Make Them Sorry

by Sam Hawken

  The chef’s shoulders sank. He collected the platter. He reached for the coffee, but Roche put his hand over the cup. “Leave it,” he said.

  “Of course, Mr. Roche. And if you change your mind, I—”

  “That will be all,” Kaur said.

  Enrique fled. Kaur and Roche regarded each other across the table. Roche sipped from his cup, the coffee black. “We’ll need to contain this,” Roche said.

  “That’s not my job. It’s yours.”

  “Then you don’t object if I take things to the next level?”

  “Beyond killing the woman? What next level is there? I’m not some kind of crime boss, Brandon, I’m a banker. I deal with clients and accounts and you handle the security. I agreed we needed to work together on this, but that’s only because you promised me plausible deniability. Is there any way she can prove we ordered it?”

  Roche rested his elbows on the table. He tapped steepled fingers against his chin. “Proof is a difficult proposition, but if she decides to talk there will be people who’ll listen. And that’s not something we can afford. Not now.”

  “Then take care of it. Just…take care of it. I can’t have this on my plate.”

  “It’ll be done.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  CAMARO HAD TO wait a long while to see Faith at the hospital. These things took time. She was patient in the hallway, seated on a chair with a flattened cushion and slightly clammy vinyl upholstery. When a nurse signaled her, she went into the room.

  Faith’s face was bandaged so her injured eye was covered completely. Cuts and bruises had been treated. Faith looked as though she’d gone through a plate-glass window. Camaro saw that they had her on an IV drip of pain meds. Something to take the worst of it off, but not so potent as morphine.

  It was dim in the room. Faith’s good eye flickered open. She smiled faintly, and beckoned Camaro closer with a hand covered in tape, the IV tube leading from it. “Hey,” she said. Her voice was cracked. “Long time no see.”

  “How are you?”

  “How do I look?”

  “You don’t look good.”

  “Awesome.”

  “I’ve seen worse. You’ll make it.”

  “They told me if I hadn’t fought him, he would have done it to me anyway, and maybe he might have done more.”

  “That’s true. You don’t want to be someone’s victim.”

  Faith made a weak fist and bumped it against Camaro’s. “Girl power,” she said.

  Camaro looked around the room. It was small, but a large window dominated one wall. It was almost impossible to tell the sun was up because a blackout shade covered nearly the entire square of glass. Only a little light seeped in around the edges. Outside it would be a beautiful day. In the hospital, it would be the same as always.

  “You don’t like hospitals?” Faith asked.

  “What?”

  “Hospitals. You don’t like them.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You have a look.”

  “I’m tired of visiting people in them. People I care about get hurt by people who shouldn’t be allowed to breathe the same air as the rest of us.”

  Faith seemed to think about this. Her eye closed. Camaro thought she might be sleeping. The eye opened again. Faith’s voice was stronger now, but laden with fatigue. Soon there would come a long, narcotic sleep. Camaro had been there, too. “I know what you want.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You want to know who he was. Why he followed me.”

  “Don’t you want to know?”

  “No,” Faith said.

  “It doesn’t matter?”

  “He was a crazy person. What does it matter why crazy people do what they do?”

  Camaro heard something in Faith’s voice. It wasn’t fear, but it was difficult to identify. “I think you should know. It’s better if you know.”

  “I said I don’t want to!” Faith stirred on the bed. “I don’t care.”

  “Maybe not now, but later you will. Believe me, you’ll want a reason.”

  Faith fell silent. Camaro let her quietness go on. Finally, Faith said, “I’m not going to stay here long. I have things to do.”

  “You stay until you’re ready,” Camaro said. “You don’t have to like it, but you need the help.”

  “No, I have to go.”

  Camaro put her hand on Faith’s. She felt the rough surface of the tape, and the cool plastic of the IV tube. A moment of memory flashed, of another hospital in another place far away, but not so long ago. Camaro shook it off. “Look, I know you want to move past this, and the guy is dead, but that doesn’t mean you have to start running. You don’t have anything hanging over you anymore. So take the time you need and get well. Don’t rush it.”

  “Would you lie in a bed somewhere and let people take care of you?”

  “If I had to.”

  Faith looked away, toward the shaded window. “I want to be stronger than that.”

  “There’s being strong, and there’s being stupid. Don’t be stupid.”

  Faith turned to Camaro again. Something kindled behind it. “Who do you see when you look at me?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “All of this…it’s not only for me. I’m just somebody you met one day.”

  Camaro felt her cheeks warm. “You needed help. That’s all.”

  “Who was it? A friend? A sister?”

  “That’s enough,” Camaro said. “You don’t need to worry about it. You’re my friend. I’ll watch out for you.”

  “Are we friends?”

  “Yes.”

  The slightest of nods. “Okay.”

  “I’m going to go,” Camaro said. “You have my number. Call me whenever you need to. Doesn’t matter day or night.”

  She turned to go. Faith called her name. “You did a good job, Camaro. Don’t think you didn’t.”

  “Rest now.”

  She left the room and eased the door closed behind her. Her chest was tight. She breathed until the pressure lessened. Up and down the hallway it was quiet, the only bustle coming from the nurses’ station at one end. There were no visitors except Camaro.

  On the first floor, her phone rang. It was Ignacio Montellano’s number. She answered. “Detective,” she said. “What is it?”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m leaving the hospital. Where are you?”

  “Right now? I’m watching them cut open our guy. You should be here. So much fun.”

  Camaro stepped out into the sun and was dazzled. She took Wayfarers from her back pocket. “I’ve seen what people look like on the inside.”

  “I’ll bet. Listen, I’d like to sit down with you and have a talk. Remember the restaurant where we ate? You can meet me there?”

  “I think I can find it.”

  “Good. Come by in two or three hours. We’ll have some lunch.”

  Camaro looked around the parking lot. She realized there was no one to watch out for anymore. “What do we have to talk about?”

  “I have questions. They’re easy questions. So how about it?”

  “I’ll see you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  THEY SAT IN the same booth as before. It was busier than it had been, the midday crowd at their tables eating rich food. The air was full with overlapping, even overpowering aromas. Every time the kitchen door opened, another gust of cooking scent billowed into the dining room. Camaro dug into a plate of pernil asado, pork shoulder braised with onions in its own juices and spices. Ignacio seemed to eat nothing but sandwiches every day.

  He inquired about Faith and he commented on the food. He was slow to come around to the rest. Camaro found herself wanting to speak before he asked his questions. She knew this was his game.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Ignacio said after a while. “You’re thinking I’m making an excuse to sit down and eat with a pretty lady again.”

  Camaro snorted. “Th
at’s not what I was thinking.”

  “Yeah, we covered that, didn’t we? Still, I know when people see us together, they’re going to wonder.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Ignacio smiled. “I think that’s what I like the most about you. You really don’t care. You’re you. I know a lot of people act like they’re something they’re not, but you don’t make any excuses for yourself. Not even when you’re making big-time mistakes.”

  Camaro pulled away a piece of pork with the tines of her fork. The meat came apart easily. She put the bite in her mouth, chewed slowly, and watched Ignacio until she swallowed. She followed the bite with beer. The spice and the cooling drink balanced exactly. “What mistake am I making now? You said yourself this was an open-and-shut. Self-defense. The guy Faith shot was some wacko. That’s all.”

  “Let me tell you something about police work, okay? It’s not always about the person who does the crime. It’s about the people around that person. So Faith Glazer, she gets a pass, but then people start asking me, ‘Who is this Camaro Espinoza? Where does she come in?’ That’s when things get complicated for you and me, because we have history. I have to have my story straight.”

  Camaro frowned. “There’s no story to keep straight. Faith needed help. I helped her. And if I hadn’t, that asshole would have raped and killed her last night.”

  “She bought the gun because of you?”

  “I suggested it, yeah. So what?”

  “Did you have any reason to suspect the stalker would attack? Is that why you told her to buy a gun?”

  “She didn’t even buy the gun until it was almost too late,” Camaro said. “What do you people want? For her to have nothing?”

  Ignacio made a gesture of surrender. “Hey, I’m not the one asking, okay? I’m going to put it in the report that Ms. Glazer was in fear for her life, and she asked for help from a friend and from the police. The friend said she should learn to fight and buy a gun. So she did.”

  “You think someone will want more than that?”

  “Who knows? I want to make sure it’s airtight, that’s all. Because if it turns out you and she did know he was coming, or if you precipitated the attack, it opens up a whole can of worms.”

  Camaro took up her beer. She drank. When she put the bottle down, it banged on the table. “Would anybody even ask that if it was a man who got attacked?”

  “They might.”

  “No, they wouldn’t. Because nobody cares what a man does. But when it comes to a woman, it’s all, ‘Did she ask for it? Was she leading him on?’ And that’s bullshit, Detective. It’s bullshit! And you have to know it. How can you not know it?”

  Ignacio’s expression turned somber. He nudged his plate away. His sandwich was unfinished. “Yeah, I do. I’m not defending it. People get weird ideas when it comes to this kind of thing.”

  “Yeah, well, fuck them.”

  “Can I put that in my report?”

  “In capital letters.”

  Ignacio laughed. Camaro’s scowl melted. They laughed together.

  “That’s a new one,” Ignacio said when they finished. “You laughing.”

  Camaro let her face settle. “Yeah, whatever. Is there anything else?”

  “I’d really love to know more about this guy.”

  “So would I.”

  “Here’s the weird part: no ID, no fingerprints in the system, but I’m pretty sure he’s not an American. He had a notebook in his car with times and dates, but the rest is all in some kind of foreign language. Now, this doesn’t mean anything by itself, but I’m thinking again: not American. They’ve been fingerprinting people entering the U.S. since 9/11, so he ought to be somewhere, right? Nothing. But he has some tattoos, including one in the same language from the notebook. At first I thought it was Hebrew or something, but it’s Armenian.”

  “What does it say?”

  “Armenia’s kind of far away from Miami. I’m going to talk to someone who can help me out, maybe get someone on the notebook. And who knows? Somebody might recognize his picture. Not that I think every Armenian in Miami knows every other Armenian. You know what I’m saying?”

  “Sure.”

  The check came. Ignacio snatched it away before Camaro could touch it. “Not this time. I’m putting it on the department’s dime. Meeting with a witness. Enjoy the free food.”

  “I told you I don’t want to owe you anything.”

  “You don’t. It’s like it never happened.”

  Camaro shook her head. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

  “Absolutely. But it never hurts to have friends. Faith Glazer figured that out. She found you just in time. It’s lucky.”

  Something sparked in the back of Camaro’s mind. “Yeah,” she said. “That is lucky.”

  Ignacio paid the server in cash. “I need a receipt,” he told the man. “And that’s it, Ms. Espinoza. We are officially out of police business. Thank you for your cooperation, ma’am. You’ve been very helpful.”

  They got up from the booth and left the restaurant. Ignacio held the door for Camaro. She didn’t object. Her thoughts were elsewhere.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  THE DOOR TO Faith’s apartment was festooned with police tape, but it was possible to duck under the yellow strips and gain access to the inside. The door was broken. Camaro assumed it was because the police needed to force entry when they arrived. The stalker, the man without a name, hadn’t needed such blunt methods. He was quieter, quicker, and he knew how to get in and out without being seen. He’d been on Faith before she even realized he was in the room.

  Camaro looked around. Her jaw worked, muscle flexing under the skin. She surveyed the overturned couch, the shredded cushions, and where the man had cut open the bottom of the furniture to look inside the frames. Camaro knelt beside a chair turned upside down and peered in through the gaping hole in the black fabric usually hidden underneath. She saw nothing.

  Everything that could be broken had been broken. In the front room Camaro walked over the torn remains of a print that used to hang on the wall. In the dining area she saw where the man had methodically punched out the pictures of the Art Deco hotels and searched the frames.

  It began to coalesce around her, the sensation of order in the chaos. The man had gone from room to room, and from likeliest place to unlikeliest place, tearing the apartment down to the carpeting. At first it seemed like rage, and the image of destruction was complete, as though a terrible storm had ripped through Faith’s home. Camaro saw him, all in black, hands protected by gloves, searching and searching until his search brought him back to Faith and the barrel of her gun.

  In the bedroom, blood was all that remained of the man. It was possible to make out the shape of his fallen body from the pattern on the floor, and there was also a void where Faith had been. A smell lingered in the room, partly gunpowder and partly fear, underpinned by the fresher scent of whatever Faith used to perfume the air.

  Camaro looked in the closet and in the bathroom. All the contents of the medicine cabinet and the cabinet underneath the sink were spilled onto the floor. After a while Camaro returned to the front of the apartment. She cast a closer eye over the destruction. She went into the kitchen.

  Faith’s garbage can was kicked over, but the contents did not appear to have been searched. Camaro righted the plastic bin and opened it. A dirty coffee filter had spilled grounds all over everything inside, and there were more than a few apple cores and discarded empty trays of packaged fresh vegetables. Camaro put her hand in the soft, wet mess and felt around until she found what she was looking for.

  She extracted the phone book, still in its plastic bag, from the bottom of the garbage can. She dropped it on the counter by the sink. She washed her hands before taking a wad of paper towel and wiping the detritus from the phone book’s bag.

  The phone book was like any one of a half-dozen different kinds dropped on people’s doorsteps all over the city. This didn’t matter to her.
The book itself would tell her nothing. She wiped coffee grounds off a white square on the lower edge to reveal a printed name and address. The company’s name was Gold Coast Direct Marketing. The address was in Liberty City. Liberty City was not on the coast.

  Camaro took her phone from her pocket and snapped a picture of the address label. She dropped the bag and the book into the trash. She wiped the mess off the counter before throwing away the wad of paper towel. She left the apartment.

  “Hello?”

  Andrea was there. She looked drawn and tired. No makeup concealed the darkness under her eyes. “Hey,” Camaro said.

  “Is Faith back already?”

  Camaro stepped away from the door. “No, she’s still at the hospital. It’ll be a day or two.”

  “Is she…okay?”

  “It’s better now she’s in the hospital.”

  Andrea looked past her. “Why were you in there?”

  “She asked me to bring her something.”

  The woman saw Camaro’s empty hands. “But…”

  “I couldn’t find it.”

  “If you see her, tell her I’m thinking about her, will you? I feel so guilty because I had no idea someone was creeping around. And I’m pretty sure I saw him a few times. I mean, I thought he lived here. He told me his name and everything.”

  “What was it?”

  Camaro moved closer to Andrea. The woman retreated the same distance. “Eduard. I think.”

  “Did you tell the cops?”

  “No, because I didn’t even think of it until later on. I remember the first time I saw him, though: he was bringing phone books around to all the units. Later on he was by the pool or in the laundry room. He was just here, you know? But he couldn’t live here, right? I mean, this is a nice complex and the people aren’t weirdos.”

  Camaro didn’t come any closer. She watched Andrea cling to one elbow, arm tight across her belly. “There are creeps all over,” Camaro said.

  “He could have picked me,” Andrea said. “He was crazy, so he could have picked me. It could be me in the hospital right now.”

  Camaro had nothing to add. “I’ll tell Faith you said hello,” she said. “I’m sure she’ll like that.”