“You think so? That sounds kind of paranoid to me.”
He shrugged, then turned and led her down a cramped foyer into a small room with salmon pink carpeting, pink and green upholstery, and blond wood furniture. It smelled stale, a combination of old cigarette smoke and room deodorizer. A petite, middle-aged Filipino woman with short hair and steel-rimmed eyeglasses sat on the bed staring blankly at the television resting on the bureau. She turned, and Melanie’s jaw dropped. Abuelita. The woman was the spitting image of her grandmother, who’d lived with her family when Melanie was young. But the left side of the housekeeper’s face was darkly mottled, angry bruises punctuated by the black railroad tracks of a stitched gash. Something stiff in her posture suggested she was in pain.
Rosario Sangrador stared at Melanie morosely. In the hostile blankness of her gaze, Melanie read fear.
“ Rosario, I want you to meet somebody,” Dan said. “This is Miss Vargas. She’s the prosecutor. She’s gonna put Jed Benson’s killers in jail.”
Rosario glared at Melanie. “I not testify. No way. Send me home now,” she said, ignoring Melanie’s extended hand.
Melanie walked over and snapped off the television. She moved a small armchair from the desk to the foot of the bed and sat down facing Rosario. Dan pulled up another chair nearby.
“It’s Mrs. Sangrador, right, ma’am?” Melanie kept her tone deferential, sympathetic.
“Yeah, that’s me.” Rosario deliberately looked away toward the window, though the blinds were drawn and there was nothing to see. Melanie shifted the chair to place herself directly in the housekeeper’s line of sight.
“Look, Mrs. Sangrador, I can see how scared you are. Believe me, I understand what you’re feeling.”
Rosario made eye contact, her face full of fury, the fury of someone who’s been attacked. “How you understand? These men, they gonna kill me! He tell me if I talk to you, he come back and hack me in little pieces.”
“Who told you that?”
“The man who kill Mr. Jed!” Rosario dropped her head to her hands, shoulders heaving. “You not care about me! I testify and they kill me!” she choked out between sobs.
Melanie got up and fetched her a tissue and a glass of water. Rosario took them, sipping the water, dabbing at her eyes carefully to avoid the stitches that snaked down her cheek. After a few moments, she quieted and looked up.
“I have a plan to keep you safe,” Melanie said gently. “We can get you away from here, far away, where this man can’t reach you.”
“You pay my ticket? Because I don’t got too much money.”
“Yes. Not only will we transport you, but we’ll pay your living expenses until the trial.”
Rosario looked at her suspiciously. “What I got to do to get that?”
Melanie met her eyes. “I’m not gonna lie to you, Mrs. Sangrador. You have to testify. Now in the grand jury. And later at trial.”
“No. No way.” Rosario shook her head emphatically.
“Look, it’s a free country. If you tell us to leave you alone, we will. But then we can’t pay for the hotel and twenty-four-hour guard. That kind of protection is only for people who testify. If that’s your decision, my case might be weaker, but at night I go home in one piece. For you it’s a death sentence.”
Rosario gasped, eyes wide with shock, but Melanie was only telling her the truth. She’d be doing her a disservice if she didn’t. They stared at each other, Rosario ’s mind obviously racing behind her glasses. In the silence Dan’s pager went off with a piercing wail. He jumped up and excused himself, stepping out into the corridor to return the beep.
When he came back a few minutes later, Rosario drew a breath and said, “Okay. I testify. But you promise me, missus, you promise me, right? You promise me I be safe?”
“Yes!” Melanie leaned forward and clasped Rosario ’s two hands in her own. “You’ll be guarded at all times. You’ll be completely safe. You have my word.”
MELANIE CALLED THE GRAND JURY CLERK’S office from the hotel and booked the next available time slot, spelling Rosario ’s name carefully for the clerk. Rosario would testify the following afternoon at three. In the meantime she needed to be prepped.
“Okay, Mrs. Sangrador,” Melanie said, pen poised over her yellow legal pad, “tell me what happened. Take me through it, step by step.”
“Nine o’clock last night, man come to door. Mrs. Benson away, and Mr. Benson downstairs in office, so I answer.”
“Did you get a good look at his face?” Melanie asked.
“Oh, yeah! I never forget him!”
Melanie looked over at Dan, who leaned down and pulled the folder with the mug shots from his battered canvas briefcase. Before he could open the folder, she stopped his hand with a touch.
“Single photos aren’t allowed,” she said. “Did you put it in an array?”
“This ain’t amateur hour, sweetheart,” he said, meeting her eyes. Too aware of his warm skin under her fingers, she pulled her hand away. He removed a sheet of paper from the folder and handed it to her. It was a color Xerox containing six numbered photographs, all of teenage boys with short dark hair, no facial hair, and thin features. The mug shot of Slice was in position number four.
“Not suggestive in the least,” she said, nodding. “I approve. Proceed.”
“Okay. Rosario,” Dan intoned, reading from the boilerplate printed on the back of the array, “you’re about to view an array of six photographs that may or may not contain a photo of the individual in question. Hairstyles, facial hair, and skin tones may vary with time and photo quality. Examine each photograph carefully, and tell me if you recognize anybody. Take as much time as you need.”
Melanie held her breath as Dan handed the array to Rosario. The mug shot of Slice was so outdated. If Rosario didn’t recognize him, it wouldn’t mean he was the wrong guy, but it could torpedo their case.
Rosario snatched the array from Dan’s hands, glanced at it, and jabbed her finger at photo number four. “That him! Except he much older now.”
Melanie breathed out. “Okay. What happened when you answered the door?”
“I talk to him through video monitor. He say he deliver flowers for Mrs. Benson. I say, why so late? Then I see he have jacket with name of flower company, so I buzz door. Let him in. So stupid!” Tears welled in Rosario ’s eyes again and slowly spilled over, reminding Melanie powerfully of the past. Abuelita crying when she left for the airport. Melanie crying. No, Abuelita said, mi hija, don’t you feel bad. This not your fault. Your mami, she send me away.
“Oh, Mrs. Sangrador, this wasn’t your fault!” Melanie exclaimed. “Don’t blame yourself! Anyone else would have done the same thing!” Don’t blame yourself, she told Rosario, though of course she blamed herself for all her own problems. “What next?” she asked aloud.
“He push door in and grab me. I feel gun on my cheek, I scream. Then, boom, he hit me with gun. That how I get this.” She pointed to the stitched gash.
“Did he say anything to you when he came in?” Melanie asked.
“He say, ‘You make problem, I kill you.’ Then he kick my feet, and I fall down. He tie my hands with twist tie, like from garbage bag. Very sharp. Hurt me. Then he walk back to the door and open it. His friends come. They all wear black ski mask, I can’t see faces. Oh, my God! And they have big dog!”
Rosario began breathing heavily, wringing her hands. Melanie patted her reassuringly and looked deep into her eyes, trying to convey strength. “It’s okay. Keep going.”
“Four or five guys maybe, and big black dog. Dog jump for me. His teeth, snap snap like this.” With her hand, Rosario mimed jaws biting. “They laughing. Say he smell my blood already.”
“Were they armed?” Melanie asked.
“Oh, yes. Guns. Big guns, all of them. Same like that one.” She pointed to the Glock protruding from Dan’s waistband.