Dead of the Day (2007)

by Karen E. Olson

  Carmen nodded. ''Me, too.''

  ''But Rosario and Roberto?'' I asked.

  ''We don't know how they got here,'' Carmen said softly.

  ''Where can I find Lucille?'' I asked.

  ''She's around,'' Carmen said. ''She's got an office at the church.''

  ''Which church?''

  They exchanged another look but didn't say anything. I wasn't going to get shit out of them about Lucille. I figured I'd try another tack. ''Did Rosario have a boyfriend or anything?''

  Luisa scowled. ''He put all sorts of crazy ideas into her head.''

  ''Like what?''

  ''She say she want to go to college.'' Carmen said it like Rosario had wanted to rob a bank.

  What had happened to the American dream? Immigrants coming to the United States to better themselves, make their fortunes? These girls just wanted to get a green card and then, well, what? Make minimum wage and be happy they weren't back in Mexico where they'd have to live on even less? That was fucked up.

  ''What's her boyfriend's name? Where can I find him?'' I asked, hoping to get something out of these two.

  Carmen shrugged. ''She never brought him around. We don't know anything about him. We don't know why he was a secret.''

  ''They met at Atticus,'' Luisa offered up, referring to a cafe´/bookstore on Chapel Street. ''Rosario worked the breakfast and lunch shifts there.'' A glance between the two girls showed that Rosario had trusted Luisa more than Carmen.

  ''They've got to get back to work now.'' Garrett had snuck up on us and startled me. He took Carmen's arm and started leading them away from me. ''We've got work to do,'' he scolded. ''You can't take up all their time.''

  I needed more time, but it was obvious he wasn't going to let me have it. ''Well, if you don't want me to talk to them, maybe you know how I can reach Lucille, since obviously she must be the contact on their employment application.''

  Garrett whispered something to the girls and they went back to their places in line along the machines. He turned to me. ''These kids need a break. They want to work, and they're good workers. But there are eyes everywhere in their world, and you were talking to Rosario and now she's dead. I don't want them put at risk.''

  I tried to see behind the bullshit, because I was sure that's what it was, but he was good. He looked me right in the eye when he spoke, his voice measured and slow. He knew damn well how to reach Lucille, and he wasn't going to tell me anything.

  I nodded. ''Okay,'' I said. ''Thanks.''

  I made my way out of the room and took the back way through the loading dock out of the building. At least I'd gotten a tiny bit of information. Lucille had an office at a church. Of course, there were a lot of churches in the city, but I was sure I could narrow it down to those in Fair Haven. I could start cold calling, then thought better of it. No one would tell me anything over the phone. I'd have to go over there and start knocking on doors.

  Chapter 22

  It was lunchtime. It wouldn't hurt if I stopped somewhere and grabbed something to eat before I went to find Lucille. And why not Atticus? Maybe I could get a line on Rosario's boyfriend there. It dawned on me that the last couple of times I'd stopped in there, I noticed the employees were mostly Latino, so maybe one of them was this mysterious guy who wanted more for Rosario.

  Two jobs and possibly working at the warehouse, too? I wondered when Rosario planned to take classes.

  The board near the door indicated that they had their mouthwatering black bean soup, so I slipped onto a stool at the counter and scanned the employees. Yeah, they were all Latino. A short, thin guy, probably in his twenties, came over to me, a quick, warm smile on his face.

  I ordered the soup and a Coke, then added, ''I was wondering, did you know Rosario Ortiz?''

  The smile disappeared and his eyes fell. ''Yes.''

  ''I'm Annie Seymour, with the Herald. I know she worked here.''

  Immediately, I could see a wall go up. ''She was getting her green card. She had a sponsor.''

  He thought I was here because she was illegal. I shook my head. ''No, I don't care about that.'' Al though I knew I was back to Lucille. But first things first. ''I heard she had a boyfriend here. I was wondering if you could help me.''

  That surprised him. ''He didn't work here,'' he said after a few seconds. His eyes moved back behind me, and he cocked his head. ''That's him, over there.''

  I turned and saw him.

  ''I'll take my lunch over there,'' I said, as I picked up my bag and joined the tall young man at the table against the wall.

  It wasn't until I was seated that I noticed his face was slack, his eyes a little glazed. It looked like he wasn't getting much sleep. ''I was going to call you,'' he said softly.

  ''Hi, Dwayne,'' I said, remembering that I'd met him the night of the shooting just down the street from here. ''I've been looking for you.''

  Dwayne sighed, his big shoulders looking out of place on his long, thin body. ''You know? About me and Rosario?''

  I nodded as a waitress set my bowl down on the table. I ate a couple of spoonfuls of soup, waiting for him.

  Finally, ''I keep thinking she'll walk through the door.'' He made a sort of sobbing sound before he caught himself, sniffed, and got himself under control.

  ''Did you meet her here?''

  He nodded. ''We met two months ago. I come in for lunch or coffee pretty regularly; we started talking. She was pretty amazing. She wanted to go to college, get a degree, make something of herself.''

  ''What do you do?'' I asked. ''Do you go to school?''

  He nodded. ''I'm a junior at Yale.''

  Interesting.

  ''You knew Rosario didn't have her green card?''

  He shifted in his chair and took a deep breath. ''She was getting it. Someone was helping her.''

  ''Lucille?'' Now if Dwayne knew where I could find Lucille, it would make my day.

  He nodded. ''Yeah, Lucille.'' It was the way he said it that made me take notice.

  ''You don't like her?''

  ''No. She's been making Rosario wait six months now, and every few weeks she asks for more money. I told Rosario she shouldn't give her any more, because she's getting ripped off.''

  I pondered that as I continued to eat my soup. If Rosario was refusing to make her payments, maybe Lucille knocked her off and had Hector throw her in my trunk. Made sense to me. ''Do you know where I can find Lucille?''

  Dwayne shifted again, rolled his neck like he had a crick in it. ''Not sure. She has an office in one of those churches over there in Fair Haven. Maybe Grand Avenue?''

  Shit. ''So you've never met her?''

  ''Once. We ran into her at the deli. She wasn't happy Rosario was with me,'' he said.

  ''Because you're black and not Hispanic?'' I ventured.

  He smirked. ''Yeah. And because my father's a lawyer in New York, and I go to Yale. She doesn't want Rosario getting too comfortable with anyone else outside her own kind. Like maybe Rosario'll get some smarts and realize she's being scammed.'' He paused then, his eyes getting softer. ''She was beautiful,'' he said, so quietly I had to lean closer to hear. He started, like he'd forgotten I was there for a second, and sat up straighter. ''I was asking around, you know, to find out how she could get her green card without Lucille. I even went to talk to her boss at the Herald.''

  ''Garrett Poore?''

  ''Yeah, that's right. But he said the paper wasn't willing to help those girls out there.''

  No shit. It was admirable of Dwayne to have tried to find out. But his words left me with some more questions for Garrett. He hadn't mentioned meeting Dwayne or having that conversation.

  ''Did you know Rosario's brother?'' I asked.

  He bit his lip and nodded. ''He was a quiet guy, never wanted to rock the boat. He had three jobs, too, trying to take care of Rosario. He was a decent guy, from what I could see. I had no idea he'd do what he did.''

  I mulled that over for a few seconds while I finished my soup. Something had certainly pushed
Roberto Ortiz over the edge.

  ''I'm glad I ran into you,'' I told Dwayne as I put a few dollars on the table for my lunch. I handed him another one of my cards, just in case he no longer had the one I already gave him. ''If you think of anything else about either Rosario or Roberto, can you call me?''

  Dwayne nodded and got up with me. He followed me out onto the sidewalk, and as he started to walk away, I said, ''Hey, Dwayne.''

  He turned.

  ''I'm sorry about what happened to Rosario.''

  He shrugged. ''Thanks,'' he said, turning away again, but not so quickly that I didn't see him wipe the tear from his eye.

  Now I knew I had to find Lucille, even though she probably didn't want to be found. But before I could start the car engine, my cell phone rang. I dug it out of my bag, wincing a little as I twisted my wounded hand. It didn't really bother me unless I moved it.

  I checked the number on the phone before flipping the cover. ''Hey, Marty,'' I said.

  ''Have you found out anything about that sweatshop?''

  ''I got a little off target. But I'm checking it out now,'' I lied.

  ''Well, you might not have to,'' he said slowly.

  ''Yeah?''

  ''Yeah. It seems that our publisher gave our executive editor the heads up that the feds are moving in on that warehouse tonight.''

  I let Marty's words sink in. Bill Bennett could only have found out about this from my mother. My mother, who had some sort of list of names and who had asked me how I knew about the warehouse.

  I was going to have to go see her. ''It's my mother, isn't it? She's his source, right?'' I asked.

  ''Can you try to find out about this? He only said tonight, didn't have details.''

  ''I'm on my way over to her office now,'' I told Marty, closing the phone and tossing it on the seat next to me.

  My head was swirling with too much information, too many questions, and not enough answers. I hated multitasking, wishing news happened one thing at a time so I'd have time to cover everything properly.

  My mother's office is on the fifth floor of a modest office building on Church Street. I went up in the elevator, tapping my foot subconsciously to the Muzak—something Bee Gees—and when the doors opened, stepped into a world of clean rugs, gleaming wood floors, and fresh paint. I didn't think my system could handle it. I was used to dirty carpets with mice running around occasionally, chipping paint, and piles of old newspapers that seemed to attach their black ink to your person even if you just walked by, not to mention how your hands looked after actually leafing through them.

  At the end of the hall, I pushed open the door that sported the sign announcing that Hoffman, Giametti, and Cohen were behind it. Carla, the receptionist, sat at a desk arranged so no one could get past without her knowing about it. She raised an eyebrow at me.

  ''She's busy,'' Carla said firmly.

  She was always busy. I didn't give a shit. ''Tell her I'm here about tonight.''

  Reluctantly, Carla picked up the phone and gave my message to my mother. She listened a second, then put the phone back down. With a sigh, she waved her hand toward the hall. ''She'll see you.''

  I didn't want to gloat, but I couldn't help but grin. ''Thanks,'' I said as I moved toward my mother's office.

  Another desk stood sentry outside my mother's office. Angie, my mother's secretary, was absent, the desk spotless, the computer dark. Must have the day off. I pushed the door open.

  My mother sat at her desk, her glasses perched at the end of her nose. She looked up at me. ''What do you know about tonight?''

  I sat in the chair across from her. ''Hell, Mom, you told Bill about it. Warehouse raid. Is that what the fax was all about?''

  She studied me for a few seconds and pulled her glasses off, putting them on the desk. ''Is that it?''

  It was the way she said it that made me wonder if there was something else going down, something that maybe Bill Bennett hadn't figured out. But then I had another thought. My mother wouldn't let even Bill Bennett know about something if it was supposed to be top secret. No, she let this slip, which meant she wanted the paper to know about it.

  And it led to another idea. ''The person who stole the fax; are you setting him up?''

  The corners of her mouth twitched, like she wanted to smile, but she kept it at bay. ''You might want to talk with your detective. I don't think I'm the person to talk to.''

  ''You're working with the cops?''

  Now she did smile. ''Good try, but I can't tell you anything.'' She rustled a few papers around. ''I've got a lot of work to do, Anne. Nice to see you.'' She picked up her glasses and stuck them on her nose again.

  I stood up. ''Okay, I'll go talk to Tom. Can I tell him you told me to ask about this?''

  Another serene smile. ''Go ahead.''

  I couldn't figure this one out. I was mulling it over as I rode down in the elevator and walked back to my car. The chirp of my cell phone interrupted my thoughts on the sidewalk.

  I didn't recognize the number. ''Hello?'' I asked.

  ''Miss Seymour?''

  ''Yes?''

  ''This is Dr. Moore.''

  It took a second before I remembered: the medical examiner. ''Yes, Dr. Moore?''

  ''You wanted me to call on the John Doe floater?''

  The Hispanic guy. The one Marisol saw tossed into the harbor. ''Yes, thank you. What did you find?''

  ''He didn't drown. He died from an anaphylactic reaction.''

  ''Layman's terms?''

  ''A reaction to a bee sting.''

  Chapter 23

  I was back where I started. Wesley Bell was right about the bee stings. Dr. Moore explained that, while it's not very common, there are some people who do die of insect stings. He said symptoms show up within minutes of the sting and would include wheezing, nausea, and vomiting. The person's blood pressure would fall and his windpipe would close, causing death.

  ''But he probably collapsed before actually dying,'' Dr. Moore said. ''So he probably didn't realize what was happening.''

  Cold comfort.

  When I climbed into my car, I sat for a few seconds, pondering this new information. If the guy died from bee stings, why would someone feel it necessary to throw his body into the water? I mean, it didn't seem like foul play, unless someone sicced the bee on him. Yeah, right, take a bee and somehow get it to sting someone on command.

  But then I wondered if you could do that. Hell, if Lin Rodriguez was training bees to sniff out bombs like David Welden said, then maybe you could do it. On a whim, I dialed the hospital to see what Lin's condition was.

  ''Mrs. Rodriguez has been released,'' the public information officer told me. The hospital kept everyone at bay and made us all call the same number to find out conditions of patients.

  ''She's gone home?''

  ''She's been released.'' The phone went dead.

  I glanced at my watch. One o'clock. I still wanted to see if I could find Lucille, and I was also going to have to find Tom to ask about this warehouse raid. Shit, he wouldn't tell me a damn thing and my mother knew that even as she told me to ask him. But I had to try.

  I pointed the Kia in the direction of the police station and within ten minutes found myself going up the stairs. As I pushed the glass door in, it slammed against someone who muttered, ''What the fuck?''

  I'd hit Sam O'Neill. He glared at me, rubbing his forehead where the door had knocked him. ''What do you want?'' he demanded. ''I've got to get going.''

  I shrugged, now on his side of the door, but stepped away so I wouldn't get hit the same way if someone came in. I didn't want to tell him I was looking for Tom, since he'd told me to stay away. Instead, I found myself saying, ''We have a mutual friend.''

  I hadn't meant to mention Marisol to him, but sometimes I just say things without thinking. Sometimes it turned out to be a disaster, but sometimes I managed to get some useful information. I hoped this time it was the latter.

  ''Marisol Gomez,'' I said quickly, because he w
as obviously in a hurry and it was the only way I could think to stop him.

  And it did stop him. From the look on his face, which grew darker after an initial second of surprise, I could see this conversation might not turn out the way I'd hoped. ''What?'' he asked, taking my arm and pushing the door open, leading me back outside. ''What are you talking about?''

  So that was the way it was. Well, two could play this game.