Stillwater, page 15
“I deleted it, too.”
Mitra was dejected. Ethan said, “If I had it, I would let you see it.”
She nodded and smiled. “It would probably give me nightmares anyway. Did you go around town Saturday?” Mitra asked.
“Yeah.” Something kept Ethan from telling his friends about his run-in with Freeman. “Did y’all realize there are no sidewalks in Stillwater?”
“I’ve never thought about it,” Olivia said. Her brows furrowed in concentration.
“I’ve noticed,” Mitra said. Ethan wondered if she’d had the same problem as he had, but with residents calling the police about a strange Middle Eastern girl walking the streets.
“I guess people just don’t walk many places,” Troy said.
Olivia’s face cleared and she took on a look of determination. “So, about studying,” Olivia said. Ethan learned early on that Olivia didn’t give up easily. “I’m sure your dad would make an exception for studying.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He didn’t particularly want his dad to make an exception for studying.
“I’ll go see my Mom at work and just happen to run into your Dad. Parents love study groups. You’ll be free in no time.”
“I’d hardly call study group freedom,” Ethan murmured.
“Olivia can be convincing,” Troy said.
Olivia motioned to her brother with a smile. “See? Troy agrees.”
“You’re going to search out my dad and ask him if I can do a study group? I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
His dream of Olivia came rushing back to him in great detail. Ethan felt his face burning. “Um, because he will never let me hear the end of it.”
“We’re just friends.”
“I know that, but he doesn’t. Just don’t ambush him, okay? I’ll ask.”
“Are y’all going to the Book Bank tonight?” Mitra asked.
Olivia’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Perfect. I’ll ask him then. Completely natural, because y’all will be with me when I do.”
“The Book Bank?” Ethan asked.
“Ellie’s launch party,” Troy said.
“Oh,” Ethan replied. The woman from the square, the one his dad seemed so interested in. Ethan started to think he should delete those pictures.
“Ellie’s one of my mom’s best friends,” Troy said.
“We’ve known her all our lives. We used to call her Aunt Ellie until she said it made her feel old,” Olivia said.
“How old is she?”
“My mom’s age,” Olivia said. “She is totally awesome.”
“She is very nice,” Mitra said.
“Are you going tonight?” Olivia asked.
“With my parents,” Mitra replied.
“Dad hasn’t said anything about it. We probably aren’t invited.”
“Oh, you’re invited,” Olivia said. “My mom mentioned it. You’ll be there.”
Ethan’s embarrassment about his dream had long since vanished, replaced by the irritation he felt whenever Olivia put on her know-it-all, hyper-confident attitude. Now he didn’t want to go to whatever this party was just to prove her wrong.
“I can’t believe Stillwater is going to have a bookstore,” Mitra said. She swirled a carrot in her hummus and took a bite.
“And a coffee shop,” Olivia said.
“I won’t be hanging out there. I don’t like books or coffee,” Ethan said, standing. “Come on, pile it on.”
“Ease up, Grumpy Cat,” Olivia said.
Olivia and Mitra put their trash on Ethan’s tray, and he picked up Troy’s to take everything to the trash.
“Isn’t this sweet?”
A muscular boy with the hint of a mustache on his upper lip stood at the end of the table, blocking Ethan’s way.
“I don’t know, Kevin. Dumping my lunch tray has never been the highlight of my day, but I’m new to Stillwater. Maybe it is for the natives,” Ethan replied.
Kevin smirked. “The natives. Funny, city boy.”
“And I wasn’t even trying,” Ethan said, wondering what was so funny about his comment. He was trying to be insulting.
“Ready for the game this week, Kevin?” Troy asked.
Kevin Jackson stood a little straighter, as he always did when talking about football. “We’re always ready to kick some ass.” He slammed his fist into his palm for emphasis. Ethan tried to stifle a laugh.
“What’s so funny, city boy?”
Ethan shrugged. “Can a snipe kick anyone’s ass? I mean, do they even exist? What exactly is a snipe? Ever seen one? Besides on your helmet?”
Kevin stepped closer to Ethan and glared down at him. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
Troy stood. “No, Kevin. He’s just trying to learn as much about his new school as he can.”
“Ma—” Ethan started.
“Shut up, Ethan,” Olivia interjected. He shot her an annoyed look.
“Yeah,” Kevin said. “Shut up, Ethan. What kind of pussy name is that?”
Ethan put the trays down but Troy moved in front of Ethan and shook his head. Kevin smirked, before turning his attention to Olivia. “You’re the one I wanted to talk to.”
“Really?” she asked. Her neck turned all splotchy.
“Yeah. Want to walk to the DQ with me after school today?”
“Um,” she stammered, the blush completely overtaking her face.
“She can’t,” Ethan interrupted. “We’ve got study group.”
The entire table went silent. Mitra suppressed a smile. Troy was completely baffled. Olivia’s splotches evened out into a bright red. Ethan could almost see the waves of anger pulsing off her.
“That’s tomorrow,” Olivia said, fixing her blazing eyes on Ethan, daring him to contradict her. Ethan tried to hide his mortification at saying anything and he returned her angry stare.
Olivia turned to Kevin and smiled. “I’ll meet you out front after school.”
“Great,” Kevin said. “See ya later.”
“See ya,” she said.
Ethan picked up the trays. “Wow,” Ethan said. “I never thought you’d go out with a bully like Kevin Jackson.” He brushed past her.
She turned on him and hissed, “He’s not a bully!”
Ethan dumped the trash and put the trays in the window for the dishwasher. He faced Olivia, who had followed him. “Uh, yeah. He is,” Ethan said. “Or is calling people a pussy the way you bumpkins welcome people to Stillwater?” He walked back to the table, Olivia on his heels.
“You’ve been here a few days and you think you know everything about everyone,” she said. “I’m beginning to think Kevin’s right about you.”
“I was obviously wrong about you. I wouldn’t think you would defend a bully.”
Olivia’s eyes narrowed and she turned and stalked off.
Ethan, Troy, and Mitra watched Olivia go. “Well, Mitra. Hope you didn’t have your heart set on studying. You just got stood up,” Ethan said.
Mitra shrugged. “Tomorrow is fine.”
“I can’t believe Olivia would defend him like that,” Ethan said to Troy, trying to ignore the stone of jealousy lodged in his stomach.
Troy shrugged. “She’s had a crush on Kevin for years. You kinda ruined the moment.”
“Me? He’s a bully and you know it! Isn’t he, Mitra?”
She shrugged and picked up her bento box. “See you in class,” she said and left.
“Thing is, Kevin’s not a bully, Ethan,” Troy said. “He really hates you for some reason but overall he’s a really good guy. Totally unlike his family.”
“He just called me a pussy and he cornered me in the locker room my first day.”
“You were being rude to him.”
“So that justifies it?”
Troy shrugged. “No, but you being a smart-ass might explain it. I can’t explain the locker room. I didn’t see it.”
That was the problem: no one saw it.
With no athletic clothes (of course his dad forgot) and no desire to play football, Coach Taylor had put Ethan in charge of filling water bottles for the “real” athletes. He had been alone in the locker room doing just that when he heard the clicking of cleats on the concrete floor and Kevin Jackson came around the corner, unzipping his football pants. He stopped when he saw Ethan. He walked to the urinal without a word. Ethan was fitting the tops on the water bottles when Kevin walked up behind him and stared at him in the mirror. For a moment, Ethan thought he was going to introduce himself, then Kevin straightened his shoulders and his nervousness changed to bravado.
“I wouldn’t bother making too many friends. Your dad will be out of a job by the end of the month. My uncle will see to it.”
“Good. The quicker I get out of this shithole of a town, the better.”
Kevin grabbed Ethan’s shoulder and turned him around. He was at least six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier. Ethan saw a wispy mustache on Kevin’s upper lip. “Watch it, city boy.”
“Great comeback, cracker.”
Ethan heard the door to the locker room open. One of the coaches yelled in for Kevin. He had flipped the water bottles onto the ground and stalked out.
“You saying I made it up?” Ethan said to Troy now.
“No. But just because someone doesn’t like you doesn’t mean they’re a bully.”
Ethan wanted to argue but kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to lose his only friend after barely a week in town. They wove through the crowd of students on the way to their lockers. Olivia glared at Ethan and shouldered past them without a word. Troy watched her stomp into her class.
“It is weird, though,” Troy admitted.
“What?” Ethan took his social studies book from his locker.
“Why he asked her out.”
“What’s weird about that?”
“He’s known for years that Olivia liked him. Why did he decide to ask her out now?”
“Maybe he realized how—” Ethan stopped himself from saying something he would regret. “—much he liked her,” he finished instead.
“Or maybe he’s trying to make you jealous?”
“Me?” Ethan said, his voice an octave too high. “Why would that make me jealous?”
Troy rolled his eyes. “I’m not that stupid. See you in class.”
Mitra walked up, holding her books close to her chest. She watched Troy walk away, disappointment written all over her face. She looked at Ethan and smiled. “Ready?” she asked.
“You think Kevin’s a bully, too, don’t you?”
She sighed. “I’m not the best person to ask.”
“Why?”
“At one point or another, everyone has bullied me.”
Ethan felt his stomach tighten. He asked the question, even though he didn’t want to know the answer. “Even Troy and Olivia?”
She shrugged. “We’re going to be late for class.” She started walking. Ethan followed.
“How long have you lived in Stillwater?” Ethan asked.
“Ten years.”
“Where are you from?”
“I was born in Houston. My parents left Iran when the Shah left. They were kids.”
“Why Stillwater?”
“My dad bought an oil well servicing company here. He wanted my brother and me to grow up in a small town.”
Olivia glanced up when they entered the classroom and gave Ethan a withering glare. She was making a big production of slamming books and jerking the zipper of her backpack. Damn, she had a temper. Just like Ethan’s dad.
He knew Troy was right: Kevin had asked Olivia out to piss Ethan off and make him jealous. Whether Kevin was quick enough to see that Ethan liked Olivia or just assumed it because he spent so much time with her, Ethan wasn’t sure. Either way, Ethan knew he needed to distance himself from her, not only because he didn’t want everyone to figure out he was having wet dreams about her, but also because he didn’t want Kevin Freaking Jackson to date Olivia just to spite him.
He got a funny, fluttery feeling in his stomach at that idea. It quickly changed to nausea when he thought of what the innocent-sounding walk to DQ actually meant. He’d heard through snatches of conversation that these “walks” were merely excuses to detour through an abandoned, overgrown lot and make out. The idea that this was Kevin’s ultimate intention—and why wouldn’t it be?—made Ethan want to puke. And that Olivia, being a local and knowing much better than Ethan what a walk to DQ meant, would still choose to go with that Neanderthal made him furious.
VI
With a small pocketknife that once belonged to his dad, Jack cut the yellow crime-scene tape sealing the front door of the Ramoses’ trailer. He put on gloves and went inside. He closed the door and surveyed the room.
The spicy aroma so prominent the day of the murders had dissipated, replaced with the musty smell of disuse. A thin veneer of dust covered the counters and tabletops, had settled into the fabric of the sofa and chair, and lay lightly on the carpet worn shiny and flat from years of use.
Jack dropped his duffel bag on the floor and, starting on the left, methodically began his search. Behind and underneath the sofa. Below the cushions. With a grimace, he shoved his hand between the frame of the sofa where the back met the seat and scooped out years worth of loose change, used condoms, chip bags, paper clips, pen caps, dried-out pens, plastic spoons, a butter knife, a plastic ring, a yo-yo, an empty snuff can, a tampon (unused, thank God) and a pair of panties too large to be Rosa Ramos’s. He repeated the search with the chair, finding much of the same. He ran his hands under the coffee table and lifted it. Nothing but green, blue, and red gum and dried boogers.
He opened every drawer, cabinet, and appliance in the kitchen, came up with nothing interesting or out of place, and moved down the hall and into the bathroom. Despite being abandoned for a week, it smelled fresh and looked clean. A medicine cabinet full of over-the-counter drugs, condoms, tampons, a rubber bulb parents use to clear the mucus from babies’ noses, a tiny set of fingernail clippers next to a larger pair for adults, a black comb with broken teeth, a can of Axe, and a small bottle of Jennifer Lopez perfume. A round hairbrush matted with black hair lay on the clean sink next to a small jelly jar holding two toothbrushes and a twisted tube of toothpaste. The toilet was clean, inside and out, but no amount of scrubbing could get rid of the years of neglect the toilet suffered before being saved by Rosa Ramos’s good housekeeping. Jack lifted the lid off the back of the toilet. Nothing except a small dispenser of bleach that would release when flushed. The shower, hard-water stains notwithstanding, was spotless as well.
Jack stood in the doorway to the bedroom for a long time. It was a pocket door, necessary because having a door that would swing open would drastically reduce the floor space in the room. When he tried to close the door, it jumped off the runner and jammed into the wall. It took Jack five minutes to get the door back on track. Obviously, it wasn’t closed when the killer arrived. Jack doubted Gilberto and Rosa used it at all.
The bed was next to the door of the small room. They would have seen their killer immediately, even if they had been making love, which they clearly had been. Jack turned and stood in the hallway next to the door, his back to the wall. He took his gun out and held it next to his ear. He pivoted into the doorway and pretended to shoot Gilberto, then Rosa. A few seconds was all it would have taken for a man who knew how to handle a gun. They never knew what hit them. He put his gun back in his holster.
Jack searched through the inside of every drawer, pulled them out, felt underneath, and looked inside the dresser frame. He moved it away from the wall and looked behind. He got down on his hands and knees, shined his MagLite under the dresser, then turned it under the bed. He pulled the long, thin plastic bins from beneath the bed and searched them. Nothing. Same with the closet. Nothing. He tapped his flashlight on his leg and took one last look around.
For someone who liked to hide things, according to her “brother,” there was nothing interesting to be found. Were Rosa and Gilberto really this boring? Or had someone cleaned up before the police arrived? The killer? Or Diego Vasquez?
Jack moved to the nursery. Where all the other furniture in the house was obviously secondhand, the nursery furniture was new. Brand new. Underneath the crib was a plastic bag full of instructions and warranties and a Wal-Mart receipt dated August 29. Three weeks ago, Rosa and Gilberto bought $750 worth of baby furniture, toys, and clothes—in cash. Jack pulled a small baggie from his pocket, placed the receipt inside. Besides a few unpaid bills in a kitchen drawer, Jack hadn’t found evidence of a bank account or personal paperwork. He didn’t expect to. Rosa and Gilberto worked in cash jobs, though what either of them could have done to earn so much cash he could only guess.
The baby’s room was mostly empty since clothes, diapers, toys, and supplies had been given to the foster family. It turned out Miner had been right about the woman he gave the baby to; she was well known to the county child protective services and had taken in Mexican babies for them before.
Jack dumped the contents of the duffel bag on the kitchen table, tossed the empty bag aside, and sat down. He took all the items from the evidence bags, placed them in the middle of the table, and stared at the meager possessions the crime-scene tech had found in the bedroom the morning of the murders. The pay-as-you-go phones sat atop the printouts of their activity over the last month. Gilberto called and texted very few people and had never set up his voice mail. Rosa made more calls, recently mostly to doctors and numbers in Mexico that Jack assumed were family members and were being traced. Her voice mail had been empty. Jack picked up Gilberto’s wallet. The edges of the black leather were worn from use and the shape of the wallet indicated it was normally much fuller than Jack found it. The contents were uninteresting; driver’s license, a Wal-Mart portrait of Rosa and the baby, twenty-three dollars, and a Chevron receipt for chips, Mountain Dew, and a candy bar.
Gilberto might have been the dullest murder victim Jack had ever come across. His investigation hadn’t found one motive for anyone, even Rosa, to kill Gilberto. He was a good guy, hard worker, loving husband and father. He drank a lot on the weekends, but what hardworking man didn’t? His drinking never led to trouble with the police; there was no record of Stillwater police ever having contact with Gilberto, or Rosa for that matter. Try as he might, Jack could not profile Gilberto. He left very little impression on the home he lived in and supported. The people who knew him spoke of him in banal generalities, as if struggling to pinpoint why they liked him and realizing maybe they didn’t after all.
Mitra was dejected. Ethan said, “If I had it, I would let you see it.”
She nodded and smiled. “It would probably give me nightmares anyway. Did you go around town Saturday?” Mitra asked.
“Yeah.” Something kept Ethan from telling his friends about his run-in with Freeman. “Did y’all realize there are no sidewalks in Stillwater?”
“I’ve never thought about it,” Olivia said. Her brows furrowed in concentration.
“I’ve noticed,” Mitra said. Ethan wondered if she’d had the same problem as he had, but with residents calling the police about a strange Middle Eastern girl walking the streets.
“I guess people just don’t walk many places,” Troy said.
Olivia’s face cleared and she took on a look of determination. “So, about studying,” Olivia said. Ethan learned early on that Olivia didn’t give up easily. “I’m sure your dad would make an exception for studying.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He didn’t particularly want his dad to make an exception for studying.
“I’ll go see my Mom at work and just happen to run into your Dad. Parents love study groups. You’ll be free in no time.”
“I’d hardly call study group freedom,” Ethan murmured.
“Olivia can be convincing,” Troy said.
Olivia motioned to her brother with a smile. “See? Troy agrees.”
“You’re going to search out my dad and ask him if I can do a study group? I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
His dream of Olivia came rushing back to him in great detail. Ethan felt his face burning. “Um, because he will never let me hear the end of it.”
“We’re just friends.”
“I know that, but he doesn’t. Just don’t ambush him, okay? I’ll ask.”
“Are y’all going to the Book Bank tonight?” Mitra asked.
Olivia’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Perfect. I’ll ask him then. Completely natural, because y’all will be with me when I do.”
“The Book Bank?” Ethan asked.
“Ellie’s launch party,” Troy said.
“Oh,” Ethan replied. The woman from the square, the one his dad seemed so interested in. Ethan started to think he should delete those pictures.
“Ellie’s one of my mom’s best friends,” Troy said.
“We’ve known her all our lives. We used to call her Aunt Ellie until she said it made her feel old,” Olivia said.
“How old is she?”
“My mom’s age,” Olivia said. “She is totally awesome.”
“She is very nice,” Mitra said.
“Are you going tonight?” Olivia asked.
“With my parents,” Mitra replied.
“Dad hasn’t said anything about it. We probably aren’t invited.”
“Oh, you’re invited,” Olivia said. “My mom mentioned it. You’ll be there.”
Ethan’s embarrassment about his dream had long since vanished, replaced by the irritation he felt whenever Olivia put on her know-it-all, hyper-confident attitude. Now he didn’t want to go to whatever this party was just to prove her wrong.
“I can’t believe Stillwater is going to have a bookstore,” Mitra said. She swirled a carrot in her hummus and took a bite.
“And a coffee shop,” Olivia said.
“I won’t be hanging out there. I don’t like books or coffee,” Ethan said, standing. “Come on, pile it on.”
“Ease up, Grumpy Cat,” Olivia said.
Olivia and Mitra put their trash on Ethan’s tray, and he picked up Troy’s to take everything to the trash.
“Isn’t this sweet?”
A muscular boy with the hint of a mustache on his upper lip stood at the end of the table, blocking Ethan’s way.
“I don’t know, Kevin. Dumping my lunch tray has never been the highlight of my day, but I’m new to Stillwater. Maybe it is for the natives,” Ethan replied.
Kevin smirked. “The natives. Funny, city boy.”
“And I wasn’t even trying,” Ethan said, wondering what was so funny about his comment. He was trying to be insulting.
“Ready for the game this week, Kevin?” Troy asked.
Kevin Jackson stood a little straighter, as he always did when talking about football. “We’re always ready to kick some ass.” He slammed his fist into his palm for emphasis. Ethan tried to stifle a laugh.
“What’s so funny, city boy?”
Ethan shrugged. “Can a snipe kick anyone’s ass? I mean, do they even exist? What exactly is a snipe? Ever seen one? Besides on your helmet?”
Kevin stepped closer to Ethan and glared down at him. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
Troy stood. “No, Kevin. He’s just trying to learn as much about his new school as he can.”
“Ma—” Ethan started.
“Shut up, Ethan,” Olivia interjected. He shot her an annoyed look.
“Yeah,” Kevin said. “Shut up, Ethan. What kind of pussy name is that?”
Ethan put the trays down but Troy moved in front of Ethan and shook his head. Kevin smirked, before turning his attention to Olivia. “You’re the one I wanted to talk to.”
“Really?” she asked. Her neck turned all splotchy.
“Yeah. Want to walk to the DQ with me after school today?”
“Um,” she stammered, the blush completely overtaking her face.
“She can’t,” Ethan interrupted. “We’ve got study group.”
The entire table went silent. Mitra suppressed a smile. Troy was completely baffled. Olivia’s splotches evened out into a bright red. Ethan could almost see the waves of anger pulsing off her.
“That’s tomorrow,” Olivia said, fixing her blazing eyes on Ethan, daring him to contradict her. Ethan tried to hide his mortification at saying anything and he returned her angry stare.
Olivia turned to Kevin and smiled. “I’ll meet you out front after school.”
“Great,” Kevin said. “See ya later.”
“See ya,” she said.
Ethan picked up the trays. “Wow,” Ethan said. “I never thought you’d go out with a bully like Kevin Jackson.” He brushed past her.
She turned on him and hissed, “He’s not a bully!”
Ethan dumped the trash and put the trays in the window for the dishwasher. He faced Olivia, who had followed him. “Uh, yeah. He is,” Ethan said. “Or is calling people a pussy the way you bumpkins welcome people to Stillwater?” He walked back to the table, Olivia on his heels.
“You’ve been here a few days and you think you know everything about everyone,” she said. “I’m beginning to think Kevin’s right about you.”
“I was obviously wrong about you. I wouldn’t think you would defend a bully.”
Olivia’s eyes narrowed and she turned and stalked off.
Ethan, Troy, and Mitra watched Olivia go. “Well, Mitra. Hope you didn’t have your heart set on studying. You just got stood up,” Ethan said.
Mitra shrugged. “Tomorrow is fine.”
“I can’t believe Olivia would defend him like that,” Ethan said to Troy, trying to ignore the stone of jealousy lodged in his stomach.
Troy shrugged. “She’s had a crush on Kevin for years. You kinda ruined the moment.”
“Me? He’s a bully and you know it! Isn’t he, Mitra?”
She shrugged and picked up her bento box. “See you in class,” she said and left.
“Thing is, Kevin’s not a bully, Ethan,” Troy said. “He really hates you for some reason but overall he’s a really good guy. Totally unlike his family.”
“He just called me a pussy and he cornered me in the locker room my first day.”
“You were being rude to him.”
“So that justifies it?”
Troy shrugged. “No, but you being a smart-ass might explain it. I can’t explain the locker room. I didn’t see it.”
That was the problem: no one saw it.
With no athletic clothes (of course his dad forgot) and no desire to play football, Coach Taylor had put Ethan in charge of filling water bottles for the “real” athletes. He had been alone in the locker room doing just that when he heard the clicking of cleats on the concrete floor and Kevin Jackson came around the corner, unzipping his football pants. He stopped when he saw Ethan. He walked to the urinal without a word. Ethan was fitting the tops on the water bottles when Kevin walked up behind him and stared at him in the mirror. For a moment, Ethan thought he was going to introduce himself, then Kevin straightened his shoulders and his nervousness changed to bravado.
“I wouldn’t bother making too many friends. Your dad will be out of a job by the end of the month. My uncle will see to it.”
“Good. The quicker I get out of this shithole of a town, the better.”
Kevin grabbed Ethan’s shoulder and turned him around. He was at least six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier. Ethan saw a wispy mustache on Kevin’s upper lip. “Watch it, city boy.”
“Great comeback, cracker.”
Ethan heard the door to the locker room open. One of the coaches yelled in for Kevin. He had flipped the water bottles onto the ground and stalked out.
“You saying I made it up?” Ethan said to Troy now.
“No. But just because someone doesn’t like you doesn’t mean they’re a bully.”
Ethan wanted to argue but kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to lose his only friend after barely a week in town. They wove through the crowd of students on the way to their lockers. Olivia glared at Ethan and shouldered past them without a word. Troy watched her stomp into her class.
“It is weird, though,” Troy admitted.
“What?” Ethan took his social studies book from his locker.
“Why he asked her out.”
“What’s weird about that?”
“He’s known for years that Olivia liked him. Why did he decide to ask her out now?”
“Maybe he realized how—” Ethan stopped himself from saying something he would regret. “—much he liked her,” he finished instead.
“Or maybe he’s trying to make you jealous?”
“Me?” Ethan said, his voice an octave too high. “Why would that make me jealous?”
Troy rolled his eyes. “I’m not that stupid. See you in class.”
Mitra walked up, holding her books close to her chest. She watched Troy walk away, disappointment written all over her face. She looked at Ethan and smiled. “Ready?” she asked.
“You think Kevin’s a bully, too, don’t you?”
She sighed. “I’m not the best person to ask.”
“Why?”
“At one point or another, everyone has bullied me.”
Ethan felt his stomach tighten. He asked the question, even though he didn’t want to know the answer. “Even Troy and Olivia?”
She shrugged. “We’re going to be late for class.” She started walking. Ethan followed.
“How long have you lived in Stillwater?” Ethan asked.
“Ten years.”
“Where are you from?”
“I was born in Houston. My parents left Iran when the Shah left. They were kids.”
“Why Stillwater?”
“My dad bought an oil well servicing company here. He wanted my brother and me to grow up in a small town.”
Olivia glanced up when they entered the classroom and gave Ethan a withering glare. She was making a big production of slamming books and jerking the zipper of her backpack. Damn, she had a temper. Just like Ethan’s dad.
He knew Troy was right: Kevin had asked Olivia out to piss Ethan off and make him jealous. Whether Kevin was quick enough to see that Ethan liked Olivia or just assumed it because he spent so much time with her, Ethan wasn’t sure. Either way, Ethan knew he needed to distance himself from her, not only because he didn’t want everyone to figure out he was having wet dreams about her, but also because he didn’t want Kevin Freaking Jackson to date Olivia just to spite him.
He got a funny, fluttery feeling in his stomach at that idea. It quickly changed to nausea when he thought of what the innocent-sounding walk to DQ actually meant. He’d heard through snatches of conversation that these “walks” were merely excuses to detour through an abandoned, overgrown lot and make out. The idea that this was Kevin’s ultimate intention—and why wouldn’t it be?—made Ethan want to puke. And that Olivia, being a local and knowing much better than Ethan what a walk to DQ meant, would still choose to go with that Neanderthal made him furious.
VI
With a small pocketknife that once belonged to his dad, Jack cut the yellow crime-scene tape sealing the front door of the Ramoses’ trailer. He put on gloves and went inside. He closed the door and surveyed the room.
The spicy aroma so prominent the day of the murders had dissipated, replaced with the musty smell of disuse. A thin veneer of dust covered the counters and tabletops, had settled into the fabric of the sofa and chair, and lay lightly on the carpet worn shiny and flat from years of use.
Jack dropped his duffel bag on the floor and, starting on the left, methodically began his search. Behind and underneath the sofa. Below the cushions. With a grimace, he shoved his hand between the frame of the sofa where the back met the seat and scooped out years worth of loose change, used condoms, chip bags, paper clips, pen caps, dried-out pens, plastic spoons, a butter knife, a plastic ring, a yo-yo, an empty snuff can, a tampon (unused, thank God) and a pair of panties too large to be Rosa Ramos’s. He repeated the search with the chair, finding much of the same. He ran his hands under the coffee table and lifted it. Nothing but green, blue, and red gum and dried boogers.
He opened every drawer, cabinet, and appliance in the kitchen, came up with nothing interesting or out of place, and moved down the hall and into the bathroom. Despite being abandoned for a week, it smelled fresh and looked clean. A medicine cabinet full of over-the-counter drugs, condoms, tampons, a rubber bulb parents use to clear the mucus from babies’ noses, a tiny set of fingernail clippers next to a larger pair for adults, a black comb with broken teeth, a can of Axe, and a small bottle of Jennifer Lopez perfume. A round hairbrush matted with black hair lay on the clean sink next to a small jelly jar holding two toothbrushes and a twisted tube of toothpaste. The toilet was clean, inside and out, but no amount of scrubbing could get rid of the years of neglect the toilet suffered before being saved by Rosa Ramos’s good housekeeping. Jack lifted the lid off the back of the toilet. Nothing except a small dispenser of bleach that would release when flushed. The shower, hard-water stains notwithstanding, was spotless as well.
Jack stood in the doorway to the bedroom for a long time. It was a pocket door, necessary because having a door that would swing open would drastically reduce the floor space in the room. When he tried to close the door, it jumped off the runner and jammed into the wall. It took Jack five minutes to get the door back on track. Obviously, it wasn’t closed when the killer arrived. Jack doubted Gilberto and Rosa used it at all.
The bed was next to the door of the small room. They would have seen their killer immediately, even if they had been making love, which they clearly had been. Jack turned and stood in the hallway next to the door, his back to the wall. He took his gun out and held it next to his ear. He pivoted into the doorway and pretended to shoot Gilberto, then Rosa. A few seconds was all it would have taken for a man who knew how to handle a gun. They never knew what hit them. He put his gun back in his holster.
Jack searched through the inside of every drawer, pulled them out, felt underneath, and looked inside the dresser frame. He moved it away from the wall and looked behind. He got down on his hands and knees, shined his MagLite under the dresser, then turned it under the bed. He pulled the long, thin plastic bins from beneath the bed and searched them. Nothing. Same with the closet. Nothing. He tapped his flashlight on his leg and took one last look around.
For someone who liked to hide things, according to her “brother,” there was nothing interesting to be found. Were Rosa and Gilberto really this boring? Or had someone cleaned up before the police arrived? The killer? Or Diego Vasquez?
Jack moved to the nursery. Where all the other furniture in the house was obviously secondhand, the nursery furniture was new. Brand new. Underneath the crib was a plastic bag full of instructions and warranties and a Wal-Mart receipt dated August 29. Three weeks ago, Rosa and Gilberto bought $750 worth of baby furniture, toys, and clothes—in cash. Jack pulled a small baggie from his pocket, placed the receipt inside. Besides a few unpaid bills in a kitchen drawer, Jack hadn’t found evidence of a bank account or personal paperwork. He didn’t expect to. Rosa and Gilberto worked in cash jobs, though what either of them could have done to earn so much cash he could only guess.
The baby’s room was mostly empty since clothes, diapers, toys, and supplies had been given to the foster family. It turned out Miner had been right about the woman he gave the baby to; she was well known to the county child protective services and had taken in Mexican babies for them before.
Jack dumped the contents of the duffel bag on the kitchen table, tossed the empty bag aside, and sat down. He took all the items from the evidence bags, placed them in the middle of the table, and stared at the meager possessions the crime-scene tech had found in the bedroom the morning of the murders. The pay-as-you-go phones sat atop the printouts of their activity over the last month. Gilberto called and texted very few people and had never set up his voice mail. Rosa made more calls, recently mostly to doctors and numbers in Mexico that Jack assumed were family members and were being traced. Her voice mail had been empty. Jack picked up Gilberto’s wallet. The edges of the black leather were worn from use and the shape of the wallet indicated it was normally much fuller than Jack found it. The contents were uninteresting; driver’s license, a Wal-Mart portrait of Rosa and the baby, twenty-three dollars, and a Chevron receipt for chips, Mountain Dew, and a candy bar.
Gilberto might have been the dullest murder victim Jack had ever come across. His investigation hadn’t found one motive for anyone, even Rosa, to kill Gilberto. He was a good guy, hard worker, loving husband and father. He drank a lot on the weekends, but what hardworking man didn’t? His drinking never led to trouble with the police; there was no record of Stillwater police ever having contact with Gilberto, or Rosa for that matter. Try as he might, Jack could not profile Gilberto. He left very little impression on the home he lived in and supported. The people who knew him spoke of him in banal generalities, as if struggling to pinpoint why they liked him and realizing maybe they didn’t after all.
