Her fears would never be replaced with peace, but there would be no need to cut away pain with a razor blade, to touch things to make sure they existed, to watch doors in the hopes that those who walked through them would walk back in again. Someday Hannah would conquer her devils and reach down to help someone struggling with their own. She would love Josie, but she wouldn't need her. Her apology proved that time was close.
"I doubt I would have stayed in that waiting room either. In fact, I probably would have shut the locker on Tiffany, too." Josie draped her arms over her knees.
"If we were related then I could blame it on genetics," Hannah suggested.
"We'll put it down to osmosis," Josie answered, keeping her eyes straight on toward the ocean. She couldn't see the shore, but she knew it was there in the same way she knew all would be well with her and Hannah. "We butt heads because we're so much alike. You've been a good friend to Billy, but you can't help him right now."
"Can you?" Hannah slid her eyes toward Josie, but Josie didn't look back.
"I don't know, Hannah. Everyone has some skin in this game. The District Attorney wants someone to prosecute, and the county counsel wants to be Joan of Arc, and now we've got Gjergy Isai. I've got a shot at navigating it all, but if you go off half cocked it will make it harder."
"I was hoping Rosa would just say something to stop what was happening to Billy," Hannah said. "That's all she needed to do. I thought she could find the strength."
"One word can make all the difference," Josie muttered, thinking of the one Rosa Zuni had managed. "Are you sure Billy never told you anything about his life before he came here? Really, Hannah, if he did you have to tell me now."
"No, nothing. I swear," Hannah insisted. "You know how he was with me."
"Like a puppy dog." Josie chuckled, but Hannah was shamed.
"I should have been nicer. I just didn't want to get close in case all this didn't last." Hannah picked up a handful of sand and let it run out like an hourglass. When it was finished she asked: "Do you believe that man?"
"Gjergy?" Josie inclined her head toward her left shoulder and shrugged with her right. "I don't know. I don't think the trafficking implication holds water."
"Why not?" Hannah picked up another handful of sand, seemingly distracted by it. Josie knew better. Hannah was hanging on every word, so Josie ticked off her laundry list.
"Rosa lived alone with Billy. She had possessions. She paid their bills. She came and went as she pleased at her job. The women she worked with never saw anyone threaten her. In fact, at least one of them saw Greg Oi try to give her money. If he was into trafficking, he'd be taking money from her not trying to give it to her."
"She worked in a strip joint," Hannah objected.
"But not a brothel. She could have talked to anyone. She could have gone to the police," Josie reminded her.
"Unless someone threatened to hurt Billy. Isn't that what she told him? That someone wanted to kill him?" Hannah asked. "Maybe they came to get Billy, he wasn't there, and they took it out on her."
"Then where does Billy fit in? There are enough young girls to traffic. Why choose one who has a little kid?" Josie pointed out. "Rosa took care of Billy. They both let everyone believe she was his mother. There was clear intent to what she was doing."
"Billy has the Stockholm syndrome," Hannah announced and picked up more sand. She looked up to see Josie's confusion. "Is that so strange? I was willing to take the fall for my mom and she was a murderer. I still love her because I understand her. I was never afraid of things the way she was. And you still love your mom even though she left you. You don't even know why and you love her."
Josie hung her head and pulled her lips tight.
"It isn't strange at all that he would feel so strongly about Rosa. It doesn't feel right. It doesn't make sense," Josie mumbled, wanting to be done with any thought of either of their mothers.
"What would make sense?" Hannah asked.
"I have no idea," Josie answered.
Hannah scooped up more sand. Two, three, four times she did this. The fingers of her other hand stretched until they were barely touching Josie's hip. They were not women who held onto one another, but they wanted to stay within reach; they were not given to lamentation, but they did need to give voice to their fears; they didn't entertain flights of fancy, but they did harbor reasonable hope. Hannah withdrew her fingers leaving Josie grateful for the small show of solidarity and the instant of affection.
"That's what makes this all so scary," Hannah said offhandedly.
"What? That I don't know?" Josie asked.
"That no one does," she answered. "It's scary that everyone is trying to figure out this puzzle and so far the only piece you have is Billy."
"And?"
"And you're trying to fit all the pieces around him and the more you press and poke and try to make the pieces fit around him, the more you damage him. Everything that makes him Billy is going to get bent and squished and broken until he doesn't fit in anywhere in the puzzle, but you're all still going to insist he's the middle piece. Maybe someone else is the middle piece."
"But Billy is the one who makes sense," Josie said. "You can't deny that."
"What about the Fed Ex guy? It's like he's forgotten. And no one has even thought that it might just be some crazy who went into the house and did 'em all. It's like when people paint. They think they want to paint a face, but they don't think beyond a nose and eyes and mouth. There are a lot of things that go into painting a face, like catching the look in someone's eyes that you wouldn't notice right away, like how the shadow or light make a difference in someone's expression. Or the way someone moves their lips just a little and instead of looking angry they look sad. It's the same with this. I think there are a lot more possibilities about what happened in that house."
Hannah let her hand rest on the hill of sand she had created.
"Billy's not like me, Josie. He doesn't have places in his head where he can put the bad stuff and lock it up. Billy's like the ocean, everything swirls together and he gets confused."
With her open palm, Hannah erased the hill and made the sand flat again.
"Maybe somebody needs to take Billy out of the mix and see what's left. Why doesn't someone do that?"
Josie raised one eyebrow but her eyes never left the beach. The sun was low and there was a sparkle on the water. She could hear the gentle waves rolling to the shore. They were the kind you could walk in and your troubles would be washed away. She rested her head on the wall behind her.
"That's not the way the system works, Hannah."
"I know."
Hannah gazed into the distance at something only she could see. It was close and it was important, but it wasn't to be shared with Josie so she went back to funneling sand. She wasn't counting out loud, but Josie had the oddest feeling that Hannah knew exactly how many grains had passed through her fingers.
***
Mary Lumina tried not to think of anything but the dishes she was doing. There were three more plates and two glasses. Oh, and the roasting pan. The old man had seemed to like the roast. The old man had seemed to like just about everything that night, but that still didn't make her feel any better about him. In fact, it scared the beejeebies out of her to think that he could sit at her table, talk to her husband, pick up her child, and put him on his knee given what he had done. She was thinking about it all when suddenly there were arms around her. The dish she was washing flew out of her hand and hit the floor as she twirled out of the man's grasp. It didn't make her feel any better to see it was Sam who had grabbed her.
"Jesus, what's the matter with you, Mary?"
She put her hand to her heart. "You scared me. That's all."
"That's all? I do that all the time, and you don't go throwing dishes at me."
"I wasn't throwing it. I dropped it." She pushed her husband out of the way and got down on her knees to clean it up. He did the same. S
he pushed him aside again. "I can do it."
"Okay. Okay," Sam stood up. There was no pleasing her these days. "Look we're just going to go out and see some of the guys. You need anything?"
She shook her head. She didn't want to look at her husband. He'd see something was seriously wrong. Then he'd start asking question. Then he'd want answers, and she didn't want him talking her out of anything.
"Sure. That's good. I might take Sammy and go on over to Sharon's and see how she's doing and all."
"Okay. But don't be out too late. You know how wound up Sammy gets," her husband warned.
"Yeah, I know," Mary muttered.
She finished sweeping the shards into the dustpan, got up and put the broken dish in the trash. When she turned around, Sam was there again. Before she could slip away, he grabbed her and pulled her close.
"I just wanted you to know it's all going to be good. Really."
She stopped fidgeting and looked up into her husband's eyes. He nodded and winked at her, and it was almost like having the old Sam back.
"Okay. If you say so."
"Where's your purse? I need a few bucks."
She wiggled out of his grasp, "I'll get it."
"Just tell me where it is-"
He never finished his sentence. She was already in the bedroom, digging her purse out from the back of the closet, fumbling for money in her wallet, before rushing back to give him all she had.
"Here. Have fun."
She shoved the money at him and he kissed her cheek while he pocketed it.
"Thanks, honey. And no worries. Uncle Gjergy is going to be gone soon, and I'll be back to work. Yep, everything's going to be fine."
She nodded and he left, taking the old man with him. She started to shake the minute the door closed. Suddenly, Sammy came tearing through the kitchen with the television remote. He pointed it right at her.
"Bang! Bang!" he cried and then leered at her. "You're dead."
***
Archer took the lawn chair that had been in Rosa Zuni's living room and one from the kitchen and carried them both to the backyard. Off the back door there was a three-by-three patch of brick that served as a patio and beyond that, the ground was rock hard. In the middle of the dirt, a huge avocado tree thrived while every other bit of greenery around it had shriveled and died. On the far side of the house was a gas bar-b-que, its metal lid eaten through by rust. Carving out this little personal patch of parched land was a grape stake fence that had weathered its share of summers. To the rear and the right, the fence was in decent shape but to the left – the side that separated the Zuni house from the construction next door – there were a couple of slats missing.
Randy the contractor was long gone. He had taken Archer's card but neither he nor his crew would be around for the next few days, so Archer wouldn't be hearing from him. Archer assured him that was no problem and then set up the campground again. He dug the packing blanket out of the dumpster and draped it over the ill-constructed teepee frame so that it would appear nothing had been disturbed. He ran down to the convenience store, picked up a six-pack of bottled water and some nuts and put them outside. The only thing missing was Josie – and Trey.
***
Mike Montoya sat at his desk with his feet up on an open drawer. It was a slow night and the two other deputies on duty were talking quietly, creating background music that helped Mike concentrate. Halfway around the world the sun was breaking over Albania. He had spent the last hour trying to get a handle on the country, the man named Gjergy, and information on Rosafa and Besnik Zogaj.
Albania's history was fascinating. The darn place had been invaded by just about everyone on earth starting around the beginning of time. There was a fifty-year span where the Albanian people suffered under a dictatorship that made the Soviet set up look like Disneyland. It had no industry except for a brisk trade in chrome mining and human beings. Albania, it seemed, had quietly become the human trafficking capitol of the world. That added another note to Greg Oi's white board listing and credence to Gjergy's claim.
After a quick check with Dan Jenkins, Marshall Fastener's controller, it was found that two mines in northern Albania supplied one hundred percent of the chrome used in the Torrance factory. Mike liked that connection and passed it along to his contacts at the feds. If the Eastern European mafia were at play, the Feds would know about it quicker than he would.
Gjergy proved a bit more of a problem. The feds were following up, but they hadn't offered Mike much hope that they would come back to him any time soon with information on the man. Albania was a country without records of birth, death, marriage, or property ownership. Add to that, the clan system still took precedents over legal relationships, and it was an almost impossible nut to crack when it came to deciding who was who and what claim they laid to anything.
Sam Lumina was an easier target. Local and vocal, there was enough information on him to keep Mike engaged for a while. Sadly, he was predictable and boring and there was nothing in Mike's gut that told him he had done anything more than maybe decorated Greg Oi's office with some of his buddies. Sam was a bully, but he appeared to be bullied by Gjergy. Yet he had been at the Oi house with Gjergy Isai. That much Mike knew.
The detective tossed the report he was reading, put his head back, and closed his eyes. Behind him the men laughed, before their voices fell quiet as they talked of serious things. Mike smiled, suddenly reminded of Christmases past when he would be in his chair, almost asleep in front of the television, and the voices of his wife and girls would drift from the kitchen. Those were the days. They weren't coming again no matter how he longed for them so he dropped his feet, regrouped, reordered, and started to rethink. He pulled a pad of paper closer, picked up a pen and made two columns. In one he listed what he knew and in the other he would list what he needed to know in order to forward the investigation. He never got to the second column.
"I brought you some pizza."
Wendy Sterling's lips were so close he could feel her warm breath on his neck. Before he could turn his head, she pulled a chair up to his desk and made herself at home. She wiggled her fingers, motioning for him to clear a space.
"I thought you'd gone home to that wife of yours."
She put her files on the end of the desk and the pizza box in the middle. She opened it with a flourish and graced Mike with a smile. It didn't escape his notice that her lipstick was fresh, her hair newly brushed and some musky perfume had been recently applied. He continued to look at her as if seeing her for the first time.
"Mike? Hey, Mike?"
She touched his hands, her fingertips were warm and small and soft. He looked at them. Her skin was milky white against the olive color of his. He slid his hand back.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"Fine. Sorry. I was just thinking of something." He moved his hands and opened the pizza box. "Cheese?"
"And cold. But beggars can't be choosers." She wrinkled her nose. "I took it out of the fridge. I don't think it's all that fresh."
Mike took a piece. Wendy handed him a napkin. He said: "Someone was probably saving it."
"It's not marked. Fair game." Wendy grabbed a piece and sat back. Gorgeous as she was, even Wendy was fraying a little around the edges on this one. He could see it in her eyes, or rather under them. Lavender circles of worry and exhaustion had appeared. They finished their pizza. Wendy indicated the box. Mike shook his head.
"Me either. I should have taken the chicken," she said. "Sorry."
"It's the thought that counts." Mike set the box aside.
"Did you talk to anyone at the strike force?"
"I did," Mike answered. "The agent I spoke to actually laughed when I told him what we've got. He said when it came to anything out of Albania our guess was as good as theirs, but he promised to do what he could."
"Did you tell them about Oi?"
Mike nodded. "Sure. Of course. The big Albanian community is New York, G
reg Oi didn't spend much time there, so I'm not sure there's a connection. Unless they were testing the waters with Oi. You know, he brings the girls back and ships them east. I'd really like to get my hands on the records for that nonprofit."
"Kat Oi already shut it down, but I'll get the information."
Wendy drew a hand through her hair and rested her eyes on the stack of papers she had brought with her. She flipped her shoes off.
"You know that knife? The thing is custom made and old. It's not going to do Deputy D.A. Newton any good. Josie Bates wouldn't have to blink to discredit that."
Wendy rifled through her folder and withdrew some photos and put one on the desk.
"Pictures of the victim's wounds. The two guys were taken out by a guy who knew how to use a gun but was no marksman. Oi took two to the torso. He would have survived this one."
Wendy pointed to the black and white sketch and the X marking the wound under the arm.
"But the second nicked the aorta and tore it. Done deal."
Wendy snapped three more black and white photos in front of Mike that, while lurid, did nothing to capture the true horror of what happened to Rosa Zuni.
"The knife caught Rosa on the wrists, hands and forearms. She was deflecting as best she could but not fighting back. She was probably on her back initially. You can see she had her wrists crossed. The right one crossed over the left. It appears to be a purely reflexive move." Wendy held up her arms to demonstrate. She dropped them a minute later and used her pen to point to the other wounds.
"So the attack was a surprise, or she was surprised by who was attacking her and was literally paralyzed," Mike suggested. "Either way, she would have seen his face."
"It might be a she," Wendy countered.
"Mrs. Oi?" Mike suggested.
"Possibly. Or what about the woman who lives with them? If the trafficking thing holds any weight, maybe she wanted to be higher on the totem pole and perceived that Rosa was in favor."
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