Little Voices

by Lillie, Vanessa

  “Not your girlfriend,” I say slowly, an embarrassed burn lighting my skin.

  “My daughter,” he says loudly, but his voice breaks. “I loved her more than you can imagine.”

  Patty wraps her arms around her husband, and he cries within her embrace.

  You’ve ruined another life.

  There’s only one way to stop someone like you.

  You should have done it long ago, girlie.

  It’s time.

  He was not the man with his hand on Belina’s back, telling her where to go, when to move to the center aisle in church, coming from a place of passion and possession. Instead, Belina was his daughter, building the business, supporting him in any way she could.

  “Who knew?” I hear myself say. Stefano looks up at me, eyes angry and red. “Who knew you both went fishing alone on every full moon? That she’d meet you there.”

  “Tell her,” Patty says. “You know who did this.”

  He stares at Patty, and his face falls. “Just Ricky,” he says. “I used his boat sometimes. He would have known where I’d be that night.”

  I step toward them. “She wrote in her planner that she was meeting you and someone she wrote as A with a circle.”

  He sighs, all the anger and strength gone. “It’s a silly joke, a code of sorts. It’s from a book of Portuguese fables I gave her as a girl,” Stefano says softly, almost trancelike. “The Adamastor was a mythical monster who killed sailors. He tried to throw them off their path, terrifying them and working against them, and yet they’d always return. He is anarchy, but he’s necessary for the journey. She loved that story. Always felt sorry for the monster.”

  “Say it, and let’s be done,” Patty demands, but Stefano shakes his head like a child. Patty takes a breath and then says, “It’s what she called Ricky.”

  You’re as bad as the boys, girlie.

  I see the page open in my lap, Ester snuggled on my chest as I read about the Adamastor in her room after visiting Tina. I can see the way young Belina colored in the Os and Ds. How she traced circles around those letters too. All the Adamastor’s As had light-penciled circles.

  “Does he hate you that much?” I hear myself ask. “Would he really kill someone to frame you? Or Alec?”

  Stefano doesn’t answer, turns away as if holding his breath to keep back the emotions.

  “His mother nearly ruined our business,” Patty says. “Took out fake lines of credit and loans and any credit card she could spend. She was really unstable. Accused Stefano of all kinds of awful things. Her husband, Ricky’s dad, he worked for us. But he was a deadbeat.”

  “I helped them plenty—” Stefano says in a low voice, the anger causing me to take a step back.

  “It didn’t matter,” Patty says. “Stefano pressed charges, and she killed herself in prison. Ricky had lots of chances with foster families, but the apple doesn’t fall far, you know.”

  You know it more than anything.

  You’ve ruined everything.

  Again.

  I mumble goodbyes, sorrys, excuses and hurry to leave them to their grief and anger.

  Heartbreaker.

  Life taker.

  You deserve to die.

  I’m halfway down the block, almost to where I parked, when I stumble forward, falling onto my knees. Shame cycles through every blood vessel, pulsing with my inadequacy to solve this case, my arrogance that Belina ever believed in me.

  Trusting you is the worst mistake anyone can make.

  “Went that well?”

  I jump at the deep voice, then look up from the ground, realizing it’s Max as he steps out from a shadowed spot behind a tree. He hands me a bottle of water, and I take a big swig, swish, and spit. Then a long drink.

  “Thanks,” I say, my voice weak and scratchy.

  Minutes pass in silence, and I appreciate that he’s going to let me say what I want or maybe nothing at all. I prefer the latter because I’m in no mood to explain myself. I hardly know where to begin, to unravel why I wanted Stefano to be the killer when there were plenty of signs he wasn’t.

  “I really thought it was him,” I say finally. “It didn’t even occur to me that he was anything other than . . . not her father. I just assumed, like everyone else.”

  But you’re not everyone else.

  You did this to him.

  Now you must pay.

  “There’s no motive,” Max says. “Not for her murder.”

  Every fiber in my body feels pulled tight, strained from my error. I can’t give up, but I can’t face anything either. I start toward my car, inhale the cold wind off the ocean.

  It’s calling you home, girlie.

  Now it’s time for justice.

  Chapter 35

  I’m driving toward the Newport Bridge, even though it’s the opposite direction of home. I hear Ester crying again, and in a panic, I glance back at the empty seat as my car swerves into the other lane, barely missing a gargantuan cement truck.

  My hands tremble on the wheel. I’m losing it. Again. The lack of sleep and exhaustion and going after the wrong people in the wrong way are destroying me all over again.

  You were always going to fail.

  You never had what it takes.

  I pull over before I reach the bridge and let it out. All of it. I cry for Belina first because I am failing her most. I cry for Ester and myself and Jack because our home is destroyed.

  You have no family.

  You have no one.

  I cry for Stefano because it was a terrible thing to accuse him of when I had so little evidence. I cry for Ricky and my brother and my idiocy at seeing a kindred spirit where there wasn’t one.

  You never deserved love.

  Now it’s time to give it all back.

  The car constricts, the air too hot, space too small. I fling open the car door, strip off my coat with my wallet inside, leave the car door open, unsure if I’ll return.

  I begin walking toward the bridge. My brain highlights every wrong step I’ve made. Each beat of my heart amplifies in my ears, repeating and building my guilt.

  You failed.

  You destroyed everything.

  Shameful little liar.

  I stand at the bridge’s walking pathway for maintenance. It’s locked but easy to jump. I throw a leg over, then slide down. I hurry past the NO TRESPASSING signs.

  I need to be alone. I need to decide if I should join Belina in the water.

  No one wants you here.

  They’ll be so much better without you.

  I’m back where I started and never wanted to return: my home destroyed, as I am hearing voices and looking down at an abyss where everything can end if I let go.

  This is the best for everyone.

  The voice drove me here once before. Out to the abandoned mine, a hundred-foot drop to toxic water, impossible to escape. It would have all been over then too, if I had listened.

  You should have jumped.

  Jack would be happy now with someone better, someone worthy of him.

  Belina would be alive.

  On some level I know I can’t blame myself completely for Belina’s death. I had no idea what Alec would do to pay for Misha’s lifestyle or what he’d risk to be with Belina. I wanted to protect Uncle Cal like family. That seemed to be the right thing to do. But I was wrong. And Belina was dead. Those facts are not unrelated.

  Show her how sorry you really are.

  Show her justice with your life.

  On the Newport Bridge, the wind is at my back, shoving me along until I reach the top. My skin reverberates in the icy blasts as I lean over, only four hundred feet between me and peace.

  You’re ready to let go.

  This is what you deserve.

  I grip the railing and think of what I’d really be losing by following the voice. I close my eyes and picture Ester. I see Jack and imagine some version of happiness after all I’ve done.

  Let go for peace.

  Let go for your family
.

  Let go for justice.

  But Jack and Ester won’t get me off this bridge. Instead it is justice, my justice, what it will feel like to get a confession. To finally see someone pay for what happened to Belina.

  No justice, no peace.

  I hold the railing tight, turning back, sliding my hand along the cool metal surface as the wind rips at my clothes and hair. Back over the fence and to my discarded jacket, now wet with spray and dirt. I get into the car, turn the heat on blast.

  About ten minutes pass, and then my phone buzzes.

  “Hey, Phillip,” I say, my voice sounding weak.

  “You okay?” he says. “You sound rattled.”

  Tears burn, but I blink them back and clear my throat. “I was wrong about Stefano. Belina was his daughter.”

  “What?”

  “He thinks Ricky had something to do with her death.”

  “That’s why I called,” Phillip says. “While I was at Miguel’s house, the police showed up and searched everything. They found your copy of Belina’s journal and personal papers. He’s being questioned now.”

  I would never have pegged Miguel, CEO in training, as the kind of guy to wreck my house and my baby. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I say.

  Headed for more mistakes.

  More destruction.

  God has turned away.

  I drive through downtown Jamestown instead of Providence, creeping along the road and picturing the faces of suspects. The people I’ve spoken to and analyzed. Aside from Tina, they are a lot of men. I pull into the small lot by the Narragansett Café but not for a drink. There are so many men in this case that the few women involved, even tangentially, seem important.

  It’s after seven p.m., and a cigarette lights up from the side door. I get out of my car and head toward the glow.

  “Hey, Suze,” I say. “It’s Devon. I was here with Ricky the other day.”

  She takes a long drag. “Yeah,” she says. “I remember.”

  “You know Stefano Venantius?” I ask. When she nods, I continue. “I was just at his house.”

  “Good for you,” she says.

  I grin in the dark at the phrase. I feel like this whole day has been nothing but a go fuck yourself. “I accused him of murdering the local girl. Belina Cabrala.”

  “Oh yeah?” she says. “Ain’t she his daughter?”

  I suck in a breath. “How did you know that?”

  “Tina and I went to high school together,” she says. “She thought her ticket was punched when he knocked her up. Never really worked out for Tina or her kid.”

  “You knew Belina?”

  “Just when she started comin’ in with Ricky,” Suze says.

  I frown. “You think they were dating?”

  “Didn’t look like no kinda date to me,” Suze says. “They were usually fighting. But they’d always leave together. One of those kind of relationships, I guess.”

  “Who else did Ricky bring with him?”

  “There were a couple Mexican fellas.” Suze stubs her cigarette out in the gravel. “I didn’t know their names.”

  I pull out my phone and open a folder with photos. “Him?” I ask.

  She nods at a photo of Miguel in front of his boat. “He’s been in a few times. Pays cash, a good tipper. He yelled at Ricky the last time. Kinda funny.”

  “Was Ricky ever in with Stefano?”

  She laughs, and it’s gravelly and harsh. “He ain’t steppin’ a fancy loafer in a place like the Ganny. Not anymore.”

  I swipe a few over to a photo of Alec.

  “I know him. They’re friends.” I nod, but she’s still staring hard. “The one before.” She taps the screen, making Max’s face extralarge. “Him, who looks like police.”

  “You’re sure Ricky was here with him?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “Just Ricky and that cop-lookin’ guy. Only once, maybe six months ago. I hadn’t seen Ricky in a while.”

  “Were they angry?” I ask, blinking at the photo of Max.

  “No, Ricky seemed excited. He tipped me a lot that night, which is unusual for him.”

  Six months ago Ricky was meeting with the FBI. It would have been halfway through their investigation. But he didn’t tell Stefano because the investigation continued without interruption. But maybe Ricky told someone else like Belina. Who betrayed him to tell Stefano.

  “Thanks, Suze,” I say.

  Back in the SUV, I go too fast to where I left Max. Pulling over in front of him, I cut it a bit close to his car. I barely get the gear into park before throwing open the door. I stumble out of the car and charge toward him. “How long has Ricky been an informant?”

  He takes several steps backward, hands in the air. “I’m not discussing informants.”

  “What’s Ricky get if Stefano goes away? Immunity? Early access to the fishing licenses?”

  Max crosses his muscular arms, glaring as I step closer. “Devon, he’s not your suspect.”

  “It’s hard to know without some cooperation. Where was he the night Belina was murdered?”

  There’s the slightest pinch between his eyebrows, a flinch really. He doesn’t know where Ricky was, and I doubt he’d ever ask. That’s not the justice Max is seeking.

  Another one who used you.

  All you’re worth.

  If Ricky and Belina had a relationship, even a bad one, he could have bragged about the deal with the FBI. But if she chose to tell Stefano about Ricky’s plan, that would have been a problem for him. And if she decided to choose Alec, to pay off Stefano, and to start a new life that night, what would Ricky have done? Rejected, his plan up in flames because of Belina.

  “What’s Stefano’s financial information worth? The money laundering, the offshore accounts taking in boatloads of cash?” I ask. I have a lot on Stefano, and Derek can get more. “What if there’s some anonymous source who mails it all your way. Is that worth losing an informant like Ricky?”

  He blinks at me, poker face not what it used be. He’s intrigued.

  I reach deep for confidence, grab it by the throat before I get in Max’s face. “You might close this case if you sacrifice the right lamb.”

  Chapter 36

  There’s only one place to go. Only one person to see. Likely, the person who wants to see me even less than Stefano.

  In the parking lot of the police station, I plug the mini–breast pump into my car. At the moment, I don’t mind that pumping this way takes more time, rhythmic in and out, air and milk, until the six-ounce container is full. I screw on the yellow plastic lid and put it in a paper bag. I order my strategy in my mind and get out of the car on weak legs to find Detective Ramos.

  All you know how to do is lie.

  Shameful little liar.

  The receptionist takes me to his cubicle, where he looks up from his small desk. He doesn’t seem surprised to see me, but he’s not happy either. He drops the file he was holding onto a colleague’s desk and stands. “I was about to call you,” he says.

  “I need a refrigerator first,” I say too brightly.

  He frowns at the container with my milk but then gives me an aha look. “This way, and let’s label it. Station is full of moochers. We don’t want it to end up in anyone’s coffee.”

  That almost makes me smile.

  “We used donor milk,” he says quietly. “My wife is worried we’ll have to do it again.” He clears his throat.

  “I thought you said your son would nurse until he could ask for a beer?” I say lightly.

  “Steel trap, huh?” He taps his forehead. “Anyway, need water or anything?”

  I shake my head and follow him to a conference room. “Look,” I begin. “I need to apologize. I screwed up on Stefano, but I can still help you close this case. If we work together, justice is possible. But we have to trust each other. Trust that my justice is the same as yours.”

  “Quite a speech,” he says.

  “I worked on it in the car,” I say.

&n
bsp; He leans on a chair, that confident cop tilt. “Your reporting with Hale blew my case to shit. If you’ve got some leads, I’m listening.”

  I sit across from where he stands at a round conference table. “First, why were you going to call me?”

  “We got an anonymous tip that Miguel broke into your house and that we’d find the copy of Belina’s planner there with your personal papers.” He clears his throat. “That’s exactly what we found.”

  I see on Detective Ramos’s face the hesitation that I feel. “He seem the type?”

  “No,” he says. “He’s nearly in tears in the interrogation room with his lawyer right now.”

  “I doubt his prints will be in my house,” I say. “But you did find some DNA there that didn’t belong to Jack or me, right?”

  He nods. “Miguel volunteered to let us compare it.”

  I reach into my bag and pull out my pink-and-white Lilly Pulitzer dress. “This has Ricky Cardin’s blood on it. How fast can you run it?”

  He raises his thick eyebrows as if he’s going to ask how I have his blood but takes it instead. “This isn’t SVU, but I know a guy,” he says and leaves the room.

  Alone, I stand up and head to the large whiteboard on the wall. I line up the markers and begin to work. I outline the fraud triangle, detailing ways it can be applicable to Ricky or Miguel. By the time I’m done, it’s clear only one had real motive to kill Belina.

  But you ignored it.

  You let your guilt get in the way of the truth.

  Because you don’t really care about truth.

  Only justice as you see it.

  It’s been an hour since Detective Ramos left. He’s likely spending time questioning Miguel while we wait for the DNA results to come back. I curl up on an old couch in the corner and close my eyes for what feels like the first time in days.

  I wake up, hearing someone, and pretend to still sleep. An old survival habit from childhood. But then I remember that I’m not that girl. I open my eyes to see Detective Ramos studying my whiteboard.

  “What do you think?” I ask, sitting up, rubbing my shoulder, and feeling more alert and balanced than I have in days.

  He’ll think you’re crazy.