“And your mom?” I asked.
“Shut up.” But there was no heat in her voice. Only flatness. I recognized the tone. I heard it often in my own voice, or from other survivors.
We all hurt in our own way, I thought. And whether I liked Anya Seton or not, she clearly had her fair share of scars. She’d do well in New York. Between her exotic looks and iron will, nothing would hold her back.
“Where were you this morning around nine?” D.D. pressed.
“I was with Doug.”
“Already at rehearsal?” I asked in surprise.
Anya shot me a smug look. “Sure,” she said in a tone we all understood. So: from first love Roberto to screwing the theater director. Whatever it took to succeed.
“We’ll be following up with him,” D.D. warned.
“You might want to wait till his wife has gone to work. She doesn’t know about us yet. She just thinks he’s a very . . . diligent . . . director.”
I rolled my eyes, already feeling the bile rise in the back of my throat.
“We’re still looking for Roxy Baez,” D.D. was saying.
“You think she’ll come here? You think she’ll try to hurt me?”
“I don’t know. You tell us.”
“I think if you want her alive, you’d better hope I don’t find her first.”
“I thought Lola was the one who hurt Roberto.”
“Please, those two girls . . . Whatever Lola did, Roxy knew. Lola might be the beauty, but Roxy was the brains. I’m not sorry Lola and her family are dead. I’m only sorry Roxy hasn’t joined them yet.”
Chapter 25
TEN P.M., D.D. AND PHIL sat in her car, talking it through.
“Think your new CI knows something?” Phil asked bluntly, referring to Flora, his tone clearly disapproving.
“No. If she had Roxy, Flora would be hanging with her, and not still chasing after us.”
“Good point. Think you can trust her?”
“Flora? I think as long as her interests align with ours, her efforts can be useful.”
“And what are her interests?”
“Keeping Roxy safe.”
“Meaning, again, she could be hiding Roxy from us.”
D.D. studied Phil. The two of them went way back. In many ways, the older, more experienced detective was like a father figure to her. Definitely, he was comfortable calling her on her bullshit while respecting her workaholic ways. And yet they had their moments when they had to agree to disagree. She had a feeling Flora Dane was about to fall into that category.
“I will admit I don’t always approve of Flora’s methods,” D.D. began. Phil grunted, as if to say that was the understatement of the year. “But as CI material . . . Her reputation gives her access and credibility to entire segments of the population who’d never talk to cops. We need that right now. The more eyes and ears searching for Roxy, the better.”
“I don’t trust her,” Phil said bluntly.
“Okay.”
“What happened to her, I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. But for someone who spends all her time talking about surviving . . . she’s broken. In ways I’m not convinced she even understands.”
“That bandage on her hand,” D.D. muttered.
“Exactly. That makes her unpredictable.” Phil regarded her steadily. “Maybe Flora can strike up a faster accord with street kids or gang members, but there’s no substitute for an experienced detective.”
D.D. got what he was saying: There was no substitute for him, Neil, and Carol Manley, her overworked and often underappreciated homicide squad. Phil wasn’t just the voice of reason; he was also her conscience.
“I think Roxy’s gone to ground again,” she said now, getting back to the business at hand. “Another bolt-hole, like the empty space across from the coffee shop. For all we know she has dozens of them sprinkled around Brighton.”
“Nothing like a well-prepared sixteen-year-old.”
D.D. shrugged. “There are a couple of things all our witnesses agree on when it comes to Roxanna Baez: She’d do anything to protect her siblings, and she was under an increasing amount of stress. I think she knew something bad was coming. And maybe the hidey-holes weren’t just for her. But for her and Lola, if it came to that.”
“The gang?” Phil asked.
“Oh, yeah. We’re gonna have to find these Ni?as Diablas. Call me crazy, but I think we should consult the gang task force first. The only thing I know about girl gangs is that they’re considered twice as violent as their male counterparts.”
“Sounds like a perfect job for Flora Dane.”
“Doubt the city could survive the body count.”
Phil nodded his agreement.
“Hector Alvalos?” D.D. asked, having lost track of the man’s status with everything else going on.
“Gonna stay in the hospital overnight. We have officers watching. I’m thinking a unit should sit on his home when he’s discharged.”
“Perfect. Having failed the first time to shoot him, maybe we’ll get lucky and Roxy will try again.”
“What do you think she’s up to?” Phil asked.
“I have no idea. But two key points keep emerging. First, something terrible happened to Roxy and Lola five years ago when they were in foster care. Second, after returning to Brighton, Lola joined a gang, possibly for protection from her and Roxy’s old enemies, but maybe even to go on the offensive and drive one of the perpetrators to kill himself.”
“You think Anya Seton was right about her boyfriend—Roberto didn’t really commit suicide?”
“I don’t like the coincidence of having a quadruple murder now connected to another death four months ago. In my mind, that raises a red flag.”
“I’ll pull the file on Roberto’s death,” Phil assured her. “Give it a look.”
“We need to talk to this lawyer Juanita hired,” D.D. continued, thinking out loud. “Clearly, she’d been running around asking a lot of questions. What had she learned? How many feathers had she ruffled?”
“And did any of it get her killed?” Phil filled in.
“Exactly.”
“I think we should follow up with the community theater director,” Phil said, “who we know is sleeping with at least one of his very young star actresses.”
“Maybe he had a history with Lola, as well,” D.D. agreed.
“Who wouldn’t be just young, but illegal,” Phil pointed out.
“Gotta say, the Baez girls racked up their fair share of baggage during their short lives.” D.D sighed, rubbed her forehead. She was tired from the day, and yet, with a missing teenage girl still out there, possibly in danger, or possibly a danger . . .
“We should take a break,” Phil said now, as if reading her mind. “Get some rest, regroup in the morning. Speaking for myself, I’d certainly like a moment to go home, kiss my wife, and remember the good things in life. You?”
D.D. finally smiled. “You’re right: I’m gonna go home, catch up with my family, and finally meet the Dog.”
? ? ?
SHE TOOK HER TIME DRIVING back to the burbs. After a long day, it was tempting to head straight for her sanctuary. In the old days, when she lived by herself in a North End loft, that had often been the case. But being a married woman now, with a little boy to boot, she’d found it best to transition fully between work and personal life. She needed to let go of the horror of four people gunned down inside their own home so she didn’t walk into her living room seeing the same thing. She needed to cleanse her brain of two kids making their last, terrified stand in the corner of their bedroom before she walked into Jack’s little-boy bedroom and broke down crying.
Anya Seton had implied that Lola was a coldhearted bitch, capable of almost anything. But all D.D. could see was Lola tucking her little brother’s head against her shoulder so he wouldn’t have to know what was going to happen next.
She wondered how much Roxy knew or heard about on the news. D.D. wasn’t convinced anymore that the older girl could’ve murdered her own family. But based on witness statements, Roxy had clearly known that something bad was looming on the horizon. Some kind of threat she’d been working frantically to ward off. Some kind of danger she was still running from now.