Tell No Lies Page 16

  The pages seemed endless—psychosocial and medical histories, police records, victim statements, court documents, probation-supervision reports, pre-sentencing interviews, employment histories. Poring over them, he realized why Dooley had appealed to him to report findings back to her. When it came to his group members, he probably had access to more information than she did. He remembered her complaint about criminals: They drive unregistered cars, shoot unregistered guns, change jobs like other people change clothes, skip out on rent to crash on their cousin Hector’s couch. Outdated, incomplete files. Even in the face of the stacks around him, he had to admit she was right. Many of the reports were vague or half-assed. More holes than connective tissue.

  Flipping through, reading more of what he already knew, he felt his frustration mount, so much so that he didn’t notice that Kendra had entered the room until she made a point of clearing her throat. Her arms were crossed, wooden bangles clanking around her forearms, and she was inflicting upon him her program director’s frown.

  “Doing a little extra research?” she asked.

  He blinked up at her. “Yes.”

  “That scowly cop and her cohorts have set up camp in my building,” she said. “She was good enough to bring me up to speed. Some might call it professional courtesy.”

  “I’m sorry,” Daniel said. “It’s been … consuming. But I should’ve taken the time to loop you in.”

  She took note of his discomfort. “So you’re Inspector Dooley’s inside line on this case?”

  “I wouldn’t phrase it like that.”

  “The phrasing is not my concern.”

  “There’s strong reason to suspect that someone in my group is involved in these murders.”

  “And what if you and Detective Hardcharger are wrong?” She eased forward and hip-sat at the edge of the table, peering over the rims of her rectangular eyeglasses, her neck turkeying around a string of oversize beads. “I know earnestness ain’t in vogue these days, but those six people in that room, they rely on you and your positive regard, body and soul.”

  “Positive regard.”

  “That is the term, baby. You and I both read the textbooks. If you don’t believe in those folks, who the hell will?”

  He knew better than to answer right now.

  “If they lose trust in you,” she said, “that could mean their freedom. And they’re not the only ones who go down if they slip. There are kids, dependents, wives.”

  “You don’t think I’ve considered that?” Daniel said. “I want to do right by them. I don’t want to fail them. But—”

  “I understand this is life and death.” Kendra rose, smoothed the fabric of her vividly patterned tunic. “Just don’t forget it is for them, too.”

  Chapter 31

  Daniel entered the room late, his head lowered, forging into the banter of the group. He took his chair and a deep breath, finally scanning the ring of faces.

  In this circle a killer. Or a killer’s accomplice.

  As he considered each member’s capacity for violence, still-life images strobed in his mind: Black-Clad Man Clinging to Gate; Faceless Woman in Yellow Slicker; Man in Cellar Scarved in Blood. The hairs on his arms prickled. He realized he’d never been scared in the room before. Charged to the gills with nervous anticipation, sure. But not scared. In a bizarre way, it gave him a view from the other seats, a glimpse of how group members must feel coming in here, baring themselves, unsure and vulnerable.

  X had said something.

  “Sorry?”

  “I said, what happened to your eye, Counselor?”

  The broken veins and bruising from the kick. He’d forgotten.

  He cleared his throat, examined the others for any revealing signs. But there were just six curious faces, pointed his way. “I walked into a garage door as it was closing.”

  X snickered knowingly. “I walked into that garage door once or twice myself.”

  His first lie paved the way for the second. “I realized I may have written my cell-phone number down wrong for you guys, reversed the last digits. So let’s check. Will everyone take out my business card?”

  A rustling in pockets. As Daniel watched closely for any tells, the smell of the room impressed itself on him. No—more than a smell. A taste. Mold and wet concrete, leaving a bitter trace on his tongue.

  Fang produced from his billfold a business card still in mint condition. X’s, in contrast, was wadded up in the bottom of her backpack. A-Dre found his in a back pocket, Big Mac in his money clip. Martin nosed around in his wallet, the chain pulling at the belt loop.

  Lil read the number from her cell-phone screen, and the others uh-huhed. “Is that right?” she asked. Eager as always for approval.

  Daniel nodded, picturing that dropped business card at Kyle Lane’s side gate. “You don’t have the actual business card, though?”

  “I input your number in my phone,” Lil said. “So I threw it out.” He must have reacted, because she rushed to add, “Did I do something wrong? I’m really sorry if—”

  “Someone took mine, man,” Martin said, splaying his wallet open.

  “You don’t know that,” Big Mac said. “Coulda fallen out.”

  “No. I keep it here. All the time. Like Counselor said to. But it’s gone. Someone took it.” Martin fanned through his bills, counting under his breath.

  “The wallet is chained to your body.” Daniel realized, too late, that he’d failed to regulate his tone.

  “Protectin’ all those singles,” X chimed in.

  Martin gave Daniel a dead stare. “You callin’ me a liar, Counselor?”

  “Just an observation.”

  “Who cares?” A-Dre said to Martin. “You can have mine.”

  “Don’t you need the number, A-Dre?” Lil asked.

  Irritated, A-Dre pulled out a marker, wrote on his palm, then flicked the card over to Martin, who took it, his glare still fixed on Daniel.

  “Good thing you never wash your hands,” X said, and A-Dre blew her a fuck-you kiss.

  Daniel kept an uneasy eye on Martin as the session got under way. The banter among the members was sharper than usual, everyone amped up, probably in reaction to Daniel’s mood. Recognizing the need for a distraction, he decided to transition early to a more formal exercise.

  Lil agreed to start in center chair. She crossed to it uncomfortably and sat, fussing at her curly bangs. “It’s freezing in here.” She glanced at the open window. “Anyone else cold?”

  Fang said, “No.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Um. What do you guys want to ask me?”

  The question was out of Daniel’s mouth before he considered it. “Have you had any contact with your ex-husband lately?”

  Lil recoiled, wounded. “No. Why would I? He’s in prison.”

  So she didn’t know that he’d been released. Or she was lying. What was he hoping to accomplish here? The debate raged in his head—Dooley on one side, Kendra on the other. Inside man or client advocate? Either way he’d have to be smarter and subtler. His blundering inquiries seemed only to put the group members on edge, which in turn made them act more suspiciously.

  Daniel noticed the others considering him—his opening question to Lil had been uncharacteristic—so he refocused quickly into a more familiar drill. “Lil, I want you to pick who you like least in the group and tell us why.”

  “Can I pass?”

  “Why do you want to pass?” Daniel asked.

  “I don’t want to say anything that might … hurt anyone’s…”

  “Bullshit,” Big Mac said. “You’re too scared to say. Don’t put that shit on us. We can take it.”

  Lil played with her uncombed hair some more, pulling it down over her eyes. “I don’t really have anyone I don’t like. I, um, think people have a lot of complexities and everyone has good qualities and—”

  Daniel pulled his keys from his pocket and tossed them at her. Hard.

  Startled, she reared back and caught them. Jarred out of
her rote reaction. An early supervisor had taught Daniel that stubborn group members at times required more extreme techniques, and he was willing to reach back to that training to shake Lil up now.

  “Answer,” he said.

  “I have two,” she said quickly. Shaken up, she handed him back his keys. “The first is … is Walter.”

  Fang stiffened in his chair. “Me? I barely say anything to you.”

  “Exactly. It’s like I don’t exist to you.”

  “And the other?” Daniel prompted.

  “This should be a big fucking surprise,” X said.

  “Well, yes, Xochitl,” Lil said. “Obviously it’s you.”

  “Why ‘obviously’?” Martin asked.

  “She’s just so nasty.”

  “And here I thought I was all puppies farting rainbows,” X said.

  “Why do you think she’s nasty?” Daniel asked, trying to keep Lil in the lane.

  “Well,” Lil said, “because she’s unhappy, clearly.”

  “Is she unhappy?”

  “Yes. She just seems so … lonely inside all that anger. And I think of her with Thanksgiving coming up and then Christmas…” Something flickered across her face, and she stopped abruptly.

  Daniel felt a narrowing of the room, the picture beneath Lil’s words pulling into focus. It was what he thought of as the magical moment in a session, that split second when the defenses shift and the chinks in the armor align.

  He spoke softly. “The holidays can be lonely, huh?”

  And with that, Lil began to cry. Fist pressed to her wobbling lips, tears fording the bumps of her knuckles. Even X was too shocked to speak.

  Lil recovered to give a fake laugh. “Okay. So maybe it’s not about Xochitl. Maybe I even secretly wish…” She looked away. “That I was strong like her.”

  At this, X’s mouth moved—a silent intake of air.

  “But I’m not,” Lil added quickly. Another dismissive titter. “I guess … I guess maybe I want to not be so lonely.” A flip of her hand dismissed the notion. “But, I mean, with society’s attitudes toward women my age—”

  “Weak,” A-Dre said.

  “—and San Francisco, there are so few straight men here. And. I mean, you go out and you feel bad when people ignore you.”

  “Will you say the same sentence but replace ‘you’ with ‘I’?” Daniel asked.

  Lil cleared her throat. “I go out and…” A pause to compose herself. “I feel bad when people”—her voice dropped to a whisper as the sentiment settled further into her—“ignore me.” Her shoulders folded forward; she was on the verge of clamping shut and disappearing.

  “So you just stopped going out,” Big Mac said. “How long ago?”

  “Since … since my husband left.”

  “For five years?” Martin said.

  “Do you think you might want to try to go out socially again?” Daniel asked.

  Lil shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  “It’s a yes-or-no question.”

  “Maybe.”

  Always equivocating.

  “What would happen if you answered directly?” Daniel asked. She started to respond, and he held up his hand. “Wait. Think about it. Don’t make me throw my keys at you again. What’s the real answer?”

  “I don’t know the real answer.”

  “What’s it buy you not to answer questions directly?”

  She chewed her lip. “Everyone gets frustrated with me.”

  “That’s a good thing?” Big Mac said.

  “At least I get to be the center of attention,” she said, her voice suddenly loud. “This is the only place I have. I live alone. I have no friends at work. I have no friends. This … this is it for me.”

  A rare silence fell over the circle. She wiped her nose, looked down at her hands, then finally continued. “I was never on my own before. I always had someone looking out for me. My dad. My husband.”

  Daniel asked, “What are you afraid will happen if you go out alone? Socially?”

  “I can’t stand it when people reject me.” She tilted her chin to her chest. Quick little breaths.

  “Fuck you, Lil,” Daniel said. “You’re stupid and ugly, and I don’t want you here.”

  She jerked away, her chair screeching on the uneven tile and tilting back on the rear legs. She stared at him with wide eyes.

  Daniel said, “Tell me you don’t care what I say.”

  After a pause she said, weakly, “I don’t care what you say.”

  The front legs of her chair lowered again to the floor.

  “Tell me I don’t know who you are.”

  A little more conviction. “You don’t know who I am.”

  “Tell me I’m rude and I shouldn’t speak to you that way.”

  “You’re rude and shouldn’t speak to me that way.”

  Daniel spread his hands. “Maybe you can stand more than you think.”

  As Big Mac took center chair next, Daniel realized that in the last ten minutes his mind had drifted, finally, from the investigation. He’d forgotten that Lil had failed to produce his business card, which made her—like Martin—suspect. He’d dropped completely into her fears and vulnerabilities, tried to pull her out of the morass and into a new awareness. A connection like that was powerful, powerful enough even to distract him in the middle of a spate of murders. Big Mac’s voice faded as Daniel contemplated how quickly the room had reclaimed its veneer of relative safety.

  That was when the fight broke out.

  Chapter 32

  At the fringe of Daniel’s awareness, he sensed the escalation.

  Big Mac was waxing philosophical from the center seat. “—in the rain, skidded out on the Embarcadero and almost wound up in the Bay. I mean, three more feet and my rig woulda gone off the lip. But I guess it wasn’t my time. I guess it wasn’t in God’s plan.”

  At that, Martin was on his feet. “God’s plan? What about the family who died yesterday in the wreck over in Mission Terrace? God decided to pick them instead of you? And the kids starving in Africa or wherever they starve nowadays? God chose them, too? Huh? But you, you with your big, important world-peace-making job driving a fucking trash truck, for you he decided to take his eye off the Middle East and tsunamis to stop your rig three feet shy so you can live to tote another goddamned trash can, you self-important, bullshit-spouting fuck?”

  When Big Mac came off his chair, he threw a shadow across the room.

  Lil yelped and scrambled away, and even X, Fang, and A-Dre shoved back a few feet.

  Daniel barely managed to jump into the ring before Big Mac lunged for Martin. He got a hand on both chests as the two large bodies clashed. The muscle mass of the men was overwhelming, rock-solid torsos like shields, crushing in on him. He was shouting over their shouts, and then Martin’s elbow clipped his chin and spun him like a top into an abandoned chair, and then both men stopped as abruptly as they’d begun, staring at him, mortified. The chair clattered to a stop across the room.

  Daniel took advantage of the shocked pause, popping back to his feet and pushing them apart toward opposite seats. “Back off.”

  “Shit, Counselor,” Martin said. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Now,” Daniel said.

  Both men took a step back but refused to sit, glowering over Daniel’s head at each other, simmering rage tangible in the air. In the whirl of his thoughts came images of that form clad in black, its featureless mask cocked, the predatory glare cutting through the shadows of Marisol Vargas’s house. He fought for focus. In his distraction he’d let the room get out of control. He owed it to at least five people not to let that happen again.

  “Now sit down,” he said.

  Martin obeyed, but Big Mac took a beat, clearly grappling with himself, the skin of his face tough and lined, like hide. Finally he lowered himself to his chair.

  “Okay,” X said. “That just happened.”

  “God doesn’t choose anything. Only people do. And bad shit, it just happe
ns.” Martin’s voice was choked with emotion, though his eyes remained dry. “You don’t know shit about it unless your lady is dying of cancer and you’re running outta money and you rob a fucking store because this person you love, she’s disintegrating—”

  X cut in. “Everyone’s got a sob story.”

  “Hold on,” Daniel said. Then, to Martin, “Before we get into that, you’re gonna have to take responsibility for how you spoke to Big Mac.”

  Martin took off his Buddy Holly glasses, squeezed his eyes. Sweat glistened on his scalp, visible through his buzz cut. “Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry, Big Mac. I’m sorry.”

  Big Mac said, “Not fucking good enough.”

  “He has the right to make a mistake, Big Mac,” Fang said. “No one’s … ah, ah, ah. No one’s perfect. We all need to have the … ah, right to screw up.”

  Even in the midst of the tension, Daniel felt a stab of satisfaction at Fang’s speaking up.

  “He stood first, but you came at him, man,” A-Dre said to Big Mac. “You threw down first.”

  “This is bullshit.” Big Mac stood again. “After he attacked me, I’m not gonna sit here and listen to—”

  “This is your last chance,” Daniel said. “To sit down.”

  Big Mac crossed his arms. Kept his feet.

  “You’re gonna have to leave now,” Daniel said.

  “No way. I am not taking the ding on my record after Martin—”

  “Then we’ll wait until you do.”

  They all sat quietly, eyes on the floor, waiting. Big Mac shifted a few times on his feet. Finally he stormed out, slamming the door behind him so hard that a stack of chairs in the corner slid over.

  Martin broke the resultant silence. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

  Daniel said, “That was a helluva reaction, Martin.”

  “When people talk about God’s will, it makes me angry—”

  “It doesn’t make you anything,” Daniel said. “You get angry.”

  “Okay, okay. I get angry ’cuz I know there’s no one looking out for us. No big judge up there who says my lady shoulda died and someone else’s shoulda lived. Or that I should have to go through…” He palmed sweat off his forehead, wiped it on his jeans. “I got out of prison a few months after she died. Even then I couldn’t trust myself to get behind the wheel, ’cuz I’d start crying. Couldn’t see the road. Sobbing like a baby in the middle of anything…”