'No,' she agreed. 'You're right. I came because of Lorenzo. I would have come anyway, but when I realized it was over that worthless man-over Gunter-I had to do something about it, something to help.'
I'm the kind of person who doesn't sort through his pocket debris on a regular basis. Stuff I remove from pockets one night when I'm on my way to bed tends to be reloaded, as is, when I dress the next morning.
Reaching into my jacket pocket, I pulled out my copy of Bonnie Elgin's Identi-Kit sketch and placed it on the table in front of June Miller.
'Is this your friend Lorenzo?' I asked.
June nodded. 'Not exactly, but close.'
'You know why we're looking for him?'
'Not really.'
'Because he was seen running through the neighborhood adjacent to Fishermen's Terminal a few minutes before the fire was discovered on Gunter Gebhardt's boat. He ran into the street and was hit by a passing vehicle.'
'I know some of that. I read the newspaper while I was waiting. But I knew about it before then, too. I heard about it last night.'
'How?'
'From Maria. Lorenzo's sister. She came to Beso del Sol looking for me. Lorenzo sent her to find me and to ask me to help.'
I had seen Beso del Sol in the Wallingford district. It looked to me like an ordinary Mexican-food joint. My first thought was that maybe the Millers were Mexican-food junkies and went there often enough to be considered regulars, but June Miller soon disabused me of that notion.
'I go there once a week for the salsa dancing.'
'Salsa dancing?' I asked, still wondering if this had something to do with food. 'What's that?'
For the first time since we'd started talking, the woman actually smiled-a dazzling, white-toothed smile.
'It's a hobby of mine,' she said. 'I walk around Green Lake in the morning, and I salsa dance three or four nights a week. Some people jog. I dance.'
'You and your husband both?'
She shook her head. Her hair, free of any noticeable layers of spray or goo, shimmered and then settled softly back around her face without a single strand out of place. 'John doesn't go,' she said. 'At least not often. He stays home with Brett.'
Typical male, I couldn't help wondering if former Congressman Miller wasn't riding for a fall. My face must have given my dirty mind away.
'It's not like that,' June Miller said quickly. 'People really do go there to dance, nothing else. It's not a pickup joint.'
'You go dancing at Beso del Sol three or four nights a week, and that's where you met this Lorenzo person?'
'I don't go there every night,' June Miller corrected. 'The dancing moves from place to place. Sometimes it's at the New World. Sometimes Latitude Forty-seven. Sometimes at the Ballard Fire House. And yes, Beso is where I first met Lorenzo. He's a very good dancer.'
'What else can you tell me about him?'
'He's scared, Detective Beaumont. Maria told me he's scared to death. I'm sure he ought to have his leg sewn up, but he refuses to go to the doctor.'
'If he didn't do anything, why's he scared?' I asked. 'What's he scared of?'
'The police.'
'Why?'
'He's from Guatemala.'
'So?'
'Do you know anything about human-rights violations? Amnesty International?'
I'm always so caught up in that home-grown variety of human-rights violation known as murder that I don't have to go looking for it beyond our borders.
'It's not top on my list of interests,' I admitted.
'When it comes to police brutality-to police operating out of control-Guatemala used to take the prize. That's why Lorenzo's family came here in the first place. His older brother was killed by two policemen. Lorenzo was in the room when it happened. He's scared the same thing will happen to him here.'
'This is Seattle,' I said.
'I know,' she agreed. 'I went to see him last night. Maria took me to their apartment. I talked to him and tried to explain all that. But he was so upset by what he had seen and heard that he could barely talk. Even to me. It really shook him up.'
'What did?'
June Miller took a deep breath. 'Lorenzo's brother was tortured to death,' she said softly. 'By two police officers. Lorenzo works two jobs these days-one as a gardener. But he's also a trained mechanic. He was helping Gunter Gebhardt do some work on his boat. On the side. For cash. But when he came to work that morning…'
She paused, then stopped altogether.
'What?' I urged impatiently.
June Miller took yet another deep breath. 'I don't know what he heard or saw because he won't tell me. But it must have been awful.'
As far as I knew, no mention of Gunter Gebhardt's mutilation had appeared in any of the local media. This wasn't something June Miller had heard from Bonnie Elgin or from Maxwell Cole, either. The room grew silent.
'You're telling me Lorenzo saw Gunter Gebhardt being tortured?'
'He didn't say that to me,' June Miller answered. 'But he must have seen something.'
'Why do you say that?'
'Because of what Maria told me. She says that ever since, whenever he falls asleep, even for a few minutes, the nightmares start up again. The same nightmares that kept him awake for years after his brother died.'
'You have to take me to see him,' I said softly.
'Yes,' June Miller agreed. 'I know I do. But you can see why I don't want to.'
And indeed I could.
'When can I talk to him?'
'Tonight. Maria said she'll try to bring him to the Ballard Fire House. That's where the salsa dancing is tonight. I told her I'd try to make arrangements to bring you there as well.'
Salsa dancing in Ballard? Not the Ballard I knew-or used to know. 'What do I do?' I asked.
'Just show up around ten o'clock or so. Pay the cover charge. I'll meet you inside. There's a band. The dancing doesn't really get under way until around eleven.'
'What do I wear?'
'What you have on is fine.'
'I have a partner, you know. Her name's Sue Danielson. Is it all right if she comes along?'
I knew I'd be in a whole lot of trouble if she couldn't.
'Do you dance?' June Miller asked.
'Not me.'
'How about your partner?'
'We work the Homicide Squad,' I said. 'The subject of dancing has never come up.'
'You can bring her along,' June agreed. 'But it'll be better if she knows how to dance.'
16
After my interview with June Miller ended, I escorted her as far as the elevator lobby. Leaving her there, I jogged down the stairway to the fifth floor.
'See me,' said the yellow Post-it note pasted at eye level on the doorway to my cubicle. It was signed with
