Oliva pulled a book from the shelf and handed it to Vega.
“Song of My Heart? A celebrity memoir? Why would Edgar care?”
Oliva took the book from Vega’s hands and thumbed through the well of pictures. “Look.”
Oliva pointed to a faded photograph of a young Luis in a hoodie and loose jeans. He was standing next to a graffiti-covered wall and talking to several Latino men, some of them old enough to be his father. Luis’s nose was broader than it was now. His cheekbones were less defined. Even his body was different back then. He had a teenager’s narrow and undefined torso. He was ropy from lack of food, not physical conditioning. His squint however, carried the same dazzling self-assurance he could still summon on a dime.
But it wasn’t Luis’s appearance that caused Vega to rear back. It was the man in the center of the group that Luis was talking to. A man with a soft chin and shy smile.
Vega lifted his gaze from the picture and stared at Oliva. He felt his lips forming around a question too terrible to contemplate. But he already knew the answer. There was only one way that Jesús Ricardo Luis Alvarez-Da Silva, a Mexican from the northern state of Sonora, could have ended up in the same photograph with Edgar Antonio Ponce-Fernandez, a Honduran trying to cross the border. Luis was “Chacho,” the teenage coyote who had gotten those men lost in the desert and then abandoned them twenty years ago. Luis was responsible for the deaths of six men and three teenage boys, including Hector’s sixteen-year-old son, Miguel.
“So that’s why Edgar and Hector went to Luis’s house. They knew.”
Oliva nodded. “Once Edgar saw the book, he was consumed with revenge. He wanted to find a way to get even with Luis. It was different for Hector. For him, it was all about Miguel. He never forgave himself for what had happened to his son. He thought the only way to find peace would be if he could make things up to his daughter, maybe by bringing his granddaughter here. So Hector and Edgar asked Luis for money. A few weeks ago. And he paid. But then . . .” Oliva’s voice trailed off. He looked suddenly embarrassed.
“But what?”
“I think maybe they got greedy. Maybe Hector gambled the first money. I don’t know. He changed after that. They both did. The money seemed to make things worse. It was like, no amount of money could ever be enough. They went back a second time. That’s when all the bad stuff happened.”
“And you? You went with them?”
“No.” Oliva waved his hands in front of him. “I told them that what they were doing would not bring them peace. Only God can do that. They wouldn’t listen. That journey—it took so much from me. My health. My dignity.” He took a deep breath. “And now, my friend and his brother.”
“Huh.” Vega stared at the book. “Why didn’t you come forward after the shooting?”
“I didn’t want to get my friends in trouble. I am talking to you now because now they are both dead. Nothing can hurt them anymore.”
“You’ll still need to make a formal statement to police.”
“No.” Oliva shook his head. “I told you what I know. I gave you Edgar’s book. I will not speak publicly against Luis.”
“But why?” Vega frowned. “Luis murdered all those people. He nearly killed you. Doesn’t it bother you that he’s beloved by the world and yet he did this terrible thing?”
“God will judge him. I will not,” said Oliva. “I gave my life over to God in that desert. You do what you need to do, Detective. But I am an old man. I have no stomach to fight anymore.”
“We will need to speak more about this.”
Oliva seesawed his head. “Father Delgado will leave if you don’t hurry.”
Vega could see that he wasn’t going to get any more from the old janitor today. He tucked the book under his arm and headed back into the nave.
“You should light a candle for your mother while you are here,” Oliva called after him. “It was her birthday yesterday, no?”
Vega stopped in his tracks and turned to Oliva. “How would you know it was her birthday yesterday? Do you memorize the birthdays of all the parishioners at St. Raymond’s?”
“No. I remembered because I saw the flowers Father Delgado bought for her grave.”
Chapter 34
Father Delgado had already left the church. Vega spotted the priest half a block ahead on the sidewalk. He could be headed in any direction. To a parishioner’s apartment. To the hospital. To a nursing home. Vega had to sprint before he lost him completely. He shoved Luis’s book inside his jacket. It was a softcover, thankfully. But it was still awkward to carry while running.
“Father Delgado!” Vega called out breathlessly.
The priest turned, his bushy silver eyebrows raised in surprise. He waited for Vega to catch up to him. “You came to Mass?”