January Justice (37 page)

She said, “Let’s talk about you for a while. I’m still interested in how you get to drive an Aston Martin one seventy-seven. Who does it belong to now that Haley Lane is dead?”

Dead. It still seemed an impossible word to use about Haley. Suddenly I wanted to trade in my mineral water for three fingers of Scotch. I said, “I couldn’t comment.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

I tried to smile. “Something like that. In my business, discretion is everything.”

“Oh, I understand that, believe me. So answer this instead. Who were those men who tried to kill you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Are they connected to you looking into the kidnapping and murder?”

“Could be. I’m really not sure.”

The steaks arrived, and immediately afterward, the wine. When the sommelier had poured and gone away, she said, “Do you think it was connected to the home invasion?”

“Must be. Too coincidental otherwise.”

She looked at me a moment. “I can’t believe you accused me of being that woman.”

I looked her in the eye. “I’m sorry about that, Olivia. It’s just… I’m feeling a little desperate. Clutching at straws.”

“There might not have even been a woman there that night. I know what Doña Elena said, but she says a lot of things after her second bottle of Chablis. It’s hard to believe Alejandra Delarosa was involved.”

“Hard to believe I was involved, too. Right?”

She looked away. “Of course.”

“My fingerprints were on the door. Both inside and outside.”

“Well, you were there before, so you left them then.”

“Uh-huh. You know, there’s a funny thing about that. I could have sworn you were the one who opened the door both times, when I went in and when I went out.”

“Obviously not.”

“Yeah, I guess not. But I could have sworn.”

We ate silently for a few minutes. She continued to press her leg against mine below the table. The steaks were very good. Not worth fifty-three dollars each, but good.

Olivia said, “Have you learned anything interesting about Alejandra Delarosa?” She didn’t look at me as she asked the question. She was very focused on her filet.

I said, “I have, actually. Several things.”

“Really? Like what?”

I decided it was time to put on some pressure. I reached over with the back of my fingers and moved a lock of her hair away from her face. “You don’t really want to talk about her over dinner, do you? An evil woman like that?”

She cut a small slice from the steak. “I don’t mind. It’s interesting.”

“Doesn’t it kind of turn your stomach, thinking about what she did?”

Her leg moved away from mine. She said, “Not really.”

I watched her carefully as she lifted the bite of steak to her lovely lips. The lower lip seemed to tremble, just slightly. I almost felt sorry for her, but it had to be done. I said, “We were talking about how rich and powerful people are really like the rest of us, but people like that Delarosa woman, they’re a whole other species, if you ask me. Anyone who could do what she did to an innocent human being doesn’t deserve to be considered human. No conscience. No heart. She’s nothing but an animal. A disgusting animal.”

“Maybe she had good reasons. Maybe that Toledo man wasn’t so innocent. Maybe she was defending something, or getting some kind of justice.”

“Seriously? What good reason could a woman have for blowing a man’s brains out in front of his wife? What could she have been defending that would justify a thing like that?” I shook my head. “The woman is obviously a sociopath. She cares about nothing and no one but herself. She robbed a woman of her husband and abandoned her own husband and daughter for money. She has no more compassion than a snake or a shark.”

Olivia Soto put her fork down on her plate. It clattered loudly, drawing the attention of the couple at the next table. She said, “Excuse me,” and slid along the booth away from me.

I said, “Are you okay?”

“I… No. I’m sorry. I don’t feel well all of a sudden.”

She stood and hurried away, disappearing into the hallway toward the restrooms. The couple at the next table were still watching. I looked at them and shrugged, then went back to work on my steak.

Olivia was away for about ten minutes. I had finished my meal when I saw her coming back between the tables. She slipped into the booth but didn’t slide over to her plate. Her eyes were red, and the skin on her cheeks was blotchy. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but do you think we could go now?”

“Sure we can. What’s wrong? I hope it wasn’t something I said.”

“I’m just not feeling very well. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” I got the waiter’s attention across the dining room and made a signing motion with my hand. He nodded, then walked into the kitchen. I looked back at Olivia. “Is there anything I can do?”

Her lower lip was trembling again. Her eyes were welling up. She looked down and shook her head. I reminded myself that Arturo Toledo and Fidel Castro weren’t around anymore to get their feelings hurt. I reminded myself that a couple of guys had put three slugs into my Kevlar vest and left me for dead. I reminded myself that Olivia Soto wasn’t her real name, that she was her mother’s daughter, and she was lying about it to get close to her mother’s victim. After all of those reminders, I felt a little better about myself, but not much.

With the check paid, we went out to the car.

“So, what is it?” I asked as we drove out of the lot. “Nausea or something like that?”

She stared straight ahead and said, “Something like that.”

Neither of us said anything for the rest of the ride to her place. I pulled into the driveway and parked. I got out and went around to her door. She was out of the car before I got there. We stood facing each other.

She put her hand on my arm. “It was a wonderful meal. I’m sorry I ruined it.”

“Don’t worry about that, Olivia. But listen. Obviously you’re not sick. Something else is wrong, isn’t it?”

She moved closer. “Would you please hold me?”

I put my arms around her. She turned her head and pressed her cheek against my shoulder. Her hair smelled of roses. Her body against mine felt strong but soft. I told myself again that she was a liar at the very least.

I said, “I wish you’d tell me. Whatever it is, maybe I can fix it.”

She shook her head. “It’s not like that.”

I dipped my head down to her level, trying to make eye contact. “You sure? I’m pretty good at fixing things.”

She waited for a second before answering, and for one crazy second, I thought she might actually be thinking about telling me the truth. Then she seemed to rouse herself with a little shake of the head. She reached up and touched my cheek. “Some things can’t be fixed, Malcolm.”

She kissed me gently. I didn’t pull away, but I didn’t do much to encourage her, either. I seemed to watch it happening from a distance, as if some other man was standing there. Certainly not Haley’s man.

When it was over, she touched my cheek again. “I need you here tonight, Malcolm. I need someone with me.”

“‘Someone’ sounds a lot like anyone.”

“No, it’s you I need.”

“Tell me what’s wrong, Olivia. You told me once you lost someone. Is that what’s hurting you so much?’

“Can’t you just stay with me?”

I shook my head. “Not the way you want.”

“Then let’s just say good night.”

I watched her pass through the gate and waited until I heard the sound of her front door open and close, then I got into the Aston Martin. The gun had been digging into the small of my back all evening. I reached back, unclipped the holster, put the weapon in the Aston Martin’s glove box, and drove away.

Heading northeast on Washington Boulevard through Venice, I remembered the softly yielding warmth of her lips on mine. Her kiss had been foreign, yet familiar. Her kiss had made me ache for Haley, for the way my wife used to touch my cheek before she kissed me, exactly as Olivia had just done. It seemed a cruel coincidence that Olivia would touch me the same way.

I told myself to focus on the facts. I reminded myself that her real name was Maria Olivia Delarosa Sotomayor. I reminded myself that there was a chance Olivia was the woman Doña Elena had seen on the night of the home invasion, that the family resemblance between Olivia and her mother could easily have confused a woman drunk on Chablis, especially in a darkened bedroom. I told myself I was too smart to let my guard down because of the way a woman touched my face. Olivia was playing a dangerous game, whatever it might be. Castro had died. I had almost died.

But when I had spoken harshly about her mother, Olivia had nearly broken down. I had no doubt at all that my words had truly hurt her. If Olivia was capable of betraying Doña Elena’s trust, of participating in a kidnapping attempt or a murder attempt or whatever the ultimate goal had been during the Montes’s home invasion, why would it pain her so deeply to hear her mother described as that same kind of monster? The simple answer was usually the correct answer, and the simple answer was, Olivia had reacted to my words the way any decent, loving daughter would. She was no sociopath. She had reacted with genuine shame and sorrow. Her response couldn’t have been an act, because she had no idea I knew she was Alejandra Delarosa’s daughter. On the contrary, Olivia had done her best to conceal her pain, and that effort at concealment could only mean the love and shame she felt was real. I still didn’t know what Olivia was doing, but I knew in my gut she was no criminal.

I made a U-turn at McLaughlin Avenue.

Driving back to her apartment, I decided it made sense to come clean. I would tell her that I knew who she was, and she would explain what she was doing, why she had moved into Doña Elena’s life with an assumed identity. There must be a good reason, some angle I hadn’t figured.

I turned onto her street and parked in the same place in her driveway. I got out of the Aston Martin. I noticed the frosted glass gate was standing open. That was strange, because I had definitely closed it after her.

I followed the narrow walk to Olivia’s front door. My hand was raised to press the doorbell when I heard a muffled bumping sound, and then somebody’s voice. A man’s voice. I pressed my ear against the door. There were definitely voices, more than one, and they were male.

Standing back, I thought about it. Could be a television show. Could be a friend or neighbor. I checked my watch. It was barely ten o’clock. A little late for visiting on a weeknight, but not out of the question.

I heard the bumping sound again, and then a woman’s voice, probably Olivia’s. I couldn’t make out words, but there was something in the tone I didn’t like.

I stepped off the small porch and slipped between the wall and a hedge to peek in through a window. The plantation shutters inside the apartment were closed. I moved to the next window. From there I could see into a dark room, maybe a study or a den, although the details were unclear. On the far side of the room, a door stood open. Through it I could see into another well-lit space. The living room. I couldn’t see anyone, just a wall of cabinets on the far side and an upholstered chair.

I heard one of the male voices again, but louder. I heard the woman’s voice. It was definitely Olivia. Definitely not the television.

A man walked past the open door. The last time I had seen him, he was aiming an M9 at me on a lonely road in the Santa Ana Mountains.

41

I had left my gun
in the Aston Martin’s glove box. A stupid, stupid thing to do. Just as I began to turn away from the window to go back for it Olivia screamed. It was the kind of noise a person makes when there’s so much pain you can’t hold anything back. There was no time to go back for the gun. I had to get inside right away.

I tried the window, but it wouldn’t budge. I moved back to the front door. It was unlocked. That was stupid.

Once I was inside, it was easy to understand their voices. The man said, “Just tell me where it is.”

Olivia said, “I’m telling you the truth.”

I slipped along the entry hall. I couldn’t see them yet, but the hall seemed to open into the room where they were. At the end of the hall, I knelt. I heard the bumping sound again and recognized it now that I was closer. It was the sound of a fist slamming into a body. I heard Olivia grunt, and then she moaned. Moving quickly I peered around the corner and then pulled back. I thought about what I had seen.

It was just the two of them, Olivia and the man with the gold medallion around his neck. Olivia was seated in a ladder back chair. Her mouth was bleeding. He was standing with his back to me. His weapon was holstered in plain sight at his belt. The Other One was somewhere else in the apartment, probably searching for whatever they were looking for. There was the sound of another blow, another grunt, and more moaning.

“I hate this,” said Medallion. “It’s unnecessary. All you have to do is tell me where it is.”

She said, “I don’t know what you want. Please…I swear I don’t know.”

Another blow. More moaning. I needed to stop him

On a semicircular table against the far wall of the hallway stood a ceramic vase. It would have to do. I rose, slipped across the hall, and hefted it. Moving fast, I entered the living room. Medallion’s back was still toward me. I threw the vase against the wall beside him. It shattered loudly. He turned that way, and I took two steps and kicked him hard in the small of his back. He crashed into a small table beside a sofa. I was right behind him, going for his sidearm. If I could get to it before the Other One came running, there was a good chance Olivia and I would survive.