Call Of The Witch (8 page)

“
I’m sorry,” I said. They
both exhaled as though they were holding their breaths the entire
time. Perhaps they were.

“
What now?” Carlos
asked.

I checked my watch again. It was six-thirty.
I couldn’t help but feel we had just wasted fifteen valuable
minutes, minutes that Kelly Brewbaker didn’t have to lose.

“
We go and see Karina
Martinez,” I said. “She might still be our best lead.”

We left Spinelli with his to-do list. If
Carlos thought work was what he needed to keep his mind off his
baby worries, then he sure had his work cut out for him now.

On our drive to Martinez’s house, I asked
Carlos about his girlfriend, if he called yet to let her know he’d
be canceling his date. He seemed confused.

“
Who?”

“
Your girlfriend.
Lauri?”

“
Lauri.”

“
Yes, without the E.
Remember?”

“
Oh, Lauri. Yes, my
girlfriend. Of course I remember.” He laughed and snorted at the
same time. “It’s funny you don’t think I’d remember my own
girlfriend.”

“
Well?”

“
Well what?”

“
Did you call
her?”

“
No, but I will. Don’t
worry.”

I crossed my arms at chest-level, shook my
head and mumbled something, but it was more a loud thought than a
statement.

Carlos had his hands on the wheel at the
ten-and-two position, his eyes straight ahead. Still he saw my
gesture through his periphery. “What was that?”

“
What was
what?”

“
You have something to
say?”

“
No.”

He glanced over at me, his face soured with
disgust. “Yes you do. You got something to say, then say it.”

“
Carlos, it’s none of my
business. Forget it.”

“
No. You do this all the
time. Dominic was right. You make unqualified judgmental remarks
under your breath, insinuating God knows what, and then you say
forget it. Well I’m not forgetting it.”

“
Dominic said
that?”

“
Leave Dominic out of
it.”

“
You brought him into it.
Not me.”

“
Then I’m taking him out.”
Carlos took his right hand off the wheel, grabbed a patch of air in
his fist and tossed it out the window. “There,” he said, rolling
the window back up to keep Dominic’s name from coming back in.
“He’s out of it. Now tell me what you said that was so damn
secretive you had to mumble it to yourself.”

“
Okay. Fine. You wanna
know what I said?”

“
I’m asking, aren’t
I?”

“
All right. I said you
probably don’t even have a girlfriend. That’s what I
said.”

He made a face and gasped as though I had
just poured ice water down his back. “I don’t believe it.” He took
both hands off the wheel this time and turned his palms up empty.
“After all these years, after all the women I’ve introduced you to,
you think I have to invent a girlfriend?”

“
Look, Carlos. It was just
a stupid remark. Forget I said it. I’m sure Lauri without the E is
a wonderful, caring sensitive woman.”

“
And real, Tony. You
didn’t say real.”

“
Yes, of course. And real.
But you say you’ve been seeing her for the last three months and no
one at the station has ever seen her.”

“
Oh! So just because you
haven’t seen her, she can’t be real? Is that it?”

“
No, that’s not what I’m
saying. It’s just that you usually bring your dates around to meet
everyone, whether at the Perc, the bar or over to the
house.”

“
Yeah, well maybe Lauri
doesn’t like bars or the Perc or…houses.”

“
She doesn’t like
houses?”

“
You know what I
mean.”

“
You’re right. I know.
Like I said, forget I said anything. When and if you’re ready to
introduce us to Lauri, then that’s when we’ll meet her.”

“
You’re damn right that’s
when you’ll meet her.”

“
Great. I’m looking
forward to it.”

“
You should. She’s very
pretty.”

“
Good.”

“
And smart.”

“
That’s nice.”

“
And sexy.”

“
I’m sure she
is.”

“
You know it’s not just
you and Dominic who can get the young sexy women.”

“
Oh, so she’s young,
too?”

“
Yes. I said that, didn’t
I?”

“
No.”

He drove a block or so, perhaps wondering if
he hadn’t divulged that information somewhere along the lines of
our conversation already. “Well she is,” he said, when he was sure
he hadn’t, adding, “damn young.”

Now he had me wondering. “How young?”

He cast a careless shrug. “Don’t know
exactly.”

“
Carlos. She is legal,
isn’t she?”

He laughed at that, again with a snort. “Yes.
She’s legal.” I settled back into my seat, deciding to leave it at
that. I did have to bite my tongue, though, when I heard him say
softly, “Pretty sure.”

Karina Martinez was a woman of modest means.
Her house in a predominantly Hispanic neighborhood looked like most
on the block, a single-story clapboard A-frame with a pocket-sized
front yard encircled by a four-foot high chain-linked fence. The
house facade sported two small mullioned windows, bookending a
front entry caged in wrought iron screen work. There was a mailbox
fastened to the upright post supporting a flat roof over the phone
booth-sized porch. No room for a chair, but a milk crate turned
upside-down seemed intended for that purpose. A straggly patch of
flowers struggled to grow in a tiny garden, carved out under one of
the windows below a centuries-old Red Oak. Weeds had moved in. I
imagined the struggle would soon be over.

Carlos knocked on the door. A gentle-looking,
middle-aged woman answered, her hair naturally grey, her eyes soft
but weary. She backed up slightly at the sight of us, but held fast
to the handle on the screen door. I could see her thumb poised on
the lock and wondered why she had not already tripped it.

“
Señora Martinez,” said
Carlos. He displayed his badge and ID. I did the same. “Soy el
Detective Carlos Rodriquez, y es Detective Anthony Marcella, NCPD.
Tiene un momento, por favor?”

“
Sí.”

“
Habla Inglés?”

“
Yes.”

“
Ah, good. Please, may we
come in?”

She opened the door and invited us in. “Is
this about my son?”

“
Your son,
ma'am?”

“
Raul. He is always
getting in trouble. I tell him all the time to get a job and
straighten up his life before he finds himself––”

“
Ma'am, this isn’t about
your son.”

Karina Martinez seemed surprised. “No?”

“
Please. We just have a
few questions to ask you. May we sit down?” Carlos motioned toward
a sofa and a chair in the living room, which also happened to be
the dining room, and from the looks of things her bedroom, too. I
took the chair. Carlos and Martinez took the couch. They sat so
close their knees nearly touched. Carlos pointed to the phone on
the wall by the kitchen. “Señora, is your telephone
working?”

She glanced at it only briefly. “Sí, when I
used it last time it worked okay.”

“
Mr. Brewbaker tells us he
tried calling you several times this afternoon. He said he got no
answer.”

Her expression remained unchanged.

“
Were you out?”

“
No.”

“
Did you hear the phone
ring?”

She shook her head.

“
You were home all
afternoon, but you did not hear it ring?”

“
Yes, I have been here
since noon when I returned from the bank.”

Carlos looked at me and gestured toward the
phone. I went to it, picked up the receiver and listened. A dial
tone told me it was working, but I noticed the ringer was turned
all the way down. “The ringer’s off,” I said.

Karina Martinez offered no explanation.
Carlos said, “Ma'am, did you see Mr. Brewbaker this morning?”

She nodded.

“
Did you see Kelly
Brewbaker, too?”

“
Of course.”

“
What time was
that?”

I could see her eyes grow round with worry.
“Is something the matter, Detective?”

“
Please, just answer the
question. What time did you last see Kelly Brewbaker?”

“
Nine o’clock this
morning.”

“
Nine o’clock? Are you
sure?”

“
Sí.”

Carlos and I exchanged glances. We now had a
definite timeline for figuring a worst-case scenario. It had been
nine hours and forty-five minutes since anyone had seen Kelly
Brewbaker alive. Based on the mile-a-minute estimate, we imagined
her nearly six hundred miles away already.

“
Señora.” Carlos took her
hand and held it gently. “Kelly may be missing,” he said,
deliberately omitting the fact we knew she had been kidnapped.
“We’re trying to find her. Can you tell us what she was wearing
this morning when you saw her?”

I could see her hands trembling now. “Miss
Kelly is missing?”

“
Please. Try to think.
What was she wearing?”

Her eyes drifted to a shadowy nook across the
room where her last memories of Kelly came to life. “Her riding
shirt,” she said. “She wore her favorite riding shirt today. A
white pull-over with half sleeves and a horse stitched here.” She
placed her hand over her heart to indicate the location of the
embroidery.

“
Was she supposed to go
riding today?”

“
No. Not today, but she
loves that shirt.”

“
I see. What
else?”

“
Blue jeans, the
bleached-out kind with holes in the pockets and knees, like the
teenagers wear.” Her eyes came back to Carlos with a quizzical
look. “They buy them that way now. Can you believe it?”

“
It’s the fashion,” he
said.

Karina shook her head. “Good money for rags
if you ask me. Mr. Brewbaker does not approve of them. But Kelly
does what she wants to do when Mr. Brewbaker is not at home.”

“
Is Kelly
rebellious?”

She smiled thinly. “No, Detective. Kelly is a
good girl. Mr. Brewbaker loves her, but he is strict, old
fashioned. Mrs. Brewbaker is more understanding of such things. She
likes to spoil Kelly and lets her wear whatever she wants to wear
on weekends.”

“
Tell me about this
morning. You went to the Brewbaker house. Why did you do
that?”

“
To pick up my pay
check.”

“
Did Mr. Brewbaker ask you
to stay awhile so he could go to work?”

“
Yes.”

“
So you
stayed.”

“
For a while.”

“
But then you left. You
didn’t wait for Mrs. Brewbaker. Why?”

“
Detective, I could wait
no longer. If I waited, I would have missed my bus and have to wait
another two hours for the next one. By then the banks would have
closed. I had to cash my check or my son would….” She trailed off
without finishing.

“
Your son would
what?”

Her eyes fell away. “He takes my money and
leaves me with none. I tell him to get a job, but he does not
listen.”

“
Does your son lives here
with you?”

She cast her gaze to an open door off the
kitchen. “He has a room in the basement.”

Carlos gestured toward a framed picture on
top of the TV console. “Is that him?”

Karina’s eyes followed. “Sí.”

“
You said his name is
Raul?”

“
It is.”

“
May we talk to
him?”

“
No. He is not at home. He
takes my money and he goes drinking.”

“
Where?”

Her expression grew suspicious.

“
Señora, Martinez,
where?”

“
Why do you want to know
this?”

“
Please. Tell us where we
can find him.”

I could see she was obviously hesitant, but
Carlos has a way with woman. Perhaps it’s those big brown Cuban
eyes of his. He needs only to smile and his eyes twinkle like
silver moon dust. Karina Martinez had no chance.

“
He drinks at a bar called
Mike’s Pub,” she said. “Him and his friend, Hector.”

“
Mike’s Pub?” Carlos gave
me a look. I returned it with a subtle nod. I knew exactly what he
was thinking. To Karina he said, “Mrs. Martinez, does Raul own a
black or blue van?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“
This friend, Hector. Do
you know his last name?”

“
No.”

“
I see.” Carlos was still
holding her hand. He raised it to his lips and kissed it softly.
“Señora. Garcias por su tiempo.”

She smiled bashfully. “De nada,
Detective.”

I took my cue from Carlos, stood and offered
my hand. “Yes, Ms. Martinez. Thank you for your time. We’ll see
ourselves out.”

Back in the car, I asked Carlos what he
thought about Raul Martinez. His answer came sharply. “He’s a
prick.”