“Cesar is in trouble again?” he asked,his whole demeanor heavy and disappointed. “He swore to me he was going clean.Getting out of the gang and into something better.”
“We don’t know for sure yet,” Shelleypointed out. “We need to question him.”
Craig opened the drawer of a filingcabinet and leafed through the contents before drawing out a piece of paper. “Thisis his parole address. You should proceed with caution. If he is mixed up ingang business again, he’ll likely have an entourage. He did time for the gang,so he’s gained some prestige. They’ll want to protect him. If you go in allguns blazing, they could react badly.
“Understood,” Shelley said. “If we go inalone, just the two of us? Show we just want to talk?”
Craig inclined his head. “Safer. Butmake sure someone knows where you are. Just in case.”
Shelley drew in an unsteady breath asshe nodded. Zoe observed this, thinking that Shelley had probably never been inthis kind of a situation before. With how well she handled herself, it wassometimes easy to forget that she wasn’t long out of Quantico. There wereplenty of scenarios that would still be daunting to her, fresh and new.
When it came to gangs, Zoe couldn’t sayshe was altogether confident herself.
“You are a bit of a local expert on thesegangs?” Zoe asked, directing her question toward Craig.
He looked up in surprise—it was thefirst time she had spoken during the whole exchange—and shrugged. “I guess youcould say that. At least the closest thing on this side of the law. Why? Do youneed some information?”
“It is about Clay Jackson, the man Cesarlikely killed,” Zoe said.
“Oh, he killed him. Just did it smoothenough they couldn’t catch him,” Craig said. “I’ve heard next to a confession fromhim, though he’s too smart to come out and really say it.”
Zoe nodded, glad for the confirmation atleast. “His aunt, Alicia Smith. She was questioned about the murder at thetime.”
Craig narrowed his eyes and then flickedthem toward the ceiling, thinking. “Not sure the name rings a bell.”
“Her son, John Dowling, is one of themurder victims that we are currently investigating.”
Craig took the hint. “You’re asking meabout their relationship. Whether Cesar would murder this John Dowling as soonas he got out to make a point.”
“Precisely.”
Craig pursed his lips, drumming hisfingers on his desk. “I just can’t see it. Clay Jackson was like a lot of theseguys. The gang was his family. Real blood relations paled in comparison. As faras I remember, he wasn’t in contact with most of his relatives. His parentswanted nothing to do with a son that was in a gang.”
That was interesting. It was a hole intheir theory, but then again, it wasn’t proof. Craig knew these men, but hewasn’t part of the gangs. Not anymore. There were things that they might beable to hide from his suspicion.
“Thanks,” Shelley said, reaching over toshake his hand. “We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”
***
The address listed on the scrap of paperthat Craig had written out for them was a rundown, single-story building withbeaten up old cars parked across what should have been the front yard. One ofthem was on cinderblocks instead of tires. Not exactly what you might expectfrom the home of a drug kingpin.
Maybe Craig was right, and Cesar reallywas out of the game. That didn’t mean he was done with his revenge, Zoethought, chewing her lip as she examined the view.
There didn’t seem to be anyone around wholooked out to cause them any harm. No one watching them from windows orporches, no cars moving slow through the neighborhood. No sign of anyonestirring inside the house.
“We should go in,” Zoe decided, openingthe driver’s side door and getting out.
Shelley followed her after a beat. Itwasn’t a long delay, but it was a delay. Zoe wondered if Shelley was gettingcold feet about going down this gang route. Whatever they did, they were goingto have to investigate it somehow. No matter what kind of delay theyinstigated, they were going to end up here at some stage.
Zoe tried to exude confidence that sheherself did not really feel as she walked up to the front door and knockedhard, three sharp raps that could not fail to be heard throughout the smallhome.
There was no response.
She exchanged a glance with Shelley, nowstanding close behind her, and knocked again. Harder. Five times. Not so easyto ignore.
There was nothing. Not the creak of afloorboard or a flicker of movement behind the flimsy curtains. The living roomwindow, visible from where they stood, gave onto an empty room.
“No one is here,” Zoe said after a moment,deciding that it did not feel like they were simply being ignored.
“What now, then?” Shelley asked, lookingback at the car. “Do we sit and wait?”
Zoe followed her gaze and saw an elderlyHispanic man who had come out to sit on the steps of a property on the otherside of the street. Seventy-three years old, she estimated. “Maybe. Maybe not,”she said, setting off at a casual walking speed toward him.
It was always awkward, moving towardsomeone like this. The old man was watching them and knew that they wereapproaching him. Knew that they were coming to talk to him, but he was stilltoo far away to yell a greeting. Where did you look? At the ground? Into thedistance, ignoring the presence of the man, as if you were planning to just goon right past him? At his face, to create eye contact that would be awkward forthe long stretch of time it took you to reach speaking distance?
Zoe settled for a mixture of all three,which was somehow even more awful, and ended up calling out to him as soon asshe was halfway across the road just to make it stop.
“Excuse me, sir?”
He didn’t get to his feet, eyeing themboth with a heaping of mistrust, but he gave them his attention.
“We are looking for the man who lives atthis address. Do you know where he might be at this time?” Zoe asked, keepingher words somewhat neutral. No need to give everything away at once.
The old man
