“Christian charity.” Devargas snorted. “Our big mistake!”
“You don’t blame the sons for the sins of the fathers. Besides, his mother, Clara, was a gentle soul. Even you have to admit that, Peter.”
“That’s because she was drunk most of the time.”
“She started drinking after the kids disappeared, Peter. Different people cope in different ways.”
Devargas was silent. He wasn’t about to give ground to anyone.
Sandra said, “Clara and I didn’t have much to say to one another, although we did bond in grief. She had a hard life. Her husband and her other son, Belize, ended up in prison. Manny was her last hope. After he disappeared, she did become a drunk and a recluse. Five years after the disappearance, she passed on. She probably died of a broken heart.”
Decker said, “Would either of you know where Martin Hernandez was incarcerated?”
Sandra said, “He’s in Santa Fe Correctional. The prison is a fifteen-minute drive from Santa Fe on the highway.”
“Maximum security?” Decker asked.
Sandra nodded. “He’s serving out a forty-five-year sentence.”
Devargas said, “Parole was denied four times. Somebody has some good sense.”
Sandra said, “If he lives long enough, he’ll walk out in three years a free man.”
“Tragedy of our justice system,” Devargas growled out.
It was a pity that Decker couldn’t introduce Farley Lodestone to Peter Devargas without engendering conflict of interest. They’d have an instant friendship forged in loss and cynicism. “What happened to Manny’s brother, Belize?”
Both of them shrugged ignorance.
“Do you know what he was in prison for?”
“Robbery,” Devargas said.
“How old would he be now?”
“He was two years older than Manny,” Sandra said. “In his fifties.”
“And how old would Martin Hernandez be now?”
“Our age…in his seventies or maybe even in his eighties,” Sandra said.
“You said that Martin will walk out a free man, if he lives long enough,” Decker said. “Is he ill?”
“No, but you know how it is in a small community.” Sandra cocked her head in her husband’s direction. “People don’t forget.”
“No, they sure as hell don’t forget,” Devargas said. “If Martin knows what’s good for him, he’ll live the rest of his life out behind bars!”
DECKER STILL HAD dozens of questions for the Devargases, but the queries would have to wait. Checking his watch, he was shocked to see it was almost one. In eight minutes, they had a scheduled meeting with Fred Bradley, the retired dentist who claimed he still had Isabela Devargas’s X-rays. Lucky for them, Santa Fe was a small town and tourist season with its accompanying slog of traffic had yet to materialize.
Dressed in white slacks, a blue shirt, and white boating shoes, Bradley appeared to be in his eighties: a stooped-shouldered man with thin translucent skin, a gin-blossom nose, and watery blue eyes. He was the friendly sort, living the good life and playing lots of golf. He invited the detectives into his condo, whose living-room window framed a view of a small lake in a nine-hole course. After the detectives were seated, he offered them an array of afternoon refreshments. Soft drinks in hand-Bradley had opted for something harder-Decker thanked the retired dentist not only for his time but for his foresight in saving Isabela Devargas Hernandez’s X-rays.
Then Bradley started talking. At first he spoke about Isabela, but then his conversation meandered into all sorts of unrelated topics. Decker suspected that the man would have gone on for hours about “how it was back then” if Oliver hadn’t tapped his watch and reminded the loquacious Bradley that they had a plane to catch. They thanked him for the X-rays and headed back on I-25 South to Albuquerque.
The hour ride back to New Mexico’s most populated city turned into a two-hour, bumper-to-bumper affair as they hit the rush-hour jam. It was a mad dash to catch the flight, and once they were seated-with Marge in the notorious middle seat-all three detectives let out a uniform sigh of relief. Cathie Alvarez had decided not to go back with them, opting to stay a few extra days to comfort her aunt and uncle.
Beth’s X-rays in hand: mission accomplished although the trip wound up producing more questions than it answered.
“We didn’t even touch on any relative of Hernandez’s family,” Marge commented once they were airborne. “Surely there are some of them still among the living.”
“What good would talking to them do?” Oliver said.
“It would be interesting to get another point of view.”
Decker said, “I have a thought. If Manny Hernandez is still alive, do you think he might have visited his father in prison?”
“Under an assumed name, it’s possible,” Marge said.
“Maybe even under his own name. Beth and Manny’s disappearance was all but forgotten except by a few people. I don’t think the current prison officials at Santa Fe Correctional would necessarily know that Martin’s son Manny went missing in L.A. in the seventies.”
Oliver said, “Santa Fe’s a small town. I’m betting that there are still some old-time guards who remember that Manny and Beth disappeared. He’d have to have rocks for brains to sign the log in his own name.”
Decker said, “We’re still going to have to check the prison logs to see who visited Martin Hernandez. It may lead us to Manny. Most of the current logs are computerized, but they weren’t back in the 1970s and ’80s.” He thought a moment. “The first thing we should do is contact the authorities at the prison, and see if Martin had any recent visitors.”
Marge said, “Who visits seventy-year-old men? His wife? Well, she’s gone. How about children? One was in prison himself, we don’t know what happened to him. And the other one is supposedly missing.”
Decker said, “Which means, in my mind, that if Martin has had any visitors, it’s either the jailbird son or Manny or both.”
“That’s assuming that one or the other or both are still alive,” Oliver said. “We have no idea what happened to Belize Hernandez.”
“He isn’t in Santa Fe Correctional,” Marge said. “I’ve already checked that out.”
Decker said, “Is Manny’s wedding picture the only photograph we have of him?”
“So far,” Marge said. “When we get back, I’ll call up the local high school and ask for his yearbooks.”
“You know what we could use? A current picture of Belize Hernandez. Forensics is going to artificially age Manny Hernandez’s wedding picture on the computer. It’s helpful to know what Manny looked like back then. But if the son of a bitch is still walking the earth, he’d be in his fifties. We need to know what he’d look like now.”
32
R INA SLIPPED A silver bracelet with turquoise stone inserts onto her wrist. “It’s beautiful.” She kissed her husband’s cheek.
“Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Where’d you buy it?”
“I took an early-morning walk around the Plaza. There’s this strip under the old governor’s palace where the Indians sell their jewelry. The particular artist is from the tribe of Santo Domingo. I’m glad I bought it when I did. Once the interviews started, I didn’t have a chance to breathe. Too bad. Santa Fe seems like a lovely town. I’d like to go back with you under better circumstances. I think they have a Chabad there.”
“Chabad is everywhere. When the pods sent pictures back from Mars, I think I saw a replica of the famous 666 brick building.” Rina held out her arm to admire the bracelet. “You have very good taste.”
“Thank you.” Decker plopped into bed and threw the covers over his weary body. “Man, it was a long day. I am beat!”
“At least it wasn’t for nothing.”
“That’s certainly true. But we’re not out of the water yet. We still have to match Beth’s X-rays to our Jane Doe.”