The door leading into the abandoned office space didn’t sit directly in the middle, but closer to the right-hand corner. D.D. turned in that direction now, wanting to be able to get around the long blue cubicle wall as quickly as possible and peer into the other half of the room. She kept her footsteps light.
Flora remained in the doorway, ostensibly out of harm’s way. Or maybe simply positioned to grab Roxanna if she attempted to escape. D.D. still wasn’t certain of Flora’s loyalties in all of this. But if Roxy had truly killed her own family, including her two younger siblings, God save her from Flora’s wrath as much as from D.D.’s quest for justice.
The air grew dustier now that she was moving. D.D. wrinkled her nose, fought the sneeze. With her left hand, she unsnapped her hip holster, slowly slid out her firearm. During the brutally cold days of winter, she could still feel the ache in her left shoulder, ghosts of the avulsion fracture she’d suffered two years ago. Given her own choice, she preferred to fire her weapon with a single-arm stance—her right arm. But with regular PT and time, she could now achieve the two-handed Weaver stance required to clear her physical and return to full duty. And on a warm day such as today, her left arm rotated smoothly, bringing her Glock 10 up out of her holster and into the ready position without undue effort.
She neared the end of the long cubicle system. Eased back on her footsteps. Slowed her breathing.
In.
Out.
Crouch low.
She stepped around the cubicle wall. The sun poured in through the bank of street-side windows, illuminating a clean, empty space. Fast now, boom, boom, boom, no time to think, she kept low and raced down the line of boxed spaces. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
And then: Water bottle. Empty, crumpled, sitting in the middle of an abandoned office cube. And footprints. Faint, but there. Oval spots in the thin film of dust coating the floor. She peered closer. In the stream of sunlight, she made out a thread. Light blue, heavy-duty, the kind of thing that might unravel and fall from a fraying backpack.
D.D. finished her inspection, then returned to the middle cubicle as Flora entered the office space.
“Got anything?” Flora asked.
“Empty water bottle. Single blue thread.”
“Not exactly a smoking gun.”
“No, but signs that someone was camping out here. My money’s on Roxanna Baez.” D.D. raised her gaze, studied Flora. The woman had walked around the divider unit and was looking at the crumpled water bottle on the floor. Then she turned and considered the view out the window directly across from it.
“From here, she could see the dogs,” Flora confirmed. “Not the best view, as it’s partially obscured by tree branches and umbrella stands. But . . . it would do. She could hide out, keep watch. Minute Hector appears, she darts back down the stairs to the open street and makes her move.”
“You tell her about this place?” D.D. asked evenly.
“Me?” Flora sounded genuinely surprised. She reached reflexively for the bandage on her left hand, which D.D. noticed had fresh pinpricks of blood. “This isn’t my neck of the woods. First time I’ve been to that coffee shop, building, everything.”
“What about someone else from your group?”
A shrug. “I can’t swear to anything, but I’d be surprised. This . . .” Flora waved her bandaged hand around the empty space. “This is pretty sophisticated. And the trick with gaining entry using the Realtor’s cell phone number? We haven’t discussed this in the chat room, I can tell you that.”
“Using the dogs as bait? Another clever strategy.”
“I know.” Flora frowned, looking as concerned as D.D. felt. She walked around a few more steps, finally shaking her head, as if there was something she couldn’t compute. “You said the girl spotted running up the street was wearing a hoodie. Does that match Roxy’s description from earlier in the day?”
“We have an eyewitness who saw her in a red shirt when she first left her home. Easy enough, though, for her to have had the hoodie in her pack. Then throw it on later once she saw the Amber Alert.”
“Okay. Carting around a change of nondescript clothes—better yet, bulky clothes that might distort sense of size—I’ll take credit for that trick. But this, tying up two dogs to lure someone to a destination right outside your perfectly selected hideaway . . .” Flora shook her head again. “What’s this girl’s background again? Does she have a history of running away from home or something? I mean, we didn’t teach her this. So where and when did Roxanna Baez acquire this level of skill?”
“Good question. From what we’ve heard so far, Roxy is a good student, family caretaker, and responsible oldest daughter.”
“Meaning none of this makes any sense.”
They lapsed into silence, both of them thinking.
“The guidance counselor from the high school mentioned gangs,” Flora said at last. “A group of other Hispanic girls who wanted Roxy to join them. According to the rumor mill, Lola is already a member. Could this have something to do with that? Roxy finally succumbed to the pressure? She’s carrying out some plan they already had in place, meaning they provided the strategy?”
“You mean a plan where Roxy kills her entire family and then Hector? Why would she do such a thing?”
“Or the gang killed her family,” Flora said, “to force Roxy into cooperating. What do you know about Hector? Is it possible he could be a drug dealer? Gang murdered her family, she went after Hector in retaliation?”
D.D. raised a brow, considered the matter. “Initially, he came across as a grieving father. But with our resources focused on locating Roxanna, we haven’t conducted a deep drill into the man’s personal history yet. Anything’s possible.”
“Maybe that’s why Roxy has been so fearful. She knows her sister was initiated into the gang. Which, of course, would only increase the pressure for Roxy to join, too. Maybe both of them were facing demands to participate in drug running or other illegal activity.”
“Why would the gang kill Lola,” D.D. countered, “but let Roxy live?”
“As a message.”
“Killing an entire family is a pretty big message. And one that attracts a lot of police attention.”
“I think we should be asking Hector these questions,” Flora said. “He lived, right? Let’s put him in the hot spot.”
“‘We’?” D.D. said.
Flora shrugged. “Just an idea, you know. Not that I don’t have my own things to do.”
D.D. frowned, crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you mean?”
“You know what, never mind.” Flora glanced at her phone, which had just buzzed in her hand. “You go talk to Hector. Take that Detective Phil. He’s pretty good.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I have something else to look into.”
“Which is?”
“We’ll have to see. Maybe two hours from now, I’ll find you again.”
“With Roxanna Baez in tow?”
“I doubt I’ll be that lucky. But you never know.”
D.D. crossed her arms, studied Flora, not buying the woman’s sudden desire to leave for a second.
Millions of things to do, D.D. thought. Contact the crime scene techs to process this latest find. Check in with Phil. And, yes, interview Hector Alvalos at the hospital while seeing what other leads Neil and Carol had turned up. Lots of work, plenty of work. Not to mention wanting at least ten minutes to call home and learn about the puppy. Because that was in the back of her mind, as well. Was there a new addition to the family, and was it right now eating her favorite shoes?
And still, here she was, standing with Boston’s most notorious vigilante, a mysterious woman sporting a bloody bandage and a buzzing cell phone.
“I don’t trust you,” D.D. said at last. “You’re involved in all of this somehow. You’re just gonna make me work to figure it out.”
“I don’t know where Roxanna Baez is. I doubt she killed her family. But this latest shooting . . . I don’t know what’s going on. You have my word on that. But I’m not walking away anytime soon. I want answers as much as you do.”
“Why?”
Flora shrugged. “Because I do. Because maybe if some violent perv hadn’t snatched me off a beach, a cop is what I would’ve naturally become. But here we are, and now this is who I am, and this is what I do.”