No Witness But the Moon(53)

“That’s like a third of the student body.”

“The video’s very grainy,” said the campus officer. His nameplate read STEVENS. “The county hasn’t appropriated any funds to update our security equipment in a long time so we’ve got no clear facial shots. We do know that he got into a dark-colored jeeplike vehicle with someone else behind the wheel. Though again, we’ve got no idea who that person is.”

“Model? Color? License plate?” asked Vega.

“Can’t tell from the video,” said Stevens. “It looks like a Jeep. Maybe a Renegade. Black or dark blue or maybe even dark green.”

“You can’t cross-check the Jeep with student-registered vehicles?”

“We did. But right now, we have no proof it was a student. The campus has no perimeter security so in theory, anyone could have driven in.”

Vega turned to Joy. “Can you narrow the field of suspects, perhaps? Any boy you rejected? Or who thinks you rejected him?”

“That’s sexist, Dad.”

“How is that sexist?”

“To assume that I’m somehow to blame for this.”

“I’m not blaming you. I’m just wondering if maybe you sent out the wrong signals to someone.”

“That’s not blame? Look at the note, Dad! It’s about you, not me.”

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room. Now Vega was not only a killer cop, he was a chauvinist as well. He tried to run with his mistake.

“Okay. So this is about me.” He turned to Stevens. “Has someone on campus been active in antipolice protests?”

“We have several student organizations that would fit that bill,” said Stevens.

“The whole campus knows!” said Joy. “You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who hasn’t seen something about it.” Vega could have been on death row and been more popular, apparently. He turned back to the cops.

“Are you interviewing students?”

“Duran and I are on that now,” said Wilson. “Kids often brag about this sort of vandalism.”

“It’s more than vandalism,” said Vega. “This student—and I use the term loosely—made terroristic threats against my daughter.”

“Actually, right now, the charge would be vandalism,” Duran interrupted. “Criminal mischief, to be more precise. There is no threat, implied or otherwise.”

“This cabrón wrote ‘killer cop’s daughter.’ That’s not threatening?”

“I’m afraid we get a lot of this type of vandalism,” said Stevens. “Some are fraternity pranks. Others are students who are angry at their professors or looking to get revenge against an ex-boyfriend or ex-girlfriend—”

“What Stevens is saying,” Duran interrupted, “is that we can’t justify a bigger charge in this case without explaining why all those other cases fall under the heading of ‘criminal mischief.’ ”

“So that’s it? You just file the report and let these pendejos skate?”

“Nobody’s letting anyone skate.” Vega could tell Duran was getting frustrated with him. Vega was frustrated, too. He’d never been on this side of the divide, standing before cops, feeling helpless and victimized.

“Stevens is going to keep an eye out for your daughter,” said Duran. “We’ll run checks on the student-registered vehicles. We’ll ask at the fraternities. It could take a month or two. But we’ll catch these guys, I’m sure.”

“And they’re gonna be real scared when you charge them with criminal mischief and all they pay is a freakin’ fine.”

“Dad!” cried Joy, tugging at his sleeve. “Let’s go home.”

“I don’t make the laws, Jimmy,” said Duran. “And neither do you. My suggestion in the meantime? Buy your daughter some pepper spray. A lot of the girls on campus carry it.”

“Pepper spray? That’s your answer?”

“Quit it, Dad! You’re embarrassing me.” Joy ushered her father out of the trailer and into the parking lot.

“Pepper spray?” Vega asked again as their feet hit the asphalt. “You’re attacked and all these guys can do is suggest I buy you some pepper spray?”

“I wasn’t attacked. Just my car. Dad, please! Can we concentrate right now on getting the car home?”

Joy had already called a tow truck to meet them in the student parking lot. They just had to wait for it to show up. Vanessa, the black girl with Rudolph mittens, hugged Joy and got into her car next to Vega’s truck. Vega thanked her for being there for his daughter.

The other girl, the freckled blonde, just stood there fiddling with the pom-poms on her knit hat.

“You need a ride?” asked Vega as he beeped open his truck doors.

Freckles didn’t move.

“Tell my dad what you just told me,” said Joy.

“But it’ll get my boyfriend in trouble!”

“If you don’t tell, I will,” said Joy.

“Tell me what?” asked Vega. “Does she know the guys who did this?”

“No,” said Joy. “Tell him, Katie.”

Vega found himself suddenly scrutinizing this Katie more closely. She wore a suede jacket and supple high leather boots that were fashionable rather than warm. Even her slouchy cherry-red messenger bag looked like something his ex-wife would buy on her second husband’s hugely inflated Wall Street salary. While a lot of kids at Valley Community were struggling financially, Katie didn’t appear to be one of them.