Mama Rose’s place. Even in the sodden weather, there was a crew of guys out planting what looked like nothing more than twigs in the muddy ground. Once again Regis came hurtling out of nowhere to greet me. I thought it interesting that, despite the fact that there was a whole army of workers out in the yard, the German shepherd decided I was the only real interloper. Once again, Tom Wojeck rescued me. He corralled the barking dog and then came back to see me, this time without a welcoming handshake.
“I was afraid you’d be back,” he groused. “And I was right. Here you are. I guess it’s a good thing I went ahead and told her.”
“Told her what?” I asked.
“About Marina’s money,” he said. “About finding it and giving it back. We had a big fight about it, but it’s settled now. I think she understands why I did it.”
“And why was that?” I asked.
He gave me a scathing look. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?” I asked.
“Self-preservation,” he answered. “You may still be the guy you used to be, but I’m not. In the old days I wouldn’t have thought twice about taking on a punk like the one who came here looking for Marina’s money, but I can’t do that anymore, Beau. I’m not that tough. My body isn’t up to it. So that’s what I did-I went along to get along. Giving him his money was the only thing I could do to protect Mama Rose and me, and that’s what I did.”
Unfortunately, I did understand because I’m in the same boat. I can’t take punches the way I could back when I was a young Turk, and I can’t deliver them the same way, either. And, unlike Tommy, I hadn’t spent the last ten years or so of my life battling what would probably turn out to be a fatal disease. Right that minute, Tom Wojeck didn’t look like he was at death’s door, but he wasn’t in the peak of health either.
“Why are you here?” he added. “What do you want?”
“Marina’s dead,” I told him. “We suspected as much when Mel and I came here earlier, but now we know for sure. We’ve made a positive identification. Her real name was Marcella Carbajal Andrade.”
Tom sighed. “All right, then,” he said. “Come on in. It’ll break Mama Rose’s heart, but she’ll want to know.”
This time we walked across the veranda and entered the house through the front door. We found Mama Rose Brotsky sitting on a sofa in the massive living room. She had been watching her rose-planting crew with avid interest, but when I walked into the room, her face hardened.
“It’s about Marina,” she said before I ever opened my mouth. “And it’s bad news, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I concurred. “I’m afraid it is.”
Mama Rose wept as I related my news. I found it oddly comforting to realize that someone besides Marcella’s immediate family mourned the young woman’s passing. When I finished, Mama Rose dried her tears and squared her shoulders.
“How much money was that exactly?” she asked Tom.
“Right at forty-five thousand,” he answered.
“We’ll need to write a check for her son,” Mama Rose said. “His name is Luis, right?” she asked me.
I nodded.
“No matter how Marina…Marcella…came by that money, it wasn’t ours to give away. With her gone, it needs to go to the boy.”
Nodding, Tom Wojeck left the room. He returned a short while later carrying a business-style checkbook. “What’s his name again?” Tom asked.
“Luis,” I told them. “Luis Andrade.” I spelled it out for him.
“Go ahead and make it for a full fifty,” Mama Rose said. “He’ll need it.”
When the check was written, Tom tore it out and handed it to Mama Rose. She examined it for a moment before passing it along to me.
“How old is Luis again?” Mama Rose asked.
“In high school,” I said. “Fourteen or fifteen.”
“If he wants to go on to college, that should help,” she said.
“Yes, it should,” I agreed. I folded the check and put it in my pocket. “But tell me this. According to her brother, Marcella didn’t leave Arizona until sometime last summer. She couldn’t have been here more than a few months before she died. How did you happen to meet her?”
“That’s easy,” Mama Rose said. “I’m the whole reason she came here in the first place. Working girls from all over the country know about me. When they’re finally serious about getting off the streets and out of the business, Mama Rose Brotsky is often the only game in town-the only game in any town.”
I would have asked more about that, but my phone rang just then. I was glad to hear Joanna Brady’s voice until I heard what she had to say.
“What the hell do you mean, he’s taken off from the hotel?” I demanded. “He doesn’t have a car. Where would he go?”
“He rented a car,” she said. “And I think he may be on his way to find someone named Miguel Rios who lives in a town called Gig Harbor.”
“Crap,” I said. “Why the hell would he pull a stupid stunt like that?”
But I already knew the answer. Jaime was on the trail of the man responsible for his sister’s death, and he didn’t give a damn about possible consequences. That’s how young guys think-that they’re invincible and that might makes right. With guys like Jaime, the painful lessons taught by the passing of time-the ones people like Tommy Wojeck and I have already learned-have yet to sink in.
“He isn’t armed,” I said. “He flew up with carry-on luggage only.”
But after a moment’s thought I knew that idea was bogus. The last time I saw Jaime Carbajal, he hadn’t had a car, either. If he could get himself wheels, he could lay hands on a gun.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m on my way. I’ll need a description of his rental car along with license information.”
“I don’t have that right now,” she told me. “But I’ll have it by the time you call me back.”
I called Mel as soon as I was out of the house. “You’re going to have to cancel that mani-pedi after all,” I said. “I need you to meet me in Gig Harbor.”
“Why?”
“Because Jaime Carbajal has gone off the reservation,” I said. “He’s on the warpath and looking for Miguel Rios.”
“He never should have been a part of that first interview,” Mel said. “We both knew better. We should have put a stop to it.”
That was true, of course. It was also too little too late.
CHAPTER 17
When Joanna changed clothes, her first wardrobe choice that early April afternoon would have been a pair of comfy jeans and a sweatshirt, but the way things seemed to be going, she settled instead for a freshly laundered uniform. On her way back out the door, she stopped in the office long enough to grab Derek Higgins’s memory card out of her home computer.
She was backing her Crown Victoria out of the garage when Agent in Charge Bruce Delahany called her back.
“What the hell is going on down there?” he demanded. “I thought you told me a little while ago that you were working on a case over in Bowie. Now you say it’s Washington State. Which is it?”
“Both,” Joanna said. “The answer would be both.”
“Who’s going to see Rios? And why?”
“Jaime Carbajal is one of my homicide detectives. His sister, Marcella, was found murdered a little over a week ago. Jaime is under the impression that Rios may have been responsible for what happened.”
Joanna’s comment was followed by a long stark silence. It went on long enough that she began to wonder if she had lost the connection.
