No Witness But the Moon(90)

“How long was this relationship between the two of you going on?”

“A long time.” Delgado closed his eyes. “I wanted to leave the priesthood over it at one point but she urged me to return to my vows. She believed this was what God had called me to do. She said if I left, I would always feel diminished in some way and she didn’t want that. So we kept our relationship platonic after that. But I never stopped loving her on an emotional level. Or spending time with her.” Delgado held Vega’s gaze. “Including on the day she died.”

“So how am I supposed to believe you didn’t kill her?”

“I was at a benefit dinner at the Holy Name Society when she died, Jimmy. A dozen priests saw me there. The police checked it out.”

Vega paced the grimy concrete. He wanted to haul off and hit the old priest for holding back all these years and maybe costing him a lead in her murder. “Ponce waited seventeen minutes before dialing nine-one-one,” said Vega. “Plus, he called you first. Why?”

“I really don’t know,” said Delgado. “I still think he panicked. But maybe it also had to do with the Chinese food.”

“The takeout food? That the police found on her dining table?”

“I bought it for your mother. She loved spareribs. Since I had a dinner engagement, I couldn’t stay.”

“So the missing receipt? The menu—?”

“Would have traced back to me.”

“That’s why you got rid of them.”

“No.” Delgado shook his head. “I would never do that. But maybe Hector did. He was not blind to what was going on between your mother and me. He saw me in the building all the time. I think he was trying to save me the embarrassment of the situation—save your mother as well. She wouldn’t have wanted it to come out, either.”

“He did more than destroy a receipt and menu for you,” said Vega.

“What do you mean?”

“He used those seventeen minutes before you arrived to disconnect the security camera in the front lobby and swap the recorded DVD for a blank one.”

“I didn’t ask him to do that! I never asked for any of this!”

“But you didn’t come forward, either,” Vega noted.

Delgado was silent.

“The DVD would have had footage of you entering the lobby with Chinese food,” said Vega. “The police would have been able to put you in my mother’s apartment—”

“And shown me leaving before her murder as well.”

“Well, there was somebody on that DVD who wasn’t innocent. And now we’ll never know who.”

They were both silent for a moment. Vega collapsed against the wall beside Delgado. He felt drained. A train rumbled into the station. There was a push of warm, fetid air, then a strong vibration and then a screech of brakes like two cats in a standoff. It felt like the perfect soundtrack to his derailed life.

“So that’s it?” Vega asked as the train left the station. He pushed himself off the wall and faced the old priest. “This murderer walks because of a DVD Ponce probably destroyed almost two years ago? Because you couldn’t man up about what you’d done? At least I’m facing my mistakes.”

“You’re right, Jimmy.” Delgado patted his shoulder. “I’ve confessed and repented my actions many times. And I’d gladly come forward now. But without this DVD you think existed—I don’t think anyone would be very interested in what I had to say.”

“When did you leave her that night?”

“At around six. I brought the food but she wasn’t hungry then. She said she’d have it later.”

“Was she expecting anyone?”

“No. She had no plans, as I recall.”

“Did she mention that she was going to call Martha Torres?”

“No. But they spoke often. It wasn’t unusual. Especially after Donna died.”

“Did Martha know about you and my mother?”

“Could she have guessed? I’m sure. Would your mother have told? No. She was a very private person. Even I didn’t know everything that was going on in her life.”

Vega stepped back, disgusted with Delgado, disgusted with himself. “Well, you should’ve known, Father. We both should’ve.” He threw up his hands and hustled up the subway stairs. The last pale gasp of daylight had slipped from the horizon. The sky was dark and glazed with thick clouds. It was snowing lightly now. Big fat flakes fell like ash, gray and gritty, melting quickly on the pavements. Night descended early this time of year. The store windows were cataract-clouded with steam or shuttered completely beneath roll-down metal security gates. Vega zipped up his jacket. He felt the cold in his bones. He still had Ricardo Luis’s book underneath his jacket. He felt unclean even carrying it.

He kept his baseball cap on as he trudged back to his truck. The snow made people bundle up and forget about anything but getting home. He wanted to do the same. He wondered if Joy had left the Bronx yet. When he got to his truck, he shrugged out of his jacket, threw Luis’s book on the seat, and dialed her cell. A part of him knew he should stay away from her right now. But another part of him craved the warmth and reassurance of her presence.

“Hey, chispita. I’m in the Bronx. Want a ride home?”