“Maybeyou could put in a good word for me,” he said.
Shesupposed she owed him the favor. Maybe she would after she got thewhole story of how he ended up in prison in the first place. Thenagain, she pretty much thought he belonged there. “I’ll see what I cando.”
Shehung up, found a phone book, and started calling hospitals.
Hardincalled every hospital in downtown Denver. Every emergency room, everyob-gyn, free clinic, and even Planned Parenthood. She had to do a lotof arguing.
“I’mnot looking for names, I’m just looking for numbers. Rates. I want toknow if there’s been an increase in the number of miscarriages in thedowntown Denver area over the last three years. No, I’m not from theEPA. Or from 60 Minutes. This isn’t an exposé,I’m Detective Hardin with Denver PD and I’m investigating a case. Thank you.”
Ittook some of them a couple of days to get back to her. When they did,they seemed just as astonished as she was: Yes, miscarriage rateshad tripled over the last three years. There had actually been a smalldecline in the local area’s birth rate.
“DoI need to worry?” one doctor asked her. “Is there something in thewater? What is this related to?”
Shehesitated about what to tell him. She could tell the truth—and he wouldnever believe her. It would take too long to explain, to try topersuade him. “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t talk about it until the case iswrapped up. But there’s nothing to worry about. Whatever was causingthis has passed, I think.”
Hedidn’t sound particularly comforted, and neither was she. Becausewhat else was out there? What other unbelievable crisis would strikenext?
Hardinknocked on the Martinals’ front door. Julia Martinal, the mother,answered again. On seeing the detective, her expression turnedconfused. “Yes?”
“Ijust have one more question for you, Mrs. Martinal. Are you pregnant?”
“No.”She sounded offended, looking Hardin up and down as if to say, how dare you?
Hardintook a deep breath and carried on. “I’m sorry for prying into yourpersonal business, but I have some new information. About Dora Manuel.”
JuliaMartinal’s eyes grew wide, and her hand gripped the edge of the door.Hardin thought she was going to slam it closed.
Hardinsaid, “Have you had any miscarriages in the last couple of years?”
Atthat, the woman’s lips pursed. She took a step back. “I know whatyou’re talking about, and that’s crazy. It’s crazy! It’s just oldstories. Sure, nobody liked Dora Manuel, but that doesn’t make her a—a—”
SoHardin didn’t have to explain it.
Thedaughter, Teresa Martinal, appeared where she had before, lingering atthe edge of the foyer, staring out with suspicion. Her hand rested onher stomach. That gesture was the answer.
Hardinbowed her head to hide a wry smile. “Teresa? Can you come out andanswer a few questions?”
Juliamoved to stand protectively in front of her daughter. “You don’t haveto say anything, Teresa. This woman’s crazy.”
“Teresa,are you pregnant?” Hardin asked, around Julia’s defense.
Teresa didn’tanswer. The pause drew on, and on. Her mother stepped aside,astonished, studying her daughter. “Teresa? Are you? Teresa!”
Theyoung woman’s expression became hard, determined. “I’m not sorry.”
“Youspied on her,” Hardin said, to Teresa, ignoring her mother. “You knewwhat she was, you knew what that meant, and you spied to find out whereshe left her legs. You waited for the opportunity, then you broke intothe shed. You knew the stories. You knew what to do.”
“Teresa?”Mrs. Martinal said, her disbelief growing. The girl still wouldn’t sayanything.
Hardincontinued. “We’ve only been at this a few days, but we’ll findsomething. We’ll find the bolt-cutters you used and match them to thecut marks on the padlock. We’ll match the salt in your cupboard withthe salt on the body. We’ll make a case for murder. But if youcooperate, I can help you. I can make a pretty good argument that thiswas self-defense. What do you say?”
Hardinwas making wild claims—the girl had been careful and the physicalevidence was scant. They might not find the bolt-cutters, and thesalt thing was pure television. And while Hardin might scroungetogether the evidence and some witness testimony, she might neverconvince the DA’s office that this had really happened.
Teresalooked stricken, like she was trying to decide if Hardin was right, andif they had the evidence. If a jury would believe that a meek, pregnantteenager like her could even murder another person. Itwould be a hard sell—but Hardin was hoping this would never make it tocourt. She wasn’t stretching the truth about the self-defense plea.By some accounts, Teresa probably deserved a medal. But Hardin wouldn’tgo that far.
Ina perfect world, Hardin would be slapping cuffs on Dora Manuel, notTeresa. But until the legal world caught up with the shadow world, thiswould have to do.
Teresafinally spoke in a rush. “I had to do it. You know I had to do it. Mymother’s been pregnant twice since Ms. Manuel moved in. They died. Iheard her talking. She knew what it was. She knew what was happening. Ihad to stop it.” She had both hands laced in a protective barrierover her stomach now. She wasn’t showing much yet. Just a swell shecould hold in her hands.
JuliaMartinal covered her mouth. Hardin couldn’t imagine which part of thisshocked her more—that her daughter was pregnant, or a murderer.
Hardinimagined trying to explain this to the captain. She’d managed to getthe werewolves pushed through and on record, but this was so muchweirder. At least, not having grown up with the stories, it was. Butthe case was solved. On the other hand, she could just walk away.Without Teresa’s confession, they’d never be able to close the case.Hardin had a hard time thinking of Teresa as a murderer—she wasn’t likeCormac Bennett. Hardin could just walk away. But not really.
Inthe end, Hardin called it in and arrested Teresa. But her next call wasto the DA about what kind of deal they could work out. There had to bea way to work this out within the system. Get Teresa off on probationon a minor charge. There had to be a way to drag the shadow world,kicking and screaming, into the light.
Somehow,Hardin would figure it out.
BellumRomanum
GAIUS ALBINUS stood before the locked gates of Diocletian’s Palace. Fifteenhundred years of planning, and he could not get towhere
