“A little under two years.”
“No marital discord?”
Juanita gave a warning headshake, which Jose once again ignored.
“With Teresa? Not just no, but hell no. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me. Are you saying you think she had something to do with this?”
Jose had been answering the questions right along. For the first time, he seemed agitated. The beeping monitor sped up accordingly. Ali wondered if that was because Jose was offended by the direction of Lattimore’s questions or because the questions were coming too close for comfort or because he was just getting tired?
“When it comes to suspects, the spouse is always on the short list.”
“Not Teresa.”
“She doesn’t work?” Lattimore asked.
“Of course Teresa works,” Jose told him. “We’ve got two little kids at home. Three as of today.”
“But she doesn’t work outside the home?”
“No.”
“Have the two of you been experiencing any money problems?”
“No more than anyone else,” Jose answered. “We have kids. We have a mortgage. It’s not easy, but we’re making ends meet. At least we were. Now I’m not sure.”
“Would it surprise you to learn that Teresa had a substantial amount of money lying around the house?”
“Lying around the house? The only money we have lying around the house is in Lucy’s piggy bank.”
“This wasn’t in a piggy bank. It was stowed in one of Teresa’s dresser drawers.”
“You had no business digging through my wife’s dresser drawers.”
“Mr. Lattimore evidently obtained a search warrant for your home, Mr. Reyes,” Juanita interjected. “They executed it earlier this morning.”
“I’m the victim here. Why are you treating me like I’m a crook?”
The beepers tuned up and began sounding more urgent as Jose’s heart rate quickened and his breathing became labored. Before Juanita Cisco could put an end to the interview, an alert nurse appeared in the doorway.
“This visit is over,” she announced. “Mr. Reyes needs to rest.”
Lattimore left without another word. Ali followed Juanita Cisco into the waiting room where the attorney stopped and looked around. “Mr. Reyes is a wounded cop, so here’s something I don’t understand. Where are his fellow cops? Why aren’t they here?”
“I have no idea,” Ali answered.
“If he’s a good cop, they should be all over the place. If he’s a dirty cop, it stands to reason the other guys in his department would want to distance themselves. I wish I knew for sure. In the interview, Lattimore was making noises like he thinks Teresa might be involved in the shooting-as though she might be behind it. If this were my case long-term, I’d send an investigator down to Nogales to sort out some background information. It would be an added expense, but do you want me to look into hiring a PI to do just that?”
“Hiring a private investigator might be a good idea,” Ali said. “Let me think about it. I’ll let you know.”
Juanita Cisco nodded and walked away, her rubber-soled clogs squishing on the white-tiled floor. Ali waited until the nurse was out of sight, then let herself back into Jose’s room. He was awake and upset.
“If he thinks Teresa had something to do with shooting me, the man is nuts!” Jose declared. “And as for finding five thousand dollars in her dresser drawer? She’s always stressing about not having enough money to buy groceries. Where would she get that kind of money?”
“They think she’s dealing,” Ali said. “They think you are, too.”
“But I’m not,” Jose insisted. “Neither is she.”
“Then someone’s trying to frame you. Who? Do you have any enemies?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Are you having problems with someone at work?”
“No, not at all. Work is good.”
“You were shot. Most of the time when cops are shot, fellow officers go to the mat for them. They come to the hospital. They offer support for the family. So tell me, why isn’t that happening? Why aren’t they here for you?”
“They haven’t been?” Jose asked. He sounded surprised and hurt. Up to now he had been medicated enough that he hadn’t noticed.
“Not as far as I know. Donnatelle Craig and I are the only cops or even semicops who have been here. I heard Sheriff Renteria dropped by for a while yesterday, but I have yet to see anyone else from the Santa Cruz Sheriff’s Department.”
Jose seemed genuinely puzzled. “That makes no sense. Why wouldn’t they be here?”
“Good question. What can you tell me about your sheriff?
“Renteria’s a good guy. We go way back. He knew my dad. His wife knew Teresa’s mother.”
“If he’s such a good guy, maybe I’ll go talk to him tomorrow,” Ali said. “Since Lattimore, the cop who’s supposed to be investigating your shooting, is apparently convinced you’re a crook, I’m hoping Sheriff Renteria doesn’t share that opinion.”
Jose nodded vaguely. The nurse had administered some kind of medication, and it seemed to be working. He was starting to drift. “Did you see the baby?” he asked. “Did you see Carmine?”
When Ali had seen the baby in the nursery, he hadn’t been given a name, at least not officially. “Yes,” she said. “I’ve seen him. He’s fine. So is Teresa.”
“And the girls will be okay with your friend?”
“They needed a break from the hospital,” Ali said. “And the hospital needed a break from them.”
“Thank you,” Jose murmured gratefully. “Thank you for everything.”
He was asleep before Ali was out of the room. She went straight to maternity. In the nursery, the nameplate on the Baby Reyes bassinet had been changed to Carmine Jose Reyes. Ali took that to mean that Teresa had recovered enough to verify the name. That was good. It was also good that the baby was asleep.
Visiting hours were officially over. There was no sign of Maria Delgado in the waiting room. Ali hoped her brother had taken her home or else to a hotel to spend the night. When Ali poked her head into Teresa’s room, she was asleep, too. The entire Reyes family had been through enough in the past few days that they were all having an early night-night. Obviously, they needed it.
Ali was on her way back to the ICU to check on Sister Anselm when her phone rang. The readout showed Stuart Ramey’s number at High Noon.
“I have some information on your mysterious flower guy,” he said.
“You ID’d him?” Ali asked. “How?”
“We’ve done a lot of work for Homeland Security lately. I’ve got an in with some of their IT guys,” Stuart said. “I asked one of my contacts to run the photos we had through their beta-release facial recognition software. Guess what? We got a hit.”
“Really?” Ali said.
“Yup. His name’s Alonzo Gutierrez. He’s an agent with the Border Patrol. Works out of the Tucson sector. That’s all I’ve got right now. I’ve got a call in asking for more info on the guy. As soon as I learn anything, I’ll be in touch.”
“Good,” Ali said. “And thank you.”
It was shocking to think that the person possibly targeting Jane Doe was an actual Border Patrol agent, an active Border Patrol agent. It didn’t matter why he was doing it; it mattered only that he was doing it. That was vital information that Sister Anselm needed to have in her possession. Now.
Ending the call, Ali took off for the ICU at a dead run.
28
8:00 P.M., Sunday, April 11
