In Death 27 - Salvation in Death

doesn’t.” She sat. “I’m relieved that he doesn’t, because he carries trouble with him. Like his father. And I have another son. I have David, and he’s a good boy.”
    “Mrs. Franco, you’re aware Lino belonged to the Soldados?”
    “Yes, yes.” She sighed. “His brothers, he called them. He had their mark put on him.” She rubbed a hand on her forearm. “Nothing I did stopped him; nothing I said swayed him. He’d make promises, and break them. Go his own way. There was always police with Lino.”
    “When was the last time you saw him?”
    “He left home when he was seventeen. He’s never come back.”
    “You used to work for Hector Ortiz.”
    “Years ago. He was good to me. To us. He gave Lino a job, a little job when he was fifteen. Busing tables, sweeping up. And Lino stole from him.”
    Even now, it seemed the memory of it brought an embarrassed flush to her cheeks. “He stole from that good man, that good family. And shamed us.”
    “Did you attend Mr. Ortiz’s funeral service?”
    “No. I wanted to, but David’s parent-teacher conference was that day. Tony, my husband, and I make sure we both attend every one. It’s important. I sent flowers.” Something flickered in her eyes. “The priest was killed during the Mass. I heard about it. And I heard they’re saying—the police are saying—he wasn’t a priest at all. Oh God. Oh God.”
    “Mrs. Franco.” Eve crouched until they were eye-to-eye, then drew an evidence pouch out of her field bag. “Is this Lino’s?”
    Teresa’s breath went ragged as she reached for the bag, as her thumb rubbed the front of the medal through the seal. She turned it over, and her eyes blurred with tears as she read the inscription on the back. “I gave him this for his First Holy Communion. He was seven, seven years old. He was still my boy then, most of him was still my little boy. Before he got so angry, before he wanted so much more than I could give. Is he dead? Is Lino dead? Did he kill the priest? Oh God, did he take the life of a priest?”
    “I think he may have, Mrs. Franco, in more ways than one. The body of the man who posed as Father Flores had a tattoo removed. From his forearm. The gang symbol of the Soldados. He’d had facial reconstruction. He had this medal hidden in his room.”
    The color simply leached out of her face. “You think this man, this priest, was Lino.”
    “Father Flores was traveling out West when he disappeared, nearly seven years ago. We’ve done some back-checking, and Lino Martinez drops off the grid at about the same time. He moved on and off prior to that. Changing identities, from what we’ve been able to ascertain. Identity theft has been part of his style, and one of his skills.”
    “It was always so. He was bright. A bright boy, and smart with electronics. He could have used it for his education, to build a good life, a career. Instead, it was part of his path into the gang. His usefulness in that area. Mother of God.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes. “Did it come to this? Is he dead?” She began to rock. “Is he dead? Please, I need my husband. I need my family. I need to see my son. I need to see Lino.”
    “You haven’t seen him in twenty years, and he changed his appearance. Would you recognize him?”
    Teresa dropped her hands, and the tears fell with them. “He’s still my son.”
    Eve picked up the evidence bag in Teresa’s lap. “I’ll make arrangements for you to view the body.”
    A shudder moved through Teresa. “Please, can it be tomorrow? After my boy is in school. I don’t want him to know. . . . Maybe it’s a mistake, and he won’t ever have to know. If it’s not, I want to find the right way to tell him about his brother.”
    “Tomorrow morning. I can have transportation sent to you.”
    “Please don’t. The neighbors . . .” She choked on a sob, covered her mouth with her hand. “I know how that sounds. It sounds shameful and selfish. But my life is here. My little boy’s life is here. We’ve had no trouble with the police. You can look, you can ask. He’s a good boy. My husband, he’s a good man. You can—”
    “Mrs. Franco, we don’t want to bring you any trouble. I can tell you where to come, and meet you there. What time will your son be in school?”
    “My boy’s in school by eight. We can come to the city, my husband and I. We’ll leave as soon as our boy’s in school. My husband can—”
    “Okay. It’s okay. Nine o’clock.” Eve