“Maybe,” I said. “Why not ask Vincent?”
He stopped in his tracks. I flashed my badge just long enough for him to glimpse the shield.
“Let’s have a private word, Mike,” I said. “Tell your partner to stay where he is.”
The truth is, they could have jumped me right there. They could have jumped me, and they could have taken me. There wasn’t any foot traffic in this corridor, and anyone peering down the hall would have seen two cops making an arrest. Mike seemed to be weighing the options. Luckily, he thought better of it. I pulled him off to the side.
“Listen,” I said. “I’m doing you a favor. I’ve got you on video, walking away with the prime suspect in a murder investigation. I’m telling you, drop it. Tampa PD is descending on gate 16 right now. They’ll want to know who paid you. Maybe you’ll stand up under a police grilling, but do you think Vincent will take that chance? Let her go, and I’ll erase this video. Right here and now, while you’re watching. All you have to do is tell Vincent the cops beat you to her.”
He was anxious now. There was sweat on his brow and he couldn’t make himself stand still. I knew what he was thinking: Do I back down or go to the mat? Which scores more points with Vincent Costello? Because say what you will about our local mob boss, but he pays way better than the Tampa International Airport Police Department.
“You’ll make it up to him,” I said.
His puffed-out chest deflated a full inch.
“Yeah, all right,” he said.
Then, to his partner: “Cut her loose.”
Serena bolted without a word. I gave each of my colleagues a no-hard-feelings handshake, then turned and followed her. By the time I got to the gate, the spectacle was in full swing, Serena kicking and thrashing like a snared cat while Heidi and Randy held on for dear life. The unis formed a small phalanx on either side, ready to catch her if she broke loose.
“Ayúdame!” Serena screamed. “Por favor…”
I joined the circle of onlookers, pushed my sunglasses up the bridge of my nose, and bent my knees until I was just able to see over the shoulder in front of me.
“We are here to help you,” Heidi said. “You understand? We’re the good guys.”
Serena lashed out with her feet, hooked her ankles around a bolted-down chair, and kept on screaming. My Spanish is less than functional, but I’m pretty sure she said that cops are the real murderers.
To Heidi’s credit, they didn’t tase her or bend her arm behind her back or even wrestle her to the ground; they just held on until the fight died down, then calmly escorted her out of the terminal.
When they were gone, I sat for a minute and watched the passengers finish boarding. Part of me still wished I could fly standby, especially now that I knew there’d be at least one empty seat.
Chapter 29Serena Flores
October 21
4:00 p.m.
Interview Room C
“WHAT DID she say?” Haagen asked.
Detective Nuñes—a first-generation American whose accent told me her family came from the north—gave me a sad look, as if she hated to betray one of her own.
“She said there’s something sinister here.”
“Sinister? Sinister how?”
I pretended not to understand. Nuñes translated. I sat back, looked over the dreary, windowless room: a scratched-up metal desk, hard-backed plastic chairs, surveillance cameras in every corner, those fluorescent lights that look like ice cube trays. How in the world did I end up here? I wondered.
“I’m the victim,” I said. “You have no right to keep me.”
“Ah, you do speak English.” Haagen smiled. “Maybe you should tell us how you’re the victim when Anthony Costello’s the one in the morgue?”
I thought it over. There was a phrase I copied maybe a hundred times in my high school English class: “The truth will set you free.”
“How far back do you want me to go?” I asked.
“However far you need, just so long as you tell us everything you know about Anthony’s murder.”
I went back a full year.
We were standing outside the upstairs guest bathroom. Me and Tony. Usually he liked the help to call him Mr. Costello, but when I first got here, the double ls came out a y. He said it made me sound like a cartoon. The th in Anthony wasn’t any easier, so we settled on Tony.
“How many times do I have to tell you?” he asked, holding up a green hand towel with a small soap ring in the middle.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It won’t happen again.”
“I wish I could believe that. Once more, and I start docking your pay. Now get out of here. Go find something to clean downstairs.”
I turned to walk away. Dressing me down was nothing new. I hardly even noticed anymore. But this was the first time he’d threatened me. Soap washes out. That’s the point of soap. But when the towels cost six hundred dollars per set, they aren’t towels anymore: they’re little museum pieces that no one should touch.
“Hold on,” he called after me. “We need to talk about that vaccination. Did you make an appointment like I asked?”
I searched for a white lie but came up empty.
“I was going to do that later,” I said.
“Later? I asked you weeks ago. I told you it was a priority. For your visa, but also for my health. This is my busy season. I can’t afford to be getting sick.”
“I understand.”
“You can’t afford for me to be sick. You think Anna will pay your salary?”
I shook my head.
“Wait here a second,” he said.
He stepped into the bathroom, came back holding up a pill bottle in one hand and a cup of water in the other.
“Normally I wouldn’t share these, but since you work under my roof, giving one to you is the same as giving one to me. An ounce of prevention.”
“What are they?”
“The next best thing to
