“Guy who likes those kinds of photos could have shot some of his girlfriend, which she probably wouldn’t want the police to see.”
D.D. nodded. “Or,” she continued thoughtfully, “a theater director with a reputation for seducing teenage starlets might also be into such photos. I bet Doug de Vries has a personal computer. Maybe that’s our missing link. Roberto snapped the photos, but Doug distributed them. Meaning the community theater isn’t just the launching pad for Anya’s Broadway ambitions, but a business partnership. Hence Roberto’s own involvement for the past five years.”
“Younger creep and older creep working together,” Neil said. “Yuck.”
“Send an entire team to Doug de Vries’s house. Given the evidence that he had sex with a thirteen-year-old girl, we have probable cause to tear his place apart. Computer, bedroom, car, I want it all. Which, if we’re really lucky, might yield us a murder weapon, as well.”
“You think he could’ve gunned down the Boyd-Baez family? But why?”
D.D. hesitated. She stared at the essay series on her lap. For a current shooting linked to five-year-old events, it amazed her that they still had so many suspects in play. Including Doug de Vries, who might or might not be distributing child porn, but who was definitely involved with Anya Seton now and yet had sex with Lola Baez within the twenty-four hours before her death. If Lola had been looking for revenge against Anya, what had the community director gotten out of it? A quick fix?
“Doug, Anya. Anya, Doug,” she murmured now. “We eliminated Anya as a suspect in the Boyd-Baez shootings as she claimed to have been with Doug at the time, and Doug corroborated it. Here’s a question: Does Anya have her prints in the system?”
A pause as Neil looked up the answer. “No. You’re thinking she killed Roberto? The great love of her life?”
“As long as we’re talking motive, what about ambition? Roberto was useful as a protector at Mother Del’s, and as a bully who eliminated all of her initial competition at the theater.”
“He forced Lola to quit.”
“While possibly starting his own business venture with de Vries. Which you gotta believe Anya knew something about, given her connection to both men.”
“Okay.”
“Bringing us to June of this year. When Anya is now a bona fide community star, working closely with the director on the next stage of her career and Roberto—”
“Is the whiny boyfriend complaining about her close relationship with de Vries?”
“Does Anya still need Roberto? Does de Vries still need him?”
“If de Vries is also banking on following Anya to New York, probably not. As they say, three is a crowd.”
“Roberto becomes expendable. And Anya is the perfect person to do it. Roberto certainly wouldn’t suspect her, even if she showed up with a fifth of whiskey in one hand and a firearm in the other. And the more she cried her broken heart out while pointing the finger at her rival—”
“Like any talented actress,” Neil agreed.
“—the quicker she gets away with it. She hides Roberto’s phone. Probably even pockets Roberto’s share of the illegal-photos cash as her future New York slush fund, which is why the police never found evidence of financial gain either. And as the coup de grace, she sets up Lola to take the blame. The girl who’s sworn never to be a victim again.”
“But how does all that lead to Lola having sex with de Vries?”
“Girl warfare. Anya messes with Lola, Lola strikes back by hitting Anya where it hurts—seducing her creepy, future-meal-ticket boyfriend who we already know likes underage girls.”
“You’re assuming Anya knows de Vries had sex with Lola.”
“Of course. Wouldn’t be retaliation if Lola kept it quiet.”
“Lola tells Anya, sends a picture, something,” Neil muttered. “And within twenty-four hours, Lola is shot dead.”
“Up close and personal. An act of revenge.”
“Which Doug de Vries must alibi Anya for, because if not, Anya will rat him out for having sex with a thirteen-year-old.”
“Once again, she has opportunity and motive. With a convincing dramatic performance delivered to me, Phil, and Flora to finish covering her crime.”
“What about the shooting of Hector and Las Ni?as Diablas?” Neil asked. “Phil told me she had an alibi for the entire day. Not to mention, why would she shoot at Hector?”
“I don’t know. Misdirection, theatrics. As long as we’re chasing a mystery shooter, we’re certainly not looking at her. As for her alibi, I just got done meeting with a CI who told me the community theater is a revolving door of cast and crew—all activity, no accountability. Meaning it’s not too far of a stretch to believe Anya snuck out. And while she has long blond hair, there’s gotta be a brunette wig somewhere in that theater. Which—” D.D. stopped. “Shit.”
“What?”
“The theater. Shit!”
“What?”
“Roxanna Baez. Flora and her friend located Roxy in the theater this morning. Perfect place to hide out, they said, who would ever think to check all the rooms, et cetera, et cetera.”
“Okay.”
“She wasn’t hiding out. Dollars to donuts”—D.D. raised her coffee cup—“Roxy already knows what we just figured out. She didn’t pick the theater for its easy access. She picked it to ambush Anya Seton. This is the problem with a CI with a previous relationship working the case: Flora and her friend both see Roxy as a victim, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t capable of violence.”
“Where is Roxanna right now?” Neil demanded.
“In theory, stashed in a friend’s apartment.”
D.D. hung up, quickly dialed the number. But sure enough, no one answered.
D.D. downed her coffee, threw her vehicle into gear, and roared out of the parking lot.
Chapter 36
Name: Roxanna Baez
Grade: 11
Teacher: Mrs. Chula
Category: Personal Narrative
What Is the Perfect Family? Part VII
How do you become a family again? When you have lost so much, how do you learn to trust enough to get it back?
My mother’s new apartment is small. Cleaner than the one she had shared with Hector, but only two bedrooms and stuck in an apartment complex filled with old people. They had agreed to her tenancy because she was a nurse, and they wanted someone with medical skills. In return, she had promised them we would be good kids. No loud noises, rambunctious laughter, or running wildly through the long, neutral-painted halls.
After the crowded din of Mother Del’s, this new, carefully constructed space seems unreal. Like a tan bubble where we hang in suspended animation, waiting for the illusion of normalcy to be yanked away. Lola and I share the larger room. Manny has his own room. My mother sleeps on the sofa, proud to have her kids in bedrooms again. She has found two cherry-red throw pillows for the tiny love seat. The only splash of color in the place.
Somedays, I stare at those pillows, as if they can tell me what happened to all of us. As if they can direct me to where we go from here.
Manny takes it all in stride. But then, he’s Manny. His foster parents have returned him with two bulging suitcases of toys. Iron Man figures, decks of Pokémon cards, endless supplies of Hot Wheels. My favorite moments are hanging with him after school. Let’s play Iron Man, let’s play Pokémon, let’s race! Manny chatters and hugs and plays. He fills the entire too-neutral apartment with his trusting heart and little-boy glee.
I wish I could be him. I wish I could crawl inside his head and spend an hour as happy-go-lucky Manny Baez. But I’m not that fortunate, and neither is Lola.