"And lots of buzz," Ali finished. "In this town, buzz is everything. Once something is the current in' thing, then it's everybody's in' thing. Get one appearance on Jay Leno and you're on your way."
A gray Chevrolet Impala pulled up and stopped beside Dave's Nissan. "I've gotta go, Mom," Ali said. "My translator is here."
Leaving the Chevy idling, Eddie Duarte hurried over to Ali's door, reached in, and gave her a swift hug.
"Thank you for coming," she said.
"No problem," Eddie returned. "Now where's this guy you need me to talk to?"
With Eddie following in his Chevy, Dave and Ali drove back to South Chicago Street, where Jesus Sanchez's distinctive blue van was still parked in the driveway. Dave drove half a block beyond the Sanchez house and then stopped in a parking spot that was large enough for both his Nissan and Eddie's Impala. Before they could open their doors, however, a big unmarked Crown Victoria came careening around the corner and grabbed the spot just behind Eddie. Dave watched in his mirror as two people exited the vehicle and hurried past the van and into the fenced yard.
"Hey," Dave began. "I think I know them. Aren't they the two homicide detectives who came to the hospital to talk to April last night?"
Ali turned and looked. Sure enough, Detectives Tim Hubbard and Rosalie Martin hurried up onto the duplex's shaded front porch and rang the bell. "They talked to me, too," Ali said. "What are they doing here?"
"Same thing we are," Dave replied. "Looking for answers."
"Which means we're too late then," Ali said.
"Looks like," Dave agreed. "They'll recognize you. You stay where you are, and I'll let your friend Eddie know what's going on."
While Ali watched, the two detectives tried ringing a doorbell. Then they knockedand knocked some more. Finally a woman Ali recognized to be Jesus's wife, Clemencia, came to the door and slipped out onto the porch. She stood there talking to the two detectives for several long minutes, alternately shaking her head and gesturing. A little later, an LAPD patrol car pulled up as well. A young Hispanic officer exited the vehicle and hurried up onto the porch, where he joined in the conversation.
By then Dave had returned. "The new guy is probably here to translate," Dave muttered. "That means they have the same language problem we do."
They waited and watched for another fifteen minutes. Finally, the clearly frustrated detectives and the patrolman stepped off the porch and returned to their two separate vehicles. As they drove away, Dave let out a sigh of relief.
"If Jesus is there, he refused to come out and talk to them, and they didn't go in after him. That means Hubbard and Martin were only here on a fishing expedition, and they went away empty-handed. If they'd had enough for a search warrant, it would have been a different story."
"Let's go then," Ali said, opening her door. "I know Clemencia. At least I've met her. Maybe she'll talk to me."
Dave Holman didn't budge. "Are you coming or not?" Ali asked.
"You and Eddie go on ahead," Dave said. "And you'd better make it quick. If Hubbard and Martin come back with a warrant, this may be your only chance."
"And what are you going to do?" Ali asked.
"I'll let you know if it works," Dave replied.
Ali scrambled out of the Nissan and motioned for Eddie Duarte to join her. A moment later, they were standing on the porch in front of a sun-bleached mahogany door. Ali pressed the doorbell, but there was no answering ring from inside. While she waited, Ali edged over to one of the windows. The curtains had been pulled shut, but there was enough of a space left between them that Ali was able to see into the living room, where a stack of taped cardboard boxes and a collection of mismatched luggage gave evidence of hurried packing. Apparently Jesus and Clemencia Sanchez were headed out of Dodge.
Convinced the doorbell wasn't in working order, Ali tried knocking instead. Nothing happened then, either.
"Her name is Clemencia," Ali told Eddie. "Call out to her. Tell her we know she's inside. Tell her I'm here. Say I need to talk to her and that we aren't going away until I dothat we'll stay here all afternoon if necessary. Tell her that the neighbors already saw the cops come and go, and they're watching us now."
It was several long minutes before Clemencia Sanchez finally came to the door. She pulled it open slightly and then slipped outside. The look she leveled in Ali's direction was nothing short of venomous.
"What do you want?" she demanded.
"Where's Jesus?" Ali returned. "I need to talk to him."
Ali knew for sure that Clemencia understood that much English, but the woman deliberately turned away from her, looking instead to Eddie as though she expected understanding from him rather than a translation, which he nonetheless provided.
"He's gone," Clemencia answered. "He went away."
"Gone where?" Ali asked.
Clemencia shrugged. "It doesn't matter. He isn't coming back."
"But I want to give him his job back," Ali said. "He should never have been fired in the first place. It was a mistake."
Unimpressed, Clemencia shrugged again. Ali tried another tack.
"The cops that were here before. What did they want?"
Clemencia's dark eyes sparked with sudden fury. Her nostrils flared. "Jesus knew they would come for him, and they did. That's why he left, thank God. He went away before they got here."
"But why would they come for him?" Ali asked.
"Because that awful woman fired him," Clemencia said in a barrage of angry Spanish. "You wanted him gone, but she was the one who did the dirty work for you. And when he was ready to leave and went to turn in his keys, there she wasat the bottom of the stairs."
"Monique had already fallen before Jesus left? Why didn't he call for help?"
"Because he thought she was already dead," Clemencia answered. "It looked to him like she was dead. And Jesus knew what the cops would thinkthat since she fired him, he killed her. He dropped his key ring, and he's sure they found it. They'll find his fingerprints there, too, and they'll blame him." For the first time, Clemencia's fury seemed to dissolve into something closer to despair. She stopped speaking and blinked back tears.
At the time the EMTs had been moving Monique to the gurney, Ali had been too busy to pay any attention to the key ring. She had been focused instead on the phone. But she remembered it now. And she knew, just as the detectives had, that the keys had belonged to Jesus Sanchez because his name had been on the ring as well. Paul Grayson had been a great one for wielding his P-Touch labeler. Everyone who had access to the house or the grounds, Ali included, had been issued appropriate sets of keys with their names clearly visible.
She also understood why Jesus had chosen to disappear. She knew full well that the U.S. Constitution aside, all men are not created equal. Hispanics or blacks accused of crimes often found themselves on an entirely different legal track than Anglos didone with an automatic presumption of guilt rather than innocence. In fact, she thought wryly, the same thing held true when media babes ended up accused of crimes they may not have committed.
"I'd like to help," Ali said quietly.
Without needing or waiting for Eddie to translate, Clemencia replied, "Why?"
"Because I know what it feels like to be suspected of doing something you haven't done," Ali said. She scrounged in her purse until she found one of Victor's cards. She handed it over. "If Jesus wants an attorney, have him call this man."
Clemencia studied the gold-embossed card then handed it back. "We could not afford someone like this," she said.
Just then Ali remembered Velma T's nephew. Maybe Jesus and Clemencia wouldn't find him quite as daunting. "There's another man I could recommend then," Ali said. "I'll forward his information to your niece, Andrea."