A Blossom of Bright Light (26 page)

Chapter 33

T
he envelope that Charlie Gonzalez had given Adele would be easy to test for DNA.

The problem wasn't the test. The problem was the paperwork.

“I'm sorry, Detective. I need an authorized signature and case number before I can test this envelope,” said Dr. Chang when Vega walked into the medical examiner's office on Saturday morning. Dr. Chang was a tiny Chinese woman with flawless skin and the iron disposition of a tank commander at Tiananmen Square. She refused to budge without the required signature.

Dr. Gupta would have. She knew Vega and bent the rules for him occasionally. But Gupta was in Virginia at her son's college for the weekend. Vega tried Dolan, who was off this weekend and visiting his in-laws at the Jersey Shore. Dolan agreed to give Vega the authorization over the phone. (“This better be good, Jimmy. No way am I putting my head on the chopping block over this.”) But when Vega waved his cell in front of Dr. Chang with the good news that Dolan was on the line and would give the authorization, Dr. Chang just shook her head.

“I'm sorry, Detective. I need an original signature on the forms submitted by the investigating detective.”

“
Ay, puñeta!
That's ridiculous!”

“Rules are rules,” said Dr. Chang. “Surely, the DNA test can wait a day or two until an investigating detective can submit the request?”

But it couldn't. Vega already knew it couldn't. He had only to think of Adele last night, the way she shrank from his touch at the memory of something so dark and deep she wouldn't talk about it, not even to him. And he knew that the damage was too great, too permanent, to chance it on another girl.

He left the ME's office and went back to his own. He needed a warm body to sign the authorization, but it was hard to find one on a weekend. Captain Waring was at a police conference in Albany. Vega tried to hunt him down without luck. Greco's home and cell phones went straight to voice mail. Vega left vague but insistent messages on each (he couldn't commit anything confidential to a recording). He could already picture Greco cursing yet another false lead—on his free time, no less. Vega wasn't surprised when Greco didn't return the call.

He couldn't spend his whole workday chasing after people. He had reports to finish, emergencies to field. A husband had shot his wife in a domestic dispute last night when Vega was off-duty. She was clinging to life, but it was anybody's guess whether the attempted murder charge would turn to murder. Vega needed to read through the arresting officer's report and witness statements. He had to hunt down the neighbor who'd made the 911 call and reinterview her on a few key points.

By early afternoon, he'd made little progress on any front. Waring and Greco hadn't called him back, and the neighbor/witness on this new case was now backtracking, saying she hadn't seen everything she'd claimed the night before.

Vega was at his desk, picking at a soggy sandwich, when his cell phone rang. The caller ID said it was Joy. That surprised him. He hadn't spoken to her since Thursday afternoon on the Gonzalezes' driveway. He'd wanted to call since their argument, but he was afraid that anything he said right now could jeopardize the fragile house of cards he was trying to assemble around Charlie and Esme. If she needed him, however, that trumped all other considerations. He picked up.

“You haven't called,” she blurted into the phone. She sounded hurt. It felt like a punch to the gut to think he was the source.

“I've been up to my eyeballs in work, Chispita. I'm at work now.” He wanted to remind her that she was the one who told him to “back off,” but he didn't think this was the time to bring it up.

“You could have called to apologize.”

Vega sighed. “I'm sorry if you feel I was rough on you. But everything I did was to protect you. And I succeeded. You're not a suspect anymore—”

“That's not an apology, Dad. That's a rationalization. Don't you see the difference?”

“You're in the clear. That's what counts.”

“Because you've arrested someone else, I'm guessing. Not because you finally believe me.”

“I do believe you.”

“Huh.
Now.”

“No.
Always.
But I needed to protect you. That's what a father does.”

Except when he can't,
thought Vega
.
Who was protecting Luna Serrano now that her father couldn't?

“Listen, Joy, I've got to go. There's something important I have to do. Maybe we can grab dinner sometime this week? My treat?”

“No pizza. I can't eat gluten. Or meat. Or—”

“I'll rustle up a place that only serves free-range broccoli—”

“Daaad—”

“Okay, okay. Deal.”

Vega hung up and dialed Greco's phones again. His cell phone still went to voice mail, but a woman picked up his home phone. Vega wracked his brains to remember Greco's wife's name:
Joan? Joanna? Joelle?
Greco always just referred to her as “the wife.” Vega identified himself and explained that he needed to speak to Greco right away and that he wasn't picking up his cell.

“He went fishing,” she said. “He always turns his phone off when he goes fishing. That's half the reason I think he goes out there.”

“And where does he go?”

“He keeps a rowboat at the Eastlake Reservoir. If you're willing to drive over there, I'll bet you can find him.”

The Eastlake Reservoir was about forty minutes away by car. It was almost three in the afternoon by the time Vega parked on the shoulder of the road next to the reservoir. Already the sun was eking out its final blast of warmth for the day.

Vega scanned the parked cars until he picked out Greco's big white Buick. Good. He was here at least. He trudged down a path of loose gravel until he came to what looked like a graveyard of steel-gray boats all turned over like turtles retracted in their shells. This was a reservoir, so only metal rowboats were allowed. Vega cupped a hand across his brow to block the glare and skimmed a glance across the water. There were several boats bobbing in the distance, all of them parked far away from one another like shy kids at a dance. Greco was easy to spot. He had a little beige fishing cap on his head with a couple of feather lures pinned to it and a red stick in his mouth that even at this distance Vega recognized as a Twizzler. Vega called out from the shore and waved his arms furiously.

“Grec! Turn on your phone!”

Greco ignored him at first, then squinted, then threw the licorice out of his mouth and gave Vega the finger. But he picked up his phone at least, and for that, Vega was grateful.

“What did you do?” Greco demanded. “Plant a GPS up my ass? I swear, Vega, there are venereal diseases that are easier to get rid of than you.”

“I need one favor. Just one,” said Vega. “I need you to come with me to the medical examiner's office to sign a form to test Charlie Gonzalez's DNA. One signature. And then you can go.”

“How the hell did you get Gonzalez's—? No, scratch that. I don't want to know. Either way, you're off the case.”

“That's why you're signing the form.”

“It can't wait till Monday?”

“No.” Vega told him about Luna.

“And what if you're wrong?”

“We test the envelope and Gonzalez's DNA doesn't match the father profile on Baby Mercy, I won't bother you anymore.”

“That's almost worth losing a day of fishing for.”

 

It took nearly forty-five minutes for Louis Greco to row his boat to shore, lock it up, and follow Vega in his car to the ME's office. It took less than two minutes for Greco to sign the authorization form.

“How quickly can you do the test?” Vega asked Dr. Chang.

“I can run a full test in under ninety minutes. I can tell you whether it's a likely match in about thirty.”

Vega looked at his watch. It was almost four p.m. “You want me to call you with the results?” she offered.

“Please. As soon as you can.”

He walked Greco back to his car. The sky was bright but the land was already fuzzy and pockmarked with shadows. Vega felt the chill in his fingers and across his back.

“Thanks for coming in for this,” he said to Greco.

“Good thing I caught nothing worth keeping or I'd really be sore.” Greco zipped up his goose-down fishing vest over his flannel shirt. He looked like a Mafia hit man on vacation. “You
do
realize, Vega, that even if the DNA comes back a match, we still gotta build a case against the Gonzalezes. These are powerful people. Politically protected people.”

“I realize that.”

“We go in on just the DNA, Gonzalez could claim he had a quick fling with a prostitute and didn't even know she was underage or carrying his child. See what I'm saying?”

Vega nodded.

“What we really need,” said Greco, “is that old-fashioned, pre-science thing that won more cases for me than DNA ever could.”

“What's that?”

“A witness,” said Greco. “Somebody who could say they actually saw this dead teenager with Gonzalez or knew what he was doing—and don't talk to me about Neto, Vega. That kid's testimony would never hold up on a witness stand.”

Everything leaves a mark.
“The birth,” Vega murmured.

“Huh?”

“She was just a girl,” said Vega. “No way do I buy that she delivered her baby alone.”

“Esme probably helped her.”

Vega made a face. “Would
you
want to deliver the souvenir of your husband's infidelity?”

“I use the word ‘help' loosely here, Vega. The mom died, so if Esme was the midwife, she did a crappy job.”

“I think there was somebody else involved. Not Charlie. I get the impression he's through with these girls once he deflowers them.”

“Then who?” asked Greco.

Someone who could be trusted to keep her mouth shut. Someone who'd been paid to keep it shut for decades already.
Vega thought back to what Dominga had said about the midwife who'd delivered Emilio:
She's old. She started delivering babies years ago, beginning with her own family. Mostly, she just mixes herbs for clients now.

“Dominga Flores's baby was delivered by an unlicensed Spanish midwife,” said Vega. “I have a hunch the same woman was involved in the delivery of Baby Mercy as well.”

“Did Dominga give you her name?”

“No. But I have a hunch it was Claudia Aguilar.”

“Claudia? The fruit and vegetable lady?”

Vega's cell phone buzzed with a text message from Dr. Chang:
All markers are showing an exact match for paternity of Baby Mercy and DNA found on envelope. Full test likely to indicate same. Will send complete lab results later—Veronica Chang.

Vega showed the text to Greco. “Are you up for a little grocery shopping?”

Chapter 34

“W
hat are you doing going through my drawers and using my laptop?”

Doña Esme's voice was sharp and accusing. Luna tried to explain that she had to review for a science test and needed a computer and some scrap paper. Doña Esme ripped the flyer out of her hand.

“From now on, when you want something, you ask, chica.” She crumpled up the flyer and tossed it into the kitchen garbage. “This is nothing.”

Luna gripped the counter to keep her hands from trembling. She couldn't stop thinking about the photographs she saw last night of this same girl in that blue room downstairs. And now she was dead. Who was she? What went on in this house?

“I'm sorry,” Luna managed to croak out. “I didn't know anyone was home.”

“Yolanda took the children to the movies. I took a nap.” Doña Esme closed her laptop and turned to face Luna. Her mood had shifted once again. She smiled, for once not trying to camouflage that perfect row of white fence-post teeth. Their fakeness frightened Luna on a primal level. She lowered her gaze.

“I have a wonderful surprise for you, Luna. We're going to Pennsylvania to visit your papi.”

Luna felt something like helium in her heart. She tried to tug it back to earth and remind herself that this was Doña Esme talking. Nothing was for certain. “When?”

“Now, of course.”

“But Dulce and Mateo are at the movies.”

“Oh, mami,” said Doña Esme. “The jail won't let little children in. They're too young. It would only make them sad to travel such a long distance and have to wait outside. That's why we're going now. We can get there before visiting hours are over today, and I'll have you back later this evening. You can tell Dulce and Mateo all about it then.”

“Does Papi know?”

“It will be a surprise.”

Luna hesitated. Doña Esme regarded her with impatience. “Don't you want to see your papi?”

“Yes, of course!”

“Then we have to go right now or we'll miss visiting hours.”

“Can we call your cousin?” asked Luna.

“Why?”

“Well, shouldn't Dulce and Mateo know I'm going to see Papi?”

“Don't be silly. They're in the movie theater. Yolanda can't answer her phone. And besides, it will only make them sad to know they can't go too. Better to tell them nothing for now and leave it for when you're back.”

“But—”

Doña Esme folded her arms across her chest and frowned. “Luna.” She finally addressed her by name. “I have no idea what tomorrow holds for your father. He could be halfway to Mexico by then. He's in Pennsylvania right now. Less than two hours away by car. It's after four p.m. Visiting hours at the facility are until seven. If you want to go, we need to go right now. This is your last chance.”

Luna closed her eyes. It scared her that Papi's face was beginning to lose its three-dimensionality. How far did his mustache extend past his upper lip? What color were his eyes in bright sunlight? Suddenly it was harder to picture him in their kitchen dicing onions or locate the pitch of his voice in her ears. He'd been gone only two days, and already it felt like a lifetime of separate experiences had passed between them. She knew that seeing him in that jail would fill them both with sadness. But what would
not
seeing him do? And besides, she needed his advice. She couldn't tell him what was happening here. But perhaps she could ask, in a roundabout way, how they might go about moving to Alirio and Maria José's apartment in Queens.

“Okay,” she said to Doña Esme. “I just have to go to the bathroom, and then we can go.”

Luna hid the pen she'd been using for her homework in the pocket of her jeans. On the way to the bathroom, she grabbed the book Doña Adele had given her. She scribbled a message to Dulce and Mateo inside the front cover:
Going with Doña Esme to see Papi. Back tonight. Love you, XXX Luna.
They didn't need any other surprise exits in their young lives.