Heaven to Betsy (Emily #1) (5 page)

She shook her head slowly as she spoke. “I know it is wrong to kill him, but I have no choice.”

Clank. Buzz. Clank.

Jack drew a deep breath. “Why did you shoot him, Sofia?
Why
didn’t you have a choice? Tell us that.”

Sofia looked down and chewed her lip. We waited. She didn’t answer.

“I can’t defend you if you don’t help me understand.”

She looked up and I saw huge tears in the corners of her eyes threatening to spill into the tear tracks already cut through her cheeks. She shook her head, fast and hard this time, then stopped.

Jack glanced at me and gave the tiniest of nods. I shrugged my shoulders and lifted my eyebrows. He glared at me, his eyes throwing daggers. What did he want? I couldn’t read his mind. He dug his boot heel into the bridge of my unbooted foot.

“Ow!” I snapped under my breath. Sofia looked at me. I looked at Jack.

Jack mouthed, “You talk to her.”

We had a guilty murder defendant and Jack wanted me to take over the interview without any prep whatsoever on my first day of work ever as a criminal paralegal. This wasn’t exactly how we did things at my firm in Dallas. Fine. I pushed one hand against my crampy abdomen as I gathered my thoughts. I spoke in my most gentle voice. “Sofia, what’s wrong? What’s making you quiet?”

She sniffed then wiped her nose with her forearm, causing her cuffs to rattle as she did, but she didn’t answer.

If I were her, I would want to protect myself, unless I was protecting someone else. Like a child. “Tell me about your daughter.”

She swallowed, hard. “She such a good girl.”

Clank. Buzz. Clank. I felt my shoulders tense in response to the sounds.

“Does she go to school?”

Another scream, this one echoing in my cranium and vibrating through my body.

“No.”

“What does she like to do?”

More screams. They were giving me a headache behind my right eye. I had to block them out.

A tear dripped down Sofia’s cheek. “She color.”

“Does she get that from you?”

Sofia shook her head. “When she scared, she sings.” She smiled. “I teach her that.”

“Does she have a favorite song?”

“‘
Tengo una Muneca
.’ It mean
I have . . .
”

“
A doll
,” I finished for her, then recited its lyrics, in English. “Dressed in blue with her little shirt and her lace shawl.”

“Yes.” Her smile widened. “She have a doll like that, too.”

Her words reminded me of something I hadn’t thought of in years. My mother, tucking my doll in with me, and singing “Hush Little Baby” to us both. Warmth spread through me.

“She must be wonderful,” I said. “And you sound like a great mother. Does she look like you?”

She nodded and wiped her nose.

“What about her father? Could he have her?”

“No. We have no one. We are alone.”

“Is he deceased?
Muerto
?”

Her head fell forward and she cast her eyes down. This time the tear fell on the surface of the table.

I leaned around Jack, toward her. “Sofia, what is it?”

Her head came back up, and both eyes bored into mine. “I am guilty. They will send me back to Mexico, no?”

Jack stepped back in. “If they find you guilty, yes. Or if you make a deal, probably.”

“What is ‘make a deal?’”

“Where the State of Texas offers you fewer years in jail if you plead guilty, and you agree. Then there’s no trial.”

She nodded, slowly, her eyes sharp and smart through her bruises.

He went on, taking his time. “The rule isn’t one hundred percent clear, but the INS would hold a deportation hearing, and if they decide you committed a violent offense, and if you have been sentenced to a year or more of jail time, they usually send you back. Do you understand?”

Again, those intelligent eyes took it in, and she nodded.

“But if we get a not guilty verdict at a trial, then no deportation hearing. You stay.”

“How long would that take, to be not guilty?

“We would have to go to trial, and that would be several months from now.”

“And I stay in here?”

“Yes.” Jack turned to me. “Her bail was set at one million dollars. The way it works is that the defendant or someone on her behalf has to come up with at least ten percent of that amount to meet bail. And they don’t get it back. Sofia wasn’t able to make bail. But if she had, they would have just transferred her to a federal facility to await a deportation hearing, so not ideal either way.”

“Oh,” I said to him—clank, buzz, clank—and then to Sofia, “
Lo siento
.”

“And my daughter? What about her?”

Jack stood up and leaned on the wall. “It all depends on what happens with you.”

Their predicament made my mouth dry and I fought down nausea. I couldn’t imagine how she felt. But then I couldn’t imagine why she’d killed Spike Howard either, or why she was avoiding talking about her reasons with the only people who could help her.

Again, Sofia shook her head, even more violently this time. “I am guilty. I go back to Mexico. Soon is better than trial. Now. You tell the judge that.”

The pregnancy hormones were wreaking havoc on my self-restraint, and I blurted out, “I don’t understand. Why won’t you let us help you?”

Sofia sat back in her chair. “It’s for the best. You just help my daughter.”

Jack said, “Sofia, if they deport you, they’ll deport Valentina, too. Is that what you want?”

Sofia leaned forward and her voice grew strident. “Please help her. She is little. She is alone. You must find her. We have no family, not here, not in Mexico. She needs a family. She needs to stay here, in the U.S.”

Clank. Buzz. Clank. Scream.

Jack stood up straight. “CPS is going to find her—the police will help them—and they will take care of her. She’ll have her own attorney and the court will appoint someone special just to make sure she’s doing okay. Our job is to help you. Do you really want to spend your life in a Mexican prison?”

Sofia looked at me. “Please, you must find my daughter. Protect her from the bad men. Please don’t let them take her away.”

Clank. Buzz. Clank. Scream.

Jack’s eyes met mine, and both our brows rose. He didn’t speak, so I answered her. “What bad men? Has someone tried to hurt her?”

Sofia started rubbing her fingers together and whispering in Spanish. I wasn’t a Catholic, nor still fluent by any means, but I recognized Hail Marys when I heard them. She rocked back and forth, rubbing and touching her fingertips and continuing her frantic whispering. I heard a lot of
Dios
, and something about an “Elizabet” but that was all I could make out. She closed her eyes and prayed louder.

A sense of urgency was building in me, like a hot air balloon filling in my chest.

“What aren’t you telling us?” I said. “You need to talk. Please, let us help you.”

But Sofia didn’t say another word.

***

My phone rang almost the second Sofia left. I looked at my screen. It was Rich.

“Do you mind if I take this real quick?” I asked Jack.

“No problem. You want me to wait outside?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Afraid that it would roll to voice mail because it was taking me so long to answer, I pressed to accept the call, but didn’t say anything.

Jack grabbed his briefcase and sidled out the door.

From the phone I heard, “Hello? Is anyone there? This is Rich Bernal calling for Emily.”

His Colombian English was stiff and formal, even after twelve years in the U.S.

I put the phone to my ear. “Hello, Rich Bernal, this is your green card speaking.”

“Emily, please, you know that is not true.” His Rs still rolled ever so slightly. His sexy voice was the second thing I’d noticed about him—after his mesmerizing eyes. Well, neither worked on me anymore.

“I wanted you to know that I received your text,” he said, “and that I apologize on behalf of Stormy and myself.”

“I’ve got a way you can make it all better.”

“What is that?”

“I need my car, ASAP. Can you have someone deliver it to me?”

“Will you not be coming back to move your things?”

“You can throw stuff in the trunk—anything you haven’t pawned or that Stormy hasn’t already tried on, too, if you have time. I’ll send a mover for the rest, later. Right now, I just need my wheels.”

“That isn’t fair, Emily. You must know I am no thief.”

“Well, your boyfriend is.”

He sat in silence for a long moment, and I could picture him pushing back the cuticles on his nails, or smoothing the hair back from his brow. “We must talk.”

“About?”

“There are things you don’t understand.”

“Really? And here I thought you wanted to apologize.”

“That, as well. But also how we manage the dissolution of our marriage. What we tell other people.”

“I’m going with the truth. We can talk about the rest of it some other time. Right now, I need to get back to work.”

“Emily, please wait.”

I sighed. “What?”

“Truly, I care deeply about you, and the pain I have caused you pains me as well. I am sorry. You were not my green card. You are the finest woman I have ever met. I was raised under the expectation that I would marry and provide an heir for my father, as he did for his before me, and as my ancestors have done for hundreds of years.”

“You know what?” I said. “I care about you, too, and I want you to be happy, despite your family. I just didn’t want it to be at my expense. Goodbye, Rich.”

I ended the call and set my phone down on the table—hard. My forehead followed it. It was a consolation of sorts that Rich would get more grief from his family than me, but one that made me feel strangely guilty. And I hadn’t done a thing wrong. I wanted to hate Rich. I was certainly angry with him. He just wasn’t very hateable. Visions of good times passed flitted through my head: breakfast in bed with crossword puzzles, Rich spooning chicken soup into my mouth while I was sick, seeing his car approach when I had a flat, his face in the crowd when I was racing through a rodeo arena. No, he wasn’t hateable. And that made me even madder at him.

I couldn’t keep Jack waiting. I gathered my things and went into the hall, where I almost didn’t notice Deputy Walker escort us out. I loped to keep up with them, which wasn’t easy because I really didn’t feel so hot, even though I was relieved to discover that there was no strip search on our way out of the secured area.

My mind was spinning from the weird meeting. I still had no idea why Sofia had killed Spike. I had some guesses—maybe he’d attacked her in her hotel room. But she was the only one who could support that theory. And what about her daughter? Where was she? The practical side of me that had worked in law firms for eight years had other issues, too. Like a criminal attorney being so accommodating with advice on her non-criminal issues.

I exited into the parking lot, trailing behind my boss. Well, I couldn’t get answers from Sofia, but I could try to get some from Jack.

“So, do you practice immigration and family law, too?” I asked.

“I grew up on the border. Practiced law there.”

I felt too crappy to put up with more of his evasiveness, so I half-growled at him, “That’s not an answer.”

“Every lawyer on the border does a little immigration.”

He walked to his side of the Jeep. I followed him. “And family law?” I asked.

“If I need to, yes.” He opened his door and got in. I stood there. He lowered the window. “Are you coming?”

“So does the court pay you for all of that?” I asked.

His lips twitched and his eyes twinkled. “I hired a law practice manager, huh?”

I could play this game all day if he wanted to. I put a hand on my cocked hip and tapped my toe.

The stupid dimple appeared, but I refused to let it soften me. He said, “No, the court won’t pay us for helping Sofia with her other problems. But she can’t afford to pay for anyone else, and she needs help. So, I answer her questions.”

“So her daughter? Can we help find her?”

“I answer her questions, but I don’t take on free work. I’m not a private detective. The police are looking for the girl. CPS is looking for her. They’ll find her. We can’t lose focus. Sofia is a criminal defendant. She’s our client—her daughter isn’t.”

His answer didn’t sit well with me. I walked around to my side, trying to digest his words, and got in. As I did, a wave of nausea hit me. Ugh. I crossed my arms around my middle and leaned forward.

“You okay?” He braced his hand against my seat back and turned his head to look behind us, then started backing out of the parking space, old school.

“Uh huh. So what’s next for her?”

I touched my forehead and felt a thin, cool layer of sweat. This felt like more than morning sickness. It felt like I’d eaten something spoiled, or had the stomach flu. I tightened my gut and stared out the front window.

Jack put the Jeep in drive and it lurched forward, which didn’t help my situation.

“We’ve got to get her talking to us. Find out why she killed this guy and what kind of defense we can put on.”

“But she said she wants to make a deal.”

He turned on his blinker and the Jeep’s engine raced as he transitioned from brake to gas pedal and rolled onto Highway 60. A metallic horn blared. Jack slammed on the brakes, and my body continued forward until it stopped with a painful jerk from the seat belt. I put my hand over my mouth to keep from throwing up and watched a little sky-blue Nissan LEAF drive away, the middle finger of its hunched male driver high in the air.

“Tree-hugging asshole,” Jack yelled, saluting him back. He lowered his voice, and his hand. “Sorry. Those bastards make me sorry when I vote Democrat.”

He pulled into our lane and accelerated hard.

“Yes,” he said. “She says she wants a deal, and I’ll make one for her—if she doesn’t change her mind first. In the meantime, we need to see if we can find out anything about Sofia’s life before last Saturday night, which is going to be hard. Most people who live in the U.S. illegally try not to leave tracks.”

His last words hung in the air and chilled me. If Sofia was here illegally, so was Valentina. And, if what Jack said was true, how would anyone ever find that little girl?