Shutter(72)

“There is no way my baby jumped off that bridge.” Mrs. Singleton’s voice rose. “Do you hear me?” Guests on the other side of the porch turned to stare.

“We understand, ma’am,” Garcia muttered. “We didn’t mean to upset you during this difficult time.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Singleton.” I shook her hand again. “Again, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

I couldn’t linger for Erma—I needed to get the hell out of there. But where could I go? Heart pounding, I turned toward Grandma’s truck. I could feel Garcia’s malevolence behind me, the heat of his fear drilling into my back. He caught up to me quickly. Vargas grabbed my arm and spun me toward him. Erma’s ghost flickered in front of her mother’s house, her little girl dancing in circles around her. Vargas’s gun pressed into the bottom of my ribcage.

“Your big fucking mouth is about to get you into trouble. Get in the car.”

Vargas’s gun dug in as he guided me toward their car, pushing me headfirst into the backseat. He climbed in next to me as Garcia got into the driver’s seat and pulled out, looking at me in the mirror. They were going to kill me.

“So where are the pictures?” Vargas’s voice was a dull whisper.

“You can talk? I was beginning to wonder.” I was going to die. Maybe humor might buy me a few minutes.

Vargas stabbed me again with his gun. I felt my ribs cramp. Maybe not.

“Not really a time to be a smartass, Rita.” Garcia swerved into traffic.

“I left them at the station.” I lied. I could feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. My hope that no one else noticed lasted about half a second.

“Answer it,” Garcia ordered. “Put in on speakerphone.”

“Hello, Rita here.” I could feel that this phone call wasn’t going to make any of this better.

“Rita, this is Lieutenant Declan, Internal Affairs.” Declan cleared his throat. Garcia glared at me in the rearview mirror. “I received your email. I’m here with Sergeant Seivers. I was hoping to talk to you here at the station about these photos you turned over. Sergeant Seivers told me she was holding you here, but you left.” Vargas pressed the barrel harder. “Rita? Did I lose you?”

“No. I’m here. I can come and speak with you later—I’m driving right now.”

“Your photographs, Specialist Todacheene.” He paused. “We need to talk to you about what you saw.”

“I know,” I said. Garcia was grinding his teeth, his jaw clenched. “I had some things to take care of, personal business. I can come by the precinct later today.”

Garcia shook his head and narrowed his eyes as he watched me through the mirror.

“Are you okay?” Declan waited for me to reply, and when I didn’t, he said, “Sergeant Seivers is concerned for your safety.”

“I’m fine.” I side-eyed Vargas and his gun.

“Okay, well, we’re heading down to the courthouse to get a search warrant for Pino’s Upholstery. We’re hoping to seal that up by tonight, but we can talk tomorrow.”

“Take her phone, Vargas.” Garcia was livid.

Vargas stopped my call and chucked my phone on the seat next to Garcia, who rolled down his window and tossed it out into traffic. The street he turned onto looked familiar. When we slowed in front of the Apothecary, I recognized it at once from Erma’s dream.

“Now, you’re going to tell me everything you know. Starting with where my product is.”

“Product?” I played dumb.

“About one million dollars’ worth.” Garcia pulled into the alley behind the delivery doors. “And you’re going to help me find it. If we don’t find that shit tonight, we’re going back to that old lady’s house and tearing the place apart until we find it.”

Garcia got out of the car as Vargas jerked me out of the backseat with his thick hands. I knew that I should be scared about what was happening to me. Instead, I was angry. I wanted revenge and I wanted answers. Vargas jerked me through the back corridors of the old building, the walls below still decorated like the ’20s and ’30s, all brick and exposed pipe. I could hear Garcia breathing.

“Was it you that pushed Erma Singleton off the bridge last week?” I looked at Garcia.

Vargas pulled me closer and pressed the elevator button.

If Garcia was affected by my revelation that I knew how Erma had been murdered, he didn’t let on. “With my bad back? Do you really think I could throw that fat cunt off a bridge?” Vargas and Garcia laughed. “Now Vargas here, he’s young and strong. And he’s a good man—does as he’s told.”

“I bet he does.” I couldn’t help but say it, but I should’ve known it would come with consequences. Vargas tapped my forehead with the butt of his gun. The sting was immediate—a straight line of blood rolled down my face.

Garcia reached into his breast pocket for his handkerchief. “Clean yourself up.”

I dabbed at the blood, feeling the bump rising as we exited the elevator of the Hotel Parq Central. The hotel was a former hospital, first for TB patients, then railway workers, and finally a mental hospital for children. Remnants of the hospital were showcased in the long hallway leading to the Apothecary— old medical equipment, maps, and clothes from the era were propped up behind glass. I remembered hearing stories of ghosts in the building, voices whispering or an apparition wandering the halls. I could feel the heaviness of the place, the sick souls that remained inside its walls.