Chapter Thirty-six
Judy raced west, as the sun rose behind her in a clear sky, spilling brightness into the back window of her VW Beetle. She’d hit the highway before rush-hour traffic, having made great time to Chester County. The dashboard clock read 6:15, and she zoomed through East Grove, a small town consisting of an off-brand gas station and a Turkey Hill convenience store. The farther from the city Judy got, the more she left behind what was going on in her personal life and turned her attention to Iris’s death. She’d been right that it had been a murder, and that fueled her. She’d tried to convince Domingo on the phone to let her go to the police, but he’d insisted that he wouldn’t tell her anything if she did. She’d complied so far, but intended to convince him to notify the authorities, though she had plans even if he didn’t.
She accelerated onto a paved country road, then turned left and right, following the GPS directions past fenced pastures with grazing horses in muddy blankets, then long stretches of cornfield, and acres of open space, covered with underbrush. She was heading for a sandwich shop in East Grove, which Domingo had said was hidden enough for their meeting, and her heart began to hammer from a half a mile away. She took another right, then left, in light traffic, mostly pickup trucks, one full of baled hay, and a rusty red Farmall tractor, which pulled over to let her pass.
She spotted an Agway feed store up ahead, then the coffee shop came into view, a white shack with a faded sign that read HALTMAN’S HOAGIES. The two stores sat together alongside the road, and beyond them stretched yet another open field thick with underbrush, then in the distance, a large bluish building with a corrugated roof. Birds flew over the building, seeming to congregate, and Judy didn’t know why until she pulled into the side parking lot next to the sandwich shop, turned off the engine, braked, and stepped out of her car. The air reeked of compost, and she assumed that the building out back was a large mushroom grower, which could explain why Domingo had said that nobody ate at the sandwich shop.
Judy could barely take the stench, trying not to breathe as she hurried past a white Ford pickup, went around the building, and entered the sandwich shop, which was practically empty. Domingo had told her that he’d meet her at six thirty, and she was early, so she didn’t worry that he’d be a no-show. There were two rows of small white tables on the right, and on the left was a stop-time soda fountain with an older man behind the counter, wearing a white apron over his T-shirt and pants. He was filling up a line of plastic catsup bottles, balancing one upside down on top of another, and he looked up when Judy came in.
“What can I do you for?” he asked, with a smile.
“Coffee and a doughnut would be great, thanks.” Judy crossed to the counter and peered at the doughnuts sitting on a cake dish underneath a cloudy plastic dome. Her stomach was too jumpy to eat, but she wanted to get some for Domingo. “What do you suggest, glazed or plain?”
“I’d suggest you go to McDonald’s,” the old man answered, with a dry chuckle.
“What makes you say that? The smell outside?”
“Heck no, I’m used to that. None of us smell it anymore. I meant the pastry. It’s day-old, and my wife is the baker.”
Judy smiled. “I’ll take my chances with two glazed and two coffees, please.” She checked her watch, but it was only 6:27. “Which mushroom grower is back there?”
“In the back field? That’s not a grower. That’s the plant where they treat the compost, then it gets trucked to the growers. The growers don’t treat their own compost.” The old man slid the glass pot from an old Bunn coffeemaker and filled a white mug, the pour making a glug-glug sound.
“I didn’t know you had to treat compost. I thought it was just horse manure.”
“No, it’s horse, chicken, and whatever chemicals they put in it, then they wash it and dry it out. They gotta treat it, you know, make it sanitary, to grow mushrooms on it. Big government got its eye out, you know, comes out here to inspect.” The old man put the two mugs of coffee on the yellowed counter, picked up a plate, and lifted up the lid of the cake dish. “One down, one to go.”
“Thanks.”
“You go pick a table and I’ll come serve you.” The old man retrieved two doughnuts with plastic tongs and put them on the same plate, then reached for a dented stainless steel tray.
“Perfect.” Judy turned around, scanned the tables, and made her way to one in the corner, where they wouldn’t be seen by anybody who came in. The old man followed her, setting down the coffees and the doughnut plate with a napkin.
“Enjoy your meal,” he said, with a wink, then returned to the counter while Judy sat down, taking the seat facing the door. She put her phone on the table and slung her shoulder bag on the back of her chair. She sipped her coffee, which was bitter and predictably did nothing to settle her stomach. She checked her watch again, and it read 6:33, though when she looked up, Domingo was coming through the door.
His young expression looked grave, his handsome mouth an unsmiling line, and his bright dark eyes seemed sunken, as if he had been awake all night, hung over, or both. He flashed her an uncertain smile, and she smiled back as he walked toward her table, removing his hands from the pockets of a black hoodie, which he had on with a T-shirt, low-slung jeans, and flat sneakers.
“Domingo, hi, please, sit down.” Judy pushed the coffee mug and plate of doughnuts to his side of the table.
“Thank you, I’m so hungry.” Domingo took a chair, gulped some coffee, and set down the mug with a clunk. “Did you bring the money?”
“Yes.”
“Let me see.”
“Okay.” Judy reached for her purse, slid out the white envelope, and passed it to him across the table. She’d gotten the cash from the office’s petty cash and left a personal check in its place.
“Thank you, Miss Judy.” Domingo took the envelope quickly, folded it in half, and stuck it in the pocket of his hoodie. “I am sorry about Carlos, what he did to you.”
“It’s okay.”
“Your mouth, it hurts, from him?” Domingo motioned to his lips.
“No, thanks. How are you? I’m worried about you.”
“I will be okay with money.” Domingo smiled warmly, seeming to relax. He grabbed a doughnut and took a big bite, then another. “I go away, to New York.”
“Why there?”
“My uncle, he washes dishes in a restaurant, a nice restaurant.” Domingo took two more bites and finished the doughnut. “He said he can get me a job. He likes New York very much. I see it on the TV, Saturday Night Live. It looks fun.”
“It is fun,” Judy said, touched.
“I have to go away from Carlos and Roberto.” Domingo’s brief smile vanished. “They are not good man. They are the worst man in the world.”
Judy got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Are they the ones that killed Iris?”
“Yes.”
Judy swallowed hard. She wanted to know the truth, and at the same time, it was too awful to hear. “How did they do it?”
“Gas.”
“What kind of gas?” Judy asked, her mouth going dry.
“Bug killer, and they have a bottle, a soda bottle. They mix bug killer and acid, you know acid?”
“Acid?”
“Yes, acid, they use to clean plumbing and stones. This is the name. I copy from the bottle.” Domingo reached into his other pocket, retrieved a crumpled scrap of white paper, and slipped it to her across the table.
Judy opened it up, her heart pounding. On the sheet of paper at were two penciled words in capitals. BONIDE MURIATIC. “Is this English?”
“Yes, yes.” Domingo reached his hand across the table and pointed a dirty fingernail at BONIDE. “This kill bugs.” Then he moved his finger to MURIATIC. “Mix this, kill people.”
Judy gasped. She couldn’t speak, horrified. She couldn’t bear to imagine the agony of Iris’s murder. She couldn’t conceive of such cruelty. Her mind went into denial. Perhaps Domingo had been wrong. She asked him, “How do you know this?”
“I saw.”
Judy stifled a moan. “What did you see, exactly?”
“At the barracks, I see them, Carlos and Roberto.” Domingo picked up his mug and drained it of coffee.
“Roberto who?”
“Rivera.” Domingo picked up the second doughnut and began to wolf it down.
“How did they do it?”
“They take Iris and put her in the shed.” Domingo finished the doughnut and leaned over the table, his voice urgent. “She scream, ‘no, no.’ They throw bottle in pipe on top. Bottle break in the shed. No more screaming.”
Judy forced herself to understand the scene. “Why weren’t they gassed?”
“They wear—” Domingo raised his hand and covered his face.
“Masks?”
“Yes.” Judy thought it seemed oddly elaborate and she still doubted him. “Why did they kill her that way?”
“No, at home, the cartel, they do it.”
Judy shuddered. “Do Carlos and Roberto sell heroin?”
Domingo hesitated, his tongue licking dry lips. “I don’t know.”
Judy could see he was lying. “They work for some cartel, don’t they?”
“Miss Judy, I don’t know. I don’t want to … say. I tell about Iris, that is all.”
“Could that be why they killed Iris? Was she working with them or did she find out about them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was anyone there, when they killed her?”
“No.”
“I don’t understand, what were you doing there? Did you help them?”
“No.” Domingo recoiled, blinking. “I would never. It’s a sin.”
“Where were you?”
Domingo paused. “Inside.”
“In the barracks?”
“Yes.”
“What were you doing there? Did they know you were there?”
“No.” Domingo hesitated. “I was with Pablo. In bed, you understand? Carlos and Roberto, they don’t know.”
Judy got the gist. “So Pablo saw them, too?”
“Pablo is married. Nobody know about him, only me. His wife at home, three children.”
“What’s Pablo’s last name?”
“Diaz.”
“Why did they kill Iris?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you sure?” Judy was trying to piece it together. “They didn’t say anything or you didn’t hear them talking?”
“We hear screaming, a woman screaming, then we see.” Domingo shuddered, flattening his lips in disgust. “We want to stop them, but they will kill us, too. They are killer.” Domingo slid a silver flip phone from his pocket and checked the clock. “Miss Judy, I have to go. I miss the bus.”
“Wait. Did they kill Daniella, too?”
“I don’t know.”
“Domingo, we should go to the police. Please. We should tell them.”
“No, I told you. Never.” Domingo’s eyes flared with fear. “They will kill me.”
“The police would never kill you.”
“Carlos and Roberto, they will. The police will send me home, but I will not get there.” Domingo rose. “Good-bye, Miss Judy. The bus is far to walk.”
“Please can we go to the police?’
“No.”
“But it’s the right thing to do.”
“No.”
“The police can protect you.”
“They will not. My mother, my brothers. Carlos will kill my family.” Domingo shook his head. “No, no, no.”
“Okay, all right. I’ll take you to the bus stop or wherever you need to go.” Judy would use the ride to convince him to go to the cops.
“Only to the bus.”
“The bus, got it.”
“No police.”
“No.”
“Okay, thank you. Let’s go now.” Domingo smiled, grateful.
Judy would have to figure another way to convince him. She stood up, got her purse, slid ten dollars from her wallet, and left it on the table, then slipped her phone in her pocket, and followed Domingo outside. They fell into step as they turned toward the parking lot, where Domingo pointed at Judy’s VW with a grin.
“Is your car? Is so cute, like a big tomato!”
“It is, isn’t it?” Judy chirped the door open as they walked towards the car. “It’s because of the color, like tomato soup.”
“Yes, I love it. My mother, she always make it for me. Campbell’s.”
“Mine, too.” Judy opened the car door, climbed into the driver’s seat, and slid the key into the ignition as Domingo went around to the back of the car.
“Miss, wait a minute!” someone called out, as Judy was about to close the car door. She spotted the old man from the sandwich shop, making his way slowly toward her, trying to flag her down. He walked with a limp, so she climbed out of the car and walked toward him, to save him the trouble.
“Yes, what is it, sir?”
“You forgot your change.”
“You can keep it.” Judy met him at the corner of the sandwich shop. “Don’t worry about it.”
“No, it’s too much. The tab is only $3.25.” The old man handed her a fistful of dollars and some change, but Judy waved him off.
“Please, keep it.”
“No, take it.” The old man got distracted a moment, looking past Judy and gesturing at the parking lot. “Ha! I think your friend likes the car.”
“What?” Judy turned around to see Domingo sliding into the driver’s seat of her VW, flashing her a big grin. She called to him, “Domingo, you look damn good in there!”
“I know that’s right!” Domingo beeped the horn, turned on the ignition, and burst into laughter.
Suddenly there was an earsplitting boom! The VW exploded into a white-hot fireball. Metal and plastic debris flew into the air. The percussive blast hurled Judy backwards.
And everything went black.