“I never liked Frank,” she whispered as Sonny started the truck and headed out of the barrio, past the Barelas Center and through Old Town.
She waited and when he said nothing, she said, “I never trusted him.”
He held the steering wheel tightly as they drove past Old Town and north on Río Grande. The traffic on the wide boulevard moved to the slow tempo of the hot June day.
Sonny knew a lot of people couldn’t stomach Frank Dominic. He was a power-hungry manipulator who let nothing get in his way, but surely he wasn’t a murderer. Maybe somebody was trying to make him drop out of the mayor’s race by murdering Gloria? Alburquerque was on a drug route; it wasn’t Chicago or LA, but there were those who, for the right price, would hire out to do anything. But who would want to stop Dominic that badly? He wasn’t even ahead in the polls just days before the election.
Gloria’s sweet fragrance filled his truck, and he saw her image. He turned to glance at his tía Delfina. She used the same perfume. Yes, Gloria’s perfume. He knew Gloria provided for her mother, saw to it that her mother, who did not want to leave the barrio, had everything she needed. She even brought her her own favorite perfume.
“Do me a favor,” Frank had said to Sonny at the mayoral party. “Dance with Gloria. I’ve got the press here, all these people—”
He had turned to greet his guests, and Sonny hated him for his smugness. As if he alone had any claim to Gloria.
But he was glad to dance with her, glad to hold her again and dance as they had so many times in the past. And she was in good spirits. The protective shell had evaporated, at least for the night.
“Just like old times,” she said with a smile as they swirled to the waltz, a dance she had taught him, leading him just slightly until she felt the urge in him to take over, then letting him take the lead, content to feel his body guiding hers.
Frank didn’t know that Gloria had taught Sonny to dance when he was in high school. Evenings when he visited her, they ordered pizza and drank wine in her apartment; sometimes they smoked pot. She loved to take off her shoes and dance. She was a romantic at heart, one who had been hurt early in life. With Sonny she felt safe.
He couldn’t have saved her from her desperate past, but as the glamorous wife of a powerful man, Gloria seemed to Sonny far beyond that now. Even after she’d survived incredible abuse, evil had come for her at last.
Damn! Sonny thought. Hadn’t she been through enough in her life? If he hadn’t been able to help her in life, he knew he now must find who had caused her death.
3
A cop waved for Sonny to slow down as he approached the Dominic home. The street was blocked off, but Sonny explained that the woman beside him was the victim’s mother, and the officer at the detour talked into his walkie-talkie, then waited for what seemed to Sonny a long time. The truck grew hot, and finally the officer said okay he could park near the cordoned area and report to the officer at the door. He waved them through.
One of the television reporters stopped him as he parked and helped his aunt out of the truck. “Francine Hunter, News Four, Mr. Baca. I covered the bust in the Sandias. The dentist and the marijuana farm,” she reminded him. “I interviewed you.”
He nodded.
“Why are you here? You a relative?”
“No comment,” Sonny answered.
“Who’s the woman?” She nodded at tía Delfina and pushed the mike under his chin.
“Family. Now give me a break.” He took his aunt’s arm and pushed past the reporter.
He had to stop at the front door. Howard Powdrell from the city’s forensic lab was dusting the door. Howard and Sonny were compadres. Four years ago, Sonny had been working with the South Valley Neighborhood Youth Center as a summer counselor when the kids ran in shouting that a little girl had just fallen in the irrigation ditch that ran behind the center. Sonny had arrived in time to pull her out of the water and apply CPR. The little girl, Howard’s daughter, had not suffered complications, and Howard and Sonny had become close friends, compadres.
“Howie.”
Howard took his hand. “Hey, man, I’m sorry, really sorry.”
“Gloria’s mother.”
“My condolences,” Howard said, and tía Delfina nodded. She stood quietly gathering her strength, Sonny knew, for the difficult task of viewing her daughter’s body.
Sonny sniffed the air. The fragrance of flowers and burned candle wax drifted into the foyer. “What happened?”
Howard shook his head. “Terrible,” he muttered, looked at Delfina, and tried to fill in the awkward silence. “Front door wasn’t locked,” he said.
Sonny noticed the key ring with keys hanging on the inside doorknob. The gold key ring was embossed with the initials FD inside the coat of arms of the old duke of Alburquerque.
“Where’s Frank?” Sonny asked.
“Inside.”
“Can we go in?”
“I’m done,” Howard nodded, “but let me clear you.”
“Who’s in charge?”
“Garcia,” Howard replied and moved into the shadows of the house. Sam Garcia was the chief of the Alburquerque police, and if he was handling the case it meant they were giving the murder top priority. The potential future mayor deserved nothing less.
Howard returned, motioned. “Don’t touch anything,” he said, the caution meant more for tía Delfina than for Sonny. He led them into the living room, a huge area in Santa Fe adobe style with a large fireplace in one corner. On the mantel sat a row of colorful kachina dolls. The door facing east gave way to the patio. On the opposing wall hung a huge tapestry embroidered with the coat of arms of the duke of Alburquerque.
“Chief’s in here with Simmons,” Howard whispered.
Sam Garcia and Jack Simmons, the county sheriff, looked up. Frank Dominic was probably the most influential man in the city, so cops from both jurisdictions had showed up. As far as Sam Garcia was concerned, Frank Dominic lived in the city and the case belonged to the city police. The man was running for mayor, not for county commissioner. Jack Simmons thought differently. Cases as juicy as this one was bound to be didn’t come along often.
Also seated in the large living room was a somber Casimiro, Dominic’s right-hand man. Next to him sat a likewise quiet Al Romero, Dominic’s numero uno attorney.
They were waiting for someone from the medical examiner’s office, and all knew that shit was going to hit the fan the minute the examiner’s report was made public. The fact that the victim was the wife of Frank Dominic made it front-page news. There would be a run for handguns in the gun shops when the public learned of the grisly event, a clamor for the murderers to be caught, perhaps a call for the police chief’s scalp if the case wasn’t solved quickly.
They looked at Sonny, but only the police chief rose.
“Mrs. Dominguez.” Sam Garcia stepped forward to take tía Delfina’s hand. “I am so sorry. Gloria was a wonderful woman—”
“Let me see her,” tía Delfina said coldly.
“It’s not pleasant—”
“I didn’t come for pleasantries. I came to see my daughter.”
“As I explained on the phone, señora Dominguez, it is definitely a homicide. I’m sorry, I think it would be best if you view the body from the van outside. We have a video screen in there—” He turned awkwardly to Sonny. “Why don’t you take Mrs. Dominguez out to the van—”
“I want to see my daughter,” tía Delfina insisted, her voice rising, her gaze cutting through the chief.
The chief squirmed. He looked at Howard.
“I’m done,” Howard said.
“Let her,” a voice interrupted, and all turned to see Frank Dominic enter and stand by the large hallway entry that led to the back of the house. “Buenos días, Delfina,” he said.
Tía Delfina turned to look at Frank but didn’t acknowledge him. The man stood as immobile as a statue, not a hair out of place, dressed in a three-piece dark suit, like he was ready to step out to do a
campaign speech. No grief showed in his face. The silence in the room was heavy.
Frank Dominic’s command cut through police regulations. The chief shrugged. “Howard, you take Mrs. Dominguez. We have to be careful about touching anything.”
Howard took her arm and led her past Dominic down the darkened hallway. Sonny started to follow, but his tía shook her head, nodding for him to stay. She wanted to view her daughter’s corpse alone.
“Tough woman,” Sam Garcia said and looked at Sonny. “She shouldn’t be here.”
“Gloria’s her daughter,” Sonny reminded him. “She has a right.”
Garcia frowned. Last summer Sonny had gotten headlines in the paper. The press had lauded him while criticizing the police department. A dentist, Sonny’s dentist, had been growing marijuana up in the Sandias. A whole farm of it with the latest technology, drip irrigation and solar panels.
The dentist’s secretary had made a move on Sonny, so one night he found himself having a drink with her. She was mellow, and she told Sonny that if he ever needed good homegrown mota she could get it. “My boss grows it,” she explained, telling Sonny the specifics of the operation.
The following day Sonny was having coffee with Howard, and he mentioned the elaborate setup. “I thought the chief would like to know the guy’s a lousy dentist,” Sonny said, and Howard smiled. There was a bust and the newspapers made Sonny out as a hero in the war on drugs.
“The secretary wouldn’t speak to me after that,” Sonny complained later.
Chief Garcia broke the silence. “I feel like a drink. Damn! This is gruesome! Why are you here?” He turned his anger and frustration on Sonny.
“My aunt asked me to bring her. And Gloria is my cousin.”
“I want you to keep out of this,” Garcia continued. “Don’t get involved. This is way out of your league.”
“When did it happen?” Sonny asked.
Garcia just frowned and turned away.
“She was murdered ’bout midnight,” Sheriff Simmons offered.
“Murdered,” Sonny whispered. He still couldn’t believe it. He kept thinking he was going to wake up from a bad dream, like he had awakened from the chain-saw nightmare, and Gloria would be alive.
“Cold-blooded murder,” Dominic said.
From the back of the house a high, keening cry echoed, then all was silent again. Tía Delfina had vented her grief in one long cry. The men in the front room turned, waited. No sobs followed, only silence.
Dominic cocked his head. “This is awful, damn awful. Yesterday she was alive, planning things, now she’s dead. And the way it was done …” He shuddered.
Before Sonny could reply, tía Delfina appeared at the door. She looked coldly at Dominic, her face dark and expressionless. “Now you can have your way,” she hissed.
“I know you don’t like me, Delfina, but you have no right to—”
“To accuse you?” She arched her eyebrows. “We shall see,” she said and turned to Sonny. “I want you to find whoever did this.”
“I—” Sonny stepped forward, shaking his head, feeling the tension in the room. “Tía. The police will take care of this,” he stammered.
“This man has the police in his pocket,” tía Delfina said, looking at Frank, her anger rising, her wrath about to explode.
“We’re in nobody’s pocket!” Garcia replied, the vehemence in his voice surprising even him. “Mr. Dominic’s right! You have no right to accuse anyone!” He shook his head but pulled back, afraid of the scene Delfina could create.
She hated Dominic for her own reasons, and they were afraid she would come right out and accuse Dominic of the murder.
“My daughter was murdered!” She turned to Howard who stood behind her. He nodded. She turned back to Sonny. “I am hiring you to find the person who killed her! I have that right! My daughter is dead!”
She stood trembling and Sonny reached out, thinking she would fall. “My daughter is dead,” she kept whispering as he helped her to a chair.
“Tía, you’re upset. Let the police handle this. You know Chief Garcia will do his best.”
Howard brought a glass of water from the kitchen.
“Here, tía—” Sonny whispered. “Drink this.”
“I’m all right,” she said. She sipped, handed the glass back to Sonny, and covered her face with both hands. Sonny could feel the trembling of her body.
“Get her outta here,” Romero, Dominic’s attorney, whispered to Sonny. But tía Delfina refused to move; she was lost in her grief.
Dominic shrugged and turned down the hall.
Sonny looked at Howard. “Watch her,” his look said, and he turned to follow Dominic.
“She always hated me,” Dominic said, leaning against the wall. For a moment his composure broke, his voice was low and troubled, and Sonny saw a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “She’s crazy, you know. Don’t you go getting into this.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Dominic trembled. “I’ll show you,” he said and led him down the hall into the master bedroom located in the back.
The large bedroom, decorated all in white, was as neat and quiet as a funeral parlor. There was a trace of perfume in the air. The scent of garden flowers was wafting in through the open door that led to the patio.
The large canopied bed stood in the middle of the room. It also was all in white, and on it lay the form of the body covered with a white silk bedspread.
“You want to see her?” Dominic asked, and for a moment Sonny almost said no. He remembered his father in the casket, remembered how much the sight had taken out of him, and he didn’t know if he could face Gloria’s dead body. Memories of their evenings together came flooding back. She shouldn’t be dead, he wanted to scream. She didn’t deserve to die.
Dominic went to the bed and pulled back the silk bedspread without hesitation. His wife had been murdered, and he could lift the sheet and not feel Gloria’s spirit. Sonny felt a tightness in his stomach, he felt a breeze stir around the body as he stepped forward. The ashen, lifeless color of her face shocked him, but even in death her striking features revealed her beauty.
“They drained her blood,” Dominic said.
“Drained her blood,” Sonny repeated. He felt the hair rise along the back of his neck. The woman in his dream had tried to draw his blood with the saw. The nightmare had connections, complexity.
“Yeah. They cut open her vein and drained her blood. Crazies, Sonny, sonofabitching crazies!”
Sonny shook his head. Who would kill a woman and drain her blood? There was something diabolical in the room, an evil presence, he felt it.
He wanted to reach out and touch her cold cheek, but he hesitated. Whatever the spirit in the room was, it was swirling around him, making him dizzy. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
“Gloria,” Sonny whispered, as if apologizing for her death, wanting to do something but feeling impotent in her presence.
“Only crazies would do something like this,” Dominic said. “Drain her blood like some fucking satanic crap. God, what a time for something like this to happen!”
Cabrón, Sonny cursed. He was thinking only that this would ruin his mayoral campaign. He wasn’t feeling anything except inconvenience over his wife’s death! He reached for a chair, touched the wood, gripped it tightly to steady himself.
“Where were you?” he asked.
Dominic shrugged.
“Where were you?” he repeated, the sound of his voice creating a reality in the swirl he felt.
For an instant Dominic looked surprised, then scoffed. “What the hell difference does it make where I was! I don’t have to tell you!”
“You weren’t here?”
Dominic raised an eyebrow. “Don’t pull the private investigator crap on me, Sonny! I don’t owe you any answers!”
“You owe her mother!”
“Delfina? She hates me. Always did. I don’t owe her anything!”
There was no love between the son-in-law
and the mother-in-law, Sonny knew. Dominic wanted nothing to do with the barrio. He wanted Gloria’s beauty and her family name, but not the familial connections.
The spirit filling the room with its heavy presence forced Sonny to look again at Gloria. “Avenge me.”
Had Gloria spoken? Did Dominic hear what he had heard? Her dark hair a swirl on the silk pillow framed her lovely, cold face.
“Why doesn’t Delfina trust you?”
“She’s crazy, that’s why. People told her stories about me. Me and women. So she hates my guts. Hire you.” Dominic laughed. “See how crazy she is? You find kids who run away from home, Sonny. You help divorced mothers collect alimony from guys who skip out. Or take dirty pictures like you did of the mayor and the boxer. But murder? Hey, let the cops handle it. This isn’t like chasing after missing persons or cheating husbands. Whoever did this is dangerous.”
Sonny’s throat felt dry, constricted. He shivered. The cold presence of death pervaded the room. The voice was calling to him.
“I have to help her,” Sonny said.
“Don’t start fucking with me. I don’t give a damn what Delfina says!”
Dominic’s forcefulness battered Sonny. He felt weak, but it wasn’t just Dominic’s power, it was the force of the spirit in the room making him shiver. He took a step forward, again wanting to reach out and touch Gloria but unable to. Something cold and heavy was enveloping him.
Any other time he could stand up to Dominic, tell him how he, too, despised him because of the way he treated Gloria, but he couldn’t. Gloria’s death had not seemed to affect Dominic, but it was sending Sonny into a tailspin, a vertigo he couldn’t fully explain or shake off.
“Just keep out of it,” Dominic said in parting. His voice carried the weight of a command. Then he turned and walked quickly out of the room.
Sonny was startled by Dominic’s voice resounding through the house, shouting at the police chief, then the slamming of the door as he left.
Left alone, he walked slowly around the bed, staring at Gloria. He remembered when he was nine. His mother had sent him and his brother Armando to the store for milk. On the way home a neighbor’s pit bull got free and attacked them. Armando froze, dirtied his pants, and waited to be ripped apart by the enraged dog. Sonny thought of running, felt his system pumping adrenaline and tasted fear in his mouth, yet he turned to face the dog. He snatched a stick from the ground and struck at the dog.
Zia Summer, Rio Grande Fall, Shaman Winter, and Jemez Spring Page 3