The Bone Fire: A Mystery (41 page)

The last thought made Lucy grip the steering wheel tightly. She had seen a woman die today. So far she had been able to keep it out of her mind.

It had been the first dead body she’d seen since January. Since she’d killed a woman. Since the guilt started to overwhelm her.

Lucy’s eyes became hot, and she felt the first few tears well up.

Joe was driving for a change as Gil made phone calls in quick succession. The first was to the hospital. He told the nurse on duty at the psych ward to expect paperwork from the DA later in the day that would order the release of David Geisler. Next, he paged the DA, who this time called him right back. He briefly told her the situation with Geisler. Her only response was “I’ll take care of it.”

The next call was to Chief Kline. Gil gave him an update in as few words as possible, mostly because of shame. His guilt over David Geisler was apparent in his voice. Kline said, “Look, I know you feel bad about Geisler, but some good came out of this. At least the guy will be evaluated and on medication.” What Gil didn’t say was that he wasn’t sure that was a good thing. He clicked off the phone as they were just a block from the hospital.

“I guess the good news,” Joe said, “is that now we have only a few suspects.”

Gil nodded. “We just have to narrow it down.”

“Is it sexist of me to say that I can’t see a woman doing this?”

“I think it’s naive,” Gil said.

“It makes it easy, though. It leaves us with Justin, who we honestly don’t know much about,” Joe said.

“You must have profiled the family members back during the original investigation.”

“Yeah, but Justin was only fourteen when Brianna disappeared,” Joe said. “He still needed Ashley to babysit him. We never looked at him because of his age.”
That was another mistake,
Gil thought.

They pulled up to the hospital and went inside, up to the maternity ward. They were about to pass by the waiting room when they saw Mrs. Rodriguez sitting next to another woman, deep in conversation.

She stood up as she saw them, saying, “Where’s Alex? Ashley finally delivered the baby.”

Gil and Joe awkwardly murmured congratulations to the new grandmother before Gil said, “Alex needs to stay at the station a little longer, but we wanted to come see how Ashley was doing.”

“She had a really rough time,” Mrs. Rodriguez said. “There was some problem with the cord, and she had to have an emergency C-section. It was bad.”

“Is she all right?” Joe asked.

“She’s doing better now. They got the baby out, and he’s fine. He’s so cute, and he has a full head of hair,” she said, beaming.

“Is Ashley able to talk to us?” Gil asked. Dr. Santiago had said they could interview her once she was out of the woods.

Before she could answer, the woman Mrs. Rodriguez had been talking to stood up and said, “Hi. I’m Carla.” She shook both of their hands.

Joe looked at her curiously, as if he should know who she was. “Are you a friend of the family?” he asked her.

“In a way,” Carla said smiling.

“She’s my AA sponsor,” Mrs. Rodriguez said, slightly nervously. “She came here to make sure I was doing okay. The past few days have been pretty stressful.”

Joe nodded. “I noticed your three-month pin. Congratulations.” Gil hadn’t even noticed that on Mrs. Rodriguez’s white blouse there
was a gold pin. It was a triangle with the letter
G
inside the top and then the sun between two capital
A
’s.

“What step are you on?” he asked.

“I just started Step Eight,” she said, smiling and looking toward her sponsor for approval.

“Oh, so that means you’re making the list of people you have harmed,” Joe said. “That can be a hard one.” Gil wondered where Joe’s information about alcoholism came from.

“I’m getting there,” Mrs. Rodriguez said.

“Have you thought about Step Nine at all?” Joe asked. “About making amends?”

Mrs. Rodriguez looked down at the ground, her eyes suddenly overwhelmed by tears. “Just breathe,” her sponsor said, putting her hand on Mrs. Rodriguez’s shoulder. “In this moment you are fine. You are among people who care.” Mrs. Rodriguez nodded and tried to smile, but failed.

“It seems like that might be a hard step for you,” Joe said, more sympathetic than Gil had ever heard him.

Mrs. Rodriguez looked up at Joe, then over at her sponsor, who said, “It’s okay. We only move forward when we want to. This is a process, and it takes time.” Gil felt himself waiting, almost holding his breath, while Joe seemed relaxed and accepting. Gil wondered at the change.

Mrs. Rodriguez kept nodding, as if she were building up courage through the affirmative action. She looked back up at Joe, let out a deep breath, and said, “I wrote a letter to Brianna last week.” Those seemed to be the only words she could manage as tears flowed down her face. Her sponsor gave Mrs. Rodriguez a tissue.

Joe said, “Of course. Just because she’s no longer with us doesn’t mean you can’t make amends. I’m sure your sponsor helped you with the letter. They can be hard.”

Mrs. Rodriguez said, “I told Brianna that I was sorry, and I asked for her forgiveness.”

“What were you sorry for?” Joe asked tenderly.

“I was never there for her, because of the drinking. Even on the day she needed me the most . . .” Mrs. Rodriguez paused, and Carla
put a hand on her shoulder. Mrs. Rodriguez stood straighter in resolve and continued. “The day . . . the day she went missing, I was passed out drunk in my room. Ashley had to wake me to tell me she was gone.”

Joe just nodded and said nothing. After a moment he looked up at her and said, “You are not to blame for this. You did nothing wrong.” Mrs. Rodriguez nodded. Joe smiled. “I know this has been hard for you, but I just have one more question for right now, okay? What do you remember from that day?”

“I got up in the morning and then in my head I said, ‘It’s Saturday, why not make it a party?’ So I had some vodka . . . I don’t remember anything else until Ashley woke me up.”

“So you were out of it from around 10:00
A.M.
until right before the police arrived at 2:00
P.M.
?”

“Yes,” she said.

Joe said, “Thank you so much, Mrs. Rodriguez. I think we need to go talk to Ashley now, but I’ll try to come back and visit with you some more.” She nodded gratefully. “Just keep working those steps,” Joe said.

They walked away toward the nurses’ station. Once out of earshot Gil asked, “Do you really believe that Mrs. Rodriguez isn’t to blame and did nothing wrong?”

Joe snorted. “Hell, no. She was an absent mother who let her own child get molested and her granddaughter get killed. She’s as guilty as anyone, and I hope she rots in hell.” Gil smiled. The old Joe was back.

“How do you know so much about AA?” Gil asked.

“My mom,” Joe said. Gil didn’t press the issue. They stood at the nurses’ station and told the woman in charge that they wanted permission from Dr. Santiago to interview Ashley.

“Our suspects are dropping off the list like flies,” Joe said.

The nurse came back, saying Dr. Santiago had approved their visit, but warned them that Ashley might be groggy. She led them into the ward, which was very secure due to baby theft concerns. They went down the hallway, where they heard a tiny baby’s cries interspersed
with grunting sounds coming from another room. The music of labor and delivery.

They went into the next room on the left. Ashley looked tired but strangely awake for someone who had just had a C-section. She was sitting up in the hospital bed, holding a tightly swaddled baby. She was cooing at him as Justin leaned over her shoulder, smiling. Joe and Gil watched them for a moment before Joe cleared his throat and said, “Hi, Ashley. Congratulations.” She looked up at them, surprised but happy. As if this were her first time being a new mom.

“Thank you,” she said, looking back down at the baby, who stared at her intently without making a sound. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

“He sure is,” said Joe. “I heard the labor was pretty hard.”

“Yeah,” she said. “It was bad.”

“Where’s Laura?” Gil asked. “Is she here?”

“Yeah,” Justin said as he played with the baby’s fingers. “She went to the cafeteria to get a Coke.”

“You know, Ashley,” Joe said, “we do need to ask you a few questions.”

“Actually, Joe,” Gil said, “why I don’t take Justin here outside while you two talk?”

“Sure,” Joe said, confused.
He must be,
Gil thought. They had been waiting to interview Ashley for three days, chomping at the bit. Ashley was the one who held the answers, although she had proven capable of lying to them and everyone else. She held the key to everything. Now when they finally had her, Gil wanted to leave.

In fact, as soon as Gil walked into the hospital room, he realized talking to Ashley wasn’t the only way to get to the truth. Because what Gil saw in that room was Justin and Ashley framing the new baby in their arms. It was the picture of happiness. The picture of a family.

Joe had been right. They knew nothing about Justin. At that moment, though, Gil saw Justin for who he was. Because a father can recognize another father.

Lucy walked into the yoga studio and immediately felt like a hippo in a lily patch. Everyone else was wearing tight cropped shirts and
pants. She was in sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt. She didn’t know there was a dress code for meditation.

She had swung by home, glad to be finally kicking her way out of her EMS uniform. She had decided on the road back from Tamara’s that a meditation class might do her good. She tried to keep herself from questioning it too much, knowing her tendency for wanting to avoid uncomfortable situations. Meditation definitely sounded uncomfortable. Just yourself, sitting.

On the walls of the yoga studio were taped handwritten signs that read:
NO SHOES PLEASE
. Lucy panicked. She still wasn’t wearing socks and hadn’t done her toenails in weeks. Her polish was chipped and worn. She didn’t want to be judged by her feet. She leaned against a wall and casually watched a few shoeless people come in. There were some manicured toenails and some that needed a date with a hedge clipper. She relaxed and slipped off her shoes, as she wondered if this was how the fantasy of a foot fetishist might play out.

A woman in clingy workout clothes went to the front of the class and said, “Okay, let’s have everyone take their seats.” Only there were no seats. Just a hardwood floor. Lucy sat down cross-legged and eyed the other people in the room. It was actually a diverse group. She had assumed it would be all entitled white people, since meditation was their favorite pastime, but there were several people who had real color in their skin, unlike Lucy’s palest shade of white.

The teacher told them to close their eyes while she put on a CD of soft classical music.

“Now breathe deep,” she said, “and feel it leaving your airways as you exhale.”

The woman talked in a voice that was almost as calm as John Lopez’s. That thought immediately made Lucy remember the talk with her boss. She wasn’t exactly sure what Lopez had been getting at with the self-evaluation form—and why did he want her to write about her future plans? She would have to make some up because, at the moment, there were none. Maybe that was his point—she needed to stop thinking of just today and start thinking of tomorrow. Which made her think she had just quoted a Fleetwood Mac song.

Maybe that had been her problem in approaching her dual life of newspapers and EMS. She never looked past the moment.

She thought back to what Lopez had said. Was he asking her to choose in his no-pressure, nice-guy way? Was she going to have to quit one thing or the other? If that was the case, she had no idea which she would choose. Either way, she would be only half of herself.

Gil and Justin sat in the chairs in the hospital hallway as nurses rushed by and the sound of crying babies ebbed and flowed. Smiling families walked by, loaded with stuffed animals and flowers, eager to see their newest member. Gil sighed. Yet another interrogation. This time he only felt sad. He knew this one would not have the horror of the Rudy Rodriguez interview, or the simple, long, dramatic movements of the one with Alex Stevens. This one would be quiet and grief stricken.

He knew he needed to get started.

“You and Ashley have been together a long time,” Gil said. Justin nodded; he didn’t protest or try to deflect the truth. Gil wondered why. Maybe the boy wanted to tell someone about the abuse? Or maybe he thought that Ashley had done nothing wrong?

“You make a good couple,” Gil said, “and now you have this beautiful baby together.”

The boy smiled, looking upbeat, looking too young. Gil smiled, too, but his was more sad than sincere.

“Alex never found out?” Gil asked.

The boy shook his head and said, “He was gone a lot, and he just acted . . . you know.”

“That must have been hard for Ashley. She must really love you.” Inside Gil was just a shade of gray. Not angry. Not understanding. Resigned. He needed to get solid facts from Justin. So much of Gil’s job in this case had been about manipulation.

“Ashley always loved me,” Justin said.

“How old were you when she started babysitting for you?”

“About seven, I think,” the boy said, his young face looking thoughtful.

Gil looked at the floor as he did some calculations in his head. Ashley would have been twelve at the time. Just when her own father had started abusing her and she was powerless to stop it. So she abused the only person who had less power than she did.

“It must have been hard for you when Brianna was born,” Gil said.

“Yeah. They wouldn’t even let me in to see her . . .”

“Because you were too young.” Gil finished the sentence for him. Actually it had probably been more than that. A nurse just couldn’t let an adolescent boy drop in on the maternity ward. He might see secret female things he shouldn’t and get ideas. Because teenaged boys were the perpetrators of things vulgar and perverse. Not always, though. Sometimes they were the victims.

“Ashley probably thought it was a bad idea for you to tell anyone that you were Brianna’s father. They wouldn’t understand that kind of love,” Gil said.