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“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.” Pe
Eve signaled Peabody to go around by the front, then followed Pe
“Lemme see ID,” Pe
Eve pulled out her badge. “You’ve had some trouble along the way, Pe
“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.”
Pe
“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 Pe
“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 Pe
“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 a
“Did Lino tell you?”
“I just said I haven’t seen him since-”
“You know, you can have these removed,” Eve interrupted, giving Pe
“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, Pe
“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 Pe
“I did, Lieutenant. I believe this woman just assaulted a police officer.”
“Screw that shit.” Temper burning her face, Pe
“Oops, another assault. And now resisting arrest.” Eve made the grab, twisting Pe
“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!” Pe
“Okay, now I’m no longer entertained.” Eve cuffed Pe
“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 Pe
We won’t be able to hold her very long,” Peabody commented after they’d turned Pe
“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 cu
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.”