Speak of the Devil (26 page)

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s not safe. As long as Diablo’s out there, MS-13 has a motive to kill you.”

“I know. But I never thought I’d be gone this long. I can’t live like this anymore. I need to be with my daughter. And my husband.”

“I thought you hated him. You wanted to go into Witsec without him.”

“I did hate him. But that was a long time ago. I always thought, once the case was over, I’d come back and we’d try again. Now he’s about to get remarried.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Deputy Cook said. “It’s gonna be rough.”

Nina nodded. “For everyone.”

40

Anna reached down to the cooler on the deck and grabbed a Bud Light from the ice. Champagne was nice, but she was a Flint girl at heart. She would go back into the house, try to relax, and do her damnedest to enjoy her party. She turned toward the glass door, but stopped when she saw movement to the side.

Anna turned to see a figure—out of context but familiar—step onto the porch. It was one of Jack’s gardeners, a handsome young man with liquid brown eyes. An angry red scab ran across one of those eyes now, closing it. His face was puffy with purple bruises, and the left side of his mouth was so swollen, it looked like he had a jawbreaker wedged in the side of his cheek.

“Diego,” she said. “My God, what happened to you?”

She grabbed a handful of ice from the cooler, wrapped it in a napkin, and held it out to him. He didn’t move to take it. He kept his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Here,” she urged. “Put this on your cheek. It’ll help bring the swelling down.”

She’d dealt with enough black eyes to know. He slowly took one hand out of his pocket, reached for the improvised ice pack, and put it to his cheek. He flinched as the pack touched his purple skin. His other hand remained in his pocket.

“Ms. Curtis,” he said, “you are very kind. I will remember you next time I brew my tea.”

She had no idea what he was talking about.

“Do you work here, too?” she asked.

He shook his head, staring at her silently. His one good eye grew moist; a single tear welled up, leaked out, and ran down his cheek. He moved the ice pack to catch it.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Why were you at Maria-Rosa’s house the other day?” he replied.

“What?”

“What did her mother say? Does she blame me?”

Her eyes went to his hand holding the ice pack. She saw the three-dot tattoo in the webbing between his forefinger and thumb. Her heart hitched.

“What are you doing here?”

He pulled a black handgun from his pocket. She stared at it as her mind flashed to a self-defense class she’d recently taken— What could she do against a man with a gun? Nothing. Her pepper spray was in her purse, sitting in Grace’s front closet. She thought about the handgun locked in Jack’s safe. She desperately wished she had listened to him and was carrying it now. Her heart was pounding so hard, it seemed to be trying to break open her rib cage and escape.

“They sent me here to kill you.” He set the ice pack on the railing. “For the Mara Salvatrucha.”

She opened her mouth, but her voice was trapped in her throat.

Gato raised the gun, and pointed it at his own head.

“Don’t worry, Ms. Curtis. I’m not gonna do it. I just want to die a good death, like my saint,
la Santa Muerte
.”

She shook her head. “No, Diego. Suicide isn’t a good death.”

“The gang’s gonna kill me anyway. If
they
do it, it will be long and painful.”

“No. We can protect you.”

“I’m no snitch.” The gun shook in his trembling hands. “I wish I was a better man, but it’s too late for me.”

“It’s not too late,” she said softly. “You might have made bad choices before—but every day is a new chance to do what’s right. This is your chance, Diego.”

“You sound like Señora Zanita.”

“Just put down the gun. Right there on the rail. And then we can talk. I promise, I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

He looked at her for a long time, tears streaming down his face. The gun shook so much, she was afraid Gato would fire it and take off half his skull unintentionally. He finally lowered his hand and set the gun on the porch railing.

“Good,” Anna exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

She picked up the gun and banged on the sliding glass door. Sam was the only one in the kitchen, talking on her cell phone. She came over and slid open the door.

“Hey, Anna, what are you—?” Sam saw the gun in her hand, and Gato crying on the porch. She put down her phone, stepped outside, and placed a hand on her own weapon. “What the hell?”

“Agent Randazzo, this is Diego, also known as Gato. He was my gardener—and apparently, MS-13. He wants to turn himself in.”

“Put your hands on the railing and spread your legs, sir.”

Gato did as he was told. Sam frisked him, finding fourteen dollars and a prepaid cell phone in his pocket. “You don’t mind if I look through here, right?” She tucked the phone into her pocket without waiting for an answer. She put a pair of handcuffs on him.

Anna found Grace inside and asked if there was a spare room she could use. Grace looked puzzled but showed her to the laundry room. Anna and Sam waited until the kitchen was clear, then led Gato there.

Through the living room doorway, Jack saw the strange procession. He left his circle of friends and followed them into the laundry room. Sam shut the door, muffling the sounds of the party. Anna heard a
meow
and looked to the corner. Raffles sat on a pillow, apparently banished here for the party. The cat came over and rubbed himself against her legs.

Gato sank down on a folding chair and put his head in his cuffed hands. He was still shaking. Anna tentatively reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t flinch or move away. She patted him. “There, there.” She sounded like her mother. “It’s gonna be okay.” Jack looked at her quizzically.

When Gato’s shaking subsided, he looked up at Anna.

“If I talk to you, tell you about MS-13, can you get me out of D.C.? Can you fake my death, like Detective Flores?”

“What do you know about Detective Flores’s death?” Sam asked.

“Soon as we greenlighted her, they said she died in some drug bust.”

“So?”

“We’re not stupid. Why do you think I got the job as their gardener? To watch the house, and see if she was really dead. One day, I saw her in the neighborhood. She’d changed her hair, but it was her. I stole a picture from the house, and we carried it around, in case anyone saw her again. So they could kill her for real.”

Jack made a choking sound.

“Nina—is alive?” He staggered back, catching himself on the washing machine. “My Nina?”

Anna cringed and nodded. She reached for his hands, but they were gripping the washing machine so tightly, it looked like he wanted to strangle the appliance—or he needed its help to stay on his feet. He stared at her, shaking his head. She dropped her own hands to her sides.

“I was going to tell you,” she whispered. “After the party.”

Sam looked at them. “Why don’t you two go and talk. If you send McGee in here, he and I can chat with Diego.”

• • •

Anna’s stomach churned, but she did what she was trained to do: She managed the crisis. She put on her best poker face, wended her way through the party, and took McGee aside. She quietly explained that he was needed in the laundry room. Then she led Jack upstairs to a big empty bedroom. Gato’s confession was not the way she’d hoped to break the news to her fiancé.

She locked the bedroom door, took a deep breath, and turned to Jack. He looked lost and shell-shocked. They stared at each other across the expanse of beige carpet. Muffled laughter and the sound of a popping champagne cork floated up from the living room. Their engagement party continued without them.

“I’m sorry you had to find out like this, Jack.”

“How long have you known?”

She glanced at her watch. “About three hours.”

His face softened and he nodded. In a corner was a sitting area: two chairs flanking a little glass table. She gestured toward it, and they went over and sat.

“Do you want the short story or the long one?” she asked.

“Everything. I have to know everything.”

She took a moment to gather her thoughts, then launched in. He met her eyes as she spoke, but he seemed to look through her, as if he were seeing something else: a memory or a dream. She described all that she’d learned about Nina, starting with her suspicions about Hector, going through the information in the case files, and concluding with the surprise in the motel room. When she got to the end, she paused, remembering the Marshal’s instruction.

“Actually,” she said, “they told me not to tell you that Nina was alive. They said—”

“Goddammit!” Jack slammed his fist onto the table.

Anna flinched. The tabletop fractured, sending a web of cracks radiating across the glass surface. A thin trickle of blood ran down the side of his hand. He didn’t notice.

“I can’t fathom all the people who must have lied to make this happen. My friends. Colleagues. People I’ve worked with every day for the last four years, keeping this from me. Not you too, Anna.”

“I didn’t and I won’t.”

He stood and paced the room.

“I
buried
my wife. I told my daughter that her mother was dead.” His voice grew strangled. “Over and over, I explained to Olivia why Mommy was in heaven.”

Anna fought back her own tears. She looked around until her eyes landed on a box of Kleenex. She went over and pulled out a few tissues, then brought them to Jack.

“You cut yourself.”

He glanced down and finally noticed his bleeding hand. He took the wad of Kleenex and pressed it to the wound. His deep voice was shaking when he spoke again.

“What am I going to tell my daughter?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“She’ll think I lied to her, all these years. She’ll never trust me again.”

“You’re a great father. Olivia knows that.”

He drew her into a tight embrace, burying his head in her hair. His body convulsed with quiet, shuddering sobs. She realized she’d never seen him cry before. Her heart hurt to hear it, and to feel how much he was fighting it still. She stroked his back and murmured soothing words whose sound was more important than their meaning. Eventually, he quieted. His breathing evened out. She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against the tight muscles of his chest. His heart thundered under her ear.

“God, I’m relieved she’s alive.” His voice was steadier now. “But I can’t believe she put Olivia and me through this.”

Anna tried to think of something that would ease his pain.

“I don’t think that many people lied to you,” she said.

“How do you figure?”

His arms loosened, and they both sank down on the edge of the bed. She looked up at his face. It seemed to have aged five years in the last five minutes.

“As far as I can tell, only Hector and the Witsec agents were part of it.”

He shook his head. “The Medical Examiner herself told me Nina was dead.”

“Okay, but—how did you identify the body?”

“I went to the ME’s Office. We went through the usual procedure: I sat in the office and they showed me a Polaroid picture of her face. It was—destroyed.” He grimaced. “I asked to see a PD-860, and they had one ready. It was clearly a match.”

Anna nodded. The PD-860 was an MPD “Request for Comparison of Fingerprints” form. As a police officer, Nina’s fingerprints would be on file, making for an easy comparison with the prints of the dead body.

“Hector probably prepared that,” Anna said. “His name was all over the file. The ME only knew there was a dead woman—the identity came from Hector. Did you actually see the body?”

He lifted the tissues and looked at his hand; the bleeding had stopped. He crumpled up the Kleenexes and threw them into a garbage can.

“I had to see her. Even though it’s not standard procedure. I went downstairs; they knew better than to try to stop me. She was on one of those steel gurneys, her whole body covered in a sheet. I could see her hair peeking out at the top. At least, it looked like her hair. Her left hand was the only part of her that was uncovered. I saw her wedding ring.” His voice choked up again. “I held her hand. It was so cold. I held it, and I knelt down next to her. And I begged for her forgiveness.”

Anna blinked back her own tears. “Why should she forgive you?”

He met her eyes but stayed silent for a long time. The muscle in his jaw throbbed.

“I thought it was my fault, Anna.”

She stared at him.

“There’s more to Nina’s leaving,” he said. “I should have told you this before, but it’s not something I’m proud of. It’s something I’d rather forget.”

A knot of dread twisted through her stomach. She both feared and couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say. She put a hand on his arm, both to comfort him and brace herself.

“When Nina wanted to go into Witness Protection, she wanted to go without me.”

“Why?”

“I had an affair.” Jack grimaced. “Nina found out. She was furious and had decided to leave me.”

Anna felt like she’d been punched in the gut. Jack had an affair? She thought he was the perfect man. Infidelity was not something she’d thought him capable of.

“She wanted to go into Witsec.” Jack’s voice sounded like boots on gravel. “With Olivia—but not me. I told her no. I couldn’t allow that. Witsec relocates you to another city, and you can never see or talk to your family or friends again. No phone calls, e-mails, nothing. I couldn’t give up all contact with Olivia. I guess Nina decided to go without me
or
our daughter.”

Anna took a moment to process this. “Did you suspect that she hadn’t actually died? That she’d gone into Witsec instead?”

“No. And not just because every piece of evidence I saw—every person I spoke to—confirmed that she’d been killed. Because she loved Olivia so much. It never crossed my mind that she would leave her.”

Anna couldn’t understand that, either. “Who was the affair with?”