“That’s okay. I’ll take a cab.”
“Can you come right away?”
“Yes. I’ll leave now.”
“Excellent.” She hung up without saying good-bye.
I sat staring at the phone and let the news sink in. I’d found Elizabeth after all. And finally I’d know who I really was—or try to find out, anyway. I’d find some way or another to convince her to tell me. I had to.
And then it hit me. I could make it up to Phil that I hadn’t gone along with her plan.
She answered on the first ring. “Philips here.”
“Guess what? Lopez has found Elizabeth. He wants me to meet him and make an identification.”
“Where?” she asked.
“The Sand Dune Motel, room sixteen. Thought you might like to have a chance to talk to Elizabeth yourself. I’m on my way right now.”
“Lopez has probably already alerted the Bureau, since the SFPD is working jointly with them.”
“If you’re worried that your boss won’t like you being there without an invite, just tell the truth—that I asked you to come as my friend.”
“Gotcha.” I could hear the grin in her voice. “I’ll meet you there. Thanks for the heads-up. I appreciate it.”
“Sure. No problem.” I wanted to say something about being sorry for our disagreement earlier in the day, but I couldn’t quite get the words out. Phil said good-bye and hung up.
I got up from the sofa and crossed to the door. My heart rate notched up. I opened the door and looked at the elevator gate across the corridor. Sweat broke out over my entire body. I stepped back into the loft and let the door swing shut. I stood still, waiting for the reaction to fade. All I had to do was open the door and get in the elevator. Nothing was going to happen to me this time. I put my hand on the doorknob, but couldn’t make myself turn it.
I turned around and my eye fell on the Styrofoam box. Food—that was it. I needed to eat. I just had low blood sugar. The box held a huge Mexican dinner of enchilada, tamale, chili relleno, rice, and beans. I ate slowly and deliberately. I thought about going into the hallway and getting into the elevator, and my stomach roiled. I put the remaining food aside.
Who needed an elevator anyway? If Rico had climbed up the fire escape, I could climb down. I crossed to the tall windows at the front of the loft and gazed out. No fire escape. I hurried into the bathroom, which had the only other window—dingy safety glass with chicken wire embedded in it. It was dark on this side of the building with no street light illumination. I could just see the rusty fire escape outside, but the window frame was covered by at least eight coats of paint. I pounded the frame with my fists, then kicked it with my feet until my leg and hip ached and my ribs yelled at me to stop. It didn’t budge. I kicked the glass itself. Nothing. Even if I cracked it, how would I get the wires out?
I turned around and paced the loft several times. I ended up in front of the door. This time I couldn’t even make myself put my hand on the knob. I paced some more. I could do this. I had to do this.
Asking for help ranked among my least favorite things to do, but I couldn’t see another choice. I picked up my phone and pushed the button that automatically dialed Rico’s number and let it ring until it went to voicemail. I hung up and called Phil again. I should have asked her to come get me when I’d called her. No answer there either. Maybe that woman, what was her name, Becky? Maybe she was still downstairs. I called information and asked for i-systems, but there was nothing listed in the directory. If it had been a regular phone, I would’ve slammed it down. Just touching the end call icon on the screen provided no satisfaction at all. I went back into the bathroom and kicked the window again and again. A few small cracks radiated out from the point of impact, but the window itself didn’t give.
Okay. I had no choice but the elevator, and when I got out of here, there was no way I’d come back, so I needed to get ready. I went through the contents of my duffle, took everything out, refolded and repacked it.
Stop wasting time!
I took a shower and changed my clothes. Then I had to pack my duffle again.
You’re a useless coward.
I sat and rehearsed what I planned say to Elizabeth.
Now get up and go, I told myself. Go now. I picked up my duffle, opened the door and felt so light-headed I had to hang onto the door frame. The faintness passed once I was inside the loft again with the door closed.
I’d wasted so much time, they’d all probably left and taken Elizabeth with them.
I can’t do it.
Pull up your socks, Sister, Aunt June said—as if she were right by me and spoken the words out loud.
And she had said it out loud, standing in the chicken coop after the coyote had slaughtered five of our seven hens. I stood next to her, staring at the carnage of bloody feathers and crying. By lantern light, I’d helped her shovel out the remains, bury them, and wash down the roosts. I sobbed over the white-and-black speckled feathers of my favorite hen, but I’d done what had to be done.
Pull up your socks, Sister. Her words for facing something awful that had to be faced. She said it only when she knew I could deal with a situation, no matter how I felt. Like the savaged chickens. Like Aunt June herself, pale and shrunken and about to slip off to her forever sleep. I’d held her hand and sat with her until the end. And what could be worse than that?
Shaking and sweating, I exited the apartment and pulled the metal gate open. I moved slowly into the elevator, but didn’t let myself stop, even when vertigo nearly felled me. I pulled the gate closed and pushed the button for the first floor. Eyes tightly shut, I pressed against the wall of the elevator car. When the car jolted to a halt I hurried too fast to open the gate and the handle slipped from my sweaty grasp. I wiped my hands on my jeans and tried again. This time the gate opened and I staggered out. I slipped by the open door of the i-systems office and out the glass front doors. I had to walk two blocks before I could flag down a taxi. I gave him the motel name and address and sat in the back of the taxi, hugging my duffle to my chest and staring into space until the driver pulled to the curb.
“This okay?” the driver asked. “I can’t get any closer.”
I looked out the window. Two police cars, lights flashing, blocked the motel’s driveway. “This is fine.” I handed him his money and got out of the cab.
I didn’t see Lopez. He was probably in the room talking to Elizabeth. I glanced up at the buzzing neon sign above the motel office. The first and last letters were out, so it read “_and Dune Mote_.” Elizabeth would stay in a place like this only if she needed to hide out and couldn’t leave town. She must be pretty desperate.
I started to walk past the cop cars, but a uniformed officer stopped me. “It’s okay,” I said. “Inspector Lopez asked me to come.”
“I don’t think so. We just put in the call to the squad. Plainclothes aren’t even here yet.”
“Yes, they are. Inspector O’Hara said they would wait until I got here so I could identify Elizabeth.”
“Well, no one told me,” he said. He turned and waved to another uniformed officer who crossed toward us. “Would you escort her to the scene? She’s here to make the identification.” The cop nodded and asked me to follow him.
Something wasn’t right. “What scene?” I asked, hurrying after him around the back of the motel office. That’s when I saw the yellow crime scene tape. I ducked under the tape and ran toward the door of room sixteen. A third cop put out an arm and barred my way.
“We’re not supposed to let anyone in until the ME gets here.”
“Yeah,” my escort said, “but homicide asked her to ID the body.”
“What body?” I almost asked. But of course I knew. I was too late. Someone had gotten to Elizabeth after all. Regret tugged at the edges of my mind. For the mother who’d never been a mother. For the lost chance to know who I
was.
“Okay,” the cop at the door said. “Sure you’re up for this? It’s not pretty.”
“Yes,” I said. It couldn’t be any worse than the poor FBI agent who’d been killed the day before.
He stood aside to let me move forward. “You can look from the doorway, but don’t step inside.”
I moved to the spot he indicated, gazed at the horror in the room and screamed.
Phil lay sprawled on the carpet, her head in a pool of blood, the fingers of both hands grotesquely twisted, and rows of cigarette burns marched up both arms.
Chapter Ten
A uniformed cop drove me to the police station and handed me over to an officer who put me in the same interview room I’d been in the day before. He had me take the seat Uncle George had sat in—the one facing the two-way mirror. He brought me coffee without asking whether I wanted any. Or maybe he’d asked and I hadn’t heard him. I had trouble hearing anything but my own screams echoing in my head. I wrapped my hands around the paper cup just to feel some warmth and tried to make my mind a blank. My hands liked the heat but my head kept replaying images of Phil’s tortured body.
The coffee grew cold, and I shoved my hands into my pockets and huddled down into my coat. The room was warm enough, but a chill had formed at the core of my body. If only I hadn’t called Phil. If only I’d gone to the motel right away. If only I’d called Lopez back to see if the call was legit. If only…I could go on for hours with the if onlys, but it all came back to one thing—everything was my fault. My own stupid fault, because I couldn’t get in an elevator like a normal person.
Lopez came into the room and sat down across from me at the table. “How you doing?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but my throat closed up and I felt tears burning my eyes, so I settled for just nodding.
He reached over the table and took my coffee cup. “You’re not drinking this, are you?”
I shook my head.
“I’ll be right back.” He left carrying my cup with him.
I straightened in my chair and rubbed my eyes until the tears retreated. No point in losing it and embarrassing myself in front of Lopez.
Lopez came back and put a steaming cup of tea and a plate of doughnuts in front of me. “You don’t look so good. Sugar and caffeine will help.” He pulled some sugar packets out his pocket and tossed them on the table. “Put that in the tea.”
I wrinkled my nose.
“Or I could take you to the ER and have the docs check you out for shock.”
I tore open a packet of sugar and dumped it in the tea. Lopez nodded approvingly and nudged the plate of doughnuts closer to me. He waited for me to stir my tea, take a sip and bite into a glazed doughnut. “Helluva thing you saw.”
I nodded and continued to chew the doughnut.
He pulled a notepad and pen from his coat pocket and flipped open the pad to a clean page. “So you told the officer at the scene that I’d called you and told you to meet me there?”
“Inspector O’Hara. Someone who said she was Inspector O’Hara gave me a message that you’d found Elizabeth and wanted me to identify her because you weren’t absolutely sure it was Elizabeth.”
“Did this O’Hara sound familiar to you?”
“You mean, did she sound like Elizabeth? I don’t think so.”
“We have two O’Hara’s. Neither one’s female or an inspector.”
“No kidding,” I said, leaning on the sarcasm. “Look, I know I was set up.”
“So you think they called because they wanted you to be the one to find Agent Philips’ body?”
“No.” I dropped the half-eaten doughnut back onto the plate. “I was the one they wanted to hurt, to kill. I called Phil and told her, then I…was delayed, so she got there before me.”
“Any idea who’d want to kill you?”
“Dwayne, of course. I’m an eyewitness, right? And he didn’t know that they’d recorded him at Elizabeth’s.”
“So who’s the woman?”
“How should I know?” I said, my voice rising. “All I know is that it was supposed to be me, not Phil. They called me, and she’s the one who ended up all…” My throat closed up and I broke off.
Lopez nudged the tea closer to me. “Take a couple of breaths and drink some more tea.”
I did as he said. In a few moments I was able to talk again. “You saw what they did to her? Her fingers? And those burns? Elizabeth might have had something to do with it.”
“What makes you think that?”
“The cigarette burns.” I paused. “That’s something she used to do to me when I was….uncooperative.”
“Jesus,” Lopez muttered.
“What I’m trying to work out is who called me. I just got that cell phone today. Or I guess now it’s yesterday. I gave my number to Inspector Springer, to Phil, and to Uncle George.”
“Uncle George who was in here yesterday asking more questions than he answered?”
I nodded.
“We had him checked out. He came into town yesterday like he said. Checked in to his hotel alone, but we don’t know what he did after he left here. I’ll get someone to check his alibi for tonight.” He made a note on his pad. “So they’re the only ones who had your number?”
I hesitated. “Except for the guy who gave me the phone. His name’s Rico. I don’t know his last name, but I have his cell phone number. It’s on speed-dial.” My hand shook as I pulled out my phone and handed it over to Lopez. I didn’t realize how much I didn’t want to think that Rico might be involved until I’d said his name.
Lopez took the phone, checked the number and jotted it down in his notebook. “So this guy’s local? Not from Vegas?”
“He’s the taxi driver who picked me up from Elizabeth’s apartment. Only I’m pretty sure taxi driving’s not his regular job. He’s kind of an entrepreneur. I think he might be…connected.”
Lopez gave me a steady look. “Connected,” he echoed. “You mean like organized crime-connected? And how do you know anything about that?”
“When Elizabeth wasn’t conning nice men out of their life savings, she tended to hook up with that kind of guy. Since then I’ve worked in casinos in Miami, Atlantic City, and Vegas, and I’ve seen the type, overheard some of their talk.”
“Anything more than overheard talk? Did you do something to make someone mad? Get on their wrong side?”
“No. Nothing.”
Three loud raps on the mirrored wall made me jump. “Who’s that?”
“That would be the FBI.”
I lifted my gaze to the mirrored wall, staring at it as if I could see the faces behind it staring back at me.
Lopez pushed back from the table and stood up. “Drink your tea and eat another doughnut.”
I made a face.
“Just do it. It’ll help you keep it together. I’ll get you some real food as soon as I can.” And he was out the door.
I did as Lopez ordered, and he was right. The caffeine and sugar helped me feel less shaky—until he came back into the room with Special Agent in Charge Williams and two other agents. Lopez and Williams sat across from me but the two agents remained standing behind them. If Williams had intended to intimidate me, he’d succeeded. It wasn’t just the feeling of being in front of a military tribunal that made me want to shrink back into my chair, it was also Williams’ demeanor. Even before he asked his first question, he conveyed profound skepticism, as if no matter what I told him, he wouldn’t believe me.
Williams folded his hands on the table. “Now, Valentine, you met mobsters in various casinos. Give me names, dates, and places.”
“I didn’t meet them. I just saw them and overheard bits of conversation.”
Williams leaned forward. “Two highly decorated federal agents have been killed. So, don’t waste my time. Names, dates, places, and w
hat you overheard.”
I closed my eyes and retraced my steps over the years since Aunt June died. I didn’t need to close my eyes so I could remember, I just needed to shut out the somber, skeptical gazes of the four men in front of me. I gave them a detailed account of my travels, where I worked, who I worked for, and descriptions of everyone I’d guessed had mob connections. When I opened my eyes, no one had moved or changed. “Aren’t you going to write any of this down?”
Without taking his eyes from my face, Williams pointed to a wall-mounted camera behind him. I hadn’t noticed it—testament, if I needed it, to how upset and distracted I was.
Williams wasn’t done. He made me repeat everything I’d already told Lopez. When I reached the end of my narrative, he narrowed his eyes at me. “The part that puzzles me, Valentine, is that you called Special Agent Philips and agreed to meet her at the motel, but you didn’t, because in your words, you were delayed. So you didn’t get to the motel until nearly two hours later. Can you elaborate on this delay?”
I tried to give the short version—trapped in the elevator when the circuits overloaded, panic attack, inability to get back into the elevator for over an hour because of my phobia. I kept my tone neutral, nearly clinical. I didn’t want to involve Rico, Mike, and Nancy. Most of all, I didn’t want anyone to see how embarrassed and ashamed I was. But Williams wouldn’t have it. He hammered away at me, picking apart my story, making me recount every stupid second I’d spent not getting into the elevator. I gave him every detail. I even told him I’d heard my Aunt June telling me to pull up my socks and that, in the end, was how I managed to take the elevator to the ground floor. Once I’d said Aunt June’s name aloud, the tears began and I couldn’t blink them away. I lowered my head onto my folded arms on the table and hid my face.
The questions stopped. I heard feet shuffling out of the room, the door closing behind them. Good. I was sick of all of them. Lopez being nice with the tea and doughnuts. Williams being mean, acting as if I knew Phil was going to be murdered.
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