One Murder More, page 16
Having gotten that assurance, Maren went back to the room for one last look at Noel and noticed his cell phone and keys on the bedside table. She took them with her for safekeeping.
It wasn’t until she’d checked into the Marriott three miles north of the hospital, changed into the white terrycloth robe provided by the hotel, and had climbed into bed that she realized she hadn’t informed anyone about what had happened to Noel.
Their parents were gone. They had no other siblings. Was there anyone to call?
Lana?
The San Jose cops thought it had been a robbery gone wrong, with a knife as the weapon. But Maren couldn’t believe the attempt on her life in the Saniplaz parking garage had been random.
Marjorie Hopkins.
Tamara Barnes.
And now her.
Terrifying, yes, but Maren would think about that later.
A similar attack on a young, professional woman with some connection to the legislature, this one occurring while Sean was in jail, had to work in Sean’s favor.
She was poised to tap contacts for Lana Decateau’s number when she saw “6 missed calls—Sal” scrolling across the front of the mobile, and realized she was holding Noel’s phone, not hers. She turned it over and saw the crack in the case from when Noel had dropped it, though the phone itself looked okay.
Sal? It must be urgent, six times on a Friday evening.
Maren debated whether she should return the calls at 10:00 p.m., and with such bad news. She checked Noel’s recent phone log and found calls to and from “Sal” nearly every day for as far back as she could see. She wondered who could possibly be that significant in her brother’s life. She gave in to her curiosity and hit Call Return.
A woman answered on the first ring.
“Noel, where are you? I thought you were coming back tonight, it’s so late.”
Maren didn’t know how to begin. “This is Maren, Noel’s sister. I’m sorry to bother you, but I saw the missed calls and—”
“Maren? Where’s Noel?”
“I’m sorry to ask, but who are you? I mean, I know you’re Sal, I called you, but who are you?”
“Oh. I’m Noel’s, ah, his friend. We’re together, dating. But what happened? Why do you have his phone?”
Dating? Maren stopped herself from asking all the questions she had. It wasn’t the right time to catch up on relationship news, even if in Noel’s case that merited a thorough investigation.
“There’s been an accident,” Maren said. “Noel’s hurt. It’s okay. He’s in Santa Clara Valley Medical Center in San Jose. I just left there. They may operate tomorrow, but he’s resting tonight.”
“Operate?” It sounded like Sal would jump through the line if she could. “What? Why?”
“It’s not the knife wound—” That was a mistake, Maren realized, too late.
“KNIFE WOUND? What do you mean? Let me talk to him. Now.”
“I’m sorry, I’m exhausted, I’m not doing this right,” Maren replied. “Someone tried to attack me. Noel saved my life. He jumped between us. The knife wound is small, but he fell hard and has a tear in his heart and they have to fix it. I’m—”
“We’ll be there in . . . let’s see . . . three hours tops. We’ll go straight to the hospital.”
“Okay, I’m at the Marriott, room 284. I—”
Maren was interrupted by a dial tone.
Whatever else Sal is, she’s a doer, Maren thought.
For all the terrible news of this evening, the fact her brother, Noel, had a girlfriend, one who could communicate like a normal human being and who clearly cared deeply for him, was some consolation. But as Maren snuggled down under the covers, calmer than she had been since this whole mess started and determined to get some rest, she stiffened and opened her eyes wide.
We? She said we? Who the hell is she bringing with her?
CHAPTER 22
Fortunately, the wisdom of the body can outrank the panic of the mind. Maren was physically and mentally exhausted and soon fell fast asleep. Her respite had lasted only a few hours when she was awakened by a loud knocking. She sat up, her breath coming fast, throwing off the covers. The police may have thought the attack on her was a robbery, but she was far from convinced. She opened the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out the Gideon Bible provided with each room, raising it over her head, ready to land a righteous blow if need be.
“It’s Sal,” a woman said. “Sal Castro.”
Noel’s phone, the messages.
Maren opened the door. Standing before her was a tall woman in her late thirties dressed in a navy work shirt and matching pants, the only feminine touch a tiny gold cross on a chain around her neck. She had chin-length, dirty-blonde, curly hair. Her face was tanned and lined, her deep-set blue eyes worried. She held a sleeping child, three or four years old, wrapped in a blanket, face hidden from view.
“Is it okay if I put Bethany down?” Sal asked, as she struggled to pull back the covers with one hand and deposit her sleeping charge on the bed. “The hospital wouldn’t let me bring her into intensive care.” She added once the child was settled, “I have to see Noel.”
Maren would have said that she understood, would have offered a supportive comment, had she not been transfixed by the now-exposed features of the sleeping girl. A cast on one arm, her free hand was tangled in silky red-orange curls framing her pale face, sprinkled with translucent freckles. She wore a zip-front sweater with a kitten in a basket hand-embroidered on the pocket.
The sweater was identical to the one worn by the child in the last photo in the album that Sean had hidden. More than that, it was clear to Maren that the child she’d seen in that photo and in all the photos wasn’t Tamara. There was a powerful resemblance to Tamara, yes, but the photos were of this child.
“Are you all right?” Sal asked, taking in Maren’s glazed expression.
Maren turned away, picking up her room key off the nightstand. She willed her face to remain blank. “No, fine. I’m fine, really.” She handed the key to Sal. “What’s her name?” She couldn’t help herself from saying, “Your daughter—I mean, she is your daughter?”
Sal accepted the key and crossed the room quickly, her hand on the door, the need to see Noel pulling her as she spoke. “Bethany.” She turned back and gave a weak smile. “Is it okay if she stays with you? Noel said you’re good with kids.”
“Yes, of course,” Maren managed, realizing Sal might be having second thoughts about leaving the child in her care. “Is there anything special to do about her arm? The cast?
“It’s a small break, nothing serious.” Then Sal seemed to realize Maren might want some explanation. “She fell off a climbing structure at the park yesterday. Call me if she wakes up. You have my number in Noel’s phone.”
Maren eased herself into a chair and stared at the peaceful child before her. This was the child in the photo album, it had to be—the kitten sweater, her features. Maren’s mind raced.
But how? Why would Sean have those pictures unless this child is somehow related to Tamara? Sal’s daughter, but adopted? Or Tamara’s niece? There has to be a blood connection to Tamara.
Maren had so many questions. But she took a deep breath and consciously let go, for the moment, of the need to understand.
She had to do that to survive since it was the end of a day that couldn’t possibly be understood. Not, at least, until Noel was out of harm’s way.
She lay down carefully on the other side of the large bed, hoping not to wake the girl. But Bethany Castro opened her eyes, rolled over, and wrapped her hand around Maren’s dark curls before tucking her knees up to her chest and falling back into a deep sleep.
Maren lay like that, she wasn’t sure for how long, when she heard a key in the lock. When the door opened she was startled to see Sal, back so soon, fury in her eyes.
“They wouldn’t let me see him. Only family is allowed. Damn it, I don’t know what to do.” She paced the room, running both hands through her hair, grabbing at its roots in frustration—she looked ready to break a lamp or chair.
“Who did you speak with?”
“Some guy at the front desk. He wouldn’t let me past the entry. Family only, he kept saying.” Sal walked over and adjusted Bethany’s blanket as if by habit, but didn’t stop talking. The child didn’t stir. “I got mad and he said he didn’t need this grief, that he was going off shift in fifteen minutes, and if I didn’t leave he would call the police. On me.” She looked at Maren. “I guess I did get a little assertive.”
Maren had to smile. She knew how hard it was to be a strong woman in the world. Our lack of subtlety is not often appreciated. “What did you tell the guy, about who you are?”
“Noel’s girlfriend,” Sal answered, as though that would be obvious
“Okay. You said he was going off shift? Maybe you can get a fresh start.”
Maren eased off the bed, then reached behind her neck and unclasped the thin chain that passed through the simple gold band, its patina worn, hidden from sight under her shirt—her mother’s wedding ring. She’d not taken it off since her mother’s sudden death. It was time, she figured, and if not for this fierce woman, then for whom? She slipped the ring off the chain and handed it to Sal.
“Put this on. Tell them you’re Noel’s wife. He’ll have a bit of a shock when he wakes up,” she said. “But he’ll understand.”
She thought Sal might get teary, but this was a woman on a mission.
Sal didn’t blink, she didn’t pause. With a little effort, she wiggled the ring onto her finger. A tight fit, but she managed it, then gave a quick thanks and was gone.
Maren felt calmer, seeing the intense connection Sal clearly had to Noel. It made her more confident there would be time for questions later. She lay back down on the bed and was not surprised when Bethany rolled toward her once more and reached out her small hand for her hair.
CHAPTER 23
Sal returned at 2:00 a.m. to collect Bethany. She told Maren she’d booked a room in the same hotel and that she would be using vacation time to stay until Noel could return home.
Maren was unused to having anyone else look out for Noel, and she wasn’t sure yet how she felt about it. Plus, interacting with Sal—for any reason—was complicated. Maren tensed inside each time she thought about Bethany and the photo album Sean had hidden in her home. Because that mattered too, she realized—not just that Sean had the album with photos of Bethany, but that he thought it worth concealing. She thought it supported the possibility that Bethany was Tamara’s daughter, and Sal had adopted her. But the path to get from here to there remained unclear unless she flat out asked Sal. And that seemed way out of bounds. So Maren started the morning with the beginnings of a headache. And when she checked her messages it only got worse.
Lana Decateau reported the hairbrush in Ray Fernandez’s car hadn’t gained any more traction with the police as potential evidence than Maren’s Hopkins-Barnes single-killer theory. The governor’s alibi had checked out. Participants on the two-hour conference call at the time of Tamara’s death testified Ray was actively involved in the virtual meeting, speaking frequently. And his receptionist, Delilah Wade, corroborated his story, stating she had been in the inner office with him, taking notes. (Maren wondered if that was all the busty blonde had been doing.) Also, security cameras were located such that the governor could not have exited his inner office and made it to the bathroom where Tamara was killed without detection. And though the cops acknowledged that it could have been Tamara’s brush in Ray Fernandez’s car, she worked for him and might have left it there on the way to a public event or other function. In short, the police had no intention of harassing a popular sitting governor and inflaming the press unless they had more than an aide’s hairbrush to go on.
Maren guessed that by this time she should have seen it coming, that Detective Alibi Morning Sun and his crew wouldn’t believe Sean was innocent until Maren brought them the actual killer gift-wrapped with a bow.
As she waited for the elevator she turned her mind to Ecobabe and her work. The cell phone bill was scheduled for a hearing in two weeks in Senate Appropriations, the “money committee”. California fiscal committees didn’t evaluate the right or wrong of a proposal in terms of content or even ethics. Their only charge was to consider the financial stress the bill might mean to the state, which meant Maren’s new task for Senate Bill 770 was to convince committee members that the net costs of enforcing the cell phone driving ban—police time, paper processing, court dates—would be zero, fully paid for by fines levied on drivers that chose to flout the new law.
She pulled her phone from her satchel and sent a text to Evie about the need for a cost analysis on SB 770, asking her to put Ecobabe’s two interns on it. As she did so, she remembered that Elliot, a senior intern in his second year at Ecobabe, was busy helping Ecobabe’s junior intern, Nadira, with Clay Zimbardo’s marketing proposal. Figuring out a way to transcribe Simone Booth’s tapes had been next in the queue, but she would have to push that back one more time.
AFTER RUNNING A FEW necessary errands, Maren returned to the hospital. Noel was sitting up, the bed adjusted lounge-chair fashion. His eyes were closed. She noticed how long his sandy lashes were against his pale skin. The doctor had warned her he would be resting most of the time since the blood pressure drugs were paired with sedatives to make the long hours of immobility needed for his heart to heal bearable. Still, Noel had his hat back on. Silly as it looked, Maren found that to be the best sign of all.
“Noel?”
He opened his eyes. “How are Sal and Bethany?” His voice was weak but clear.
Although it was on her mind at the mention of the child, Maren wasn’t comfortable asking Noel about Bethany’s adoption, not in his condition. “At the zoo,” she said. “Busy exploring San Jose when Sal isn’t here giving you wifely support.” At least she could enjoy teasing her brother about his faux spouse. Noel didn’t seem to mind. He never questioned Maren’s decision to give Sal their mother’s wedding ring.
“How is Ecobabe managing?” he asked.
“Since Sal’s here, I’m planning to get back to the office today.”
He nodded. “I don’t imagine the capital can go on for long without you.”
It was hard to tell with Noel whether he was kidding. It was generally safest to assume he was serious. “The government will be fine. It only shuts down when Democrats and Republicans have more than their usual catfights. Not when they’re short a lobbyist.” She smiled, although as usual Noel didn’t seem to register her attempt at humor. “I can come back if you need me. Sacramento’s gone mostly virtual anyway, communication via email, text. Although my laptop finally crashed for good yesterday.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, genuine pathos in his voice. To Noel, the death of a computer was a notable passing.
“It’s okay. Ecobabe sprang for this.” Maren pulled an iPad mini from her satchel. “There’s an Apple store a few miles from here.” She flipped the small tablet over in her hands, then back again. “It’s much lighter and easier to carry around than my laptop. But I haven’t been able to figure out how to get to my Ecobabe emails—it keeps redirecting me to the main server.”
A light came into Noel’s eyes that she hadn’t seen since his injury. “Are you able to leave it with me? I can play around with it and give you a tutorial when you come back. The university has me on medical leave, and it’s not like I have a full schedule here.” He glanced around the small spare hospital room.
“That would be terrific,” she said, handing it over, then hesitantly leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek.
Noel looked directly at Maren. “I love you.”
She tried to remember having heard him say those words to anyone since their mom and dad had died.
CHAPTER 24
There couldn’t be any worse news on Sean’s case—at least none Maren could think of. And it was all her fault.
When Lana explained that if Sean obtained the necklace in the course of Tamara’s murder, it could add robbery during a homicide to the charges and make Sean eligible for the death penalty, Maren protested, loudly.
“It wasn’t robbery. When Sean found Tamara, he wasn’t thinking. I’m sure he just wanted something tangible to remember her by. Maybe he’s the one who gave her the necklace. And it wasn’t removed during the commission of a murder because Sean didn’t kill anyone.”
If Lana was bothered by Maren’s outburst, she didn’t let on. “There was already concern that whoever killed Ms. Barnes robbed her of her laptop and phone, since neither has been recovered from her office or home. But since no witnesses have come forward to indicate Ms. Barnes had them with her at the time of her death, until now a murder-for-profit special circumstance under California law would have been hard to prove. The discovery of Ms. Barnes’s necklace, clearly traceable back to Sean from his visit to your home the night she died, changes that. It will be up to the DA to decide how to treat the new evidence.”
Maren knew the attorney was leaving unspoken the DA’s tough-on-crime platform for his reelection campaign and how that might play into the charges he would bring against a defendant in the murder of a young and beautiful public servant.
She closed her eyes, her jaw clenched. She felt a desperation that was foreign to her, the need to do something, anything to stop the train wreck that seemed to be Sean’s case. She had only one card left—she didn’t know if it was important, and she certainly wasn’t looking forward to sharing it since all her ideas seemed to be shot down with the phrase “given that we have the prime suspect in custody . . .”
