"We'll find out. Mr. Ramirez, you'll have to identify the body formally, and there'll be an inquest, of course. I'll send someone to take you down to the morgue."
"Identify-that mean you're not sure it is Elena?" asked the girl sharply.
"No, that we know. It's only a formality of the law."
"Yes, I understand," said Ramirez. "You're kind, we thank you."
Mendoza took the girl's arm and led her out to the dining room. She looked up at him alertly, half-suspicious. "Well, what now?"
"No need to upset your father more," he said easily. "Will you give me the address of this school your sister attended, please-how long had she been going there?"
"A-about three weeks it was, yes, just three because today's Saturday an' she began two weeks ago last Monday. I don't know that it was doing her much good at that, she couldn't seem-"
"Miss Ramirez, you're a smart girl. You can look at things straight, and I don't think you'll lie to me just to defend your sister's memory. Tell me, do you think she'd have let a stranger pick her up, as they say?"
Teresa put a hand to her cheek. "That's a hard one to answer, mister. Right off I'd say no, an' not to, like you said, make out Elena was better than she was. When I said we're respectable folks, that wasn't no lie either-us girls've been raised proper, know what's right 'n' wrong, even if maybe we don't know everything like about which forks an' spoons. No, sir, Elena wouldn't ever have gone with a strange fellow, way you mean, somebody whistled at her on the street or offered her a ride. But it might be she would think it was O.K. if it was somebody she'd seen around, if you know what I mean, and he acted all right. This rink place, f'r instance, she went there a lot, belonged to some crazy club they got for regular customers, and if some fellow there got talking to her and maybe offered her a ride home, if she was alone, or said he'd walk with her, she might've thought it was O.K., if he seemed polite and all. She-she couldn't size people up very good. I know-I told her time an' again-she made herself look cheap, bleaching her hair and all that make-up, but she wasn't like that really. She was"-her face twisted suddenly-"she was just a kid. Rollerskating…"
"I see, thank you. Someone will come for your father-you'll see he's ready? I'll cease to intrude for the moment then, but as this and that comes up, one of us will be back to ask more questions."
"I s'pose you got to."
"Were you very fond of your sister, Miss Ramirez?" he asked, soft and offhand.
She was silent, and then looked up to meet his eyes. "She was my sister. That don't say I couldn't see her faults-nobody's all good or bad. It don't seem fair-she should die like that before she was even nineteen, hadn't had nothing much. But it's a thing that happens, people dying, age don't seem to have an awful lot to do with it sometimes.
Little babies, like a couple of Mama's. You got to figure God must know what He's doing. And think about them that's still alive."
There was in her round brown eyes all the sad, inborn, fatalistic wisdom of the primitive tribe living close with the basic realities of life and death.
At the door, Mendoza met the priest just arriving: round-faced, rich voiced, middle-aged Irishman, the self-introduction as Father Monaghan unnecessary to guess his ancestry. "You are-? Oh, ye-s-but what an incredible, tragic thing, I can hardly believe- Before I go in, then, Lieutenant, perhaps you would tell me in more detail-" And when he had heard, steady blue eyes fixed on Mendoza, he said quietly, "God grant you find this poor wicked man soon. If there is any way I can be of help- I know this district well, and most of those living here, you know-"
"Yes, thank you, we'll keep it in mind."
"You said, Lieutenant-Mendoza? At least it must be some comfort to them that one of their own people should be investigating, one of their own faith who-"
"Not for some while of that or any, Father."
"Ah," said the priest, "but not forever, my son, will you say that to God. One day you will return the full circle."
Mendoza smiled, stood back to let him pass, and went out to the porch. Adjusting his hat, he said to himself, "?muy improbable, venga lo que venga-nada de eso! "
The man called Tio Tomas was leaning on the porch railing. He showed yellow snags of teeth in a brief grin. "Nothing doing-that's what I say to them kind too. All they're after is money. For a cop maybe you got a little brains." The grin did not change his wary cold eyes. His skin was bad, showing relics of the smallpox.
"You will be a brother to Manuel Ramirez, I think."
"Sure, that's right, but I don't live here, I'm just visiting. Too bad about Elena, she was a nice kid."
Mendoza looked him over thoughtfully. "I'll hear your permanent address."
"I live in Calexico, I got a business there, I didn't have nothing to do with-"
"Indeed?" said Mendoza; small satisfaction warmed him for something, however irrelevant and minor, to take hold of. The most respectable families had black sheep, and this was one of them, that he could see with half an eye. "You're a Mexican national, not a citizen? I'll see your entry permit." The man brought it out promptly; it was in order. "Exporter. What do you export?"
"I got a silversmithy," said Ramirez. "Nothing big, you know, just a man and four girls-jewelry. You know how the tourists go for native stuff, and here too. I make a better profit on it up here even with the duty, you can mark it up higher. I'm just up on a little business trip."
"With success?" asked Mendoza genially.
"Oh-sure, sure. Got to get back, though, the business don't run itself." His eyes shifted. "Say, I won't have to stay, just account this thing about Elena? I didn't have nothing to do with- I mean, it was some crazy fellow killed her, wasn't it-"
"It would be as well if you stay for the inquest," said Mendoza, gave him a last smiling inspection and went unhurriedly down the walk to his car; he felt the man's eyes on him. He drove back to Commerce and caught Higgins and Dwyer comparing notes before leaving for headquarters. No one in the block had heard anything unusual last night.
He had not expected much from that. He sent Dwyer with the headquarters car over to Liggitt Street, to keep an eye on Tomas Ramirez.
"Maybe a waste of time. Maybe something for us, but not connected with the murder. He's been in trouble, I think he's been inside, anyway he doesn't like cops-not too close. Exporter, his papers say. He might be just that, indeed."
Dwyer said, "Marijuana-or the big H. Sure, he might. And how about this, Lieutenant-t-he girl finds it out and either says she'll turn him in or wants a cut, so he-"
Whatever he is or isn't, he's small time. I don't think so, but of course it's a possibility we'll have to check. Stay on him, I'll send a man to relieve you." He took Higgins back to headquarters to pick up another car and ferry the father down to the morgue.
Himself, instead of returning to his office where he should be attending to other matters, he set off to see the Wades. There should be just time before lunch. It was a very routine errand, something for Hackett or even one of Hackett's underlings, and not until he was halfway there did Mendoza realize clearly why he felt it important to see to it himself, why he had gone to the Ramirez house. The sooner all this personal matter was cleared out of the way, proved to be extraneous, the better.
And he must satisfy himself doubly that it was irrelevant, because it was always dangerous to proceed on a preconceived idea. He had been seized by the conviction, looking at the body, that this girl had been killed by the killer of Carol Brooks-but it was little more than a hunch, an irrationality backed by very slender evidence.
Carol Brooks, three miles away over in East L.A.-maybe a bigger loss than this girl had been. A young, earnest, ambitious girl, who had earned her living as a hotel chambermaid and spent her money not on clothes but voice lessons-with an expensive trainer of high repute, too, who thought a good deal of her, was giving her a cut price. He had said she needed constant encouragement, because she didn't believe a black girl could get very far, unless she was really the very best, and she'd never be that good. Maybe she would have been; no one would ever know, now.