Rag and Bone (The Henry Rios Mysteries Book 7) by Michael Nava & Michael Nava

Author:Michael Nava & Michael Nava [Nava, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Persigo Press
Published: 2020-01-04T00:00:00+00:00

I took one look at my niece in the holding cell, turned to the deputy sheriff and demanded, “Why isn’t she still in the hospital?”

He shrugged. “They released her. You want to see her or not?”

“Of course I do.”

He unlocked the cell door. Vicky was lying on a metal bed cushioned with a thin foam mattress, covered with a gray wool blanket. The right side of her face was so swollen that her eye was closed. Her head had been shaved above the ear to reveal a zigzag of stitches. Her breath was loud and raspy. I pulled a chair up to her bed and reached for her hand. Even it was bruised.

“Vicky,” I said.

She turned her face painfully until she could see me. “Uncle Henry,” she wheezed. “Do you know where Angel is?”

“He’s at my house,” I said. “He’s okay. He called me last night from a gas station across the street from the motel. They were putting you in the ambulance by the time I got there.”

She pulled her hand away. “I want my mom to take care of him.”

“I’ll tell her,” I said. “She’ll be flying down day after tomorrow.”

With effort, she shook her head. “No. Jesusita.”

She said it with no particular emphasis, which made it all the harder to hear, and I dreaded having to relay this message to my sister.

“All right, Vicky. I called Jesusita earlier, and as soon as she calls me back, I’ll ask her. I’m ready to represent you as your lawyer, but only if you want me to. Do you?”

Her assent was a passive, “Yes, Uncle Henry.”

“Can you tell me what happened last night?”

“I killed Pete,” she said.

I waited for an explanation, but none came.

“Was he beating you?”

“He was high,” she said. “He didn’t know what he was doing.”

“Where did the gun come from?”

“For protection. Pete bought it.”

“Protection? Who was he protecting himself against?”

“Pete knew bad people,” she said. “Drug dealers. Gangbangers.”

“What were you doing in that motel in the first place?”

“Waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

Her head lolled back and forth. “I’m tired now, Uncle Henry. When can I see Angel?”

“I’ll bring him tomorrow,” I said. “Listen, try to remember what happened last night.”

“I already told the police.”

“You told them you shot him?”

“I had to tell the truth,” she replied. “That’s what Jesus would do.”

“What else did you tell the police?”

“That he was smoking crack again and he was hitting me. I told them I didn’t mean to kill him. I just wanted him to stop.”

“When did you talk to the police?”

“When they brought me here this morning.”

They would have taped her statement. “I don’t want you to talk to them again unless I’m with you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Uncle Henry.”

I got up. “You rest. I’ll make sure they give you proper treatment and I’ll be back tomorrow morning with Angel.”

A tear rolled down her swollen cheek. “Don’t let anything happen to him.”

Worse than this? I wondered. I said, “I promise you I won’t.”

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