“Yes, it is very decent,” Sandy told her. “You make very good pies.”
“None of them are as good as your pumpkin pie.”
Sandy blushed. “Oh, I don’t think that’s true.”
Lucy said, “She makes the best pumpkin pie, but will only use fresh pumpkin. It’s not the season right now.”
Marge smiled and said, “Then we’ll have to come back in the fall.”
“Oh yes,” Sandy said. “Please do.”
Decker had finished off one tortilla and was working on a second one. He was starved and the food was delicious in the way that only homemade could be. It was a shame that Rina wasn’t here. She would have dazzled the two women with her natural ability to converse on any topic. But his wife’s favorite subject revolved around anything to do with the kitchen. Rina had an affinity for anyone elderly and into ethnic food.
The women got up and went into the kitchen. The savory food was followed by several plates of dried fruits, nuts, and assorted cookies. They managed lots of small talk. They asked about the detectives without being intrusive. When the polite questions thinned, Decker managed to get the women talking about their childhood. They spoke about how small and rural Santa Fe had been when they were growing up, describing it as a small pueblo town with several naturalist health spas for those who’d been stricken with rheumatic fever and had damaged lungs and hearts. Then they segued into their tumultuous adolescence during World War II, and how everyone gossiped about the secret scientists living in a makeshift, clandestine housing project in Los Alamos.
They spoke briefly about their husbands. The men were out bowling tonight and they’d be back in about an hour. Nothing about children, for obvious reasons.
By the time they had finished with dinner, it was almost eleven. Marge had told the desk at the hotel that they would be a late check-in. Even so, she excused herself and called up again just to confirm that the reservations would be honored.
No problem, the clerk told her.
That was good.
It was going to be a very long evening.
THE MEN CAME into the house fifteen minutes later and ate the leftovers, even though dinner had been included in boys’ night out. Peter Devargas was thin and wiry, with light blue eyes and a beak nose. He was bald except for snow-white hair fringing his skull from the back of one ear to the other. Tom Ruiz was squat and round, with a full head of silver hair. He had a broad nose and green eyes and Cathie looked just like him. The resemblance was especially remarkable when the two were side to side.
By the time the men had finished and the dishes were cleared, it was midnight. Marge was fighting to stay awake, Oliver had turned quiet, and Decker kept going by drinking the caffeinated tea. The four oldsters were making them look bad, awake and alert and ready.
Peter Devargas said, “Well, I guess we put it off long enough.” He looked at his wife. “My niece says you got a picture of Isabela?”
“Not exactly.” Decker tried to explain what they had found and the process of forensic reconstruction. He talked slowly and methodically and no one interrupted him, although they nodded at the appropriate pauses. “It appears that the bones were placed there around thirty-plus years ago. From some specific bony landmarks, the forensic artist reconstructed a face with soft tissue. Your niece thought it looked a lot like her cousin.”
“So what you have is some artist’s interpretation of a face based on bones?” Devargas asked.
“Yes. Exactly.”
“Well, let’s see it.”
Decker glanced at Sandy. One hand was covering her mouth, the other one was held by her sister. Cathie had taken her father’s arm and was leaning against his shoulder. He took out the photograph of the reconstruction and handed it to Devargas.
The old man glanced at the snapshot and closed his eyes. When he reopened them, he was handing the picture back to Decker. “It’s her.”
Tía Sandy gasped, both hands flying onto her face. Lucy said, “Katarina, get Tía Sandy some water please.”
Cathie stifled a sob. “Of course.”
Tom Ruiz patted his brother-in-law on the back. Devargas’s eyes filled with water, but he blinked and it was gone. “When can we get my baby back so we can give her a religious burial?”
“We’ll work on that right away,” Decker told him. “It would be helpful if we had scientific corroboration that it is Isabela.”
“Dental X-rays,” Marge explained.
Devargas looked at his wife. Tía Sandy crossed herself, then slowly dropped her hands to her lap, the interlaced fingers clutched so hard her knuckles were white. Her voice was clear when she spoke. “She saw Dr. Bradley and Dr. Chipley.”
Tom Ruiz said, “Dr. Chipley passed away a long time ago, but Fred Bradley’s still around. I just saw him at the Plaza’s spring pancake breakfast…when was that?”
“About a month ago,” Lucy said.
“Do you know if he still has his old files?” Oliver asked the old man.
“I’ll call him up.” Devargas picked up the telephone.
Tía Sandy said, “Peter, it’s after midnight.”
“He’ll make an exception. I know I would. You know where he lives, Tom?”
“I think he lives in Quail Run. He’s a big golfer.”
Devargas called up information and had the number within a few minutes, waiting several rings for someone to pick up the phone. He said, “Fred, it’s Peter Devargas here. I’m sorry to wake you up so late, but we have an emergency situation. You know my daughter went missing a long time…yeah, Isabela. Do you still have her dental X-rays? They found some bones in Los Angeles and…” Devargas momentarily choked up. He gave the phone to Decker and stormed into the bathroom. Decker introduced himself to the retired dentist on the line and explained the situation.
“Oh…okay,” Bradley said. “Now I got it.” A pause. “I sold my practice years ago to Jerome Rosen, a very nice young man who moved here from New York with his family. Done very well. ’Course I sold him a very busy practice.”
“So if anyone would have the X-rays, it would be Dr. Rosen.”
“Hold on, young man. It’s late, I’m old, and you’re moving too fast. I didn’t say that Dr. Rosen would have the X-rays, although he does have all my old patient files. But I kept Beth’s file…that’s what everyone used to call Isabela…Beth. I kept her files and her X-rays because of the special circumstances, I thought…well, at least, I was hoping someday that someone would make this phone call. I didn’t want her X-rays getting lost when the practice was shifted from me to Dr. Rosen.”
Decker gave Marge and Oliver a thumbs-up sign. Normally, they would have slapped one another a high five, but the mood was too somber to celebrate anything. “That was very smart of you to keep her X-rays.”
“Well, any thinking person in my field might consider doing the same thing. Like I said, I was hoping for the phone call. Well, actually, we were all hoping for better news than this, but after all these years, how likely was that? Anyway, if the poor girl was dead, the least I could do is make sure that she was identified. God knows the parents deserve to give her a decent burial.”
“When can we come over to collect the X-rays?”
“It’ll have to wait until tomorrow. I got to find them first. How about one in the afternoon tomorrow?”
“That would be fine.”
“Okay.” Bradley gave them the address. “I’ll see you then. Good night now.”
“Good night.” Decker hung up the phone and regarded the men. Peter Devargas had returned, his eyes as flat as his expression. “He specifically kept the X-rays. That should speed things up.”
The parents nodded. They were mute and shell-shocked. Thirty-two years had just melted away. The wound had opened up and the pain was unbearable.
Decker said, “I know this is an incredibly rough time, but we’re going to need to talk to you about your daughter’s life. As you might have suspected, it appears that she was murdered.”