The Edge of Night (12 page)

“I’m going to kill all those Eastside bastards!”

“Let us talk to Eric and build a case. If word gets out about that bandanna—true or not—the investigation could be jeopardized.” He glared at Patrick, who knew better than to let that detail slip. “The man who killed Cristina might go free. Do you want that?”

“Fuck,” Lopez said, relaxing his stance.

“Some officers are heading over to your mom’s house to notify her. Maybe you should go there now. Be with your family.”

“Fuck,” he repeated, his eyes swimming with tears again.

–––

Noah was so angry he couldn’t speak. He’d made a point of telling Patrick not to say anything about the bandanna.

He couldn’t help but suspect that his partner had shared the information on purpose, in a deliberate attempt to cause trouble for Santiago. Patrick didn’t care if he incited gang violence. If a few crew members shot one another, he’d call it a good start.

Noah was also worried about Meghan. Her coworker had been murdered last night. He left a message at the house, asking her to stay put. He thought about sending a patrol car over but decided against it.

Instead, he called Santiago.

“How’d it go?”

“All right,” Noah answered. “We found out that E is Eric Hernandez. He worked with the victim at Bonita Market. Like Junior Lopez, he’s documented CVL.” He paused, not sure if he should reveal Patrick’s mistake. “Do you want us to follow up?”

“Yeah. Go question him.”

After Noah ended the call, he entered Hernandez into the system. Eric had never been arrested, but he had some violent associates. His brother, Raul, was once a major player with CVL. Now Raul was doing hard time for armed robbery.

Hernandez lived in the Castle Park area, in a rundown fourplex on Lime Street. Before Noah knocked on the door, he heard a cranked-up TV broadcasting telenovelas. Maybe Hernandez liked the Spanish-language soap operas.

He answered the door about sixty seconds later. Behind him, there was a gray-haired woman in glasses, sitting on the couch. “Eric Hernandez?”

“Yeah.”

“We have a few questions for you.”

Instead of inviting them in, he came out. Like Junior Lopez, he appeared to have just woken up. Noah had seen him around the neighborhood before. He wasn’t as big as Junior or as tough-looking. His hair was very short rather than shaved. He was wearing a white T-shirt, dark-blue jeans, and black socks.

Eric was a quieter kind of gang member. On the surface, he looked like a nice Hispanic boy, handsome and well groomed. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t weaving in and out of shadows at night, selling drugs or tagging walls. Noah thought about the more elaborate artwork at the old schoolyard, signed by
e
.

Eric stared at Noah’s uniformed shirt, waiting for him to speak.

“Were you with Cristina Lopez last night?”

He blinked a few times, as if he’d been expecting questions about something else. “Yeah, for a little while.”

“What time?”

“Around midnight, I guess.”

“You saw her at midnight?”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“A bonfire near the south pier.”

Noah found his demeanor very strange. Eric seemed to be monitoring their reactions. Usually, it was the other way around.

Visibly nervous, he fidgeted with a brown handkerchief on his right hand.

If Noah hadn’t just seen Junior’s bloody knuckles, he might not have suspected Eric of hiding an injury. “Were you in a fight recently?”

Eric gave him an odd look. “Have you talked to Meghan?”

Noah’s blood went cold. “Meghan Young?”

“Your sister.”

“No, I haven’t talked to her this morning. Why?”

Eric hesitated again.

“Just spit it out, son,” Patrick ordered. “And when you’re speaking about an officer’s sister, you better watch your language.”

Eric’s mouth twisted at the warning, but he accepted it without complaint. “Our boss, Jack, had a party at the beach last night. He invited Meghan and Cristina, and they asked me to come along. I met them there. Cristina started wrestling around with me—”

“What do you mean?” Noah interrupted. “Wrestling how?”

“Trying to kiss me, getting on top of me.”

“And you weren’t interested?”

“Not really, sir. Then Jack walked away with Meghan, so I told Cristina to wait there, and I followed them.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because Meghan was too drunk to stand up. And Jack is kind of a bad guy.”

“You thought he’d take advantage?”

“Yes.”

“And did he?”

“I think so,” he said, his voice flat. “I found them under the pier, and she was screaming. Her shirt was torn, almost in half.”

Noah felt a wave of shock and rage pass over him, followed by an icy, unnatural calm. Even when Tony Castillo had tried to shoot his face off, he hadn’t been this primed to retaliate. “I’ll kill him.”

Patrick put a hand on Noah’s shoulder, forcing him to take a step back. “What did you do when you saw them?”

Eric massaged his cloth-covered knuckles. “I helped her.”

“You struck him?”

“Yes.”

“How many times?”

“I don’t know. At least five. Maybe ten.”

“Did he fight back?”

“No.”

“Why did you stop?”

“Because he wasn’t defending himself.”

“Then what?”

“I helped her to the restrooms on Second Street. I think she washed her face or something. We ate at Taco Tico, and I walked her home.”

“Did you call the police?”

“No. She said nothing happened.”

“And you believed her?”

“Not really. But she said she wanted to sober up first, so I let it go. I think she was too scared to report it.”

“Scared of Jack?”

“No.” He glanced at Noah. “Scared of you. Afraid you’d send her home.”

Noah’s eyes burned and watered. Caught between guilt and anger and absolute misery, he cleared his throat, looking away.

“What about Jack? What if he’d gone on to the next girl?” Patrick pressed.

“I doubt if he went looking for anything but an ice pack. Maybe some painkillers.”

“You worked him over that good?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s see your hand.”

Eric took off the bandanna. His knuckles were raw and swollen, as if he’d been sparring with a cinder block.

“The text message you sent to Cristina,” Noah said, finding his voice. “You told her you were leaving with Meghan?”

“Yeah. They came to the party together. I didn’t want her to worry.” He frowned, covering his knuckles again. “How do you know about that?”

“A jogger found Cristina Lopez under the pier this morning. Raped and murdered.”

Eric’s face went pale. He sat down on the top step, burying his head in his hands as the horrible ramifications of the previous night sank in. He’d left Junior’s sister, drunk and alone, at a bonfire. She’d probably wandered off, looking for him.

And found her killer.

11

Noah found Meghan at home, still in bed
, the covers pulled over her head.

“Hey,” he said, nudging her shoulder.

She startled, sitting up too fast. Then she winced, touching her temple.

“I need you to come to the station.”

Everything he’d expected to see, if Eric had told them the truth, was written on her face. Fear, nausea, fatigue. “Why?”

“You know why.”

“H-how did you find out?”

“Cristina Lopez was murdered last night.” Meghan’s reaction was similar to Eric’s, but her stomach wasn’t as strong. She scrambled out of bed and ran down the hall, locking herself in the bathroom. He could hear her throwing up, then dry-heaving. Tears burned his eyes again, because he hated to see his sister this way. He wanted to protect her from life’s ugliness.

Instead, he was rubbing her face in it.

He followed her, rapping his knuckles against the bathroom door. “Get dressed, okay? I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

While he waited, he called dispatch again. Detective Santiago had sent a patrol car to pick up Jack Bishop on suspicion of murder. What were the odds that two different rapists were hanging out under the pier last night?

“They have the suspect in custody,” the operator said.

“Thanks,” Noah replied.

Meghan came down a few minutes later. Her skin was pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She was wearing jeans and a loose-fitting blouse. A slim black headband kept her hair out of her face.

He took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together. “Do you want to eat something before we leave?”

She shuddered. “No.”

“I won’t be the one questioning you.”

“Good.”

“I can’t investigate the case, either. But if you want me to stay with you at the station, for support—”

“No.”

“Maybe we can talk about it later.”

She brushed by him. “I don’t even want to talk about it now.”

He wrapped his hand around her upper arm. “Whatever happened … it wasn’t your fault, Meghan.”

She jerked away from him. “Let’s just go.”

Noah couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so lost, so ill at ease. She must be going through hell. He followed her outside, wishing he knew how to make it better.

When she saw Eric sitting in the back of the squad car, she paused. “What’s he doing here?”

“He has to make a statement.”

Looking like she might die from embarrassment, she continued down the front walk and climbed into the backseat beside him.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

She gave Eric a wobbly smile, her eyes shining with tears. Something passed between them, an intimacy Noah didn’t understand or approve of. Then she turned her head and stared out the window, wiping her cheeks with one hand.

His sister had
feelings
for Eric Hernandez.

Meghan would have known to steer clear of an obvious thug like Junior Lopez, but she wasn’t savvy enough to realize that Eric was equally dangerous. He had the same bad-boy appeal, along with an angel-faced exterior.

And he’d beaten the crap out of her attacker.

Noah got into the passenger side, his stomach tied in knots. He didn’t know whether to thank Eric or warn him off.

At the station, they parted ways. Patrick escorted Meghan to one interview room, and Noah took Eric to another. She glanced over her shoulder as they rounded the corner, her face full of anxiety—and hero worship.

As soon as she was out of sight, Noah turned to her rescuer, clearing his throat to speak. Meghan was damned lucky she hadn’t ended up like Cristina Lopez. Eric may have thwarted more than a rape.

Odd as it sounded, Noah owed this gang member a debt of gratitude. “Thank you for stepping in.”

Eric’s eyes registered surprise, then a grudging respect. “It was nothing.”

“It means a lot to me.”

He just shrugged, uncomfortable with the exchange.

Noah felt the same way, so he moved on, opening the door to the interview room. “Someone will be with you in a few minutes.”

Eric went inside and sat down, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. Noah continued down the hall, toward the viewing room. Minerva Watts, the SVU captain, was inside, chatting with Detective Santiago. She would probably interview Meghan. “You can’t be a part of this, Officer Young.”

“I know,” he said. “But I … want to see his face.”

She exchanged a glance with Santiago, who gave a slight nod. Watts waved Noah in, pointing at one of the screens.

Jack Bishop was sitting alone in the interrogation room. He was tall and lean, with longish brown hair. Eric Hernandez wasn’t small, but he wasn’t as big as this guy. Despite his greater size, Bishop had a black eye, a busted lip, and a taped nose.

“Okay,” Noah said, stepping away from the screen. Seeing his sister’s attacker bruised and beaten wasn’t as satisfying as giving him the bruises, but it would have to do. Noah walked out of the room, his hands clenched into fists.

He sat down at his desk, drumming his fingertips against the surface. Last night, instead of chasing after April Ortiz, he should have checked up on Meghan. He felt as though he’d failed his sister, failed the investigation.

And now he couldn’t do anything but wait.

Meghan had never felt so sick in her entire life.

She was fuzzy-headed from the hangover, numb with shock. Last night, the drugs and alcohol had worked like an anesthetic, insulating her from the reality of what had happened. Now the high had worn off, leaving her flat.

She was so low, she was scraping asphalt.

Every few seconds she flashed back to the events at the bonfire, and her stomach lurched with nausea.

And, oh, God—Cristina.

Meghan had left her there, alone. She hadn’t given a second thought to her friend’s welfare. Obviously, Cristina had worried about Meghan. When Meghan didn’t come back to the party, Cristina must have wandered down the dark beach, searching for her.

This was all Meghan’s fault.

She moaned, thinking about all of the stupid things she’d said and done to attract Eric’s attention. Flaunting her body in that low-cut top, smoking pot. If Meghan hadn’t acted like such an idiot, Cristina would still be alive.

After a considerable wait, in which she changed her mind about what she was going to say a dozen times, a redheaded woman came into the interview room. She was wearing nice slacks and a pale-pink blouse. “Meghan? I’m Captain Watts.”

Meghan shook her slender hand. She’d expected a stodgy old officer, like her brother’s partner, Patrick. This woman was slim and pretty.

“I work with the Special Victims Unit, and I’ll be interviewing you. Our conversation will be recorded. After we’re finished talking, you can decide whether to file a crime report. You can do so anonymously, if you like.” She gave Meghan a brief smile. “Of course, you don’t have to speak with me at all.”

“I don’t?”

“No.”

“And I don’t have to press charges?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

Meghan shifted in her seat. “Okay.”

“If you’d like to continue, I would ask that you tell me everything you remember about yesterday evening, in your own words. Any details related to Cristina may be especially important.”

“Will my brother be listening?”

“No.”

She swallowed back another wave of nausea, her heart pounding in her chest. Knowing she had some choices made her feel a little better, and Captain Watts’s calm persona helped put her at ease. Even so, she wanted to get this over with. “It was a normal afternoon at work,” she began. “Around closing time, Jack asked Cristina and me if we wanted to go to a party. She said yes, but I hesitated.”

“Why?”

“Jack always makes me uncomfortable. He stands too close to me and stares at me in a weird way. When Eric said he would come along, I felt … safer.”

Captain Watts scribbled on notebook paper. “Go on.”

“We went to my house to get ready. Cristina let me borrow a tank top.”

“How was her mood?”

“Upbeat, I guess. She was excited about the bonfire.”

“What did she say about it?”

“She mentioned wanting to hook up with Eric or one of Jack’s friends. And she made some comments about Jack.”

“What kind of comments?”

Meghan felt heat suffuse her cheeks. “That he liked me … and that he was, um, small. Down there.”

“She said he had a small penis?”

“Yes.”

“Had they dated before?”

“I guess so. Maybe only … once.”

Watts made a note of it. “What else?”

“Well, we got to the party. Everyone was drinking and having a good time. We had some kind of punch.”

“Who gave it to you?”

“Jack. He also, um, had a joint.”

“Did he offer that to you, as well?”

“Yes,” she admitted, her head spinning with the memory. “We both smoked some. Eric showed up, and he sat down with us. Cristina climbed on his lap. I started to feel really weird, like I was going to pass out or something, so I told Jack I needed some air.”

Watts waited for her to continue, a tranquil expression on her face.

“We walked down the beach and sat under the pier. He gave me some water, I think. I was … really confused. He kissed me. I didn’t … resist, at first. He pushed me down on the sand, and I was just … so drunk. Instead of being afraid, I thought about what Cristina said about him, and I—I started laughing.”

“Laughter is often a sign of distress or high anxiety,” Watts said. “It’s totally normal, even in this kind of situation.”

“He didn’t react to it well.”

“How so?”

“He told me to shut up and hold still. I thought he was being too rough. Getting aggressive. So I tried to twist away, and my shirt ripped.”

“He ripped your shirt?”

“Yes. I rolled over, crawling through the sand.” Tears welled in her eyes, but she forced herself to continue. “He yanked down my jeans and tore off my underwear. I screamed and tried to get away, but he had me pinned. He started touching me. When he unzipped his pants, and I realized what he was going to do, I think I … froze.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “The next thing I remember is Eric hitting him.”

“Did he penetrate you? With his penis, fingers, any foreign object?”

“No.”

“You said he touched you.”

“Yes.”

“Where, specifically?”

“My breasts, my butt, my … vulva.” She blushed again, wallowing in shame and embarrassment. “Did he ejaculate?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Did you say no?”

“I don’t remember.”

Captain Watts tilted her head to the side. “Did you communicate your unwillingness in another way?”

“Well, I was struggling. Screaming.”

“Do you think he understood that you were not giving consent?”

“Yes,” she said, with complete conviction.

Captain Watts smiled. “Thank you, Meghan. I know how difficult it is to discuss an attack like this, and I commend you for coming forward. Every time a woman speaks out against sexual violence, she encourages others to do the same.”

Meghan didn’t feel brave, but she felt better. “I wasn’t even raped.”

“You
were
sexually assaulted. Attempted rape is a very serious crime.”

“What should I do?”

“I always recommend a physical exam and sexual-assault counseling. Some victims block out memories of the attack or show symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. It’s important to speak with a professional.”

“Isn’t that what you are?”

“I’m a police officer, not a doctor or a psychologist. My job is to take your statement and collect any available evidence. Your case is strong because we have a witness—a rarity in these situations. Even if you don’t press charges, we can move forward. And the suspect is already in custody.”

Meghan felt a shiver of apprehension. “Do you think he killed Cristina?”

“He’s a person of interest in the murder investigation.”

“Okay,” she said, touching her aching forehead. “I’ll cooperate any way I can.”

Noah had been sitting at his cubicle for hours, trying to distract himself with paperwork, when Patrick approached him. “Let’s go.”

He jumped up from his desk, following his partner down the hall.

“Santiago cleared you to come back,” Patrick said. “Meghan’s done, and they’re about to start interrogating the suspect. Official charge, according to Watts, is attempted rape. Looks like Eric Hernandez arrived just in time.”

Noah’s relief was immense. He paused in the hallway, closing his eyes. Patrick laid a hand on his shoulder, giving him a comforting squeeze. Then Noah’s anger came seeping back. “That
motherfucker—
”

“Stop,” Patrick warned. “You know I’d love to hold that guy down while you beat him. And I’d take a turn myself. But right now we have to act like ‘peace’ officers or you’re going to get kicked out of the viewing room again.”

Noah took a deep breath, pushing his rage into a dark, ugly place inside himself. For a moment he felt like … Patrick. Mad and mean and ready to brawl. Their eyes met, and they understood each other perfectly. In some situations, civility was overrated. But Noah had to maintain his composure if he wanted to assist the investigation.