First Grave on the Right

shoulder, I ignored the wary glances and suspicious looks directed my way and walked straight back toward the interrogation room.

That’s when I heard the “Pssst.”

I slowed and looked around the station. Nothing but desks and uniforms from my vantage point. Then I looked toward the restrooms. An elderly Latina in a light floral dress beckoned me forward with a crooked finger. She had a black lace mantilla wrapped around her head and shoulders, and I would’ve bet my last nickel she made tortillas like nobody’s business. When she had been alive, anyway.

I didn’t really have time to counsel a departed, but I couldn’t say no. I could never say no. I glanced around the station and ducked into the women’s room all cool and nonchalant, not really sure why. Answering the call of nature was hardly illegal. But five minutes later, I exited the same way. Only this time I was armed to the teeth — metaphorically — and ready to make a deal.

I spotted Uncle Bob standing at the door to observation. He was talking intently with Sergeant Dwight when I strode up.

“I want to negotiate a deal,” I said, interrupting.

Dwight glared at me.

Ubie raised his brows in interest. “What kind of deal?”

“Julio Ontiveros didn’t shoot our lawyers.” Guilt poured off a person. I could sense it a mile away. And Julio Ontiveros was not a guilty man. Not of murder, anyway. And what had sounded like a gunshot coming from inside the apartment was actually his motorcycle misfiring. Apparently, he took it in at night so no one would steal it. Smart kid.

“Great,” Sergeant Dwight said, rolling his eyes. “Glad we have you to tell us these things.”

But Uncle Bob slanted his brows, lowered his chin, and eased closer. “Are you sure?”

“Are you serious?” the sergeant asked in disbelief.

Uncle Bob, in a rare moment of hostility, cast a razor-sharp scowl in Dwight’s direction that would wither a stout winter rose. Dwight clamped his jaw shut and turned his back to us to study the suspect through the two-way mirror.

“This is pretty big-time, Charley. I need you to be certain. There’s a lot of pressure on this one from the guys up top.”

“It’s always big-time. I want you to think back to the last time I was wrong.”

Ubie thought, then shook his head. “I can’t remember the last time you were wrong.”

“Exactly.”

“Ah. Right. And your deal?”

Ubie was going to love this. “If I can get him to confess his part in all of this today, right now, and turn state’s evidence on the real shooter, I need you to do two things for me.”

“This should be good,” he said.

“I need you to get an injunction to stop the state from pulling the plug on a convicted felon who’s in a coma.”

His brows shot up. “On what grounds?”

“That’s part of number one,” I said with a one-shouldered shrug. “You gotta come up with something. Anything, Uncle Bob.”

“I’ll do what I can, but—”

“No buts,” I said, interrupting him with an index finger in the air. “Just promise me you’ll try.”

“You have my word. And two?”

“I need you to go back to high school with me. And bring your badge.”

After a second jolt of surprise widened his eyes, he said, “I take it you’ll explain all this later?”

“Cross my heart,” I said, doing that very thing with my extended index finger. “For now, let’s get this guy to tell us what he knows.”

Sergeant Dwight, hearing our conversation, snorted at what seemed like arrogance on my part.

An annoyed sigh slipped through my lips. “This shouldn’t take long,” I told Uncle Bob.

Unable to stand by and do nothing, Sergeant Dwight turned around to us. “You’re not seriously going to jeopardize this entire investigation by allowing her to go in there, are you?” When Ubie just stood in thought, quite effectively ignoring the irate man, Dwight ground his teeth and stepped in Ubie’s face. “Davidson,” he said, expecting an answer.

I didn’t have time for this. While Uncle Bob dealt with Dwight the dipstick, I walked into the observation room and studied Mr. Ontiveros through the two-way mirror. The other officer in the room turned to me in surprise. Naturally, I ignored him. Julio sat in a small sparse area across from the observation room, fidgeting in his chair and glaring into the mirror. He had the basic gangbanger do — shaved on the sides, a little longer up top — and wore attitude like it was the latest thing. But fear leached from every pore in his body.

He wasn’t exactly innocent, but he didn’t shoot anyone. His fear stemmed from the thought of going to prison for something he didn’t do. There seemed to be a lot of that going around lately.

I turned and winked at Yesenia, the Latina I’d just conversed with in the women’s room who also happened to be Julio Ontiveros’s aunt. She stood waiting in the corner and flashed me a wicked grin as I walked out.

“I’m ready,” I tossed to Uncle Bob before entering the interrogation room itself. As I shut the door, I heard him and Dwight scramble to get inside the observation area to watch. Then I heard more footsteps doing the same. Apparently we were going to have an audience. They might be disappointed. This wouldn’t take long.

Julio sat handcuffed to a small metal table. He looked up at me, a wary surprise widening his eyes and lowering his brows for a split second before he took control over his features again.

He leaned back in his chair, lowrider style. “Who the fu—?”

“Shut up,” I said, walking purposely toward him. I leaned on the desk in front of him, brushing his cuffed wrist with my hip and blocking his view of the two-way, but more important, blocking the men in the observation room from listening in. I was close enough to give Ontiveros a lap dance. A necessary evil because what I had to say could not be overheard. Not without me being sent to a very special place with padded rooms and medication in little white cups.

I could just feel Uncle Bob coming unglued with my proximity to what he still thought of as a cold-blooded killer. But I knew better.

I’d taken Julio by surprise. Using to my advantage the seconds it would take for him to recover, I leaned forward and whispered into his ear. I didn’t have much time before Uncle Bob stormed into the room, afraid for my safety. Just a few words, two or three short sentences, and Julio Ontiveros would spill like wine on silk.

I prayed for ten seconds. I got them.

“We don’t have much time, so be quiet and listen.”

He took advantage of the situation, playing the tough guy all the way. He turned into me and inhaled the scent of my neck and hair.

“Your tia Yesenia sent me—”

He stilled.

“—and told me the exact location of the three things you desire most in the world.”

I could hear the doorknob turning. I could also feel doubt wafting off Ontiveros, his admiration for my neck and hair evaporating. That always happened when I talked about dead people. I leaned back a little and peered into his wary eyes.

“You are five minutes away from going down for three murders you and I both know you didn’t commit. Tell your part in this, without holding anything back, and I’ll tell you where the medal is. For starters.”

He sucked in a soft breath of surprise. That was desire number one. Desire number two was pretty solid as well, but number three would be a bit trickier, mostly because Ontiveros’s aunt didn’t know the exact exact location of the number three so much as its general proximity. I figured that’s what I had Cookie for.

Just as I finished my spiel, Uncle Bob rushed through the door, a warning glare on his face. I winked at him, turned back to Julio, pulled a business card from my back pocket, and slid it beneath his cuffed hand.

“You have my word,” I said before leaving.

After strolling back to the observation room, I waited to see if he’d cave. Not that I could see much. The tiny