“Not a chance. I’ve gone that route with men like him. Even when you give them what they want, they find a way to ruin you.”
“One,” Sean said.
“Come take his gun,” Doris said.
“What about those sheriffs outside?”
“Two,” Sean said.
“Let ’em take me away. He’s an intruder in my home. I didn’t hear him identify himself. All I heard was threats. Your home is your castle in Texas. No way a jury convicts me.”
“Three and four,” Sean said.
Doris gave the twelve-gauge another pump. Sean smiled. I knew that smile. It meant he was about to have some fun. I couldn’t let that happen. Not to Doris. I threw myself at the man who’d come to drag me away, wrapped my arms around him, clung to him like body armor.
“I’ll go with you,” I said. “Okay, Sean? I’m going back with you.”
“You’ll regret this,” Doris said. “This moment right here. Every hour of every day.”
“It’s over, Doris,” I told her.
She turned and walked out of the room. I loosened my grip on Sean. We stood, brushed ourselves off.
“You have the right to remain silent,” he told me.
Chapter 27
Detective Sean Walsh
IT WAS another shot in the dark, but I jumped in the sedan and floored it to the airport. Traffic was heavy, then light, then heavy again. I parked at the Departures curb, left the siren spinning on the dash, bolted inside, and scanned the boards. Flight 201 for Mexico City, gate 16. Scheduled to take off in just under an hour.
My badge got me through customs without any hassle. I took the escalator two steps at a time, shouldered my way past men and women of all ages. When I got to the gate, the seating area was already packed. I stood back and searched.
Families, businesspeople, what looked to be a high school marching band traveling in uniform. The women were all too old or young, tall or short, thin or fat.
I checked the adjacent gates, the nearby restaurants, bars, shops. No sign of Serena anywhere. I walked back to gate 16, dropped onto a bench with my head in my hands, and wondered if there was any way I might board the flight myself. I felt like a gambler who’d bet his home and lost. Now it was just a question of who’d come to collect the debt: Vincent or Heidi.
And then, when I looked up, there she was—exiting the ladies’ room directly across from where I was sitting. She was wearing a straw sun hat with an enormous brim and a plaid scarf that she’d pulled up over her mouth, but it was her. Same slim build, same jet-black hair. And she was carrying a small, tan duffel bag. I hunched forward, dropped my head back into my hands, waited for her to pass.
I counted to ten, then dared a look over my shoulder. She was sitting by the window, gazing out at the runway traffic, looking as though she didn’t know what to do with herself, as though she might never know what to do with herself again. I’d have felt sorry for her if it weren’t for the fact that I had my own future to protect. Mine, and Sarah’s, too.
And then it occurred to me: Now what?
Things would go much better for me if I wasn’t the one to take her downtown. Vincent wouldn’t like that one bit, and neither would Heidi. This wasn’t my case. She didn’t want me anywhere near it, and the fact that I kept pushing would only ratchet up her suspicions, make her turn over rocks I couldn’t have disturbed.
I squinted at the gate’s monitor. Forty minutes until boarding. I got up, walked as far away as I could without losing sight of that tentlike hat, and took out both phones: business and burner. Heidi and Vincent. Good and evil, at least in the eyes of the law. I balanced one phone in each palm, thinking maybe I’d just go with the heavier of the two.
The cop phone won out. I called Randy. I figured I’d throw him another career booster. He picked up on the first ring, didn’t let me get out more than a hello before he started jabbering.
“Looks like Marty’s confession is legit,” he said. “Like, 100 percent legit. We’re talking slam dunk. I—”
“That’s great, Randy—”
“Randolph.”
“Sorry. I’m glad you’re batting a thousand, but I need you to listen—this is important.”
“Okay.”
“Tell Heidi that Serena Flores, housemaid to Anthony Costello, is sitting at gate 16 in the Tampa airport, waiting to board a flight to Mexico City.”
“Right now?”
“Right now. But listen, this can’t come from me.”
“So who’s it supposed to come from?”
“Tell her you put out feelers. One of your informants got back to you. Trust me, this is bigger than a homeless guy’s murder. You’ll probably get a commendation.”
“And you’re just handing it to me?”
I could see his eyes turning into little sergeant’s badges.
“I’m the gift that keeps on giving. Now go!”
And it was true: I had more gifts to give him. Or at least one more gift: a very large veterinarian named Símon Flores. I’d keep feeding Randy tips. He’d be my conduit to Heidi. The next tip would have something to do with Anthony Costello’s files on Serena and several other choice items turning up in Símon’s apartment. Of course, Símon would be gone and buried by then. Vincent would see to that.
I hung up, headed into one of those airport junk stores, and bought the tackiest outfit I could sling together: a Hawaiian sweatshirt, a HAIL TO THE GATORS baseball cap, mirrored sunglasses. Then I went into the bathroom and changed. When I was done, I stood for a beat checking myself out in the mirror. I certainly didn’t look like Detective Sean Walsh. Not at first, second, or third glance. I was all set to sit back and watch the show, no matter who came for Serena.
By then, I figured I’d given Heidi a big enough head start. I walked back to gate 16, pulled out the burner phone, and dialed Vincent’s number.
“I’m assuming you know better than to call without good news,” he said. “So, do you have her?”
“Not exactly. I got a tip.”
I told him where she was. I told him how long he had to come get her.
“I thought I was clear: that’s your job, Detective.”
“But here’s the thing: I’m at a murder scene on the ass end of town. I couldn’t get there in time if I wanted to.”
“How reliable is this tip?”
“One hundred percent.”
I hung up. I figured this way I’d at least have an argument to sell. I told you, Vincent. I went straight to you, as soon as I heard. It’s not my fault my boss got the same tip. Besides, I’d say, I have something better than Serena: I have Anthony’s killer.
With the hour of departure approaching, flight 201 looked to be packed. Not a spare seat anywhere in the waiting area, and plenty of people siting on the floor. I leaned against a support beam and watched. Serena had pulled her hat over her face as though she was napping. Trumpet-playing members of the marching band decided this would be a good time and place to tune their instruments, at least until their chaperone told them to cut it out. Between the band and a half dozen newborns, it was going to be a very unpleasant flight for a whole lot of passengers.
Countdown to boarding hit the fifteen-minute mark. I couldn’t stop myself from casting glances in every direction. If no one showed, I’d have no choice but to bring her in myself. Heidi would come down on me hard, and Vincent would have his boys give me a world-record tune-up before outing me to the press. But once Serena set foot on that plane, there’d be nobody to say Sarah didn’t do it.
A flight attendant cleared his throat into the sound system, announced that the plane was ready to begin boarding. I stutter-stepped forward, then pulled up short. Two airport rent-a-cops had entered the seating area. They were walking the rows, comparing each female face to an eight-by-ten photo. Serena spotted them. Even from a dozen yards away I could see the blind fear take hold. She broke into a full-out run, but it didn’t do any good: the taller of the two men was on top of her before she clear
ed the waiting area. I watched them cuff her, lead her away.
At first I figured Heidi had sent them. It wasn’t her style, but maybe she got caught in bumper-to-bumper traffic, called ahead. Then I realized: they were Vincent’s men. They had to be. Airport cops on the up-and-up wouldn’t have left Serena’s bag behind.
Chapter 28
THEY LED her away in the opposite direction of the main terminal. I followed, trailing a few yards back. The crowd of moving bodies made it easy to blend in. I pulled out my cop phone, got Randy back on the line.
“Pretend you’re talking to your snitch,” I said. “Is Heidi on her way or not?”
“We’re just through customs. We’ll be there in—”
“We?”
“Me, Detective Haagen, and a handful of uniforms. It was my tip. She told me to throw Marty in a holding cell and tag along.”
“So she didn’t call the airport police? Tell them to pick up Serena?”
“Why would she? Like I said, we’re here now.”
Meanwhile, the airport cops were steering Serena down a side hallway leading to an unmarked metal door. I hung up on Randy.
Think, think…
“Officers,” I called, running after them, waving my arms, pretending to be out of breath. “Officers, please wait.”
They turned toward me, looked none too pleased. One of them held up a hand as if to say “That’s far enough.” Serena turned, too. Her face was streaked with mascara, and she was in bad need of a Kleenex. If she recognized me, she didn’t let it show.
“There’s an unattended bag at gate 16,” I said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. “I heard some kind of rattling coming from inside. It sounded like a grandfather clock gone haywire.”
“We’ll send someone over,” the short one said, sounding bored and impatient.
Up close, the duo looked more formidable than I’d imagined. The tall one could have dunked on Jordan any day, and the short one made up for his lack of height with a barrel chest and anvil arms.
“I took a picture of the bag,” I said. “So you’d know what to look for.”
I held up my phone as if I wanted them to see, then flipped it around and hit Video.
“Smile,” I said. “You’re going to be on the six o’clock news.”
That got their attention.
“Mike, go handle this,” the pituitary case said.
“What are you, some kind of nutjob?” Mike asked, stepping toward me.
“Maybe,” I said. “Why not ask Vincent?”
He stopped in his tracks. I flashed my badge just long enough for him to glimpse the shield.
“Let’s have a private word, Mike,” I said. “Tell your partner to stay where he is.”
The truth is, they could have jumped me right there. They could have jumped me, and they could have taken me. There wasn’t any foot traffic in this corridor, and anyone peering down the hall would have seen two cops making an arrest. Mike seemed to be weighing the options. Luckily, he thought better of it. I pulled him off to the side.
“Listen,” I said. “I’m doing you a favor. I’ve got you on video, walking away with the prime suspect in a murder investigation. I’m telling you, drop it. Tampa PD is descending on gate 16 right now. They’ll want to know who paid you. Maybe you’ll stand up under a police grilling, but do you think Vincent will take that chance? Let her go, and I’ll erase this video. Right here and now, while you’re watching. All you have to do is tell Vincent the cops beat you to her.”
He was anxious now. There was sweat on his brow and he couldn’t make himself stand still. I knew what he was thinking: Do I back down or go to the mat? Which scores more points with Vincent Costello? Because say what you will about our local mob boss, but he pays way better than the Tampa International Airport Police Department.
“You’ll make it up to him,” I said.
His puffed-out chest deflated a full inch.
“Yeah, all right,” he said.
Then, to his partner: “Cut her loose.”
Serena bolted without a word. I gave each of my colleagues a no-hard-feelings handshake, then turned and followed her. By the time I got to the gate, the spectacle was in full swing, Serena kicking and thrashing like a snared cat while Heidi and Randy held on for dear life. The unis formed a small phalanx on either side, ready to catch her if she broke loose.
“Ayúdame!” Serena screamed. “Por favor…”
I joined the circle of onlookers, pushed my sunglasses up the bridge of my nose, and bent my knees until I was just able to see over the shoulder in front of me.
“We are here to help you,” Heidi said. “You understand? We’re the good guys.”
Serena lashed out with her feet, hooked her ankles around a bolted-down chair, and kept on screaming. My Spanish is less than functional, but I’m pretty sure she said that cops are the real murderers.
To Heidi’s credit, they didn’t tase her or bend her arm behind her back or even wrestle her to the ground; they just held on until the fight died down, then calmly escorted her out of the terminal.
When they were gone, I sat for a minute and watched the passengers finish boarding. Part of me still wished I could fly standby, especially now that I knew there’d be at least one empty seat.
Chapter 29
Serena Flores
October 21
4:00 p.m.
Interview Room C
“WHAT DID she say?” Haagen asked.
Detective Nuñes—a first-generation American whose accent told me her family came from the north—gave me a sad look, as if she hated to betray one of her own.
“She said there’s something sinister here.”
“Sinister? Sinister how?”
I pretended not to understand. Nuñes translated. I sat back, looked over the dreary, windowless room: a scratched-up metal desk, hard-backed plastic chairs, surveillance cameras in every corner, those fluorescent lights that look like ice cube trays. How in the world did I end up here? I wondered.
“I’m the victim,” I said. “You have no right to keep me.”
“Ah, you do speak English.” Haagen smiled. “Maybe you should tell us how you’re the victim when Anthony Costello’s the one in the morgue?”
I thought it over. There was a phrase I copied maybe a hundred times in my high school English class: “The truth will set you free.”
“How far back do you want me to go?” I asked.
“However far you need, just so long as you tell us everything you know about Anthony’s murder.”
I went back a full year.
We were standing outside the upstairs guest bathroom. Me and Tony. Usually he liked the help to call him Mr. Costello, but when I first got here, the double ls came out a y. He said it made me sound like a cartoon. The th in Anthony wasn’t any easier, so we settled on Tony.
“How many times do I have to tell you?” he asked, holding up a green hand towel with a small soap ring in the middle.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It won’t happen again.”
“I wish I could believe that. Once more, and I start docking your pay. Now get out of here. Go find something to clean downstairs.”
I turned to walk away. Dressing me down was nothing new. I hardly even noticed anymore. But this was the first time he’d threatened me. Soap washes out. That’s the point of soap. But when the towels cost six hundred dollars per set, they aren’t towels anymore: they’re little museum pieces that no one should touch.
“Hold on,” he called after me. “We need to talk about that vaccination. Did you make an appointment like I asked?”
I searched for a white lie but came up empty.
“I was going to do that later,” I said.
“Later? I asked you weeks ago. I told you it was a priority. For your visa, but also for my health. This is my busy season. I can’t afford to be getting sick.”
“I understand.”
“You can’t afford for me to be sick. You think Anna will pay your salary
?”
I shook my head.
“Wait here a second,” he said.
He stepped into the bathroom, came back holding up a pill bottle in one hand and a cup of water in the other.
“Normally I wouldn’t share these, but since you work under my roof, giving one to you is the same as giving one to me. An ounce of prevention.”
“What are they?”
“The next best thing to vaccination. They prevent colds, the flu, pneumonia—you name it. Now come take one.”
The question I was too afraid to ask: If you’re already taking them, then how can I get you sick?
“I’ll go to a clinic tomorrow,” I said.
“Sorry,” he said. “You had your chance.”
That was a lie. He hadn’t talked to me about this weeks ago, like he claimed. He’d mentioned it in passing the day before, at breakfast.
He had me follow him into the bathroom, then watch as he took two pills and mashed them down to powder with the end of a toothbrush. Then he brushed the powder into the cup, swished the water around, and handed the cup to me.
“Here,” he said. “The medicine makes its way through your system more rapidly once it’s dissolved.”
What choice did I have? My visa, my livelihood—everything depended on this man. I didn’t even have enough money for a flight home. I took the cup, tried to hide the fact that my hand was shaking. He smiled as I drank it down.
“Very good,” he said. “Very good.”
It wasn’t until later that I realized this was a trial run. He wanted to see if the taste of the drink would make me gag or grimace. It didn’t. It tasted like nothing. That pleased him.
“Go on, now,” he said. “I think there’s some broken glass in the game room. Anna was stumbling around drunk last night, as usual.”
I didn’t feel dizzy right away, or if I did, then I don’t remember it. I only remember waking up eight hours later, lying fully clothed on top of the covers in one of the guest bedrooms, with no sense of how I got there. My head was aching. I thought I might vomit. Then I looked over and saw him, standing in the corner and buttoning up his shirt.
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