But in Roxy’s case, that would’ve brought her to immediate police attention. According to the latest news bulletins, at least, the search remained active. The cops had found the dogs, but not the girl. How? How could a teenager disappear so completely?
I would put my money on a friend. Had to be. Maybe this Mike Davis? But someone she trusted, and who trusted her enough to hide her given the circumstances. Which would make that person a coconspirator.
I kept checking my phone compulsively, hoping Roxy’s guidance counselor had made contact with Mike Davis, that he would call any second and have all the answers to my questions.
When my phone actually buzzed, I nearly jumped out of my skin. I answered it quickly. But it wasn’t some kid named Mike Davis. It was Sarah, from our survivors group.
And the news she had was even more shocking.
? ? ?
THE COFFEE SHOP WHERE I’D met Sergeant Warren and Detective Phil was now roped off with ribbons of yellow crime scene tape. D.D. and Phil were kneeling down next to the tree where the dogs had been tied up. Both dogs were now gone. And there were bright red stains marring the sidewalk.
Not the dogs, thank heavens, who remained uninjured, but Hector Alvalos, who’d arrived to pick them up.
I didn’t try to duck under the crime scene tape. In my experience, D.D. already had an instinct for these things. Sure enough . . .
“What the hell? Seriously, you again?”
She stared at me hard. I didn’t flinch.
“I have information,” I said.
“Be still my beating heart.”
I didn’t take the bait. I was used to her sarcasm by now. We all had our reasons for being hard. I knew mine. I always figured D.D. had her own story to tell.
A few minutes passed. She conferred with Phil, their voices too low for me to catch. Then finally, reluctantly, she rose to standing and crossed over to where I stood.
“Hector Alvalos?” I asked.
“How do you know that?”
“Everyone talks. Not to mention, you ever want the inside scoop on a news story, tip the cameraman. No one ever pays attention to the cameramen.”
She frowned. “I’ll have to remember that,” she said finally.
As close to praise from her as I’d probably ever get. “Is he okay?”
“Fortunately, he got shot only a few blocks from a major medical center. Bullet hit his shoulder. With any luck, he’ll recover.”
“Where are the dogs?”
“After the shooting, some teacher from Roxy’s school showed up to take them. She swears she can handle them for a few days.”
I nodded, wondering if she meant the guidance counselor, Tricia Lobdell Cass.
“This Hector, he’s the father of one of Roxy’s siblings?”
“Manny. Her younger brother.”
I pursed my lips, tried to make sense of this news. “Was Hector close to the family? Spent a lot of time at the house?”
“Apparently, he picked up his son every Sunday.”
“Could he have been the shooter this morning?” I asked.
D.D. gave me a look. “What? Hector Alvalos shot and killed his ex and her new family, including his own son?”
I shrugged. “Domestic violence. Gotta look at all the players, right? Even the exes.”
“Are you going to become a detective, Flora? Give up this vigilante business, go legit?”
“Then I’d have to do paperwork.”
D.D. sighed, but I could see a faint hint of a smile. “Things I should’ve thought of years ago. All right, you want to learn how to think like law enforcement? Yes, as a matter of protocol, we’ll check Hector’s alibi for this morning. The man does have a record. At the moment, however, we have no reports of any recent tensions between him and his ex.”
“But you still believe Roxy, the responsible one . . .” My turn to press.
D.D. held up her hands. “I’m not saying I believe a sixteen-year-old girl shot her entire family either. Especially given how close she seems to have been to her siblings, and without any addictions or evil boyfriends to lead her astray. Currently, I’m approaching the family’s murders with an open mind.”
“Except for this incident.” I nodded toward the stains on the sidewalk, where Phil was still kneeling down, examining them. “Rumor is that a girl matching Roxy’s description was seen running up the street.”
“That’s what we’ve heard.”
“How good a look did the witnesses get? They saw her face? Enough to recognize her from her photo all over the news?”
“Mmm, more like reports of a dark-haired female running up the street. Wearing jeans and a hoodie.”
“That’s it? According to the guidance counselor I spoke to at Roxy’s school, there are Hispanic girl gangs at both the high school and middle school. That description could fit any of their members.”
D.D. scowled at me. “You’re conducting interviews of Roxy’s associates?”
“I was looking for help for the dogs,” I said primly. “Worked, too. Sounds like the guidance counselor is the woman who came to get them.” Then, before D.D. could wind up again, I added: “Baby-blue backpack. If it really was Roxy running up the street, she’s always carrying this light blue backpack. You should be able to see that on the area’s security cameras. That’ll be more reliable confirmation than any eyewitness statement.”
“Gee, thanks for the insight,” D.D. said, but her voice wasn’t as sarcastic. Reliable confirmation was important, and she knew it.
“Did anyone see her shoot the gun?”
“No. People heard the shot. Hector went down. Then came reports of a girl fleeing up the street.”
“Same side of the street or opposite?”
D.D. regarded me thoughtfully. “You’re the survivalist. You tell me.”
I considered the challenge. “Handgun? Not a rifle?”
“Nine-millimeter handgun.”
Okay. So the shooter would need to be relatively close. Same side of the street would be ideal. Hell, walking up to Hector and then pulling the trigger would be best. But up that close, the shooter shouldn’t have missed. Multiple bullets to the chest or stomach made more sense than a single shot to the shoulder. Not to mention, Roxy Baez was now one of the most sought-after people in Boston. Could she really have walked straight through a crowd of coffee drinkers without any of them noticing?
I turned my attention to the other side of the street, where there was another designated spot of urban greenery. A tree, with some low bushes, bright patches of pansies. Someone could stand pressed against the tree—say, a skinny teen keeping her face averted—and go unnoticed for a bit. Which would give her a line of sight on the dogs.
I paused. Maybe I wasn’t the best at thinking of a normal sixteen-year-old’s worries. But a girl who’d just lost her entire family, was in fear for her life . . .
This? Lying in wait to avenge her family’s deaths? I could see it perfectly.
“You said Hector was here for the dogs?” I asked Sergeant Warren.
“Yeah.”
“Because you called him?”
“Because Roxy left notes attached to the dogs’ collars asking whoever found them to please call Hector’s number.”
I nodded. “If it were me . . .” I turned, gave her a little shrug. “The dogs make excellent bait,” I said at last.
D.D. stared at me. Blinked. “You’re saying . . . Roxanna wrote the notes intentionally. Not call this number because these dogs deserve a great home. But call this number in order to bring this man to this location where I’ll be waiting for him.”
“Look across the street. She stands there, next to that tree, her face obscured by the lower branches. She just needs to find the right spot to peer through, and she can keep watch over the dogs’ location without anyone being the wiser.”
D.D. studied the tree across the way, then looked back to the blood on her side of the street. “Phil,” she called out. “Over there. That twin to this greenery. Check out the base. Look for casings, and have the crime techs run trajectory.”
It wouldn’t have been an easy shot, I thought to myself, which explained why she only grazed the man’s shoulder.
“You talk about these things in your chat room that no longer exists?” D.D. was demanding to know.