Badlands by Richard Montanari

Author:Richard Montanari
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
ISBN: 9780345509468
Published: 2009-01-12T05:00:00+00:00

| THIRTY-FOUR |

JESSICA CALLED BYRNE ON HIS CELL PHONE AT 7:00 AM. SHE’D BEEN UP since five, had already gone for her run, had already ingested a day’s worth of caffeine. Byrne was having breakfast in Old City. He sounded fresh. This was good. She need him to be fresh. She felt anything but.

“We’re going to have preliminaries on Monica Renzi at around 10:30,” he said.

“Who lit the fire?”

“It came from on high. Zeus-high. Someone is killing runaways and the new administration isn’t going to stand for it.”

“I’ll see you then.”

“I think we should—”

She closed her phone with a snap. She knew she had cut him off. She held the phone in her hand, eyes closed, waiting for it to ring, praying it wouldn’t. Ten seconds, twenty, thirty. A minute. Nothing.

A half hour later, her daughter fed and lunch-bagged and scrubbed and on the bus, she slipped into her car and headed to Elkins Park.

She had no idea what she was going to say when she got there.

ENRIQUE GALVEZ WAS TALL and slender, in his late twenties. He had dark hair to his shoulders, a model’s cheekbones, full lips. He wore a black T-shirt, no logo or message, and worn, frayed, knee-holed Levi’s. He was barefoot.

When Jessica pulled up in front of his house, Enrique was trimming a large hydrangea, deadheading the blooms. He was wearing white earbuds, so it appeared that he did not hear her pull into the driveway.

Jessica got out of the car. When Enrique turned and saw her, he put his clippers into his pocket, removed the earphones.

“Mr. Galvez?”

“Yes,” he replied. “You are with the police?”

Man, Jessica thought, then wondered. Is it that obvious? She produced her ID. “I am,” she said. Her gold shield flashed brightly in the morning sun. “I just need a few moments of your time.”

Enrique Galvez looked at the ground for a moment, at his flowers. The vibrant bed at his feet was ablaze with color, with life. He looked up. “I have already spoken to the two detectives. It was a Miss Malone and a Mr. . . .”

“Shepherd,” Jessica said. “I know. I have just a few follow-up questions.” Now she was breaking procedure. Officially. She couldn’t seem to stop herself.

“I understand,” Enrique said.

The scene froze. Neither spoke. In the near distance Jessica heard a baby crying. Two doors down, perhaps. “May I come in?”

Enrique returned to the moment. “Of course,” he said. “Where are my manners? Forgive me.” He walked up the steps, onto the porch, opened the screen door wide. “Please.”

THE SMALL LIVING ROOM was tidy, decorated in a masculine southwestern style, in shades of brown, rust, cream, and jade. On the walls were well-framed watercolors of various landmarks in Philadelphia, including City Hall, Boathouse Row, Independence Hall, the Betsy Ross house. A parakeet chirped in a cage in the kitchen.

“Who is the artist?” Jessica asked.

“Oh,” Enrique said, coloring slightly. “I am the artist. I painted these. Although it was a long time ago.”

“They are beautiful,” Jessica said.

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