Vega took the money he’d offered her and fed it into the vending machine. “Please,” he said to her. “Have what you want.”
The girl regarded Vega from the corner of her eye. She lifted a skinny little hand to the machine but it just hung there. Vega realized she had no idea how the machine worked.
“Would you like this?” He pointed to a Snickers bar. “It has peanuts and chocolate. Or maybe this?” He pointed to a Mounds bar. “It has coconut. Or maybe this?” He pointed to a Milky Way.
She pointed to the Mounds bar. Vega pushed the buttons and the bar spiraled forward and down into the delivery tray. The girl just stood there. Vega reached into the tray, pulled out the candy bar, and held it out to her.
“Here. Enjoy.”
“Thank you,” she said in a voice so tiny, it was as if she hadn’t spoken at all. Not once did her eyes leave her feet. Vega tried to think back to what Joy had been like at thirteen. She giggled. She gossiped with her friends. She spent hours playing with her hair in mirrors. She was afraid of spiders, sure. And scary movies. But she walked through the world like she owned it. This girl looked so frightened and diminished by comparison. She seemed both younger and older than Joy had at the same age. Vega thought about the terrible stories he’d heard of undocumented minors traveling through Central America and Mexico. The life-and-death rides atop freight trains. The brutal desert treks where death by thirst or snakebite were common. The shifty-eyed coyotes who routinely beat or raped their charges. No wonder she looked so cowed. Vega felt the same way right now. Traumatized. Angry. In despair. He wished he could give her Dr. Cantor’s phone number. She’d probably make better use of a therapist than he would.
“Jimmy?”
Vega turned at the sound of Adele’s voice. He drained the last of his coffee and switched to English.
“How’s—?”
“It’s just a sprain. She’ll need a boot brace for a week or so and then she’ll be fine. Peter wants to drive Sophia home.” Adele frowned at the children sitting at a table by the vending machines. The girl was carefully parceling out the candy bar for the boy and herself. “Damon?” Adele called to the little boy.
He smiled at Adele. The girl’s body language grew suspicious and defensive. She hunched closer to the boy. Vega realized that the teenager hadn’t yet met Adele.
“Damon?” asked Adele. “Is that your sister?”
“Yovanna, yes,” said the boy.
Adele turned to Vega. “These are Marcela’s children,” she said in English. She sounded alarmed. “What are they doing here?”
Vega swallowed hard. “I don’t know,” he lied. He couldn’t say anything that would jeopardize an ongoing investigation.
Adele addressed the girl in Spanish. “Yovanna? I’m a friend of your mother’s. Is she okay?”
“Yes.” The girl kept her eyes on the table.
“She’s not hurt?”
“No.”
“Byron? Is Byron hurt?”
“No.”
Adele turned back to Vega. “What’s going on?” Vega beckoned her out of the room.
“Marcela and Byron aren’t hurt or in trouble. I can’t tell you anything more than that.”
“But you know what’s going on?”
“Some of it. Look, Adele—” He took her hand. Her fingers had gone clammy and cold. “This whole case is changing right now. You have to trust me.”
“What about Marcela’s situation?” Adele must have read it in Vega’s eyes. She pushed his hand away. “You didn’t tell anyone what I told you, did you?”
“Nena, I had to let the police know that someone threatened the family.”
“You told? After I asked you not to?”
“I had to. It’s going to go to Dolan and my department anyway.”
“But not like this! Not for the police to use any way they want! What’s going on?”
“I can’t say. Not yet.”
“Oh, you can’t say. Goody for you. You can’t talk about the shooting. You can’t tell me why Marcela’s children are here. You betray my confidence and won’t tell me why—”
“C’mon, Nena. Don’t be like this. Things are happening. I have a duty—”
“Don’t tell me about your duty. Your duty got Marcela’s father killed!”
Vega stood there, feeling everything, saying nothing.
“Just—” Adele held up her hands and backed away from him. “I think you were right, Jimmy. I think it’s best we took a break from each other. You’d better call a cab. I don’t think I can handle having you around right now.”
Chapter 26
Vega’s cell phone rang by his bedside on Sunday morning. He rolled over to grab it and felt the ice-pick sharpness of strained muscles and bruised skin. Every inch of his body ached, right down to the shafts of his hair. Even the sunlight peeking through the cheap room-darkening shades felt like an assault.
He squinted at the name that came up on the screen. He was hoping it was Adele. Or Joy. Or even Teddy Dolan or Louis Greco with an update. The name on the phone read: Ellen Cantor.