“I like your new haircut.”
“Really? It doesn’t bother you?”
“Why would it?”
“Sweetie, this is how you wore your hair for at least ten years.”
“Oh, yeah.” Recently I’d grown it out more so that I could pull it back, but I had kept it jaw length when I was in school. Ever since I’d had to have it hacked off short after my hospital stay. “No wonder it looks so nice.”
She laughed and her eyes twinkled. “You having a good day?”
“The worst.”
“I’m sorry.”
I hastened to add, “No marital trouble or anything like that-”
“Honey, relax. I don’t really care about that kind of stuff. I just want to know that you’re happy.”
“Yeah. All in all I am. Just working a very tough case.”
“Well, you’re a very tough woman.”
Usually that kind of comment made me snap. Of course I am, I’d say, you never gave me a choice. What was I supposed to do? Just roll over and die? I resisted that instinct and said, “Thanks.”
She smiled and looked at me, waiting to see if I’d say anything more. After all, I was the one who’d called in the first place, but I was already in unfamiliar territory, having just avoided one of our usual fights. Now I had the chance to strike off in a new direction and get to know my own mother a little better.
My mind was blank, though. “I just called to say hi,” I said, lamely, “so I should probably go.” I’d try the brave new frontier in conversation some other time.
Her smile was all warmth, and for the first time I forced myself to take note of how little effort it took to make her happy. “I love you,” she said. And I knew she meant it. She might not always get me, but she did love me.
A tap on my window made me look up. Detective Baca stood by the van, and I wondered how long he’d been there. His expression was grave enough to give me chills.
“Thought you’d want to know, we lost her,” he said when I rolled down the window.
“Esperanza?”
“Teresa.”
“Oh.”
“She hung on a long time. Almost a week.”
I nodded. “Thanks for the head’s up.”
“You all right?”
“Yeah, Miguel’s just playing hero. Letting me off the hook. Thought I’d let him this once. I’ll get him back.”
“Well, there are no firearms in this house that I can find. That guy may be lowlife scum, but he appears to be law abiding lowlife scum these days.”
“So what next?”
“I’m gonna wait on the DNA evidence, which Miguel assures me will be in tomorrow, and then… then we see what we can figure from there.”
“Luis Dominguez provide any other leads?”
“Not that were credible enough to haul you two out for. I’ll keep ringing doorbells and such and maybe something will turn up, but I wouldn’t hold your breath.”
Miguel came out of the house and jogged over to the van. “All right?” he said.
“All right,” said Detective Baca. “You two have a good evening, and thanks for coming out.”
We waved goodbye and headed back to the lab. Even though we did have some new items of evidence, I still felt like we were empty handed.
Once we got back, I pulled prints off the guns and swabbed them for powder residue, then turned them over to Greg who loaded them up and fired them into a water tank. The bullets he extracted did not match the one from Esperanza’s crime scene.
While he was shooting the guns, I put the hair strands under the comparison microscope and found only those of the sex offender. Nothing indicated he had even a girlfriend or the occasional overnight guest.
Miguel prepared the DNA evidence taken from the bedsheets. Five o’clock came and went and none of us even looked up until I got a text from Jason asking if I was all right.
I looked at the work I had left to do and realized there was none, really. I was just hung up on watching the guys. I went over to the window and called Jason, “Can we go to the movies or something tonight? No, not the movies.” Jason didn’t watch movies for fun. They were work.
“Sure, if you want.”
“Sorry I’m… yeah.”
“It’s okay.”
“Thank you.”
“You want to invite other people?”
“Sure, let’s do that.” I signed off with him and said to the other guys who were still working in the lab, “Movie tonight if you want to come?”
Greg, Wilson, and Miguel all exchanged glances. “Which movie?” asked Miguel.
“Whatever’s showing that you guys want to see. We just buy up the tickets for a time slot, so it’ll be an empty theater. Bring your spouses and kids and all that.”
“You serious?” said Greg.
“Yeah, of course.”
More exchanged glances.
“I’ll meet you there in ninety minutes,” I said. “Century Rio. Give me your phone numbers and I’ll text you where to get in.”
“Where to get in?” said Greg.
“They let us in a fire exit, right into the theater. I know, I know. Glamorous, right?”
“Is your husband going to be there?” asked Miguel.
“Yeah. What, you think I do that kind of stuff just for me?” I laughed.
“And he’s cool with this?” said Greg.
“He’s a cool person. You’ll like him. See you guys later.” I hid my smile as I packed my things and left.
Ninety minutes later, Jason and I pulled up behind the Century Rio and found a small crowd waiting. The sky overhead remained dark and ominous. The promised rainstorm hadn’t come, but the flashes of lightning to the west still lit up the West Mesa.
The guys at the lab had called the others, who’d brought their families. Their nervous looks telegraphed their thoughts as we pulled up. They were afraid they’d taken advantage, that they’d overstepped. They didn’t know Jason, who climbed out of the car with a grin and went over to shake hands and meet everyone.
While he greeted each of my labmates in turn, Kyra pulled up in Libby with Kyle in the passenger seat looking like he wished he had his own brake pedal, even though Kyra’s driving looked fine to me. Steve, his wife Shannon, and their kids, Maddy and Sam pulled up in their minivan and joined the crowd just as the fire exit was opened from the inside by a teenager in a Century Rio uniform.
“They’re all with me,” said Jason.
And everyone filed in without any resistance. Kids ran up the aisles hollering for the best seats. Someone from the concessions stand came in with an armload of popcorn buckets, which were passed around and Jason sent the person back for more, before going around to see if people wanted to order other food. This, for him, was the fun part.
Beth called my cellphone and I went to let her in. She was still in her work clothes, her pumps sticking to the gummy theater floor with each step. Behind her came Lillian and Doug, who paused to embrace me before going to find seats.
I returned to Jason’s side and he slipped his arm around my waist while answering the questions of a girl who looked to be about twelve. “Some actors cry real tears,” he explained, “but you can also use glycerin. Just put it in your eyes and it’ll run out. Or nowadays, they can even CGI the tears in.”
“That doesn’t sound hard.”
“Shhh, don’t let people in on the secret. Nah, what’s hard is doing all the little things that make a successful scene better than anyone else. A lot of people want the job, you know?” He was trying to sound sincere, but his tone was a little flat. He agreed. His job wasn’t hard at all. He was wrong, but I wouldn’t be able to convince him of the fact.
Miguel looked down at us from where he sat with his family. One of his kids was only a toddler, balanced in his lap (we’d all elected to watch a cartoon). His gaze rested on me, then Jason, then me again. I could see he was trying to come to grips with the reality. I really was married to a Hollywood A-lister. In th
at moment, even I found it a foreign thought, but here he was, my husband, who also happened to be Jason Vanderholt. How had I ever thought this would work out? It was only a matter of time before we realized we had nothing in common, and he could move on to someone who understood him better.
When the theater went dark and the opening credits began (there were no previews at a private showing), Kyra picked her way across the theater to sit on the other side of Jason, who had already begun to fidget. “Even animated bothers you?” I whispered.
“Doesn’t bother me. Voice acting’s kind of a different gig. I should be interested in how other people do it. You’ve got even less control. No expressions, no gestures, just voice.”
“I’d think that would be easier.”
“Why?”
“Controlling your expression? That’s hard. I can’t do it.”
“Hmm? What do you mean?” He leaned in.
“Photographers always get pictures of me scowling, no matter how much I don’t want them to. I try to smile but-”
“You gotta find an emotional happy place, kind of. No, that sounds lame. Okay, so when I do a scene where I’ve got to be happy, I think of things that made me really happy. They may or may not have anything to do with the script. My face has to look right. Just feeling the emotion on the inside isn’t going to cut it, you’ve got to pick an emotion that’s demonstrative in a way.”
“What do you mean, the emotion might not have anything to do with the script?”
He leaned in closer so that our heads touched and he didn’t have to talk as loud. “So, like, in a scene where I’m supposed to look horrified, like something really bad has happened and realize and think, ‘oh no! This is so bad.’”
“Uh-huh?”
“I think, ‘Who farted? It stinks so much in here. Who blew one?’”
I choked back a laugh. “Are you serious?”
“Works every time. When I want to look like I’m thinking really hard about stuff, I do algebra in my head. So the other person in the scene will be telling me whatever. Someone died. A house blew up, whatever. And I’m thinking, ‘Solve for x’. The audience thinks, ‘Wow, he’s really listening. He’s taking it so seriously.’”
“You aren’t joking, are you?”
He shook his head.
“Do you wish you did tap into more real emotions? That were closer to the script?”
“It isn’t the actor’s job to feel the emotions. I mean, that’s part of it but only a part. The actor’s job is to get the audience to feel the emotions. It’s the interaction of performance and audience that counts.”
“Makes sense.”
His gaze, sidelit from the movie screen, stayed fixed on my face. “When I need to look like something great has happened?”
“Yeah?”
“I usually have the ice cream spoon in my pocket for the scene.”
“Are you flirting with me?”
“Yes, when have I ever not been?” His voice was the barest whisper in my ear. On the night when Jason and I had finally gotten together, after all the months of me not dealing with my feelings for him, we’d split a carton of ice cream. Later I found out he’d stolen the spoon we’d used, and I still found it now and then, either on his nightstand or in his carry on luggage. Sometimes in a Skype call I’d see it in his hand, his fingers around the handle, his thumb rubbing the bowl.
He kissed my forehead.
“Get a room,” Kyra whispered.
Without even looking over, he shoved her and she elbowed him back.
“Any guy interested in you should take notes,” said Jason.
“From my uncle? Ewwww. That is just wrong.” Her cellphone lit up and she frowned at the screen, then began to tap out a text.
I made a show of putting up the armrest and letting Jason put his arm around me. There were chuckles from elsewhere in the theater and my face flushed with heat. It was a good kind of embarrassment, though. At least he and I were still trying. Jason kissed my temple, then held me against him for the entire rest of the film. Every so often he’d whisper things like, “Oh no, my underwear ripped.” Or “I lost my keys. Where did I last have my keys?” The hilarious and yet heartbreaking thing? The phrases really did match the expressions on the screen. There was a cynicism in Jason’s voice, though, and I wished I could lift his mood about his career, but I didn’t know where to even begin. I suspected Vicki Hanson would be much better at this.
The next morning when I arrived at work, all the guys greeted me. Some said, “Hello.” Some just looked up and waved. Everyone smiled. For the first time, I felt like I was entering a place where I belonged.
Miguel held up a sheaf of papers. “DNA test results, finally. Tried to get a two day rush, but our missing kid’s not cute enough, I guess.”
“All right,” said a voice on the police scanner, “we’ve got a report of a break in on Loma-”
Greg turned it off and we all crowded around Miguel.
Miguel flipped through the papers and frowned. “Uhmmm… okay. Swabs, nothing. No sexual contact with anyone. Under the nails, nothing. Blood on the floor, all Teresa’s.”
I let out a sigh of relief. Esperanza hadn’t bled in the house, then.
“Hair strands. Teresa, Teresa, unidentified woman. That’s that blond- bleached blond one, Chloe?”
I nodded.
“Final result…” He set the papers down. “I don’t believe this.”
Another time we might have ribbed him for thinking DNA could solve all crimes, but no one was in the mood for any kind of jocularity right now.
“I can’t believe this.” Miguel slapped the table. “Middle of the morning, in the street, in broad daylight.” I could see that he wanted to punch something. Everyone pulled back slightly out of respect. “No prints-”
“Sorry,” I said.
“Vanderholt, you’re dusting was better than just about any I’ve seen. You got a whole bunch of partials. This isn’t your fault. It’s the fault of the perp. Why can’t we get a lead? Any lead?” His despair spoke for all of us. “Now I gotta tell this to Baca.”
Detective Baca was in the lab less than an hour later. “You all have done great work,” he reassured us. “Some cases are hard to crack, is all.”
“Tell me you’ve got another lead,” said Miguel. “I’ll shine forensic lights on the bed of every registered pedophile in this city if I have to.”
“Or we can just start shooting them,” said Greg. “APD won’t get any proof from me that you all did it.”
The detective looked at me. “All I got right now is a feeling.”
“Okay,” I said.
“I want to bring that blond woman in for questioning. She’s lied three times. Once about making the call, once about the gunshots, and I suspect, based on the DNA, once about being in the house. I know those little lies don’t amount to much, but I wonder why she’s lying at all. It’s all I got for now.”
“You want me to come with you?”
“This witness,” Miguel explained to the others, “total Jason Vanderholt fan. Sees Chloe, starts talking.”
That earned a round of chuckles. “Use what you got,” Wilson agreed.
“Yes, if you could, Miss Chloe. Sorry to keep taking her out of the lab.”
“Maybe we could get a cute puppy for Chloe to carry?” said Greg. “Really soften her up?”
“I could get Jason?”
“Overkill,” said Miguel. “The woman would faint.”
A thought was itching away at the back of my mind now, though. I went over to my purse and dug around for a moment before finding the note written by Ramona that had been taped to my front gate. “We could get Esperanza’s cute little best friend? I don’t know; that’s a lot to ask of a kid.”
Detective Baca took the paper from me. “We could bring this, though, yeah. Ramona is a cute little girl, but she’s so torn up by all this that she’s started wetting her bed. I talked to her and her parents a few times. Where’d you get thi
s?”
“She taped it to our front gate. I can get more notes like that if you want. There were a few. Most of them went up after the press conference. Actually, I should bring them in. You guys should all see them.”
“I dunno, might break our hearts,” said Wilson. He spoke without irony as he scanned the simple lines written in crayon. He handed the paper back to Detective Baca. “Good luck, guys.”
“Thanks,” I said as I got my purse. We were definitely going to need it.
I’d known better than to expect the interrogation room to be the stark, all concrete affair that was shown on a lot of television shows. The one the detective used was just a room with dingy carpet, a table and no exterior windows. I stayed outside while Detective Baca went over the required Miranda warnings, then he came out and said to me, “So one technique in interrogation is to keep them talking. It all right if I use your husband as bait? Hint that he might come by, but only if you’re not busy, and the way to make sure you’re not busy is for her to tell us what we need?”
I nodded. “Sure.”
“This is unorthodox, I know.”
“I’m guessing it’s not in the handbook.”
He chuckled. “Her name, by the way, is Laurie Hitchens.”
“Okay.” I followed him into the room.
Laurie was already seated and smoothing her bleached blond hair with her fingers. I sat down in a chair off to one side of the table and let Detective Baca do the talking. He stood and paced.
“Can you repeat for us how well you knew Teresa?”
“I didn’t know her at all.”
“You never spoke to her?”
“She just happened to live across the street. Not all neighbors know each other.”
Detective Baca turned to me and raised an eyebrow slightly.
This was my cue to act as if concerned, as if I had real evidence that this wasn’t true, that I knew Laurie was in Teresa’s house all the time. Well I couldn’t act worth anything, but I remembered Jason’s jokes from last night. I tried to multiply 157 times 34 in my head, and failed. No matter how I imagined the numbers, I kept losing my place and forgetting which digits to carry over. How was it my high school educated husband could do algebra while I, with my graduate level education in a science field couldn’t even do multiplication?
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