Tell No Lies Page 28

  Daniel had to concede that Arthur’s enthusiasm was infectious, if exhausting. Dooley opened her mouth, but the man was off and running again. “After the coins are rinsed, we move ’em to these trays here, where they’re dried under two-hundred-fifty-watt bulbs. Then they go out to the front desk, the restaurants, and the gift shops. I’d say almost fifteen million dollars has passed through these machines in my forty-nine years.” Arthur adjusted a sleek wrist splint that looked futuristic in this context peeking out from beneath the cuff of his Brooks Brothers shirt. “Here we are, fifty miles from Silicon Valley, and everything is totally mechanical.”

  “And who else,” Dooley said, stepping forward as if needing to physically enhance the interruption, “is allowed in here?”

  As they’d sped from the Tonga Room over to the St. Francis, Dooley had called O’Malley in the war room and had him check the employment records of all the major suspects. Not one had worked here in any capacity, and cost and location sharply reduced the chances that any of them patronized the hotel. So she and Daniel hung, now, on Arthur’s reply, hoping to bring to light a spider thread of a connection.

  “No one,” Arthur said. “No other staff, no guests, no tour guides. It may not look like much, but it’s my little domain.”

  “Who else works in here with you?”

  “For forty-six years, not a soul,” he said, with fierce pride. “But then my eyesight started going and then my wrists. Arthritis.” He lifted the splint. “So a few years back…”

  “Yes?”

  “I started bringing in a worker now and again to help.”

  “From where?”

  “I was a bit embarrassed,” he said. “I’d never needed help before. But washing the coins takes four or so hours. And it must be done two to three times a week, so you can imagine the—”

  “Mr. Carroll,” Dooley said, “I need to know everything about the worker you used. We’ve traced a clue in a murder investigation to this room, and I need your help.”

  Arthur’s eyes flared a bit at that. He removed his spectacles and polished them with the inevitable old-fashioned hankie, produced from his back pocket. “When my symptoms were bad, I picked up workers from time to time to help me. I did it early in the morning, before work. I didn’t want anyone to know.”

  “Workers,” Dooley said, hitting the plural. “Picked them up where?”

  “Along Cesar Chavez. On my morning commute in.” His head dipped slightly, the first erosion in his stately posture.

  Cesar Chavez Street was where day laborers lined up with their torn jeans and worker gloves, waiting for foremen or contractors to swing by on their way from Home Depot and throw them in the back with the lumber. They were paid in cash, off the books. Which meant no employment records. Which meant no trail that SFPD could trace in the databases.

  They breathed the grease-tinged air of the windowless room.

  Arthur said, “I know it’s illegal—”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Dooley said.

  “—but I can assure you I learned my lesson. Money started going missing, so we stopped. And I had to come clean with management. They were quite understanding, actually, which made it worse. I was worried I’d be replaced, and as you can plainly see, this job means everything to me. But they agreed to hire on temp workers now, legitimately, to—”

  Dooley cut him off before he could get up another head of steam. “Do you remember the workers you used?”

  “Not very well.”

  “Did you use some regularly?” She fired the questions over the top of her flipped-open black notepad.

  “For a while. Then they’d disappear. You know how that goes. Or perhaps you don’t.”

  “How many in total?”

  “Maybe eight or nine.”

  “All men?”

  “Yes. It’s physical work. A lot of hefting.” He raised his splinted wrist. “So, as a rule, I’d pick the biggest man.”

  Dooley removed from the back of her notepad a set of small suspect photos and spread them on a workbench—the familiar six-pack identification test. Big Mac, A-Dre, Fang, and Martin were there, as well as two other faces Daniel placed from the war-room bulletin boards—Lil’s ex-husband and A-Dre’s brother.

  Arthur donned his glasses again and examined them. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” Dooley said. “How long ago was this?”

  “The first worker was probably three years ago. The last maybe nine months ago.”

  “And the last one stole the money?”

  “Yes. Maybe others, too. That’s just when I noticed. In hindsight it was foolish in more ways than one.”

  Dooley pointed again to the photos. “Look again, please, Mr. Carroll.”

  He did, bringing his nose within inches of them, his lips bunching. “I honestly can’t say.”

  “You remember the ethnicities, though,” Daniel cut in. “Right? Black, Chinese, Hispanic, Caucasian?”

  “No.” Arthur scratched at his hair. “A few were Hispanic. But the others? It was a year, two years ago. And I’m nearsighted past a few feet. Examining coins isn’t kind on the eyes.”

  “You wear glasses,” Dooley said.

  “Simple close-range magnifiers. These are all I wear in the office.”

  “But you worked with those men. Here in this tiny room.”

  “The coins are important. Their faces weren’t.” He seemed to hear himself and gritted his teeth. “I was worried about myself, about not being found out, forced out.” Instinctively, he moved a liver-spotted hand to the splint and gave it a protective squeeze. “I suppose I resented them. I didn’t want them to be here. I didn’t want to need them. They got in the back of the truck and then they hoisted bags and poured and sorted, and I did my best to pretend they didn’t exist.” He lifted his white eyebrows. “I didn’t realize that was the case, but it was. I’m sorry.” He moistened his chapped lips. “And I’m sorry I can’t help you more.”

  Dooley asked, “Do you have security cameras back here?”

  “No. But in the elevator. We have to use the elevators because of the weight of the bags.”

  “You used the elevator with all the workers.”

  “Every one, yes.”

  “I need security footage from the elevator for that entire period.”

  As Arthur picked up an old-fashioned wall-mounted phone and spoke with security, Daniel checked his watch. His group session at Metro South began in a little more than an hour. He tapped the glass face, and Dooley nodded.

  They thanked Arthur Carroll and waited downstairs on a leather couch near lobby registration. Fifteen minutes later the security director approached with a brown grocery bag filled to the brim with DVDs.

  “That it?” Dooley joked.

  The man smiled tightly. “The first batch.” As he turned back for his office, he said, “You did ask for three-plus years of footage. Be grateful we burn backups.”

  She produced that dazzling smile. “Grateful I am.”

  As his loafers clicked away, Dooley poked a finger into the brown bag and peeked inside. Settling back to wait beside Daniel, she shot a sigh at the ornate ceiling. “I’ll tell Media Forensics to cancel Thanksgiving.”

  Chapter 62

  Xochitl sat on the hot seat, picking up where she’d left off, the others looking on attentively from all sides.

  Still winded from his sprint to arrive in time, Daniel sat erect in his chair, giving her the focus she deserved. Because it was his first group session since that death threat had dinged into his iPhone, Dooley had added even more security measures around the building. Undercover officers at every entrance and several on each floor. She’d gone so far as to insist on waiting out the session in the empty room next door. Before they’d parted in the garage, he’d reminded her that the deadline was not until tomorrow at midnight, and she’d replied, half jokingly, “That’s just when he’s gonna kill you. A maiming or kidnapping could happen whenever.”

  S
ettling into the session, he had to confess that the thought of her right there beyond the wall did ease his discomfort a notch or two. But as he surveyed the faces around the ring, dark thoughts simmered beneath the surface, threatening to bubble out of his mouth. Any of you ever work cleaning coins at the St. Francis? Who tried to kick in my front door yesterday and kidnap my wife? Whoever knows Viviana Olvera, raise your hand.

  “Last session was crazy-ass,” X said, interrupting his reverie. “All this feeling and shit just pouring out of me. And now I can’t put it back. It’s just splattered out everywhere. On the carpet, the walls ’n’ shit. I got all teary at a car commercial yesterday. Pathetic. I’m like Lil’s ass now. Next thing I’ll be going to church socials.” Some sniggers. “But seriously. Now that all that shit’s spread out where I can see it, I don’t know what to do with it. I’m angry, too. Not just weepy. I’m angry at the ones who did it to me.”

  “You have to find forgiveness,” Lil said.

  “That’s bullshit,” Martin said.

  X looked taken aback by Lil’s recommendation, too. She directed a challenging glare at Daniel, as if he’d been the one to suggest it. “You think I can forgive being fucking raped?”

  “I don’t know,” Daniel said. “I’ve never been raped.”

  “Helpful,” A-Dre chimed in.

  Big Mac said, “You got a degree for that, Counselor?”

  Daniel ignored the digs, not wanting to be sidetracked. X was still focused on him. “Why should those bitches get forgiveness?” she said. “I never got none from Raped Gi”—she caught herself—“from Sophie.”

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “A G6. No—a Hummer limo with Chris Brown in the back. Then I could run them bitches over.” X flicked her nails against her thumb. “I don’t fucking know what I want.”

  Daniel said, “What do you want for Sophie then?”

  “I want…” X thought for a moment, and then her eyes welled up, seeming to catch her off guard. “I want her not to hafta be so angry all the time.”

  Daniel looked across at Big Mac, Lil, and Fang, hoping someone else would step in, but they just stared back, intent on letting him lead.

  “That’s a great start,” Daniel said. “I know what else I want for you.”

  X wiped roughly at her cheeks. “What?”

  “I want you to gain power over what happened to you instead of letting it have power over you.”

  “It doesn’t have power over me.”

  Daniel got up, crossed the small ring, and sat in X’s empty seat—the chair nearest the door. She tensed, glaring at him, her hands turned to claws against her jeans.

  Daniel spread his arms. “I want this not to scare you anymore.”

  He got up and returned to his own chair, and even from the corner of his eye, he could see X go slack with relief. She scurried across the circle and reclaimed her spot.

  “What a load of shit.” Martin’s eyes, magnified by those bold-framed glasses, held a quick anger. “Forgiveness. Acceptance. Closure.” Each word imbued with disgust.

  “What’s the alternative?” Big Mac asked.

  “How ’bout not being in denial?” Martin said. “Respecting our history. Acknowledging the shit that was done to us.”

  Fang said, “You’re talking about—”

  “Yeah,” Martin said. “I’m talking about my lady.”

  The choice of noun, this time, in this context, tripped something in Daniel.

  My lady. Not my wife. Not my girlfriend.

  The draft from the window cooled the sweat that had broken out across Daniel’s back. He lifted a hand from his lap, gestured for him to continue.

  Martin folded his arms across his black-and-red flannel shirt. “I don’t ever want to let go of what happened to her. She was everything to me, and she was eaten up by the”—and here Daniel detected the faintest pause—“skin cancer.”

  A cascade of memories flooded through Daniel. Martin, adamant in his chair: She was so innocent. And earlier, as he’d explained his story to A-Dre: The treatments were serious dollar, wiped us out. But the cancer, it didn’t care when we ran outta jack. So I knocked off a coupla grocery stores.

  Daniel thought of Dooley next door, right beyond that wall. The iPhone in his pocket, pressed reassuringly against his thigh. But he had one shot at this and one shot only, and so he found the point of weakness and pressed.

  “She was so vulnerable,” he said.

  “Yes,” Martin said.

  “And you were so helpless.”

  Martin’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He gave a small nod.

  “What was the worst part?” Daniel asked. “Of all of it?”

  Martin’s breathing had quickened. “She’d wake up at night. Terrified. Her heart racing. And it got so she was afraid to go to sleep. And me, too. I got scared to fall asleep, too.” He pulled off his glasses, pinched his eyes.

  Daniel said, “You didn’t want her to be scared and alone. Not even for a second before you could wake up and comfort her.”

  Martin nodded into his hand.

  “She was so little,” Daniel said.

  The others came alert, confused, but Daniel held on Martin, who was hunched over, his face still lowered into the brace of his hand.

  And then he nodded again.

  Daniel felt the walls of the room fall away, and then the other group members vanished until there was only a tunnel of space connecting him and Martin.

  “It wasn’t skin cancer,” Daniel said, reaching slowly for his iPhone. “It was even worse.”

  Martin’s shoulders shook, his head lowered, his fists pressing into his buzz cut. “Her heart.” He sucked in a wet inhale. “We went to clinics and hospitals for different rounds of treatment. Every fucking doctor had another story. We pulled her out of preschool—”

  “Preschool?” X threw up her hands. “The fuck?”

  “I thought it was your wife who died,” Lil said.

  Martin didn’t register either of them. The glasses slid back on, and, still curled over, he lifted his gaze, freezing Daniel’s hand midway into his pocket. There was a darkness behind his eyes that Daniel did not recognize. Martin’s arms bulged, and his foot tapped a slow staccato on the cracked tile, his body tense and snake-coiled. Daniel had seen a lot of people under incredible duress, and he had no doubt that if he moved for the phone, Martin would explode. He kept his hand in place, fingers dug halfway into his pocket.

  The other group members were stunned into silence, aware that something beyond their grasp was transpiring. The current of air from the window carried with it the smell of car exhaust, and somewhere far away a driver was laying on the horn. Daniel remained perfectly still; the slightest movement would bring everything crashing down. Martin’s black eyes, distorted through the lenses, had gone sharp, boring through Daniel, pinning him to the metal chair.

  Daniel pressed his hand another millimeter into his pocket. At once there was a shiv in Martin’s fist, low at his side next to his thigh. A carved wooden blade to get past the metal detectors, sanded to a high gleam. The knife was hidden from most of the room, but Lil, beside him, noticed and blanched.

  Daniel considered the phone at his fingertips, the undercover cops in the hall, Dooley camped out one room over, but they were all out of reach. Martin was maybe five feet away on the opposite side of the ring. With a single lunge, he’d be on Daniel, blade through his throat.

  Martin shifted, his fist tightening around the wooden handle. “It’s time,” he said.

  Chapter 63

  Blade still concealed at his side, glare fixed on Daniel, Martin set his weight forward on his boots, preparing to spring from his chair.

  “Wait,” Daniel said.

  Martin paused. Lil stifled a cry in her throat.

  “I think,” Daniel said, “that I should take center chair.”

  Martin sat still for a very long time. Then he bobbed his head.

  Daniel’s skin felt on fire, a dry heat bak
ing through him. Keeping his eyes on Martin, he moved very cautiously across to the hot seat.

  Big Mac said, “The hell?”

  A-Dre cast out his arms. “Someone wanna tell us what the fuck is happening up in here?”

  “Counselor’s got some things he needs to get off his chest,” Martin said.

  “Like something illegal?” X asked.

  “Nah,” Martin said. “He never committed a crime, because he didn’t have to.” His eyes, pronounced beneath the lenses, swung to Daniel. “Ain’t that right?”

  Daniel met his gaze as evenly as he could manage.

  “All of us did what we did for someone we loved,” Martin said. “A-Dre for his brother in jail. Lil for her husband. Me for my daughter.”

  X held up a hand, tried to cut in. “What daughter, Martin? This shit is freaking me out.”

  But Martin raised his voice, bulldozing over hers. “Fang for his cousin who got popped. X started dealing to support her sick mom. Big Mac needed money for his family.”

  “Don’t put that shit on me,” Big Mac said. “I ain’t no victim. What I did was wrong.”

  “We can’t make excuses because … ah, ah, we got it rough.”

  “That is some boo-hoo shit, Martin,” X said, and A-Dre nodded.

  Martin adjusted his grip around the wooden knife, still hidden by his side. The sleeves of his flannel were torn off at the shoulders, revealing the bulging, shiny arms of a weight lifter. “What then? We did it because we’re evil?”

  Lil’s voice quavered with fear. “Because we made dumb choices.”

  Big Mac said, “We can’t just do whatever we want because we care about someone.”

  “Let’s talk about that a minute,” Martin said. Beside his thigh, the filed-down tip of the shiv ticked over to aim at Daniel. “Can you do whatever you want because you care about someone?”

  Daniel took in a jagged breath.

  “Can you?” Martin said between clenched teeth.