The tiny town hall is packed with people, all talking at once. Eric is at the front. He’s talking to Agent Herrera, who’s half paying attention and half scanning the crowd. Dad leads me to a seat near the front of the room, next to Claire and her mom. I wish it was in the back, because Agent Herrera picks me out immediately. I avoid his gaze and try to make myself smaller as Eric calls for quiet.
“Thank you for coming,” he says when the room has quieted to a buzz. “I know this is a busy time of year for all of you, so we will try to keep this meeting as brief and as informative as possible. First, I would like to assure all of you that we are working closely with federal authorities to insure the safety of—”
“What about the man you arrested?” The question comes from the back of the room. Without turning I recognize Mrs. O’Dell’s voice. “The man who had the gun.”
Several cries of “yeah” and “what’s going on with that?” filter through the crowd.
“Agent Herrera of the FBI has taken over the investigation. He will answer all questions.” Eric steps back, looking relieved to let someone else handle the crowd.
Agent Herrera steps forward. “The gun in question was legally registered to Jose Ortiz and was determined not to be the murder weapon. The suspect was not the Jose Ortiz we originally thought he was, so he was released.”
“Then what have you found out? Anything? My wife is afraid to leave the kids alone.” This time the question comes from Brent Thompson, father of Mitch Thompson, one of the captains of the football team.
“We are looking into several leads.” For a second Agent Herrera’s eyes find mine again. I try not to turn away because I don’t want to look guilty.
“What about the gang connection? I heard the girl who was killed was part of a gang.” I don’t catch who asks that question.
“We are investigating a possible gang connection, but at this point we can’t say whether the victim was the target, or if this was a random act.” Agent Herrera says “the victim” like Rachel wasn’t a real person. “At this point we haven’t seen any other evidence of gangs in Lake Ridge.”
“So what can we do to keep ourselves safe? As a single mother,” Claire’s mom says the last part pointedly, reaching for my dad’s arm, “I need to know how to keep this from happening to my daughter.”
“I’ll tell you how to keep all of us safe,” Brent Thompson again. “It’s time for the police department to start checking green cards again. We all know that ninety percent of the migrants who come here are illegals and are already breaking the law. How do we know where they came from or what they’re capable of? It’s time to get rid of the bad element that’s invaded this town. What do you say, Sheriff, how about doing your job?”
Eric looks uncomfortable; he clears his throat. “Unfortunately it would be impossible to check all the documents of all the people who come here to work on a seasonal basis. We have to rely on the employers to—”
“Like they care,” Brent says. “All the farmers care about is cheap labor. It doesn’t matter if the people they bring in are gang members or murderers or—”
“Easy for you to say,” William Harris, who owns one of the biggest farms around, breaks in. “I want to know how I’m supposed to harvest my crops if I have to keep track of everyone who comes to me looking for a job.”
Brent turns around to face him. “That’s part of your responsibility as—”
“This is not an immigration issue.” Agent Herrera’s voice cuts through the arguing. “We have reason to believe that the person who committed this murder was someone the victim knew, someone who lives here.”
The room goes silent again for a few seconds, and then the buzzing reaches a fevered pitch. People are throwing out accusations about Rachel: “I heard she was a gang member,” “a drug dealer,” “a prostitute.” “How do we know she wasn’t working with the illegals?” And then the questions get stupider: “How do we know she was here legally?” “What about her mother? I heard she had ties with a gang in Mexico.”
I try to shut it out. Rachel and Araceli have lived here longer than we have. Rachel was born in Pasco.
“Quiet down.” Eric’s voice booms through the noise. “This kind of speculation will get us nowhere. What’s important is that we come together as a community and send the message to whoever did this, that gangs and violence will not be tolerated in Lake Ridge. We can do this by watching out for our neighbors like we always have, but maybe we should step things up a bit. Keep an eye out for anything strange, watch for and report graffiti or anything that looks like it could be gang related. We do not want this kind of element in our town.”
“Your sheriff is right,” Agent Herrera says. “Experience has taught me that the best defense against gangs is a strong community. It isn’t the responsibility of the people in this town to find out what happened.” He’s looking at me again. “Leave that to the proper authorities. We just ask that you keep a watch out and report any suspicious behavior. Sheriff Cross and I have outlined some points we would like to go over …”
The meeting drones on. A lot of talk about neighborhood watches and graffiti patrols. Agent Herrera doesn’t offer any solid answers. I feel like coming here was a waste of my time.
Just as the meeting is ending, Dad stands up. “In the spirit of community cooperation, I would like to invite everyone here to help with the cleanup at Araceli Sanchez’s house on Saturday. I think it would go a long way toward creating a sense of community.”
Some of the people are nodding in agreement. Others, like Brent Thompson, are shaking their heads. I see it in their eyes: “She brought this on herself.”
When the meeting is over, I get up quickly. I’d like to leave before Claire’s mom gets her hooks into Dad and makes him talk to her all night, but more important, I want to leave before Agent Herrera sees me. I lose on both points. Claire’s mom already has her arm looped through Dad’s, talking about how scary it is to be a single parent these days, and Agent Herrera is walking toward us.
“Miss Draper, I have something to return to you, and I have a few questions,” Agent Herrera says.
Claire’s mom’s eyes get really big. Dad untangles his arm from hers. “What kind of questions?”
Agent Herrera’s eyes bore into mine. “We found some things on your daughter’s phone that we would like her to explain to us.”