In Death 27 - Salvation in Death

master and took a scan of the small lobby. It smelled faintly of citrus cleaner and boasted a fake fichus tree in a colorful pot and two chairs arranged together on a speckled white floor.
    “He’s 2A.” She eschewed the two skinny elevators and took the stairs with Roarke. Muted sounds leaked from apartments into the corridor—shows on entertainment screens, crying babies, salsa music. But the walls and doors were clean, as the lobby had been. The ceiling lights all gleaming.
    From a glance, Inez did his job.
    She knocked on 2A. The door opened almost immediately. A boy of around ten with a wedge of hair flopping over his forehead in the current style of airboard fanatics stood slurping on a sports drink. “Yo,” he said.
    “Yo,” Eve said. “I’d like to speak to Joe Inez.” She held up her badge.
    The badge had him lowering the drink, and his eyes going wide with a combination of surprise and excitement. “Yeah? How come?”
    “Because.”
    “You got a warrant or anything?” The kid leaned on the open door, took another slurp of his bright orange drink. As if, Eve thought, they were hanging out at the game. “They always ask that on the screen and stuff.”
    “Your father do anything illegal?” Eve countered, and the boy phffted out a breath.
    “As if. Dad! Hey, Dad, cops are at the door.”
    “Mitch, quit screwing around and get back to your homework. Your mom’s gonna . . .” The man who walked in from another room, wiping his hands on his pants, stopped short. Eve saw the cop awareness come into his eyes. “Sorry. Mitch, go finish getting the twins settled in.”
    “Aw, come on. ”
    “Now,” Inez said, and jerked his thumb.
    The boy muttered under his breath, hunched his shoulders, but headed in the direction his father indicated.
    “Can I help you with something?” Inez asked.
    “Joe Inez?”
    “That’s right.”
    Eve looked, deliberately, at the tattoo on his left forearm. “Soldados.”
    “Once upon a time. What’s this about?”
    “Lino Martinez.”
    “Lino?” The surprise came into his eyes as quickly as it had his son’s, but with none of the excitement. What Eve saw in them was dread. “Is he back?”
    “We’d like to come in.”
    Inez raked both hands through his hair, then stepped back. “I got kid duty. It’s my wife’s girls’ night. I don’t know how long Mitch can keep the twins in line.”
    “Then we’ll get right to it. When did you last have contact with Lino Martinez?”
    “Jesus. Must be fifteen years ago. Couple more maybe. He took off when we were still kids. About sixteen, seventeen.”
    “You’ve had no contact with him in all this time?”
    “We had some hard words before he left.”
    “About?”
    Something shuttered over his eyes. “Hell, who remembers?”
    “You were both members of a gang known for its violence, and its blood ties.”
    “Yeah. I got this to remind me, and to make damn sure my kids don’t make the same mistakes. I did some time, you know that already. I drank, and I kicked it. I’ve been clean for almost thirteen years now. When’s it going to be long enough?”
    “Why did Lino take off?”
    “He wanted out, I guess. He and Steve—Steve Chávez—said they were heading to Mexico. Maybe they did. I only know they took off together, and I haven’t seen or heard from either of them since.”
    “Do you go to church?”
    “What’s it to you?” At Eve’s steady stare, he sighed. “I try to make it most Sundays.”
    “You attend St. Cristóbal’s?”
    “Sure, that’s . . . This is about that priest.” Relief bloomed on his face. “About the one who died at the funeral. Old Mr. Ortiz’s funeral. I couldn’t make it, had a plumbing problem up on the fifth floor. Are you talking to everyone in the parish, or just former gang members?”
    “Did you know Flores?”
    “No, not really. I mean, I saw him around now and then. Most Sundays we’d go to the nine o’clock Mass. My wife liked to hear Father López’s sermons, and that was fine by me as he usually keeps them short.”
    “Your boys don’t go to the youth center.”
    “Mitch, he’s wild for airboarding. Doesn’t give a shit about team sports, at this stage anyway. The twins are only five and—” Whoops and shouts burst from the back of the apartment. Inez smiled grimly. “Right now, we’re keeping them on a short leash.”
    “What about Penny Soto?”
    His eyes shifted, went cold. “She’s around the neighborhood, sure. We’ve got