“Where did Ray get the money from?”
For the first time, Hernandez looked genuinely confused. “I don’t know. All I know is Ray said he borrowed some money and he was gonna pay it back but that damn girl wouldn’t listen.”
“All right. They were arguing. Then what happened?”
“It was all her fault. He was gonna pay it back.”
“So what happened next?”
“I don’t know zactly what happened next, sir. All I know is that Ray said it was an accident. That it wasn’t supposed to happen. But once it did, he knew he was in deep shit.” Hernandez furrowed his brow, conjuring up the memory. “He was planning on paying it back, but Beth was gonna rat him out. It was that damn girl’s fault.”
Decker said, “She was yelling and screaming at Ray, wasn’t she?”
“She was. He didn’t mean to hurt her. He just wanted to shut her up.”
“He did more than just hurt her, did he?”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“I know that, but it happened anyway.”
Hernandez sighed. “He was gonna pay it back. She just wasn’t giving him a chance.”
“What happened after he hurt her…or should we say after he killed her?”
“I’m not talking to you anymore,” Martin said defiantly. “I’m getting out in a little over two years whether I cooperate or not. You can’t stop me. That’s the law!”
“You’re absolutely right, Martin, I can’t stop you. It is the law.” Decker took in the con’s eyes. “But you know if I put in a good word for you, there is that chance that maybe you can get out sooner.”
That gave Hernandez pause-for about two seconds. He shrugged. “Well, the damn boy’s in trouble anyway. I suppose what I have to say ain’t gonna help him. But it probably won’t hurt him much, either.”
“Exactly right,” Decker said.
Hernandez leaned over, his breath strong with tobacco, his voice an annoying scratch. “It weren’t supposed to happen. It just did.”
“I realize that.”
“The boy was trying to make a clean start! He was trying to do good, to erase the slate and start from the beginning. That’s why he needed the money. To get himself back on his feet. He told me he really was gonna pay it back. The girl was just too damn impatient. She fucked everything up.”
Decker’s head started spinning. Make a clean start? Get himself back on his feet? “Was Manny in jail?”
“No, no.” Now Hernandez was very confused. “No, Manny was never in jail.”
And then he realized what Hernandez was saying.
Manny Hernandez was never in jail.
Belize Hernandez was a different story.
37
O VER THE PHONE, Decker said, “Yes, I still want DNA, but right now we need his fingerprints.”
Over the phone, Oliver replied, “I got to find a surface then. Any suggestions?”
“He’s a contractor. He works with grease and mud. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is getting him to touch something. He has a recycling bin for scrap metal, a recycling bin for wood, and a final bin for broken glass. I’d love to take something, but it’s clear that Ray has no intention of throwing the stuff away. I can’t take a sliver from the ground without asking him. And once I ask, there’s a chance that he’ll get suspicious.”
“No, don’t do that.”
“We can just wait for the DNA,” Oliver said. “I have his discarded coffee cup bagged.”
“Trouble is we don’t have Belize’s DNA on file, just his prints. Surely there’s some kind of garbage over there that you can pocket that might pick up something.”
“Nothing with a clear print, Loo, and that’s a sad fact.”
“What’s he doing now, Scott?”
“I don’t know. I left the house about twenty minutes ago.”
“No, I mean what specific work is he doing on the house?”
“Oh…I think they’re tiling…” Oliver hit his forehead. “I’m an idiot. I’ll go back and ask him for a sample of the kitchen tile to show to my wife.”
“See how easy that was?” Decker said. “Is the tile surface polished or rough?”
“It’s polished. We couldn’t ask for a better surface for latents, except maybe mirror. I wonder if I can ask him if I can bring back a sample of the mirror or do you think that might tweak his antenna?”
“Let’s start with the tile. Like you said, it’s a great surface. When are you coming back to L.A.?”
“I’ll be in the station house between five or six, depending on traffic. What about you?”
“I should be back by then. Right now I’m working with the D.A.’s office, trying to shave some time off the old man’s sentence if he testifies against his son.”
“That’s going to make you real popular with the locals.”
“The old man is going to be released in a couple of years regardless of what anyone does. It’s worth it for me to let Martin go a couple of years early if I can put Beth Devargas’s killer behind bars.” Decker adjusted the headset on his phone. In New Mexico, it was illegal to drive and talk unless it was hands-free. With a seventy-five-mile-per-hour speed limit on some of the interstates, the law made sense. “I’m on my way to the courthouse to talk to some of the people. What’s Marge doing?”
“Trying to figure out where Raymond Holmes lived before coming to San Jose. We got an eight-year gap to fill in.”
“Once we get a fingerprint match, we won’t have any trouble pulling warrants for his paper trail. Hopefully, that’ll bust this case wide, wide open.”
IT WAS AFTER six by the time Decker pulled in to the station house’s parking lot. He was tired and would be famished as soon as his stomach settled down from the roller-coaster air ride over the Rockies. There were a few souls still doing paperwork in the squad room, but Marge and Oliver were nowhere in sight. He inserted the key into the lock on his office door, when he heard a voice behind him.
“Lieutenant?”
Since Decker was hungry and grumpy and made no attempt to hide it, he figured the brave soul approaching him must have had some breaking news. Anything less would incur his wrath. He turned around and managed a tight smile. “Detective Bontemps. I take it you need to talk to me?”
“I do, sir, and it’s important. I really think you’ll want to hear this.”
“Not a problem at all.” Opening the door, Decker took the key out and turned on the lights. On his desk were a brown bag, a huge plate of chocolate-chip cookies, and a note from Rina.
Dear Peter,
The cookies are from Hannah and they’re pareve.
Much love from your long-suffering but culinary-conscious wife, Rina.
He peered inside the bag-a roast-beef sandwich with coleslaw and an apple. He brightened considerably as soon as he unwrapped the sandwich. “Sorry to eat in front of you, but I’m starved.”
“Oh, go right ahead, sir.”
“Have a cookie. My daughter baked them.”
“I’ll eat anything home baked. Can I get you some coffee? I’m getting one for myself. Gotta have coffee with cookies.”
“Actually, coffee would be great.” He’d finished half the sandwich when she came back. “Thank you, Wanda, have a seat. What’s up?”
Bontemps’s face was flushed with the excitement that came from discovery. Her hair had been recently cut, exposing a full face softened by natural-looking makeup. Her skin was mocha cream, her lips accentuated by pink lip gloss. She wore a blue blouse, a glen-plaid jacket over chocolate slacks, and oxfords covered her feet. “Lee Wang and I must have canvassed that condo complex three different times. Today the good old Lord was with us. We found someone-someone we interviewed before-but we asked our questions a little different and we got different answers.”
Decker’s head had been so immersed in the Hernandez boys that he had to think a moment about the assignment. Condo-complex canvassing: the Roseanne Dresden case. They had been looking and looking for any witnesses who might have seen Roseanne coming in or going out on the morning of the plane crash. He put his sandwich down and took out his notepad. “Good. Go on.”