A Bodkin for the Bride Page 18

  “Crap,” Tony said again. He lowered his gun.

  More police arrived, then paramedics. Tony stood talking to a growing circle of cops while the paramedics worked on Swazo. He looked stressed.

  Realizing I wasn’t going to get near Tony any time soon, I went inside to the kitchen and found Julio’s stash of coffee, which I raided to make a pot for the responders. I got the beans ground and the coffee maker started, though I was still shaky. I leaned on the counter while I waited for the coffee to brew, taking deep breaths.

  Swazo was dead. Tony had killed him. Oh, God.

  By the time I went back out through the kitchen door with a tray of mugs, I was a little steadier. The crowd had grown. Yellow tape was strung between the posts of the portal and the lilacs, surrounding my car and Swazo and enclosing the back door of the house. The paramedics were packing up, unhurried, and in their place crime scene technicians were working.

  Several of the newcomers were dressed in plain clothes, and one of them was talking to Tony. I went around the south side, skirting the police tape, and made my way toward them as I handed out coffee.

  The plainclothes guy looked up at me. “Thanks,” he said, taking a mug.

  Tony glanced at the tray and shook his head. He looked haggard.

  “Can I talk to you?” I asked him.

  “Not now,” said the plainclothes guy. “You’re the property owner?”

  “Yes.”

  “We need to get your statement. Wilson, come here,” he called, and another officer joined us.

  Wilson took the last mug of coffee and asked me politely if there was a place where we could talk. I left the tray on the bench—the only piece of furniture that was outside the yellow tape—and led him into the kitchen. It was chilly now and I was shivering off and on, though it might just be reaction. We sat at the break table and he took notes while I told him what had happened.

  He made no comment while I talked. When I had finished, he looked up.

  “Did you know who the man was when you first saw him?”

  “No, it was dark. All I saw was his shape and the glint of the knife.”

  “You’re sure it was the knife?”

  “I don’t know what else it could be.”

  “All right. Thanks. I’ll need your phone number in case we have more questions.”

  I gave it to him. He left, and I started another pot of coffee, and one of tea for me.

  The tea was ready first. I chose a pretty china cup and saucer—white and cobalt blue, with gold embellishments—and drank a cup by myself at the table while I waited for the coffee to brew. My stomach remained in a tight knot, but the tea soothed my agitated spirits.

  I wanted to talk with Tony. I didn’t care if I never saw any of the others again, but I’d give them all of Julio’s coffee if it would give me a chance—just a minute—to talk with Tony.

  When the coffee maker stopped dripping, I took the pot outside. The crowd had thinned a bit, and I was worried Tony might be gone, but I spotted him in a circle of cops, both uniformed and plainclothes. I went up to them, offering with a gesture to fill mugs. Several were held out to me.

  Over by my car, a familiar form in a black leather jacket was talking to the crime scene techs. Walters must be angry; I would have been, in his place. I avoided making eye contact with him.

  An older man in a beige wool overcoat was talking to Tony, who nodded occasionally, looking rather drawn. I filled mugs for those who had them, then stood waiting until the man in beige finally acknowledged me.

  “May I speak to Detective Aragón for a minute?” I said.

  “He’s coming to the station,” said the man, frowning.

  “This won’t take long.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed, but he gave a curt nod and turned to Officer Wilson. I stepped over to Tony.

  “I just wanted to thank you,” I said in a low voice. “Are you in trouble?”

  He gave a tiny, helpless shrug. “I killed a guy.” His face was stoic, but his voice was miserable. His gaze drifted to where Swazo lay.

  I put a hand on his shoulder. “You saved my life.”

  He looked at me. “Well, that makes it worth it,” he whispered hoarsely.

  His dark eyes were filled with pain. There were too many others around, or I would have hugged him. Instead I squeezed his shoulder.

  “Call me. It doesn’t matter how late.”

  He swallowed, then nodded. The man in beige came back and took Tony away to a sedan.

  My God, were they going to arrest him? No, that couldn’t be it. But why the car, when he had his bike?

  Some cop thing, I decided. There were traditions, and procedures, that I knew nothing about. I watched the car drive away, feeling like crying.

  I was damned if I’d cry in front of all these strangers, though. I poured the last of the coffee into the nearest mugs and went back to the kitchen to start another pot.

  There, in private, I allowed myself a moment to go quietly to pieces. Then I blew my nose, wiped my eyes, and went out to pick up the empty mugs that had been collecting on the tray I’d left out there. I loaded mugs into the dishwasher, filled the tray with fresh ones, and when the coffee was ready I took another round outside. It looked like things were winding down, though who knew how long the techs would be working.

  Walters, standing to one side with a couple of the uniforms, accepted a mug of coffee and gave me a wry look. If he was hoping for an apology from me, he wasn’t going to get it. Frankly, I was relieved, if not exactly glad, that Swazo was dead, though it would have been nice if he hadn’t died on my property.

  Walters sidled over to me. “So, you want to tell me what happened?”

  “I gave my statement to Officer Wilson.”

  Walters’s eyebrows went up. “Ouch. Why’re you mad at me?”

  I sighed. “I’m just tired. This has been a long, awful day.”

  “You got that right. By the way, looks like you were right about Danny Swazo being dumped on the frontage road. I talked to the flea market staff and one of them saw him and Tommy fighting in the parking lot that afternoon.”

  “Oh.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I looked over at Tommy Swazo, who had killed his brother with his hands. Being right gave me no sense of triumph.

  “Thanks for the coffee.” Walters raised his mug and then turned away, earning my sincere gratitude for possibly the first time.

  I gave out the rest of the coffee, making sure the techs had some. I recognized one of them—a tall young man with blond hair and glasses who had been here the night Sylvia died. He smiled, thanked me, and went back to work.

  There was nothing more for me to do. My car was once again hostage to a crime scene, so I couldn’t leave. I was too tired to go anywhere anyway. I went around to everyone that was left, inviting them to use the bathrooms before I locked up for the night. I went back to the kitchen and cleaned up while several of them took advantage of this offer. As I was cleaning the coffee maker, the first of the news crews showed up.

  Publicity be damned. Sorry, Gina. I’m not in the mood.

  I said goodnight to the tech with glasses as he went back out, and locked the door behind him. If the police wanted me, they had my number. I went upstairs to my suite.

  My cell phone rang; one of the news crews. I let it go to voicemail.

  I had a text message from my neighbor on the corner, Katie Hutchins.

  Saw police lights. Everything OK?

  No, everything was not OK. I sighed, composed a brief, reassuring answer and sent it.

  I wanted to text Tony, but that was useless. Whatever he was doing at the police station, he probably didn’t need me interrupting him.

  Nat. I’d better let her know. I was tempted to text, but she’d call me back so I might as well get it over with. The phone rang again, a number I didn’t know. I waited for it to go to voicemail, then called Nat’s number and curled up in my chair. When she answered, I gave her a brief account.
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br />   She was horrified, naturally. Swazo was a maniac. Manny was right, I should have spent the night.

  “No,” I said. “If I hadn’t come home tonight, Swazo might have caught me alone another time. Tony saved my life. I was lucky he was here.”

  “Is Tony there now?”

  “No, they took him to the police station.”

  “Do you need some company? I could come over.”

  I gave an exasperated chuckle. “I’ve got plenty of company, thanks. I’m ready for some quiet.”

  “Call me if you change your mind. Manny will come get you. Don’t drive to us.”

  I can’t. My car is in a crime scene.

  On that thought, I remembered the gifts I’d bought for Nat and Manny at the flea market. They were still in the trunk of my car. I’d have to rescue them, but later. They’d be all right there for now.

  “Thanks,” I told her. “I’ll call.”

  We said good night, and I set the phone to pager mode and put it on the table beside me where I could see the caller ID. It rang a few more times; either numbers I had marked as the press or numbers I didn’t know. I ignored them all.

  Disinclined to move, I pulled my lap rug over myself and curled up to wait for Tony to call. It wasn’t late, but stress had taken its toll on me. I felt myself sliding into a doze. I had one last coherent thought as my tired eyes drifted closed.

  The hiccups were gone.

  13

  I know I dreamed, and that the dreams weren’t fun, but they weren’t scary enough to wake me and the sound of the cell phone buzzing its way across the table chased them away. I sat up, blinking, grabbed the phone, and glanced at the caller ID.

  “Tony! Are you all right?”

  There was a long pause. “Yeah, I’m OK.”

  “What happened? Why—”

  “I had to be interviewed. Standard procedure.”

  It was his tough guy voice. I usually didn’t have much luck communicating with him when I heard it.

  “Tony, I’m so sorry.”

  “Not your fault.”

  “Listen, do you want to come over? We could talk...”

  Another long pause. “I’d better not. Not tonight.”

  I swallowed. “OK. You still want to come for dinner tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know. Sorry, I’m just...”

  “It’s OK, Tony,” I said after a moment. “It’s OK. If it helps, I think you did the right thing. There’s no question.”

  “Thanks.”

  “They’ve got to follow procedure, right? That’s all this is.”

  “I hope so.”

  I tried to think of something more to say, something to encourage him. It seemed obvious to me that Tony had done the only thing he could do.

  “See, they have to decide if it was legal,” he said, his voice tight. “Doesn’t matter if it was right. If I acted outside the law...”

  “You were defending me! He would have killed me—”

  “Maybe. That’s what you and I think.”

  My stomach sank. “What can I do?”

  “Nothing. You’ve done what you can.”

  I closed my eyes. He sounded depressed, which I could understand. I couldn’t begin to imagine how terrible I would feel if I had killed someone, even if it had been the right course of action.

  On top of that, a Sword of Damocles was hanging over Tony. He might lose his job. Maybe even go to jail.

  “Call me tomorrow, OK?” I said. “If you have time.”

  “Oh, I’ll have time,” he said with a bitter laugh. “I’m on leave for three days.”

  “Oh, Tony...”

  “It’s OK. It’s just that I can’t wrap up my case. Not allowed to work on anything.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting tears. I couldn’t melt down, not now. That would just make everything worse. Tony needed support.

  I swallowed. “Maybe you can get some rest. You’ve been working so hard.”

  “Yeah. Well. Speaking of rest, I’d better let you go.”

  I wanted to protest, to keep him talking. My tired brain couldn’t come up with a way to do that.

  “Sleep well, then,” I told him. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.”

  A click told me he’d hung up. I put the phone down and cried.

  Daniel Swazo did not visit me that night. Hiccup-free, I went to bed without a sleeping pill. I was immensely relieved that the spasms were gone, but too sad to celebrate. My dreams were restless although not horrible, and I couldn’t remember them when I woke.

  It was early, but I got up. Some little sound from downstairs must have alerted me to Julio’s arrival. I checked my phone, discarded several texts from reporters, answered two from Gina and Kris. Nothing from Tony.

  Wanting company, I dressed in jeans and a sweater, slid my phone into a pocket, and went down. I started a pot of tea brewing in the pantry, then went into the kitchen, where I found Julio looking at the clean mugs in the dishwasher.

  “Have a party last night?” he asked, turning to me.

  “It wasn’t on the news?”

  “I didn’t watch the news. Why do I have a bad feeling?”

  I sighed, grabbed one of the clean mugs, and helped myself to his freshly-brewed coffee. “I owe you a pound of this. I made a bunch of it last night, for half the cops in SFPD.”

  “You found another body?”

  “Not exactly.”

  We sat down with coffee and I told him about Swazo and Tony and all the rest. His frown deepened as he listened.

  “How can I help?”

  “I don’t think you can, but thanks.” I finished my coffee and stood. “Oh, the media might show up. Just ignore them.”

  “Right.”

  “What do I owe you for the coffee?”

  “Nada. My gift.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to.” He looked at me with serious eyes. “You’ve had a rough time lately. It’s the least I can do.”

  I smiled and gave him a quick hug. “Thanks, Julio. You’re a prince.”

  He grinned. “Hey, your hiccups are gone!”

  “Yeah. I found the ultimate cure.”

  I collected my tea and went upstairs to my office, where I sat down with a cuppa and my messages from Saturday. My phone buzzed, goosing me. I took it out, saw a number I didn’t know, and set it on the desk.

  Resisting the urge to call Tony, I went through the messages. None were urgent. I returned a couple of calls, then checked my email, where I found a bunch of inquiries from the press and a message from Sonja at the Archives:

  Ellen -

  Here are the files that came up first on a search for Colt and Hidalgo. These are probably your best bet, but if you want more I saved the search results. I have not gone through these files to identify the references.

  Three files were attached: a diary belonging to one Manuel Hidalgo, a collection of letters addressed to Seraphina Ruiz, and a sales register from Seligman’s Mercantile. It would take time to go through them and find the references, if indeed there were any. Sometimes these files didn’t include the search keys they turned up under.

  On any other day I would have been excited to receive this lead, but I didn’t have the energy to devote to needle-hunting. My thoughts were on Tony, wishing he’d call, trying to figure out ways to help him. I saved the files, set the email aside, and turned back to my “to-do” pile.

  On top was a message from Willow, from last week. I’d already talked to her. I dropped it in the recycling bin, but then remembered that I wanted to do a cleansing on the house. Now, more than ever, I wanted to make sure no hostile spirits were hanging around. Willow might have suggestions.

  Not wanting to talk on the phone, I sent her a brief email. I assumed she’d heard the news, and told her it was related to the Swazo case. That should be enough information, I figured.

  Next on the stack was the flyer from the Hospice Center. A wince of guilt went through me�
��I’d said I would make a donation. Well, no time like the present. I got out my checkbook and wrote out a check for fifty dollars. Not as much as I’d have liked to donate, but as much as I could afford. I could always send more later, if business continued to be good.

  I pulled the check out of the book and slipped it into an envelope. As I was writing “The Hospice Center” on the outside, I remembered I’d made an appointment with Loren for Monday.

  Was it Monday? Yes. My sense of order and normalcy had been disrupted to the point I wasn’t sure of the day. That was bad.

  So, appointment with Loren. I looked on my calendar and verified the time: eleven o’clock. I could take the check with me and save a stamp.

  If I went. Maybe another day would be better.

  Except a talk with Loren would probably be a big relief right now. I could tell him about Swazo. He already knew about my dreams about Daniel.

  A memory arose of Loren and his sister, dressed for tea, smiling. Loren’s smile especially warm.

  I’d go. If nothing else, I needed to set some boundaries.

  The moment that thought went through my mind, my feelings crystallized.

  I liked Loren. A lot. He was very attractive, and he got my jokes. I could even see myself dating him, if circumstances were different.

  But Tony and I had unfinished business. Despite our differences, we were involved, at least emotionally, and now there was this—mess—to resolve.

  I checked the cell phone again, but there was nothing new. I’d have heard it buzz.

  Footsteps on the stairs roused me from musing. I tucked the envelope under my phone and got up to refill my teacup, meeting Kris in the doorway.

  She had on black jeans and turtleneck, with a silver ankh on a black leather cord around her neck and tiny ankh earrings.

  “Good morning,” I said. “You don’t usually come in on Mondays.”

  “I saw the ten o’clock news last night. What the hell happened?”

  “Tea?” I offered, filling my own cup.

  “Yes. And by the way, there’s a television crew camped out front.”