Chapter 47
Vega’s head was hurting. Michelle and ICE didn’t need him to track down their own employee. They’d find her easily enough. Coming out of her doctor’s appointment. Stocking up on candy at a drugstore near her home in Markham. Defrosting a steak for dinner. A woman like that had a predictable schedule—even if the person behind the schedule hadn’t been quite as predictable.
Vega drove home and hit the shower as soon as he got in the door. He changed into jeans and a T-shirt from a 5K race he ran last fall. It beat wearing Metallica across his chest. Then he fed Diablo and checked in with Adele. He must have popped his first pain pill right before that because he couldn’t even recall what he and Adele had talked about. All he knew when the phone awoke him at nine p.m. was that he hadn’t left the couch for at least two hours.
He fumbled between the lumpy cushions for the phone, nearly stepping on Diablo, who was napping beneath his feet. He studied the name on the receiver. He’d been expecting Michelle with word on Karen Hurst’s arrest. But it was Solero instead, calling to check up on him.
“I heard what happened, man. Are you okay?”
“I got busted up a bit,” said Vega. “But the fingers still work so you don’t need to go looking for another guitarist just yet,” he joked.
“Ryan Bale . . .” Solero let out a long whistle. “Who’d have thought?”
Vega let the words hang on the line. He suspected his friend was looking for gossip. Cops were notorious busybodies. Vega couldn’t be sure what was public and what wasn’t yet—even for fellow police officers—so he said nothing.
“Listen,” said Solero. “I just finished up a personal training session with Chuck McCormick.”
Just hearing McCormick’s name put Vega in a better mood. Solero’s client was the guy who recorded the band’s eight songs in his home recording studio.
“Did he finish the mix?”
“I’m sitting in his driveway about three miles from your house, holding it in my hand,” said Solero. “You want me to swing by and you can give a listen?”
“Aw jeez, that’s tempting,” said Vega. “But my ribs are killing me and my head’s not much better.”
“Then this will take your mind off the pain, my man. What do you say? I drive home and it’s gonna be days before I can shoot a copy to you.”
“Okay,” said Vega. “You’re on.”
Vega hung up from Solero and pushed himself off the couch. The pills had muffled the throb in his head and chest, but they hadn’t killed it. He shot a glance at his weight bench and weights in the corner and realized it would be a while before he lifted anything heavier than a pencil.
He walked into the kitchen and got himself a glass of water and dog treat for Diablo. If a dog could look worried, Diablo did. He cocked his head at Vega, a questioning look in his eyes.
“I’m okay, pal.” Vega gave Diablo a scratch between the ears. “Just a little banged up, is all.”
Vega’s phone rang again. He saw Michelle’s name on the screen and picked up.
“Did you collar her?”
There was pause. Vega heard voices in the background. A high-pitched beep-beep of a truck backing up. Maybe ICE was still on stakeout.
“Jimmy . . . she’s dead. She shot herself in the head.”
Vega’s legs seemed to give out beneath him. He pulled out one of his dining table chairs and sank into it. His reflection stared back at him from the sliding glass doors of the deck. His face looked like a Halloween mask. No wonder Diablo seemed worried.
“Everybody involved in this scam is dead or bailing,” said Vega.
“I know,” said Michelle. “The FBI thinks the Ramirez brothers may have already boarded a charter to Mexico. It could be months before we get anywhere with Interpol.”
“Are you sure the shot was self-inflicted?”
“I’m not sure of anything,” said Michelle. “The FBI won’t let ICE anywhere near the scene. They think we’re all suspect. I had to drive up in my own car. I’m mostly relying on the sheriff’s deputies to feed me information. Their lieutenant tells me they found no sign of a break-in. Karen had gunpowder residue on her right hand and one clean shot to the right temple.”
“What kind of gun did she own?” asked Vega. “A pistol? A revolver?”
“She didn’t,” said Michelle. “The gun she shot herself with is a Smith & Wesson semiautomatic that was reported stolen in Wickford a month ago.”
“The cops find anything else out of place?” asked Vega. “Maybe a neighbor saw some handyman walking around?”
“They found a key in the bushes,” said Michelle. “Right by the rear door to the garage.”
“Her house key?”
“They said it was unusual. I haven’t seen it yet.”
“When you do, can you text me a photo?”
“I’ll see if I can sweet-talk one of the deputies.”
Vega heard an intake of breath on the line. “So listen,” Michelle continued. “I’ve got a twenty-pound bag of Purina Dog Chow sitting in the trunk of my car and no dog owner to give it to. I’m heading right past Sullivan Falls on my way home. Want me to drop it off?”
Vega hesitated. “I’m busy tonight.”
“Adele?”
“My drummer. He’s stopping by to play a mixtape for me.”
“It will only take five minutes.”
“I can’t, Michelle.”
She seemed to register the drop in temperature between them.
“Hey, not for nothing,” she said. “I tried my best to help Aviles today. I put my job on the line to write that order when I couldn’t get ahold of my boss.”
“I know that,” said Vega.
“So why the cold shoulder? You’ve been a different person ever since you got out of the hospital today. Is it on account of the concussion?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Vega fumbled for words to describe the hurt and anger he’d been feeling ever since his conversation with Cecilia Osorio this afternoon. Nothing—not the pounding in his head or the pain in his chest—could come close to the ache he felt in his heart. But when he opened his mouth, only one word came out.
“Gloria.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You aunt,” said Vega. “She was the one who called the cops on my mom and got me sent into foster care.”
“You’re crazy,” said Michelle. “Why would she do that? Because of my mom and our dad’s affair? That happened four years before you got sent away.”
“Yeah,” said Vega. “Four years of bad blood. And then Gloria’s cat scratches me in the eye and soon after, someone poisons her cat. She always blamed my mother. Maybe calling social services was her way of getting even.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Michelle. “My mother would have told me—”
“You think your mother’s going to admit what happened? That’s why they don’t want to talk about that picture of me. It’s not just that I got sent away. It’s why. They know, Michelle. Your mother. Our father. They know.”
Silence. Vega heard her breathing hard on the line. He needed air himself. He slid open the door and stepped onto the back deck. The moon’s glow cut a shimmering path across the lake. A mist wafted through the trees, glazing them with dew. Vega shivered as it settled on his skin. He could feel Michelle’s hurt across the phone line. For him. For her. For the messed-up choices of their families that had brought them to this juncture.
“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered finally. “If Gloria did that, she did a terrible thing. An unforgivable thing. If my mother and our father knew—they should have said.”
“I’m guessing they didn’t know then,” said Vega. “They probably found out later.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah,” he grunted. “Me too.” Vega felt a peppery feeling in his nose and eyes. He wiped at them, hoping he wouldn’t start the bleeding again. He took a deep breath. “Text me if you find out anything more about the shooting.”
“I will,” she said softly. There was a newfound distance in her voice. Vega felt like he was standing at an airport gate, watching Michelle board a one-way flight to a place he would never visit. A place she would never leave.
“Get some sleep, mano.”
She didn’t say “good-bye.” They’d both been through enough good-byes to recognize one without the word.