emphasis. “He stayed that way for weeks. I asked him what was wrong. He didn’t know. I asked him if thought it was the new drug. He didn’t know.” She paused and took a long slug of coffee.
“Then one Sunday, I came home from the market and he was dead on the floor of our bedroom. Part of his head was blown off.” Tears filled her eyes. “It tore my heart in a way that will never heal.”
Sula knew. “I’m very sorry for your loss, and I’m sorry to put you through this. I won’t take up much more of your time.” She took another sip of coffee to be polite. “Do you have something that has Miguel’s DNA?”
“What do you mean?”
“A lock of his hair, or a toothbrush. Something like that?”
Lucia gave her an odd look. “This will help you find out if the drug made him kill himself?”
“Yes.”
Lucia shrugged again. “Okay.”
Sula clicked off the recorder as Lucia padded down the hallway. In a minute she came back with a small wooden box inlaid with colored glass. Lucia set the box on the table and opened it. Against red velour padding lay a thick lock of dark curly hair.
“I only need part of it. Do you have a Ziplock baggie?”
Miguel’s widow rummaged through a kitchen drawer and came back with a good-sized freezer bag with a sealing mechanism. “This is okay?”
“It’s fine. How about some masking tape and a pen?”
Another longer trip to the kitchen produced both.
“Please write your husband’s name on a piece of tape and stick it on the bag, then transfer some of the hair to the bag and seal it. I’ll turn on the recorder, and I want you to say what you’re doing as you do it.”
Lucia did as she’d been asked and tried not to smile at the silliness of it. Sula shut off the recorder and put the hair package into her shoulder bag. She hoped she didn’t get searched on her flights home.
“Would you like me to contact you later and let you know what I found out?”
“Please. It would be nice to know.”
Lucia wrote down her phone number and address on Sula’s yellow tablet.
“Thank you. Do you know Luis’ wife?”
“Si. Are you going to see her?”
“We’re going there next. Do you think she’ll talk to me?”
“I don’t know. She’s moody. Marta’s at work now and doesn’t get off until three. I’ll call her and let her know you’re coming, so she’ll go straight home.” Lucia made a face. “Sometimes she stops at the taberna.”
Sula wandered into the living room while Lucia made her call. The conversation was in Spanish, and although she didn’t understand the words, she could tell it became intense at one point. She stared at the patterns in a wall tapestry and worried that Luis’ widow didn’t want to cooperate. One set of DNA wouldn’t do any good. The FDA needed a pattern to show the link between the mutation and the behavior. She hoped the agency’s researchers would get samples from the young woman in the Portland trial who killed herself, the one named James who looked Hispanic.
Lucia hung up and joined her near the door. “Marta will meet you at her home at 3:15. Do you have the address? It’s in San Juan.”
“Is she still at 55 Cristo St.?”
“Si.”
“Thanks again. I’ll be in touch.”
The sun’s brightness almost blinded her after the dark interior, and the day was starting to heat up. Sula checked her watch: 12:13. Roman chatted with the young boy in the shade of a tree. She thought he must be a grandchild or neighbor. She smiled and waved at the two and climbed in the car. In a moment, her driver joined her. Roman had smoked a cigarette and worked up a light sweat while waiting, but the combination of smells was strangely masculine and pleasant. Almost sexy.
“Did you get what you need?”
“Yes. Thanks. Lucia called Marta and we’re meeting her at 3: 15.”
“Good. We have time to stop for lunch then.”
Roman took off with his usual foot to the floor. Sula buckled herself in.
They ate lunch at a little roadside stand just outside of San Juan. The asopao de pollo was the best on the island Roman assured her. Sula loved the zesty combination of oregano, garlic, cilantro, and chili peppers. Garden fresh green peas cooled the fire and kept the dish from being too hot. Despite her hearty breakfast, she ate with gusto, sitting at a picnic table under a tattered sun umbrella. It was the best meal she’d had in a long time, and it had cost only two dollars and seventy-five cents.
Marta lived on the sixth floor of an apartment building in an area of San Juan called Hato Rey Central. They parked in a garage under the building and took the elevator up. Sula normally avoided both parking garages and elevators, but after surviving the flights to get here, finding Lucia, and getting a DNA sample, she felt too optimistic to give either much thought. Although on the way up, it occurred to her that the building was quite old, and she wondered if the elevator was regularly maintained.
No one answered their knock. Sula checked her watch: 3:07.
“We’re a little early.”
“So we wait.” Roman took a seat on the floor and leaned back against the wall. Sula joined him.
“I really appreciate your help today. This would have been so much more difficult without you.”
“You don’t have to keep saying that. It’s nothing, really.”
Marta didn’t show up until 3:47, and when she did, she told them to get lost.
Chapter 26
“But you told Lucia you would talk to me.” Sula smelled rum on Marta’s breath and felt a little desperate.
“I don’t feel like it now.”
“It will only take a minute.”
“I said, ‘get lost.’” Marta was a short sturdy woman with long reddish blond hair. She wasn’t exactly pretty, but Sula thought men would find her attractive. Maybe not at the moment, though.
Still hoping to win her over, she held out her hand. “I’m Sula Moreno, and this is Roman from the clinic.”
Marta turned away. “And you know who I am.” She unlocked her apartment door, stepped through, and slammed it shut. Roman made an unpleasant gesture.
Damn. Without the second set of DNA, there was no theory to test. Sula struggled to be optimistic. Maybe Marta would feel differently later this evening. Or tomorrow morning when she was sober. Sula couldn’t make herself walk away. She stepped up to the door and knocked timidly.
There was no response. She knocked louder. After a minute, the door jerked open and Marta swore at her in Spanish.
Sula didn’t back down. “I know how you feel. My father killed himself, and I was angry for a long time. But if you don’t help me, many more people may commit suicide. Nexapra has a genetic flaw that seems to affect Hispanic people.”
She had Marta’s attention. “Why Hispanic people?”
“I don’t know. And we might never know if you don’t give me Luis’ DNA.”
Marta bit her lip and mulled it over. Finally, she said, “I’ll give you the stuff Lucia said to, but I don’t want to talk.”
“That’s fine. Thank you.”
Marta turned and gestured for Sula to follow.
The small space reeked of stale cigarette smoke and perfume, but the view of the harbor was lovely. Marta didn’t invite her to sit.
“Wait here.” She stalked out of the room through a tapestry covered arch. A moment later she came back with a hairbrush and a pipe. “These belonged to Luis.” She thrust the items at Sula. “It’s all I have left of him.”
