“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she said, as she stepped into the classroom.
Ms. Alvarez put down her red pencil, and Beatriz laid a small tray of candies on the desk.
“That’s so sweet of you, Beatriz. Thank you.”
“In El Salvador, Valentine’s Day is not just for your sweetheart. We call it El Día de Amor y Amistad—the Day of Love and Friendship. You have been a good friend. So I brought you Salvadoran treats.”
“They all look so good.”
“This is what street vendors will be selling all day today in San Salvador. Meringues, chocolate-covered strawberries, rainbow-colored marshmallows—all sorts of things that we buy for our friends. The marshmallows are my favorite. Try one.”
Ms. Alvarez did, and it made Beatriz smile to see her teacher’s eyes light up. “Good, huh?”
“Delicious.”
The intercom on the wall crackled, and the voice of the school principal, Mr. Henderson, filled the classroom: “Ms. Alvarez, is Beatriz Rodriguez in your next class period?”
“Yes,” said Ms. Alvarez. “Actually, she’s here with me right now.”
“Can you bring her to my office, please?”
“Before class or after?”
“Now, please. Thank you.”
The intercom clicked off, and Beatriz’s happy mood had switched to worry just that quickly. She’d known of only one other student called down to the principal’s office in that fashion, and it was to tell the girl that her father had died.
“What do you think this is about?” asked Beatriz.
“I don’t know.”
“Will you go with me?”
Ms. Alvarez nodded. “Sure. I’ll walk you there.”
Beatriz’s mind raced with possible reasons to be summoned to the principal, and none of them was good. Nerves had so gotten the best of her that she didn’t even realize she was holding Ms. Alvarez’s hand, let alone crushing all the bones in her fingers. Ms. Alvarez led her to the administrative suite, and the assistant showed them into the principal’s office.
Beatriz had never stood this close to Mr. Henderson, and his imposing size would have surprised her had she not known by reputation that he was a former high school football star. He directed her to the chair and asked Ms. Alvarez to stay. It was the three of them behind the closed door.
“Beatriz, there is a Detective Barnes here to see you. He’s with the Miami-Dade Police Department.”
Beatriz felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “Is ICE with him?”
“No. This has nothing to do with ICE.”
Good news, but it didn’t relieve all anxiety. “What does the man want?” asked Beatriz.
“He said he wants to speak to you.”
“What about?”
“He’s with the Homicide Unit. I assume it has to do with—well, I’m not going to assume anything. He just wants to talk.”
News of the body found inside Beatriz’s house had traveled far and wide. Every kid in her high school knew about it, so it was no surprise to Beatriz that the principal was aware of it, too. “What if I don’t want to talk to him?”
“Then you can tell him that.”
“Can’t you or Ms. Alvarez tell him for me?”
“I’m sorry, but no. I can’t stop the police from doing their job. As principal, the only thing I can do is notify your mother that the police came to the school and asked to talk to you.”
“Did you call my mom?”
“Yes, but I didn’t get an answer.”
Beatriz felt her hands shaking. Ms. Alvarez spoke up for her. “Can’t you tell the police that we’re waiting to hear back from her mother?”
“No,” said the principal, his voice firm. “That’s the school policy, which was written by very smart lawyers who read the court opinions and tell us what to do in these situations. We notify the parents. We don’t interfere with an investigation. High school students are old enough to tell the police if they’re willing to talk or not. That’s the law. There’s nothing more to discuss.”
Ms. Alvarez tried to soften the situation. “It will be okay, Beatriz. Just tell them that you don’t want to talk, or that you don’t want to talk without your mother being there. You can do that.”
Beatriz wasn’t sure she could—no matter what the smart lawyers or the Supreme Court said about it. Ms. Alvarez gave her a half smile of encouragement, and it seemed to help a little. She drew a breath and let it out. “Okay. I’ll tell him.”
Mr. Henderson rose and led Beatriz out of his office to the other end of the administrative suite. It was a part of the building that Beatriz had never seen before, never even knew of its existence, and she felt like a stranger in the secret halls of school discipline. They entered a conference room at the end of the hall. Waiting inside were Detective Barnes and a woman who said her name was Officer Cabal. Neither was wearing a police uniform, but that didn’t make it any less scary. Barnes asked the principal to leave. He and Cabal then sat on one side of the table, and Beatriz sat on the other.
“Good morning,” said Barnes, and he kept right on talking, giving Beatriz no opening to say what she was feeling, and when the opportunity to speak finally arose, and Beatriz tried to tell him that she didn’t want to be in the room without her mother, the words simply wouldn’t form in her mouth.
“Would that be all right, Beatriz?” the detective asked.
“Huh, what?” Beatriz had heard him speaking to her, but everything he’d said was like gibberish.
“I was just wondering if you could answer a few questions for us,” said Barnes.
Beatriz didn’t trust him one bit, but there was something about the whole situation that made her want to comply. “I guess so.”
“Good. These are going to be real simple. Can you read English?”
She still didn’t trust him. She glanced at Officer Cabal, who seemed nice.
“It’s okay,” Cabal said in a soft voice. “It’s not a trick question.”
“Yeah,” said Beatriz. “I read English fine.”
“Very good,” said Barnes. “But let me ask the question another way. If you had to read something and it was very important that you understood every word, would you rather read it in English or in Spanish?”
She glanced again at Cabal, then answered in a soft voice. “Spanish.”
“Good to know,” said Barnes.
There was a file on the table at Officer Cabal’s elbow. She removed a one-page, typewritten document and placed it directly in front of Beatriz. It was in Spanish.
“What is this?” Beatriz asked in Spanish. Cabal was fluent, and the conversation continued in Beatriz’s native tongue.
“It’s a form,” said Cabal. “Detective Barnes would like you to read it and sign it. You have to sign it to give us your consent.”
“My consent to what?”
Cabal reached under the table for the box that was at her feet and placed the box on the table. Beatriz watched as she opened a kit of some kind and removed a plastic tube, a pair of latex gloves, and what looked like giant Q-tips.
“This is all very simple, Beatriz. And it won’t hurt a bit. All I want is for you to open your mouth for a few seconds. Then I take this little stick,” she said, holding it, “swab the inside of your cheek with the cotton tip, and we’re done. Signing that form says it’s okay for me to do that.”
“Why do you want me to do it?”
“Because I want to help you.”
“Help me what?”
“Help you get out of here. If you don’t sign this form, Detective Barnes will have no choice but to keep you here and ask you all kinds of questions about your parents.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, Beatriz. Don’t get me started, because if I do, then Detective Barnes here will really get going. And once he starts down that road, this could take hours. It’s going to be so unpleasant for you. Much worse than me putting this little piece of cotton in your mouth for two seconds. Two second
s. That’s it. And then you can go, no questions asked.”
Beatriz was thinking about it. She wasn’t sure if the detective understood her conversation with Officer Cabal in Spanish, but the next question was from him and in English.
“So, Beatriz,” said Barnes, “tell me this: When was the last time you saw your father?”
Cabal spoke in Spanish. “See what I mean? Two seconds, Beatriz. Just sign, open your mouth, and we’re done.”
Cabal reached across the table and offered Beatriz a pen. Beatriz stared at it, but her hand didn’t move.
Barnes asked, “When’s the last time your mother saw your father, Beatriz?”
Beatriz blinked hard.
“Sign,” said Cabal. “If you do, I’ll make him stop.”
Beatriz took the pen.
“That’s it,” said Cabal. “Sign and we go home.”
Beatriz put the pen to the paper, and then she signed her consent.
Chapter 40
Jack was home early with enough flowers, candy, and balloons for the three generations of Valentines. Andie was showering and getting ready for their night out, but Righley and Abuela were all hugs and kisses as he came through the front door.
“I love you, Dada.”
Jack picked her up and nearly melted on the spot, but Abuela was not so impressed.
“Español, por favor,” she said like a schoolteacher.
“Te quiero, papi.”
“Muy bien,” she said, adding what Jack translated as, “At least there’s hope for someone in the family.”
“Do you think I don’t understand these things you say right in front of me?” Jack asked.
Abuela gave him a kiss, and all was just fine. Righley took her by the hand and led her to the kitchen to cook her favorite dinner in the whole world: “’Fraidy-cat noodle soup,” a four-year-old’s play on “chicken,” which Abuela said was hilarious, even though the pun had to be way beyond her grasp. Jack went to the wine chiller, looked for something in line with the chocolatey theme of the holiday, and selected the Mother Tongue Shiraz from Australia’s Barossa Valley. He poured Andie a glass and was headed toward the bedroom when his cell rang. It was Julia’s number. He felt guilty letting the call go to voice mail, but it was Valentine’s Day, after all.
Andie was still in the shower, and Max was lying on the floor in front of the closed bathroom door. It was his one and only trick: standing guard when Andie was in the shower. And he was good at it. Jack could walk into the room with a pork chop around his neck, and Max wouldn’t leave his post. That still didn’t keep him from throwing Jack a look with those big brown eyes, as if to say, “So, where’s my candy?”
Jack’s phone pinged with a text from Julia—“Emergency, please answer”—and his phone rang a moment later. He took the call.
“Jack, thank you for picking up! I think they’re after Beatriz!”
“What? Slow down. You think who’s after Beatriz?”
“The police. They went to her school today and took a DNA swab from her.”
Jack put Andie’s wine on the dresser and walked across the hall to his home office, listening. Julia recounted everything secondhand, parts of which she’d gathered from Beatriz and other parts from the school principal.
“This is insane,” said Julia. “How could that detective even think that my daughter would slit a man’s throat?”
“No one thinks Beatriz is a killer,” said Jack.
“How do you know that?”
It took a constitutional law scholar to understand the rights of teenagers in police interrogations on school property, but Jack knew enough to draw some inferences. “If Beatriz was a suspect in the murder of Duncan McBride, Detective Barnes wouldn’t just show up at her school and trap her in a conference room. An ambush like that could jeopardize their whole case.”
“Then what do they need her DNA for?”
Andie appeared in the doorway, a glass of wine in hand. “Who you talking to, honey?”
Jack asked Julia to hold. “A client.”
“Okay. Reservation is at eight. This wine is delicious. Come have a glass with me before we go.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Andie left, and Jack returned to his call. “Julia, is there a time tomorrow morning when we can talk more about this?”
“Do you think they’re just harassing me?” she asked.
“Do I think who is harassing you?”
“The police. Is that why they did this to Beatriz?”
“I really don’t think so.”
“Then why would they collect DNA from someone who’s not a suspect. What’s the purpose?”
Jack was reluctant to get into the science of DNA, but it wasn’t fair to leave her thinking that the police were just harassing her and Beatriz. “My guess is that they’re looking for a partial DNA match.”
“What does that mean?”
“Let’s say the police find DNA at a crime scene that doesn’t belong to the victim. A drop of blood. A hair follicle. Some kind of body fluid. The logical thing to do is to get a DNA sample from the suspect and see if there’s a match, right?”
“But you said that’s not what the police did here.”
“Exactly. Sometimes the police can’t get a DNA sample from their suspect. So they might take DNA from someone who’s related to their suspect. Depending on how much DNA that relative shares with the suspect, the police could get a partial match.”
“Wait a sec. You’re saying the police think they know who killed Duncan McBride, and Beatriz is related to that person?”
“Right now, that’s the best explanation I have for what happened to Beatriz today.”
“Am I a suspect?”
“No. That wouldn’t make sense. Beatriz obviously has a lot of your DNA, but the police know where you are. They could get a warrant to force you to give them a DNA sample.”
There was silence on the line, and Jack could almost imagine the wheels turning in Julia’s head.
“Oh, my God,” she said, as the realization set in. “It’s Jorge.”
“No, they think it’s Jorge.”
“I told you it was him,” she said, her voice racing. “Hugo told me he’s here. Jorge is in Miami!”
“I wouldn’t jump to that conclusion. Your old lawyer in San Salvador thinks it would be a miracle if Jorge is still alive.”
“Mr. Santos doesn’t know my husband. Why would Jorge be a murder suspect if he’s not even here? Why would the police be checking Beatriz’s DNA for a partial match if he’s not in Miami?”
“The police could have any number of persons of interest. Sometimes they just want to rule things out.”
“Jack, I have to get out of here.”
“Out of where?”
“Out of Miami.”
“You can’t do that. You posted a bond to get out of detention, and one of the conditions is that you cannot leave Miami-Dade County. If you violate that condition, you forfeit your bond, and Judge Greely will send you back to detention.”
“You don’t understand,” she said, her voice rising with panic. “You don’t know half of what Jorge did to us. We have to get out of here!”
“Julia, you can’t go anywhere.”
“I’m sorry, Jack.”
“Julia, listen to me.”
“I have to go.”
“Julia!”
There was silence on the line. Julia was gone.
Chapter 41
Cy’s Place was packed with its traditional Valentine’s Day crowd: men and women with no date, Theo included.
Theo was behind the bar mixing his signature drink, the Flaming Wild Banshee. One-fifty vodka and a dash of jalapeño juice, so named for the standard warning Theo issued to the bravehearted. “Light it up, belt it back, and try not to end up running through the bar like a flaming wild banshee with your hair on fire.” Theo was serving one up for a lonely and indecisive businessman from Philly who’d exercised the poor judgment of ordering, “Wha
tever you recommend, good sir.”
Theo set the flaming shot glass on the bar top, which usually triggered a reaction, but this guy was too deep into self-pity to notice that the flickering blue flame was threatening his eyebrows.
“I hate this day,” the man said, grumbling.
“Alexander Graham Bell Day?”
“Valentine’s Day.”
“Never heard of it. February 14, 1876. Alexander Graham Bell patented the telephone. Why the fuck people send roses to their girlfriend to commemorate it, I have no idea.”
“I’ll drink to that,” the man said, and he belted back the banshee.
Theo’s cell rang. It was Jack, and Theo answered in his mushy voice. “Aw, you remembered. I love you so much, Jackie.”
“I got a problem,” said Jack. “Julia’s freaked out, thinks her husband is in Miami, and wants to get the hell out of town.”
“I thought that guy was dead. Is he here?”
“Nobody’s actually seen him, as far as I know, but the police seem to think he could be in Miami.”
“The Miami police?”
Jack gave him thirty seconds on the DNA, a subject near and dear to Theo’s heart, as it was DNA that had sprung him from death row.
“Whaddaya want me to do?” asked Theo.
“If Julia so much as crosses the county line, she’ll end up back in detention. Judge Greely said Baker County Facility was full, but ICE will find room for anyone who violates the conditions of release on bond.”
“So you want me to stop her?”
“Andie will kill me if I bail out on dinner. Can you just go by Julia’s place and calm her down? And yeah, make sure she understands that she cannot go anywhere.”
“Sure, I can get someone to cover the bar for an hour or so.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
“No problem,” said Theo. “And by the way: Happy Alexander Graham Bell Day.”
Julia cleared the plates from the table and took them to the kitchen sink.
Beatriz had said nothing during dinner. She’d eaten nothing, hadn’t even taken so much as a sip of water. She just sat there, and when Julia was finished, Beatriz had gotten up and gone to take a shower before bed. At least she was bathing. Still, it was like night and day, the difference between the girl who’d left for school so excited about the Valentine’s Day treats for Ms. Alvarez and the zombie at the dinner table.
The Girl in the Glass Box Page 17