No Witness But the Moon(48)

Vega palmed his eyes. He was only just beginning to process what he was up against. “I did not execute Hector Ponce,” he said slowly. “I swear. Won’t the autopsy vindicate me?”

“It could,” said Waring. “If there are no powder burns on that chin wound, that would argue against your having shot him at close range.”

“Then again,” said Lorenzo, “if you put the muzzle right up to Ponce’s chin and shot, there wouldn’t be any powder burns either. No opportunity for the powder to make contact with air.”

Leave it to Lorenzo to kill even the suggestion of hope.

“Look,” said Waring. His voice sounded a little kinder. He was a cop too, after all. “I believe the forensics will vindicate you if what you are saying is true. But the investigation could take weeks. Ponce was shot five times by two different guns—yours and Luis’s. There is now disagreement on the range so every single investigator is going to want to double-and triple-check his findings.”

“What do I do?”

“Stay out of the public eye,” said Waring. “Don’t eat in restaurants. Don’t go to parties. Don’t attend sporting events. Don’t go to concerts. ”

“But I’m a musician. I play in a band.”

“Get someone else to fill in for you until this case cools down.”

All Vega had was his music. That’s how he lost himself. That was his therapy. And now he didn’t even have that.

“I don’t think the DA is going to make any decisions about whether or not to convene a grand jury until Monday at this point,” said Waring. “In the meantime, the less you are out there, the better.”

The meeting broke up and Vega walked his lawyer to her car. “Thanks for your help tonight,” he told her.

Jenkins regarded him over the oversized rims of her big red glasses. “We’re not through, you know.”

“Pardon?”

“That wasn’t just a line I said in there, Detective. You really do need to seek counseling.”

“I will. When I have time.”

“You have time now. That’s about all that Waring has left you at this point. Do you have someone in mind or would you like me to set something up?”

“Aw, for cryin’ out loud!” Vega raised his hands in frustration. “Look, I was married for thirteen years to a psychologist, okay? I’ve had my head examined more times than I care to count. And when all that was over, her lawyer examined my wallet.”

“You’re talking about your marriage, Detective. I’m talking about dealing with post-traumatic stress.”

“Same thing, trust me. And for the record, I’m not suffering from post-traumatic stress.”

“What do you call your behavior in the woods tonight when I came to see you? Normal?”

“I live out in the woods. It’s normal to be concerned about intruders.”

Jenkins shook her head. “This is not negotiable, Vega. You heard Captain Lorenzo. Either you get your butt into counseling or I’ll do it for you. Which is it going to be?”

Vega ran a hand through his hair. He felt like an overripe piece of fruit some therapist was about to stick a knife into. No way would he slice up cleanly. If he opened up, it would be messy and sticky and God only knew what sort of rotten bits might be at his core. He was scared. Scared of what someone might find. Scared of what he might find most of all.

“What’s it going to be, Vega?”

“This cop I know, he gave me a name of a shrink. I’ll call her.”

“Tomorrow.” Jenkins shook her finger at him.

“Okay, okay. Tomorrow.”

She got into her car. Vega watched her pull out of the parking lot. His cell phone rang as he walked back to his truck. It was Joy. Her voice sounded shaky.

“Dad? Can you come over to my campus?”

“Sure thing, chispita. What’s wrong?”

“I’m here with campus security? I sorta don’t want to alarm you. But somebody slashed all my tires in the parking lot and put a note on my windshield.”

Vega tried to find his voice. His sense of command. It was fading fast. “A note? What did it say?”

“ ‘Killer cop’s daughter.’ ”





Chapter 17


Adele smoothed the creases in her blue silk dress as she stepped out of her car. This is just a business event like any other business event, she told herself.

She wished she could make herself believe that.

Ricardo Luis had taken over the most expensive restaurant in Lake Holly for the evening, a new place called Harvest where a farm-to-table meal cost as much as six months’ worth of groceries. It was housed in a graceful landmark Victorian that used to be a funeral parlor. Adele was pretty sure the celebrity chef who bought the place had no idea that when Dave Lindsey brokered the property as a “location to die for,” he wasn’t kidding.

Adele checked her coat at the entrance. Her blue silk cocktail dress was all wrong for the event. She saw that right away. She looked like she was the maid of honor at a wedding in 1953. Adele was used to attending events full of earnest academics, dowagers, and politicians where dressing in anything other than worsted wool made her look young and hip by comparison. But truly hip people, she now realized, didn’t dress jazzy at all. There was an abundance of ripped jeans and linen jackets. The women wore clothing that was all about showing off skin, not covering it up.