Mission Road (Tres Navarre #6)(16)

Ralph wasn’t telling me something, but I didn’t have time to figure out what.

I grabbed his arm and pulled him across the street. “Forty-eight hours, Ralph. Then Kelsey makes the DNA test public. After that, I wouldn’t count on Mr. White’s good graces.”

We took the steps down to the Riverwalk, ducked under the Commerce Street Bridge. A siren echoed off the sides of the buildings. Tires slashed across the asphalt above.

As the noise faded, Ralph sat on the edge of the cistern that fed into the river.

I’d always found it odd that these little fountains had been installed under the bridges—in the darkest grimy places where tourists were least likely to stop.

“The whole SAPD hates my guts,” Ralph said. “You know that, vato. Ever since I married Ana, any one of them would love to frame me.”

I wanted to tell Ralph he was wrong. No cop would do that.

The trouble was I knew how the cops felt about him. I’d seen it in their eyes last night.

Ralph cupped his hand under the stone lion’s mouth. “Let’s say a cop killed Frankie.”

“Ralph—”

“Just listen, vato. Last night, Ana knew. She knew who did it, but she didn’t want to tell me. She’d already warned me about the DNA match. She was risking her job just doing that. Why would she not tell me who the killer was?”

“She was afraid of what you’d do.”

“Maybe,” Ralph conceded. “But I think she was having trouble turning in a fellow officer. That wouldn’t be easy for her. She’d need a lot of time to think about it. She’d try confronting the guy first, giving him a chance to come clean. I know she would.”

“Ralph, that’s so damn hypothetical—”

“She’d been working on the case for weeks. If she was getting close to discovering this guy, he could’ve found out. He could’ve gotten into the evidence room and tampered with the DNA. All he’d have to do is get some of my blood, and I’ve been served warrants for DNA for other shit before. They probably got a sample of mine still sitting down there.”

“They’re supposed to destroy stuff like that.”

Ralph laughed. “Yeah, right. Next you’re gonna tell me the evidence is too secure to get access. That’s a joke. Some of the stories Ana tells me—they had a vial of poison go missing a week ago. From an old murder case. This shit is absolutely undetectable. Really bad news. And it just disappeared. They hushed it up, but if that stuff can walk out the door, what’s a little DNA sample?”

His eyes glowed with desperation, the kind of look a psychotic gives you when he’s explaining the logic that holds together his dreamworld.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” I told him. “You have somebody in mind, don’t you?”

“Kelsey,” he said instantly. “He hates me. He hates Ana.”

I shook my head. As much as I detested Kelsey, it was hard to imagine him as a murderer.

“He started on the force the same year Frankie White died,” Ralph said. “I checked on it. First patrol duty, Kelsey had a run-in with Frankie.”

“Be hard to find a cop that hasn’t had a run-in with the Whites.”

“Yeah, but you know Kelsey. He holds a grudge. Those scars on his hands, vato. You ever wonder where they came from?”

“Ralph . . . we’ve got to leave the case to Maia. She’ll figure out the truth. There’s not much we can do from here.”

“I want to see Ana.”

“You know that’s impossible.”

“Vato, I don’t care about me. This was about saving my own ass, then the hell with it. But I gotta make sure Ana is safe. She’s all I care about. Her and the baby.”

The brittleness in his voice worried me.

I wanted to believe I’d done the right thing, helping him run. I was playing for time, trying to calm him down until I could convince him to accept some kind of surrender deal.

But if Ralph went to jail, if Guy White found out he was a suspect in Frankie’s death, I knew damn well there would be no time to prove him innocent. Ralph would never go to trial. He’d be dead before Christmas—shanked, or hanged in a cell, or shot while escaping. Some tidily orchestrated accident.

Maia might be able to find a solution in two days, but she didn’t know the city or the local police like I did. And if I showed my face, I’d be arrested.

I needed a cop I could trust—somebody inside the system who could find out what the hell was going on and wouldn’t arrest me on sight. Despite the fact that my dad had been Bexar County Sheriff back in the eighties, my list of friends in active law enforcement was regrettably short.

An answer came to me, but I didn’t like it.

I stared at the river. Maybe if I jumped in, I could wake myself up. I’d find myself back in Southtown, Sam reading the Saturday morning paper while Mrs. Loomis cooked bacon in the kitchen.

I sighed. “Let’s go, Ralphas.”

“Where to?”

“Back to the phone. I’ve got an idea that’ll probably get us killed.”

LARRY DRAPIEWSKI WAS WAITING FOR US at Mi Tierra—an outside table, just like I’d told him.

The shops on the plaza were just opening up, sunlight melting the frost off the windows. Sleepy mariachis tuned guitars by the fountain. Except for pigeons and one tourist family braving the cold, we had the restaurant patio to ourselves.