In Death 27 - Salvation in Death

burritos, is of interest at the bodega?”
    Eve went through it, taking Peabody through the interviews, the search results, and the agenda.
    “You woke Whitney up?”
    She would hone in on that single point, Eve thought. “Apparently. We need the access. Two explosions, one likely in retaliation for the first, both with fatalities. Gang turf. And that’s when Lino Martinez and friend skipped town. Lino was upper rung in the Soldados, he had skills with electronics. No way this went down without his participation.”
    “And this Penny Soto may know.”
    “Inez knows something, and the something caused a rift. It’s worth feeling Penny out.”
    “Do you think he made contact with the old girlfriend, gang friend, and didn’t make contact with his mother?”
    “I think he didn’t make contact with his mother. I think she played it straight with me. I don’t think he connected with Inez because the guy was too wigged out to be lying about it. Maybe he burrowed in for five years, but he probably passed the bodega most every day, saw this woman—his girlfriend—nearly every day.”
    She thought of Roarke, and his lost Jenny.
    “It would take a hell of a lot of willpower not to connect, not to have somebody to talk about the old days with.”
    Peabody nodded. “Besides, why come back here, specifically, if you didn’t want to connect?”
    “There you go. And if you want to connect, isn’t it going to be with someone you’re comfortable with, who you trust? Mom loves him, sure, but she didn’t like where he was heading, tried to rein him in—and she’s got a new life. New husband, new son. How can he cozy up and tell her he’s pretending to be a priest?”
    Eve hunted up parking. “If he connected, if he trusted,” she continued as she squeezed into a spot at the curb, “he might have shared his secrets.”
    Even from the sidewalk, Eve could hear the jingle of the bell as people went in and out of the bodega. She spotted Marc Tuluz from the youth center stepping out with a large, steaming go-cup.
    “Mr. Tuluz.”
    “Oh. Lieutenant . . .”
    She could see him searching mental files for her last name. “Dallas.”
    “Right. Morning hit,” he said, lifting the go-cup. “I can’t fire all cylinders without a jumbo sucre negro. Are you here about Miguel?” He paused, looked flustered. “I don’t know what else to call him. Do you have any news?”
    “There may be, later today. So, you hit this place daily?”
    “Sometimes twice a day. This stuff’s probably corroded all my pipes, but hey.” He lifted the cup like a toast. “Who wants to live forever?”
    “Did you run into Flores here?”
    “Sure, now and again. Or if we were both up at the center, and one of us got the jones, he might spring for a couple of hits. Killer burritos, too, best in the neighborhood. One of us usually picked up lunch here at least once a week when we had meetings at the center. I still can’t believe . . . Is there anything you can tell me, Lieutenant? Anything I can pass on to Magda? She’s having a rough time of it over this.”
    “We’re working on it.”
    “Yeah. Well. I’d better let you get back to that, and get myself to the center.”
    “Came in most every day,” Eve stated when Marc walked away. “Just how much temptation can a fake priest handle?”
    She went inside, to the jingle of the bell. It was colorful, in looks and scents, with the counter of breakfast choices doing steady business. Others jammed at the coffee kiosk or did morning shopping, filling red handbaskets with items off shelves.
    Two women worked the breakfast counter, and Penny was one of them. She had improbably large breasts on a bony build—man-made breasts, Eve concluded. Junk-made build. Ink-black hair streaked with magenta coiled inside a net designed to keep customers from finding stray hairs in the huevos, torrijas, and frittatas. Her mouth, dyed a hard red, clamped in a line of boredom as she scooped, piled, and served.
    Eve stepped to the end of the line. The few minutes it would take to reach the counter would give her more time to observe. Gold hoops, wide enough to slide a burrito through, swung at Penny’s ears, while a platoon of bracelets jangled on her wrist. Her nails were painted as dark as her mouth, with the half-moons etched out in black.
    On her forearm rode the symbol of the Soldados, with the kill mark.
    “Go ahead and order,” Eve told Peabody.
    “There is a God.” When she reached the