Angel Among Us (20 page)

Fortunately, Maggie and Calvano were better at handling the grieving than I had ever been. One of the beat cops guarding Danny's house had led them into the nursery with the explanation that Danny had been huddled there all morning, which was pretty much what he had done the entire day before. When he left them alone with Danny, he was shaking his head in disapproval. In his world, men did not lock themselves up in a room sobbing. They manned up and tried to solve their problems.

Maybe Danny Gallagher needed to do just that. But his fear and his sorrow were real. He looked destroyed. Deep circles rimmed his eyes, which were swollen from tears, and the wound from where he had been punched was spectacular. He had not yet changed his clothes from the day before. His head was bandaged, apparently from where a bottle has been bounced off it by some indignant citizen, who was convinced he had killed his wife and so took aim at Danny when he was trying to put gas in his truck early the day before. I wondered if Danny had fallen asleep in the rocking chair, clutching the teddy bear he now held tightly for comfort. I wondered if this nursery was the only place he felt safe.

Calvano and Maggie both knelt in front of him so that they would be at his eye level. Maggie placed a hand on one of his knees and her voice was soft. ‘Danny, you need to get some sleep. You need to be strong. When we find her, she's going to need you.'

Danny stared at them hollow-eyed. I'm not even sure he'd heard her.

Calvano had less patience. ‘Snap out of it, man,' he told Danny, prying the teddy bear from his hands and placing it in the crib against one wall. ‘We need your help. Huddling up here isn't going to help your wife or convince anyone you're innocent. Can you hear me?' He waved his hands in front of Danny's face until he had his attention. ‘Snap out of it, man.' His voice rose. ‘We need your help. We need to ask you some questions.'

Danny Gallagher shook his head as if he were trying to fling his worst fears from his mind. He sat up straighter, running his hands through his hair. ‘I want to help,' he said in a rusty voice. ‘I'll answer any questions you have.'

‘Let's get you some coffee first,' Maggie suggested.

They led the guy into the kitchen, where the beat cops guarding his house had a pot of coffee ready at all times. Maggie made Danny sit at the kitchen table and brought him a cup, while Calvano found bread and made the poor guy some toast. I'm pretty sure it was the first thing he had eaten in over a day. He didn't look like he was enjoying it.

‘We painted the nursery yellow because we weren't sure if it was going to be a boy or a girl. We wanted to be surprised.'

‘Quit talking in the past tense,' Calvano told him. ‘Your wife's not dead and we're going to find her.'

Danny nodded miserably.

‘Did she ever talk to you about going out to the Delmonte House?' Maggie asked.

Danny stared at her, trying to remember. ‘I think she said something about one of the workers out there thought the house was haunted, or something. It had bad spirits. The nuns wouldn't let Father Sojak get involved, so Arcelia brought him out holy water and a bunch of other superstitious remedies her grandmother taught her about when she was little. She came back and said the staff had calmed down about it and that was good enough for her.' He looked up. ‘Why did you ask me that? What does it have to do with her disappearance?'

‘We don't know,' Maggie said. ‘Did she have any other connection to the Delmonte House?'

Danny Gallagher looked confused. ‘No. I don't see what that house has to do with Arcelia. What are you getting at?'

‘We're just trying to figure out where your wife may have been right before she disappeared, especially if it was out of her normal routine,' Calvano explained.

‘Arcelia didn't really go anywhere that wasn't part of her routine,' Danny said. ‘Work kept her really busy. She was always volunteering to help with the school fund-raisers and things like that. After that, just about every other moment she had free, if she wasn't helping me, she was at St Raphael's with Father Sojak and the nuns. She helped new immigrants assimilate into the community.'

From the way he said it, I knew he had no idea that his wife had been involved with helping illegal immigrants. He had no clue that underneath the marble floors of St Raphael's, there was a whole world of hidden refugees who slipped out at daybreak to work in the fields or houses of our town and then slipped back in to stay the night.

‘How close was her relationship to Father Sojak?' Maggie asked. Her voice was neutral.

Danny Gallagher was not offended. ‘They weren't having an affair, if that's what you're getting at.' He looked up at Maggie, confident in his belief. ‘Father Sojak is one hundred percent married to his faith. I am certain of that. He is the real deal. And my wife would never, ever have cheated on me. I never had any suspicions about them and I never would.'

Maggie took him at his word and moved on. ‘Did she ever talk about a man named Aldo Flores?' she asked.

‘I don't think so. Was he the man who wanted her help out at the Delmonte House with the evil spirits? I think his name was Flores.'

‘He's that man's brother,' Calvano explained. ‘They both worked as gardeners at the Delmonte House.'

Danny shook his head. ‘I don't think she ever mentioned him. We didn't have a lot of time to sit and talk in the days right before she . . .' His voice faltered. ‘She was starting to get really tired because of the pregnancy and needed to nap a lot. And I was tired from working the fields. This time of year is critical. The fields need a lot of irrigation. I'd come in from the fields to find her asleep and, more often than not, fall asleep next to her. We'd end up having a midnight supper and then go right back to bed.' His voice trailed off as he thought of those simple evenings with his wife and I knew he was wondering if they were gone forever.

‘Can you think of anyone who didn't like your wife?' Maggie asked him. ‘Did she have an argument with anyone? Did anyone complain about her at the school?'

Danny shook his head. ‘Everyone loved her,' he insisted. ‘Everyone. The only time I've ever seen anyone get angry at her was my father.' He hesitated. ‘He wanted Arcelia to campaign for him when he ran for re-election, but she wouldn't to it. She thought he was just using her because he wanted the Hispanic vote. She was afraid of the publicity, that her picture might end up in the paper and some of the men who had held her down in Mexico might see it somehow. My father was really angry, but that was over a year ago. And he would never do anything to hurt her.'

‘You sure about that?' Calvano asked. He knew, as we all did, with the apparent exception of Danny, that his father had not been repeatedly re-elected mayor because he was a nice guy. He had probably hurt many people on his way up the ladder.

Maggie shot a warning glance at Calvano, but it was too late. The comment had rocked Danny's confidence. He stood up abruptly. ‘I've got to take a shower,' he said. ‘I've got some things I need to do.' He walked from the room, leaving them in the kitchen.

Maggie looked at Calvano for his reaction.

‘Ten to one, he's going to go talk to his father,' Calvano predicted.

‘Let's make sure we're there when he does,' she said.

I
never gave a crap about politics when I was alive. Maybe if they had started talking about taxing my beer I might have, but all I really remembered about local politics was a blur of images on the television set above the bar, offering what seemed like the same old parade each year of beefy men surrounded by other beefy men, all looking exactly the same. Sometimes the mayor was Irish, sometimes the mayor was Italian. One day, if Gonzales got his way, the mayor would be Hispanic – and on his way to being a US Senator.

Danny Gallagher's father, Terrence Gallagher, was just the latest in a series of mayors chosen by the handful of men who really control our town. I didn't know if he was a good guy. I didn't know if he was a bad guy. I did know he lived in a house big enough for four families, even though it was just him and his obscenely young wife. She must've been his third try. She was a tiny little brunette with a college coed hairdo, wearing skin tight black pants and a tight sweater. No wonder he was sitting at his kitchen table watching her bend and stretch as she prepared him dinner.

What Terrence Gallagher didn't know, was that I was sitting at the table with him, waiting for his son to arrive. Maybe Maggie and Calvano could not get close to their discussion, but I could and I intended to.

‘It's just terrible,' his wife was telling him. ‘Can't you do something about it? We can't have people running around snatching women off the street.'

‘For Chrissakes, can you give it a rest?' Terrence Gallagher asked. He shut his newspaper in annoyance. ‘I told him not to marry her in the first place. I said she'd take off once she got his money. You can't assume these people have been kidnapped when they go missing. They got this whole route going to and from Tijuana, you know. If you ask me, for all we know, she's running drugs.'

‘How can you say that?' his wife demanded. His comment had made her angry. ‘You know Arcelia would never do something like that. And she's having your grandchild any minute. Honey, you can't just sit there and ignore this. It's your own son's wife. What is the matter with you?'

I gave her credit. She was young, but already she knew how to control the old man. She was also smart enough to know that when the doorbell rang, it was probably not good news. ‘I'll get it,' she told her husband. ‘You stay here and take a deep breath.'

Terrence Gallagher needed a deep breath or two. Like all the other man down at town hall, he looked like he had eaten too many steaks, washed down by too much whiskey, and smoked way too many cigarettes in his lifetime. His gut spilled out over his pants and his face was flushed deep red. I could practically watch his cholesterol levels rising as he dined on the meat loaf his wife had set before him. And I know his blood pressure rose even higher when his wife brought Danny into the kitchen and left them alone so they could talk.

‘Any word?' the mayor asked his son, pushing his newspaper to one side.

‘You tell me, Dad.' Danny Gallagher slid the chair out from the table and its legs scraped against the floor, causing a screeching sound. His father looked up, startled. Danny was agitated and I'm not sure the old man had seen his son that way in years.

‘How would I know?' the mayor asked. ‘I'm the last person anyone keeps informed about it. I know as much as you do. Probably less. You want to know more, watch television like the rest of the world.'

‘The reporters on television say I'm the one who did it,' Danny reminded his father. ‘And they're going to keep saying it until we find out who did take her.' Danny had finally found his strength. He did not sound panicked or in shock. He sounded angry and determined. ‘Dad, if you had anything to do with this . . . If this is some sort of campaign stunt or payback because Arcelia wouldn't campaign for you, so help me God – I will come after you. How could you do this to us?'

His father was genuinely shocked. ‘How can you think I would have anything to do with this?' His voice rose. ‘Danny, she's your wife. I would never lay a hand on her. I would never let anyone hurt her.'

‘Don't give me that, Dad,' Danny said. ‘I know what kind of friends you have. And I know who their friends are. I know how you got this big house and about the money you launder for them. I know that they would harm Arcelia without blinking an eye. So help me God, I'm telling you, if you had anything to do with this . . .'

Terrence Gallagher looked horrified. He pushed the newspaper away and leaned toward his son. ‘Danny, you listen to me – I know how much you love her. I would never, ever let anyone harm her. Besides, why would we hurt her? She's done nothing wrong. She didn't have to help my campaign. Sure, it would have given me a boost. But I was going to win anyway, and I did. Let it go.'

‘And, yet, here you sit, doing nothing while my wife is gone and my child is missing.' Danny's voice wavered. ‘You talk family, but look at you. You left me and Mom without ever looking back and you've had how many wives since then? What do you care about my wife? You don't even care about your own.'

His father stood abruptly. ‘I'm going to have to ask you to leave, Danny. I'm going to let this one go. I know how upset you are and how frustrated you must be. But I can't help you.'

It was difficult to tell whether Danny Gallagher really thought his father had something to do with his wife's disappearance, or if I was just feeling thirty years of resentment coming to a boil. But I did know, without a doubt, that Danny Gallagher blamed his father for everything that was wrong with this world and that he probably had for decades.

I felt sorry for him then. Even if they found his wife, even if his life went back to normal with his farm to tend and a child filling his house with laughter, the anger he felt for his father would still simmer inside him, clouding everything he did.

I knew because I had been there. I did not like the reminder of how resolutely I had clung to old betrayals or how I had embraced my suffering so willingly.

When Danny stomped out of the kitchen, I followed him, brushing past the stepmother, who was far closer to Danny's age than to her husband's. She was standing in the hall, eyes wide and lower lip quivering. She had heard it all and his words had rocked her.

I knew then that this crime, like all crimes, was going to ripple through the people in Arcelia Gallagher's life. When it was over, whether she was found alive or found dead, no one would ever be the same.

Danny burst out of his father's house, slamming the door behind him, and headed for his truck. He was too angry to notice Maggie and Calvano parked on a side street, tracking his movements. I could not bear being near Danny, the pain that spilled from him was contagious, so I joined Maggie and Calvano in their car. I was just in time to hear the tail end of a conversation.