla dropped her hand and fixed her eyes on Veronica. Some color came to her cheeks. “He’s seventeen.”

  “I assume he’s the one who held Pamela under?” Veronica asked.

  “I told you, I wasn’t there,” but her voice was tense, and she looked away.

  “He did it, didn’t he?” Veronica said. “And you don’t want to accuse him, because Sylvia’s dead and you know how much she loved him. But you knew it was him, didn’t you?”

  Carla blinked away tears and looked at the wall. “I don’t know what I
thought—I just—he’s always been—” she broke off.

  “What?” Daniel asked.

  “I just never got a good feeling from him—and Beatrice—my little girl—is afraid of him,” Carla said. “I—I accused him—I blamed him, for what happened to Pamela. I mean I was so furious… We had to take her to the hospital and Sylvia wanted to come along, and I told her no—her son did this to my baby and I didn’t want her—I didn’t want her to come along. ” Tears ran down Carla’s face now. “And I didn’t—I didn’t ever see her alive again.” She shuddered and covered her mouth. “I will never—” her voice broke. “I will never forgive myself.”

  Veronica took a deep breath. She was going to ask the question she was the most afraid to ask. She knew it was a crazy question, but she had to ask it. It was too much of a coincidence. “Mrs. Parker, what is Sylvia’s son’s name?”

  Carla looked at her, taking a deep breath, trying to regain control. “It’s Grant,” she said.

  Veronica laced her fingers together, trying to control their shaking. “Um, Grant Gomez?” she asked.

  “No,” Carla said. “He’s from Sylvia’s first marriage. His name is Grant Slecterson.”

  Chapter 22

  “What is going on?” Daniel asked as he followed her out to his car. “Will you please fill me in? Why are you acting like something major happened back there?”

  “I have to make a call,” Veronica muttered, punching send on her phone twice to call Melanie. It went to voicemail. “Mel, I need to talk to you, like, now. Call me back.” She stuffed the phone back in her purse.

  “What is going on?” Daniel asked again.

  As she reached the car, she turned to him. “You remember what I told you, about my friend’s daughter?”

  “No,” Daniel said. “Wait, sort of. She was lost and you helped find her?”

  “Right,” Veronica said. She wanted to get in the car and go, but she wasn’t even sure where. To Melanie? To the Gomez’s house to find Grant Slecterson? Part of her wanted to stay far, far away from him.

  “What does that have to do with this?” Daniel asked.

  “Melanie’s daughter, Angie, is fifteen. She attends Saint Patrick’s. There was a new boy there, and he took her to the Valentine’s dance.”

  Daniel raised his eyebrows at her.

  She held up a palm for patience. “This boy took her and some other kids for a drive out to a remote part of the American River—far, Daniel. Out by Placerville. And he pushed her in the water. He tried to kill her.”

  “I still don’t see—”

  “She nearly drowned. And we think he may have done it before—maybe successfully—”

  “Veronica, you’re still not telling me—”

  “His name is Grant Slecterson, Daniel!”

  Daniel took a step back, blinking. He shook his head. “What?”

  “This boy—he’s the same kid. I’ve been having visions about what happened to Angie this whole time, and I never considered there might be a connection,” Veronica said.

  Daniel closed his eyes and waved a hand in front of him. “Wait, wait, go back. Tell me again. What happened?”

  Veronica released her breath in frustration. “Grant Slecterson, Sylvia’s son. He likes to drown young girls, Daniel.” She put her hands over her lips as the full implications finally hit her. “Oh god,” she breathed. She lowered her hands. “I think he’s the one that killed Sylvia. It all makes sense. Why she wouldn’t show me his face. Why she felt so guilty about sending him away. He was her own son. Her own son killed her.” Veronica stared straight ahead. “I considered that her son might have done it—but I didn't think it could be him—so young… and he was so strong… but… she probably knew about the girl he drowned—or at least suspected—maybe he was in some kind of special program in Placerville, for disturbed kids. She sent him there and then they must have returned him to her custody…” She fixed her eyes on Daniel, who was looking at her. “We have to go arrest him.”

  Daniel squinted at her. “So you’re telling me that the kid who pushed your friend’s daughter into the American River is Sylvia’s son?”

  “Yes!” Veronica said.

  “And you think that’s who met Sylvia outside the restaurant?”

  “Don’t you see? It all fits. She called him ‘baby,’ because she was his mother! She talked about sending him away—can you imagine what it must have been like, knowing your own son might have drowned some girl—that he did it on purpose? And then he tried to drown her niece right in front of her—”

  “Wait, what girl? He drowned a girl?”

  Veronica inhaled deeply, trying to build up her patience. “I saw her, okay? I had a vision of her. A drowned girl, by the American River.”

  “Did you see this kid push her into the river?”

  “No,” Veronica admitted.

  Daniel started rubbing his temples. “I don’t know what do with this, Veronica.”

  She stared at him. Was it possible he didn’t realize that she’d solved it? Was he doubting her again? She wanted to throw herself at his neck and start choking him. “He did it, Daniel! He killed Sylvia.”

  “Okay, just a second. Let’s go through what we know. Let’s figure out how much of it we can actually link to physical proof, okay?”

  Her sense of urgency did not abate. She wanted to get in the car and get moving. To Melanie’s, or to the Gomez house, either way. But she certainly didn’t want to stay here and discuss this. Still, a small part of her mind was saying that he wasn’t being unreasonable. He didn’t have the big picture. He hadn’t seen what she’d seen. But she wanted to get going. She wanted to start moving, now.

  “We know that Albert Gomez didn’t kill Sylvia,” Daniel said, as he got out his notes and started flipping through them. “We know that whoever did was a good deal taller than Sylvia. So we need to check this kid’s height.”

  Veronica nodded, clenching her hands into fists at her sides. Maybe if she let him have his process, he’d get to the part where they needed to hurry over to the Gomez house before it was too late. Too late for what, she wasn’t sure, but she was sure she didn’t want to find out.

  “Your friend can corroborate the fact that her daughter was pushed in the river by a boy named Grant Slecterson?”

  Veronica nodded again.

  “So we need to double check that it’s the same boy as Sylvia’s son—”

  “How many ‘Grant Slectersons’ do you think there are in the greater Sacramento area?” Veronica demanded, starting to lose her cool.

  “I have to be sure,” he said. “We could ask the dad whether he and Sylvia were planning to send the boy somewhere. And if we had any kind of evidence to convince a judge, we could get a warrant to search their house for the clothes. Even if they got washed there’d still be the fibers. And probably some DNA. But the defense could say that that was normal since he lived with her—”

  “What if Melanie decided to press charges for what happened to Angie?” Veronica said.

  “From what you told me, that wouldn’t give us any reason to go poke around the house.”

  Veronica raised her eyes to the sky. “Come on, Daniel, we have to do something. Couldn’t we just go to his house? Ask some questions?”

  “You met Albert Gomez at the viewing?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “How did that go?”

  Veronica just glared at him.

  “Yeah, I figured,” Daniel said. “I bet he’s not going to be thrilled to see you again.”

  “Come on, Daniel. Something’s about to happen, or is happening—I can feel it. Something bad. We have to get over there.”

  Daniel sighed. “Fine.”

  As Veronica yanked open the car door, she heard Daniel’s cell ringing in the cup holder where he’d left it. She sat down and picked it up to hand it to him.

  ~~~

  Darkness. Blurry images resolved themselves: she crouched behind a dumpster in an alley, and several yards away a s
treetlamp illuminated an orange radius of sidewalk. Where is this? she wondered. She wasn’t running—wasn’t seeing through Sylvia’s eyes.

  Isaac Collins squatted beside her.

  “I’m telling you, I know that guy. He works for Petrovich. You don’t mug Russian gangsters, Isaac. It’s not good for your health,” she said in the deep voice of the man from the police station. This was Evander’s memory, then.

  About fifty feet away, beyond the ring of orange light, two figures stood close together: a woman and a man, by the looks of it. She put her arm on Isaac’s.

  “Don’t, dude.”

  “I’m just taking a closer look,” he answered.

  Evander followed right behind Isaac and as they neared the man and woman, Veronica spotted the sheen of red in the woman’s hair.

  “You have to get out now,” Felsen said in her unmistakable gravelly voice.

  “I can’t, Lara. I’m so close.”

  Evander and Isaac stopped and hid behind parked white van. The couple stood against the wall of the building across the street, mostly in darkness. At this distance Evander could make out some details: the man wore a loose jacket at least two sizes too big for him. The woman had straight red hair and wore a narrow knee-length skirt.

  “Look at you! You’re a mess. You can’t keep this up, Jimmy,” she said.

  “I’m fine,” the man answered, grabbing her hands. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine!” Felsen pulled her hands out of his. She grabbed his left arm and yanked up his sleeve, but he yanked it back down before they could see anything. “Mainlining!” Felsen said.

  “I’ll go into rehab,” he said, clutching the sleeve closed at his wrist. He sniffled and released the sleeve to wipe his nose with it.

  “Jesus, Jimmy. You’re coked out,” Felsen said.

  “You know I have to keep my cover,” Jimmy said.

  “Cover,” Isaac repeated. He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Cover. Guy’s a cop?”

  “I just need a little more time, darlin’,” Jimmy said, closing the distance between him and Felsen.

  Her voice was huskier than usual. “You’re telling me to do nothing! Watch you killing yourself.”