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were the only ones in the row, so they had some privacy. Still, Marge kept her voice low. The
younger Mr. B s phone records are clean, right?
Yes. And since B is not a stupid man, I don t think the old man s phone records will show anything.
But we should look at them just in case.
Agreed, Marge said. What about Mr. B s childhood? Is it even relevant?
How about a black who can pass as white who hates rich white people?
But according to the grandfather, the mother did a good job, Marge said. Besides, what makes
you think that B is trying to pass? He was up-front about using his black grandfather as an alibi. And
he went up to Oakland to take care of him. Oliver nodded. Point taken.
Marge took out her notebook. I just thought of something.
What?
Tell you when I find it.
Oliver rubbed his head. Man, what a depressing day. The ciudads were one ugly place after
another.
You re still there?
I never left.
She scanned her scrawls as she spoke. Still it must be better than where they came from.
Otherwise people would be going the other way.
Sometimes they do.
Marge looked up. Someone stretching their retirement dollar or buying a second house on the
beach doesn t count as going the other way. Last I heard there wasn t a plethora of Americans
trying to sneak across the border.
Oliver said, Hard ass.
Bleeding heart. Marge patted his knee. Actually I find your empathy very touching.
I keep seeing that young girl& looking after her brother and sisters while trying to fend off a
hormone-driven idiot. What kind of life is she going to have?
Don t even go there. Marge returned her attention to her notes. She reminded me of a hundred
cases I saw when I worked Juvenile with the rabbi. All those beautiful little faces saying help me,
and there wasn t a damn thing I could do. Homicide is crushing, but juvenile is day in and day out of
heartbreak.
A flight attendant came by with the beverage cart. What can I get for you today?
Marge looked up. Diet Coke, please.
One dollar.
Marge s eyes got wide. You charge for soft drinks?
The woman s eyes glazed over. Water and orange juice are complimentary.
Orange juice, Marge said.
Pretzels or peanuts?
Are they free?
Yes, ma am.
I m paralyzed by such choice. How about pretzels. What do you want, Scott?
OJ and peanuts. Do you think the department will reimburse me if I add a little vodka to the OJ?
Probably not, Marge said.
Department? the flight attendant asked.
Marge pulled out her badge. Official business. Do we get any perks?
The flight attendant didn t hesitate. Don t tell anyone I did this. She opened up a can of Diet Coke
and gave it to Marge. My dad was a cop. She turned to Oliver and handed him OJ with a tiny
bottle of Skyy. On the house.
Thank you very much, Marge said. But the woman was already on down the aisle. I do believe
that s the first time my badge ever got me a freebie.
Oliver poured the vodka into his OJ. Wow, that s good. Want a sip?
In a minute& Okay, I found it! Marge dropped her voice to a whisper. Edna s daughter said that
Mr. RM used to go down to the northern district of the ciudads for a little R and R?
More like Puss and Cee, but why quibble.
Edna asked T who lived there and I wrote down the names: Gonzales, Ricardos, Mendez, Alvarez,
Luzons. Any of those names sound familiar?
Oliver sat up. Paco Alvarez?
It s Albanez. But how about the maid Ana Mendez?
Oliver nodded. Her alibi checked out, but that doesn t mean anything. A pause. Neither does her
name. There are lots of Mendez surnames in the Hispanic world.
Yeah, for sure, but picture this. RM and Ana meet in Ponceville. They come down to L.A. together.
Certain ideas start hatching. We both feel it s an inside job. Why not those two? Someone knew the
layout to move so quickly.
I m sure Mr. RM knew the layout.
The layout of the main house but not the layout of the servants quarters. It doesn t look like there
was forced entry. It looks like the shooters came busting in from down below. Ana said that the help
was usually locked out of the kitchen by twelve, right? It was set up that way so that the help
couldn t enter the house through the servants quarters while everyone was sleeping. But someone
breeched that point of entry.
Say that Ana comes home but she s not alone. She opens the servants quarters for the shooters,
they kill whoever is down below, then they go upstairs to the kitchen door where Mr. RM lets them
in. He tells the guys where everyone is and the shooters do their thing. Then they all leave via the
servants quarters and Ana fakes like she just came home.
Oliver shrugged. She was at the church. People remember her. But maybe she left earlier and no
one noticed.
Or, Scott, it could be that she gave RM the code to get in. Then her alibi would be righteous and no
one would think she was involved.
That would work. He sipped his spiked OJ.
It s a long shot. There are zillions of Mendez families. But what would it hurt if someone went to the
ciudads with a picture of Ana?
Oliver said, How do we do that? If she does have family there, they ll alert her. I don t want her
bolting south.
Neither do I. And I don t want to involve Sheriff T in what may be nothing more than speculation.
Agreed, Oliver said. We send another team up to the ciudads without telling the sheriff.
How about Brubeck and Decker? Marge said. Deck is fluent in Spanish, and Brubeck has the local
connections.
A black and a Jew. Oliver finished the last of his drink. Who says LAPD isn t multicultural.
UPON LANDING, MARGE turned her cell phone back on. The window instantly lit up with message
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