A Place in the Wind

by Suzanne Chazin

  “Okay.”

  Vega grabbed some logs and kindling from his woodpile in back and carried them into the house. Diablo trotted back and forth with him, nearly tripping Vega a couple of times, until they were both trailing wood chips, mud, and leaves into the house. He opened the glass doors of the fireplace and tented pieces of dried kindling over a nest of wood chips and crumpled newspaper. Within minutes, he had a crackling blaze going. It warmed the whole room.

  Joy made herbal tea for both of them. Vega thought of it as barely-flavored water, but he happily accepted a mug, if only because he could drink it sitting next to his daughter.

  “Thanks for taking care of Diablo tonight.” He stared at the mug. And then he remembered. He walked over to his backpack.

  “Here.” He placed Max Zimmerman’s gift in Joy’s hands. She read the words.

  “ ‘I Love You A Latke’? Where did you get this kitsch?”

  “Adele’s next-door neighbor. He’s this old Jewish guy. I shoveled his walk. He gave me the mug.”

  “Strange payment.”

  “It wasn’t a payment, Joy. I did it to be neighborly. For Adele’s sake. Mr. Zimmerman’s proud. He doesn’t like people doing things for him. He wanted to give me something to say thanks. He found out you were Jewish, so he thought you might like it.”

  She put the mug down on the table. “It’s sort of . . . hokey. Nobody makes a big deal out of being Jewish these days.”

  “He’s in his eighties. From somewhere in Europe. I think back then, it was a very big deal.”

  Joy stared into the fire. Vega watched the flames dance in her big, dark eyes.

  “Not the time for hokey, I guess,” he said. “Did you know Catherine well? I gather she was only a year behind you in school.”

  “Mom and Alan are good friends with the Archers.”

  Maybe too good, thought Vega. But he hoped to keep Joy ignorant of that for as long as possible. “How about Catherine? I’ve never heard you mention her.”

  “She was nice.”

  “Nice? That’s all you can say?”

  “We didn’t travel in the same circles.”

  “But you must know stuff about her. Who her friends were. What she liked to do on weekends. If she had a boyfriend.”

  Joy cradled her mug and stared at the steam rising from it. “I’m sure her parents have already answered those questions.”

  “I’m sure they have,” said Vega. “But unless John and Robin Archer have been tracking Catherine by surveillance camera since she reached puberty, I’m betting that half or more of their responses were wishful thinking divorced from reality.”

  Joy’s lips curled in a small, sad smile. Vega had only to think of his own complicated relationship with his daughter—close as it was—to realize the limited influence and even more limited awareness most parents have about their teenager’s actions.

  “What do you want me to say, Dad? Catherine’s dead. I don’t want to disparage her memory. Or hurt her parents.”

  “But if you know something that can help the police figure out what happened—”

  “Everyone knows what happened,” said Joy. “That creep, Benitez, raped and killed her. His picture’s all over the news.”

  “It’s too early to say for sure what happened—”

  “Oh, come off it, Dad!” Joy’s dark, doe-shaped eyes flashed with anger. She ran a hand through her tangle of long black hair. “I know you and Adele are an item and all. But I hope they close that place down. I hope all those people go away! They’re a menace.”

  Vega reared back. He couldn’t believe the words coming out of his own daughter’s mouth. “Joy—your high-school boyfriend was an undocumented Mexican. His whole family was undocumented.”

  “They were different.” She threw up her hands. “Or maybe I was just naive. You always said you didn’t like the idea of anyone breaking the law.”

  “I don’t,” said Vega. “It goes against my grain as a police officer. But that said, one person’s actions shouldn’t define an entire group of people. And besides, nobody knows what happened to Catherine yet. It’s going to take time to sort that out.”

  “You really believe this immigrant had nothing to do with her rape and murder?”

  No. No more than Vega believed that Joy’s mother and John Archer were doing anything legit together at the Magnolia Inn Friday night. But he kept that thought to himself.

  “If you know something about Catherine, please tell me,” said Vega. “I won’t take it back to Mom, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

  Joy stroked Diablo, who had muscled himself between them and was claiming more of the couch with each passing minute. The dog was a total space hog. Vega scratched his belly and waited. He’d learned as a cop not to fill in the silences. It took a minute or so, but Joy finally answered.

  “The Archers . . . like to keep up appearances. Perfect bodies. Perfect clothes. The right schools. Todd graduated Yale and then went to Kellogg for his MBA.”

  Vega had no idea what university Kellogg was attached to. All he could picture was Tony the Tiger dancing across a box of sugar-frosted flakes—which said more about Vega’s college experiences than it did about Todd’s.

  “You walk into their house and nothing is ever out of place,” Joy added. “It’s like a museum.”

  “Was Catherine like that?”

  “She was when we were younger. It used to infuriate me when I’d go over there and she wouldn’t let me sit on her bed because she didn’t want me to wrinkle the bedspread. Everything had to be perfect.”

  “She was spoiled, in other words.”

  Joy got a stricken look to her face. “I can’t believe I’m saying these things.”

  “You’re just giving me an idea what she was like.”

  “But that’s just it,” said Joy. “She wasn’t like that. Not really. That was how she was raised. But then later in high school, she became friends with some girls in my grade who were . . .” Joy’s voice trailed off.

  “Who were what?”

  “Sort of the last girls you’d expect a girl like Catherine to become friends with.”

  “Druggies? Delinquents?”

  “No,” said Joy. “Smart girls. But not popular or wealthy. Definitely not connected. I saw her hang mostly with Lydia Mendez and Zoe Beck. Lydia’s parents were undocumented from Ecuador, and Zoe’s mom is single and works at the Safeway supermarket in town.”

  “Where are these girls now?”

  “Lydia got a scholarship to a college way upstate. Zoe goes to Valley, like me. She works a bunch of jobs to stay there. One of them’s this great internship in environmental science, so I’m a little jealous.”

  “Were both girls still friends with Catherine?”

  “I don’t know about Lydia, but I’m sure Zoe was still friends with her. That girl hung on Catherine like glue. Not that you’d know it from the Archers. I’m sure neither Lydia nor Zoe ever set foot in their house.”

  “The Archers didn’t like them?”

  “The Archers didn’t know them,” said Joy. “They didn’t want to know them. Lydia’s mom cleans houses and her dad mows lawns. Zoe dyes her hair purple and wears a ring through her nose. Catherine’s mom was very much into her being with the right sort of people. They wouldn’t have qualified.”

  Vega wondered what Robin Archer would have made of him. He probably wouldn’t have gotten past the front door either. “Did Catherine have a boyfriend?”

  “She never mentioned one.”

  “Perhaps . . . she didn’t run that way?”

  “Are you asking if she was a lesbian, Dad? You can say the word, you know.”

  “Well? Was she?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  Vega sat back on the couch and stared at the fire. “Sounds like Catherine had a soft spot for people who were struggling. She volunteered with the immigrants at La Casa. She was friends with the girls that girls like her normally snub. You think this Benitez could
have charmed her in some way? Maybe painted himself as some sort of dashing desperado and won her sympathies?”

  “I don’t know,” said Joy. “From the mug shot I saw on the news, he looked pretty scary. Tattoos all over his arms and neck. Dr. Jeff says gangs are rampant in Central America.”

  “Who’s Dr. Jeff?”

  “My environmental-science professor,” said Joy. “The one Zoe’s interning with. He’s spent a lot of time in Guatemala and Honduras.”

  Vega nudged the textbook on the rug at Joy’s feet. Our Changing Earth. “Is this his class?”

  “His class and his book. He wrote it.”

  Vega picked up the heavy tome. “Let me guess. He makes you buy the latest volume.”

  “He just wants us to be as up-to-date as possible.”

  “Riiight,” said Vega. “It has nothing to do with book sales.” Vega thumbed the pages. He found the professor’s picture and CV near the front. Jeffrey Langstrom was a lanky, balding, lifelong academic, with John Lennon glasses, a gray beard, and a ponytail Vega assumed was there to compensate for what was missing on top. The two styles Vega hated most on men were bow ties and ponytails, and this man sported both.

  “Says here, he’s the founder of POW. What’s that?” asked Vega.

  “You don’t remember the petition drive I was involved with back in November?” asked Joy. “To protect Lake Holly’s wetlands?”

  “Wetlands. Right.” Vega was embarrassed to admit that he couldn’t remember a thing about it.

  “Protect Our Water was behind it. Dr. Jeff’s organization is the only one fighting to preserve our water.”

  Vega pointed to the snow piling up outside the sliding glass door to the deck. “I don’t think we lack for water, Joy.”

  “It’s not about quantity, Dad. It’s about quality. About trying to stop projects like that golf resort Mike Carp wants to build that will destroy the wetlands that filter Lake Holly’s drinking water.”

  “Mmm.” Vega’s eyelids drooped. He knew this stuff was important. But it had all the sex appeal of a gypsy moth mating study. He yawned.

  “It’s late, chispita. Let’s get you upstairs to bed. I’m here now. There’s no reason for you to feel unsafe, okay?”

  Vega half coaxed and half carried his daughter upstairs to bed. He tucked her in like she was five again. Then he took a shower and fell into a deep sleep, with Diablo at the foot of his bed and the sound of the lake ice pinging in the distance like a stretched rubber band.

  * * *

  Vega’s cell phone rang beside his bed early Sunday morning.

  “Jimmy?” It was Adele. “I’m so sorry to wake you.”

  “No, no. It’s okay. I’m awake,” he lied. The huskiness of his voice betrayed him.

  “Is there any way you could maybe cut short your father-daughter time this morning?” Her voice lacked its normal breathy vibrato. She sounded like she was talking through a straw.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I went through all my phone messages from work this morning.” By “morning,” Adele must have meant four a.m. It was only seven now. “One of them was from a teenage boy. He said his brother is the man the police are looking for.”

  “His brother is Rolando Benitez?” That snapped Vega awake. He sat up straight in bed. Even Diablo perked up his ears.

  “He called to ask if I could arrange his brother’s surrender. I called him right back and left my cell number, but so far, he hasn’t responded.”

  “Did you alert the Lake Holly PD?” asked Vega.

  “He said his brother wants to surrender to me, and me alone. No police officers.”

  “Yeah, and I want to win the lottery and retire to Florida—”

  “This might be the only way to bring him in peacefully.”

  “Using you as bait? No goddamn way, Adele. Either you call Lake Holly right now or I do.”

  “All right. I’ll call,” said Adele. “But I want to be involved. I owe it to the Hispanic community to try to affect a peaceful surrender.”

  “Then set up a meeting,” said Vega. “We can talk to the PD together and stress your concerns. I’ll be your eyes and ears if it makes you happy. But there’s no way you’re stepping within twenty feet of a guy like Benitez.”

  “I’m not going to trick this kid into giving his brother up to the police.”

  “This kid could be an accomplice, for all you know,” Vega reminded her.

  “He sounded like a scared adolescent to me,” said Adele.

  “Yeah? Well, so was Catherine Archer.”

  Chapter 10

  The brother called back. But the news wasn’t good. Rolando Benitez would only surrender if he could do it to Adele alone. At La Casa.

  “Yeah, right?” Greco snorted. He played with the cellophane from a half-eaten stick of licorice and shared a look with the other cops gathered around Adele’s dining table: Vega, Steve Jankowski, and Omar Sanchez. Vega jiggled his legs. Jankowski rolled his pencil across his notebook. Sanchez doodled. Adele wasn’t used to having four large, armed, hyperactive men in her dining room. She felt like she was corralling a herd of wild bulls. The place was too small and orderly to contain them. That’s why she sent Sophia to play in her room.

  “Benitez wouldn’t make it past the gauntlet of protesters,” Greco added. “They’ll break him open faster than a piñata in a room full of baseball bats.”

  “Maybe he’s counting on the cameras,” said Adele. Every major station in the country was broadcasting the story—and La Casa was front and center in it.

  “Yeah, he’s counting on the cameras, all right,” said Greco. “But are you? Are you prepared to have your face in the middle of all this?”

  Greco had a point.

  “Either way, she’s not part of this,” said Vega.

  It irked Adele that Vega was answering for her. She knew he was anxious for her safety. But she had other concerns to think about as well. Like her reputation. She nudged his thigh and shot him an annoyed look. He ignored her.

  “How about Our Lady of Sorrows?” Vega suggested to the table, almost like she wasn’t there. “A priest is a good intermediary.”

  “Benitez refused,” said Adele. “He said there would be too many fellow Guatemalans there on a Sunday. It would be too embarrassing.”

  “Then arrange the surrender in the priest’s office.”

  “He said no.” Adele found herself gritting her teeth. Vega was supposed to be here to support her wishes, not convert them to his own. “And besides, a church is filled with old people and children on a Sunday. Innocent lives could be placed at risk.”

  “Your life is innocent too,” Vega countered.

  “My life is my own,” said Adele. “And I would appreciate it if you stopped treating me like a child. I’m capable of making my own decisions.”

  “Not this time, you’re not—”

  “Jesus H. Christ!” Greco threw his hands in the air. “You two wanna fight? There’s a boxing ring down at the Boys and Girls Club. You can go at it when we’re through. In the meantime, we’ve got a murder suspect to bring in. Do you mind?”

  Adele and Vega both hunkered down in their seats. Jankowski leaned across the table and focused on Adele.

  “I think we can all agree that surrendering at La Casa is out,” he said. “So where does that leave us?”

  “Wil said his brother wanted someplace private. Someplace I knew well and the police didn’t.” Adele’s palms turned sweaty when she thought about what she’d agreed to. “I suggested the preschool.”

  “The . . . preschool?” asked Sanchez. “La Casa’s preschool?” His broad shoulders compressed as he absorbed the news. Like he was flinching from a blow.

  “Yes,” said Adele. “At two o’clock.”

  The room turned so quiet, Adele could hear the collective breathing of the men. Vega was the one to break the silence.

  “No. No way, Adele.”

  “Has running La Casa rotted your brain?” asked Gr
eco. “You want a convicted rapist to surrender for a murder at a preschool?”

  “No, Detective Greco,” said Adele. “This is not what I want. What I want is for this man to surrender peacefully and away from the spotlight. We explored every other avenue—”

  “Adele,” Vega interrupted. “Your preschool?”

  “It’s a Sunday. There are no children there. Benitez was unwilling to turn himself in, any other way.” Adele pressed her palms on her dining table and fixed the three Lake Holly police detectives in her gaze. “I want to be crystal clear about this, gentlemen. This is a peaceful surrender. No SWAT teams. No cops in body armor with stun grenades.” She turned her gaze on Vega. “And I want to be the one who meets Benitez and hands him over—”

  “No! Absolutely not!” Vega looked across the table at the other three cops. “Tell her no.”

  Jankowski winced like he’d been asked to preside over a marital dispute. “He’s right, Adele. The whole situation’s too unpredictable.”

  “We can’t guarantee your safety,” Sanchez added.

  “Or even that your boy will show,” said Greco. He looked the most wary of all. He was not a great optimist when it came to human nature.

  “I think he will,” said Adele. “His brother seems sincere.”

  Jankowski shoved Benitez’s old Colorado mug shot and arrest records across the table to her.

  “Whatever you think about the kid, he’s still the brother of this monster.”

  The photograph was seven years old. Benitez had filled out since then. But Adele still recognized him. He had tattoos all over his arms and neck. The bridge of his nose had a flattened look. And yet, even then, she couldn’t call him menacing-looking. He had big soulful eyes that registered something pained and embarrassed beneath their glaze of fear. It was like he’d woken up from a dream and couldn’t place his surroundings.

  “I already know what Benitez looks like,” said Adele. “I remember him as Darwin from La Casa.”

  “And this Darwin,” Jankowski mocked the fake name. “He didn’t give you pause?”

  “No,” Adele said. “He never caused any trouble that I knew about. So he has a lot of tattoos. So what? A lot of law-abiding Americans have tattoos these days. He had nothing with any gang insignia that I could see. Nothing on his face. Like I said, his brother seems like a good kid. He told me he goes to Valley Community College, same as Jimmy’s daughter.”