“Where were you?” Juanita demanded. “Where were you when he killed my baby? When my husband grieved so he took his life. Took his own life and will never see God, never see God or our boy again. This is what that bastard did. Where were you?”
“You had to exact payment.” Eve rapped a fist on the table. “You had to make him pay for Quinto. The police didn’t so you had to.”
“He was my only child, our only child. I told him, I taught him never to look at skin—the color of skin is nothing. We’re all God’s children. He was a good boy. I told him, he had to work, that all of us must earn our way. So he took the work there, there where they killed him. Because I told him to.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks, streaming out of misery. “Do you think it matters what you say, what you do? I sent my boy to the place where they killed him. Do you think it matters if you take my life from me now, if you put me away for the rest of it? I can’t see God, just like my husband. There’s no salvation without redemption. I can’t ask for true forgiveness. I killed the one who killed my son. And I don’t repent. I hope he’s burning in hell.”
“Mrs. Turner. Mrs. Turner.” Peabody’s voice soothed, calmed. “You were Quinto’s mother. He was only sixteen. It must have been devastating, the loss. It must’ve been devastating all over again when Penny told you that the man you believed to be Father Flores was Lino Martinez.”
“I didn’t believe her. At first I didn’t believe her.” When Juanita lowered her head into her hands, Eve gave Peabody a small nod of approval. “Why would she tell me this? She’d been his whore once. How could I believe it, believe her? I worked with him, took Communion from him, confessed to him. But . . .”
“She convinced you,” Peabody prompted.
“Little things. The way he walked, the swagger of it. The basketball, so much pride. He had so much pride in his skill with a ball and a net. His eyes. If you really looked, if you really looked he was there. Inside the priest’s eyes.”
“Still she could’ve been lying,” Eve insisted. “You killed a man on her word? The word of Lino Martinez’s whore?”
“No. No. She had a recording, she’d recorded him, talking to her. Talking about how he was fooling everyone. How he could play the priest and be the sinner. She asked him to say his real name, and he laughed. Lino Martinez, he said. And even his mother didn’t know it. But how everyone would know him again, respect him, envy him. In just a little more time.”
“She made the recording for you.”
“She said she made it because I’d need proof. That she was ashamed of what he’d made her do. What he made her do still. She had loved him as a girl, and she’d fallen back when he’d come to her. But then he told her what he’d done. The bomb, and she couldn’t live with that.”
She wiped at her eyes. “Who could live with that? Only evil can live with that. She couldn’t. She’d found God, found strength, and came to me.”
“And helped you,” Peabody said, very gently. “She understood how shattered you were, and offered to help.”
“He wouldn’t pay for Quinto. He would never pay, unless I made him pay. Unless I stopped him. I could get the poison. I could get in the church, the rectory, the tabernacle. Still, I waited. I waited, because to take a life, even in justice, is a terrible thing. Then she showed me another recording, where he’d talked of the bombing, bragged about it. How he’d pretended to leave days before, but how he’d watched the store blow up. Blow up, with my boy inside. How he’d watched that, and then drove away. His work done.”
The memory straightened her spine. Defiance cut through again as she stared at Eve. “Would God want him to go unpunished?”
“Take us through it, Juanita,” Eve said. “How did you do it.”
“Old Mr. Ortiz died. He was such a good man, so well loved. I took it as a sign. I knew the church would be full, and this murderer on the altar. I went to the rectory before Rosa got there, when Father López and that one were at morning Mass. I got the keys for the tabernacle. I waited until Father López left from morning Mass, and I went in, put the poison in the wine.”
Juanita’s whole body trembled. “Only wine, and never to be the blood of God. I’d be God’s hand, she said.”
“Penny said?”
“Yes, she said I would be God’s hand and strike him down. So I sat in church and watched him do his false prayers over that good man, and I watched him drink the wine. Watched him die. And as he had, with my baby, I walked away.”
“You confessed to Father López,” Eve said. “No, he didn’t tell me. He wouldn’t. But you confessed to him. Why?”
“I hoped somehow, I could be forgiven. But Father said I must tell the police, I must be repentant in my heart. I’m not. How can I be? If I join Lino in hell, that’s God’s will. I know my boy is in heaven.”
“Why didn’t you go to the police, or to Father López with what Penny told you?”
Anger pushed color into her face. “She’d been to the police. They didn’t believe her. And she said he’d kill her. He’d told her he would kill her if she ever betrayed him. She showed me the bruises, where he’d beaten her. I wouldn’t have her life on my hands.”
“She played you.” Eve said it flatly, then rose to pour herself a cup of water. “She played Lino, played you, and you both did exactly what she wanted. Did he make the bomb that killed your son? Yeah, we can be pretty sure of that. Did he plan the bombing? Same thing. But what Penny left out in her ‘I’ve found God’ routine was that she’s the one who told him to up the explosives to multiple-kill level, and she’s the one who pushed the button. She killed your son, Mrs. Turner. And used you to kill Lino.”
All the angry color ran out of her face, but she shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to. I’m going to prove it. The point is, Mrs. Turner, you didn’t do God’s will, you did Penny Soto’s. You weren’t God’s hand, you were Penny Soto’s. The person every bit as responsible as Lino Martinez for your son’s death. For your husband’s suicide.”
“You’re lying.”
“It was for money.” Eve sat back, let the idea spin out. “Didn’t you ever ask her, ask yourself why he’d come back, why he’d played priest for over five years?”
“I . . .”
“You didn’t. You didn’t because all you could think about, all you could see was your son. Ask yourself now. Why would a man like that live the way he’d been living? Money, Juanita, a lot of money. Money he had to wait for, money he planned to share with the only person he really loved. Penny Soto. Thanks to you, she doesn’t have to share.”
“That’s not true. That can’t be true. She was afraid he’d kill her. He beat her, and made her do things, and said he’d kill her.”
“Lies. Lies. Lies. If any of that were true, why didn’t she leave? She’s got no ties here. No family, no real friends, and the kind of work she could do anywhere. Why not just get on a bus and go? Did you ever ask her?”
“He said he watched the bomb, he laughed. He said his name.”
“And he did all of this, freely? He said all this to a woman he had to threaten, he had to beat, he had to force? Think!”
Her breath began to hitch and heave. “She . . . she . . .”
“Yeah, that’s right. She. But this time, I’ll be the hand of God.”
She left Juanita with Peabody, closed the door on the woman’s weeping. And just leaned back against it for a moment. When she walked into Observation, she found Reo, Mira, and Father López.
“May I see Juanita, Lieutenant,” López asked. “To counsel her?”
“Not yet, but if you’d wait outside, I’ll arrange it shortly.”
“Thank you. Thank you for allowing me to come.” He turned to Reo. “I hope you can temper the law with compassion.”
Eve waited until López left. “What’s the charge?” she asked Reo.
“Second degree.” She glanced at Mira. “With special circumstances. I’ll ask for ten to f
ifteen, on-planet, minimum security. And she’ll have a full psych eval.”
Eve nodded. “She won’t do the full dime. This isn’t about rehabilitation. It’s about salvation.”
“She needs to pay, Eve.” Mira studied the weeping woman through the glass. “Not only for the law, but for herself. She can’t live with what she’s done unless she does penance. She can’t find that salvation unless she finds forgiveness.”
“I get that. We’ll book her.”
“I’m pretty bummed to be giving up that all-expense paid vacation.” Reo sighed. “I know a decent defense lawyer who’ll take her pro bono. Let me tug that line. Meanwhile, get me that bitch Soto, and sew it up tight.”
“Got that cooking.”
“Keep in touch. Dr. Mira, I’ll see you at Louise’s party.”
“Thanks for coming down,” Eve said to Mira, “for giving Reo your take.”
“I think she’d have come to it on her own. You ran that very well, devastating her at the end, with the knowledge Penny had orchestrated it all. She’ll reach out to her priest now. She’ll reach out for that salvation.”
“That’s up to her. I ran it so she’d give me what I needed on Penny.”
“That, and the other.”
Eve lifted a shoulder. Maybe.
22
McNAB SASHAYED INTO THE HOMICIDE BULLPEN, and gave Peabody a big, eyebrow-wiggling leer. She stared holes through him. Undeterred, he continued his sashay over to her desk, where he plopped his butt down.
“Move that sorry excuse for an ass. I’m working.”
“You love my sorry excuse for an ass. It’s still got your finger dents in it from last night.”
She sniffed, angled away. “This has nothing to do with sex.”
“Let’s take five.”
“I said I had work.” She swiveled back to him. “Maybe you’ve got all the time in the world to screw around, but I don’t. You’ll be happy to know I’m typing up the report on our interview with Juanita Turner, and the streets of New York are now safe from a grieving mother some greedy, heartless bitch used as a murder weapon.”
His fingers danced over his knee as he studied her furious face. “Okay. Let’s take that five and hash this through.”
“Your head’s as bony as your ass. I just said I’m busy.”
“Right.” McNab glanced over at the next desk. “Hey, Carmichael, you want to watch while Peabody and I fight, then play kiss and make up?”
“Sure.” Carmichael gestured with one hand while peering at data on the comp screen. “Take off your clothes first.”
“Perv,” Peabody muttered, but she pushed up from her desk and strode out.
McNab shot Carmichael a grin, and followed.
“Hey! Does this mean you’re not stripping off?” Carmichael called after them.
“You probably thought that was funny,” Peabody began—and found her back against the wall next to Vending, and her mouth very busy. Heat flashed straight up from her belly and out the top of her head. She managed to catch her breath just as two uniforms passing by stopped to applaud.
“Jeez! Cut it out. What’s wrong with you?”
“I can’t help it. Your lips were right there, and I missed them.”
“God, you’re such an idiot.” She grabbed his hand, pulled him down the corridor. She poked her head into a conference room, then dragged him in after her. “Listen.”
This time her back hit the door, and while her mouth was busy, so were his hands. She forgot herself long enough to grab his sorry excuse for an ass, and squeeze. Then she remembered herself and shoved. “Stop it. You’re such a dick.”
“I might also have dent marks on my dick.” He cocked his head. “But you didn’t mean this wasn’t about sex, you meant you didn’t want it to be about sex. Okay.”
He stepped back and slipped his hands—to her partial and secret regret—into two of his many pockets.
“You’re still in the steam room about this morning, so let me ask you: Do you want me to agree with you about everything?”
“No, but . . . Maybe. You want me to agree with you about everything.”
“Not so much. I like when you do because then we’re all smug and snuggled up together, which could lead to the sex this isn’t about—or just a good feeling of, you know, solidarity. But I kind of like it when you don’t because then you’re all pissy and hot, and I’m pissy and horny, which again could lead to the sex this isn’t about. But mostly, when you don’t run on my line, it makes me think. And even after, I think if I don’t switch my line to run on yours, it’s okay. Because what you think makes you who you are. And that’s my girl.”
“Well, damn,” she said after a moment. “Damn. You have to go and be all lucid and smart.” No matter how she tried, it seemed it just wasn’t the day for keeping the wind in her sails. “And right. I guess, see I felt sorry for her, for Juanita, and you coming down on the hard line made me feel like maybe I wasn’t a straight enough cop.”
“It’s not what it means.” He gave her a light, affectionate poke in the shoulder. “Bogus, Peabody.”
“Some days I can’t believe I made it here. New York, Cop Central, Dallas, a detective’s shield. And you know somebody’s going to take a good look and say, what the hell, send her back to the farm.”
“You start heading there, think about all the bad guys you’ve helped put away.”
“Yeah.” She took a breath. “Yeah. But . . . Juanita’s not a bad guy. Not the kind you can just lock up and say, ‘Real good job, have a brew.’ It’s hard to shake, feeling that and knowing that’s just what we have to do.”
He gave her another poke, and a good, straight look in the eye. “Did you make the case?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s all there is. You can’t take on the PA’s job, the judge, the jury. You just make the case.”
“I know. I know. But this one . . . Dallas worked some stuff. She had Reo and Mira, even the priest. Juanita’s got to go down for it, but not as hard as it could’ve been.”
“The other one’s going down harder. That’s what you and Dallas are aiming for, right? And I’ve got a little something that’s going to help.”
“What?”
“I was on my way to tell Dallas, when I saw you. I got distracted by the She-Body.”
“Let’s go.”
“Hey, maybe we could just take five more to—”
“No.” But she laughed, and gave his ass another squeeze. “Absolutely no. But tonight? Your dents are going to have dents.”
“Hot damn.”
In her office, Eve studied the map on her comp screen. Calculated. There were ways, she thought, and ways to run a con. The problem—and she could work around it if need be—was that every one of the Ortega properties was currently occupied. If she ran an op in any of them, even anything as simple and basic as the sting she had in mind, she would have to move them out.
If anything went wrong, if a civilian got hurt, it would be on her.
But there were ways, she thought, and ways. She turned to the ’link and contacted Roarke’s office. Knowing the routine, she did the obligatory chitchat with Roarke’s admin, Caro.
“He’s in a meeting,” Caro told her, “but I can put you through if it’s important.”
“No.” Could be. “Can you give me an idea when he’ll be done?”
“He has another appointment scheduled in thirty minutes. So I’d say no longer than that.”
“Thirty would be fine for him to get back to me. If it’s longer, I may hit you up for that interruption. Appreciate it.”
“Happy to help, Lieutenant.”
Eve programmed coffee, went back to studying the map. “If you don’t have something for me,” she said when Peabody and McNab came in, “go away.”
“How about a toss-away ’link Juanita Turner didn’t toss away?”
Eve’s head came up, and her gaze burned into McNab. “If you’ve got Penny Soto on there, talking about murder,
I’ll ignore the next time the two of you play grab-ass on duty. And may, in fact, grab your ass myself.”
“My ass is sure getting a lot of play today.” McNab pulled the ’link he’d sealed, and a disc, out of one of his pockets. “I copied the transes onto disc. The caller blocked video on her end, but there’s plenty for voice match. Which, anticipating, I went ahead and ran against the interview you did with Penny Soto. Bull’s-eye.”
Eve snatched the disc, shoved it into her comp slot.
“The last one should do it,” McNab said.
“Computer, run last transmission on current disc.”
Acknowledged . . . Transmission is voice only. Running . . .
Hello. Pen—
No names, remember? And don’t forget. It’s really important for you to toss the ’link in a recycler when this is over. Don’t forget.
Eve’s smile spread, went fierce.
I won’t forget, but—
I just thought you might need someone to talk to, just to know you’ve got a friend, someone who understands what you’re doing tomorrow. Who understands why you have to.
I’ve been praying, all day, all day, asking God to help me. To help me find the strength to do the right thing. To see the right thing. I’m not sure—
He raped me again tonight.
No, oh, no.
I got through it. With prayer, and by knowing it wouldn’t happen again. It would never happen again because you were going to stop him. I think, I’m afraid, if I didn’t know that, I couldn’t get through. I think, I’m afraid I might take my own life to escape the hell he’s brought me in this one.
No! Pen—no, you must never, never think that. Must never take the most precious gift. A life. A life. And that’s what I’m asking myself, asking God. Even after everything, do I have the right to take his?
He killed your son, your husband. He’s killed so many, and no one stops him. Now he’s laughing at God. And . . . tonight, after he raped me, he said he’s getting bored. He may leave—make me go with him. But before he does, he’s going to put a bomb in church. He wants to blow it up. Some Sunday, he said, when we’d never know, when the church was full of people, he’d set it off.