January Justice Part 32

The waiter dropped by. Olivia ordered a martini. With the drive home in the Aston Martin in mind, I asked for mineral water.

After the waiter left, I said, "So, tell me about yourself. Where did you grow up?"

"Not too far from here. You know Pico-Union?"

"Wow. Not far as a crow flies, but you've come a long way. I'll bet your folks are proud."

"How about you? Are you from LA?"

"Uvalde, Texas. Down near Mexico."

"That explains your Spanish."

"The schools were about three-quarters Mexican. I pretty much had to learn it or miss out on all the gossip. How about you? Your parents teach it to you?"

"We spoke it all the time at home."

"But you're not Mexican American. I can tell from the accent. So, what? Colombian? Puerto Rican?"

"Kind of a combination, actually." She was looking at the menu. "What's good here?"

"I had a filet mignon that one time. I think Miss Lane said she enjoyed the swordfish."

The waiter came back with our drinks. We went ahead and ordered dinner. Olivia and I both opted for the filet.

"Tell me about Haley Lane," she said after the waiter had gone. "What was she like?"

I gave my stock answer. "She was a good woman. Easy to work for and very kindhearted. Not jaded or impressed with herself at all. What's Dona Elena like?"

"You met her, so you know she can put away the Chablis. Sometimes that makes her a little bit mean-spirited, but mostly I like her. And the congressman is very kind and thoughtful. He can be curt, but only when he's in a hurry, and he almost always apologizes later. It's interesting how normal these people are behind the scenes, isn't it?"

"In my line of work, I've met all kinds. Like they say, the rich are different; they have lots of money."

"Really? Dona Elena and the congressman are my first rich and famous bosses. At first I was intimidated, but they treat me better than I would treat them if I were in their shoes, probably."

"That's an interesting thing to say."

"I think it's the power. Being able to make people do pretty much whatever you want them to do. I'd have trouble managing that. It's seductive."

Watching her sip from her martini, I said, "What did you do before you went to work for the Montes?"

"This and that. I went to college in Spain, then worked for a bank in a little town called Alzira in Valencia. That's where I met the HRT Formula One guys."

"What did you do at the bank?"

"Account management. I have a degree in international banking."

I stared at her. "Seriously?"

She smiled. "Seriously."

"Why are you working as a personal a.s.sistant?"

"Jobs in my field are kind of scarce at the moment. There's a little recession on, as you may have heard."

I smiled. "I did hear something about that."

The sommelier arrived. I ordered a bottle of Rioja in honor of Olivia's time in Spain.

When he had left the table, I said, "So how did you get from Pico-Union to Spain?"

"My father sent me."

I admired her technique. The most convincing lies are always those that contain as much factual information as possible. It's the same with a false ident.i.ty. Soto instead of Sotomayor. Olivia was quite good at telling convincing lies. If I had not gone to Guatemala, I might never have known.

She took another sip of her martini, staring at me with her huge brown eyes. I felt her leg press against mine below the table. She maintained the pressure between us. Maybe she thought my leg was the table base, but I doubted it.

She said, "Let's talk about you for a while. I'm still interested in how you get to drive an Aston Martin one seventy-seven. Who does it belong to now that Haley Lane is dead?"

Dead. It still seemed an impossible word to use about Haley. Suddenly I wanted to trade in my mineral water for three fingers of Scotch. I said, "I couldn't comment."

"Can't or won't?"

I tried to smile. "Something like that. In my business, discretion is everything."

"Oh, I understand that, believe me. So answer this instead. Who were those men who tried to kill you?"

"I'm not sure."

"Are they connected to you looking into the kidnapping and murder?"

"Could be. I'm really not sure."

The steaks arrived, and immediately afterward, the wine. When the sommelier had poured and gone away, she said, "Do you think it was connected to the home invasion?"

"Must be. Too coincidental otherwise."

She looked at me a moment. "I can't believe you accused me of being that woman."

I looked her in the eye. "I'm sorry about that, Olivia. It's just... I'm feeling a little desperate. Clutching at straws."

"There might not have even been a woman there that night. I know what Dona Elena said, but she says a lot of things after her second bottle of Chablis. It's hard to believe Alejandra Delarosa was involved."

"Hard to believe I was involved, too. Right?"

She looked away. "Of course."

"My fingerprints were on the door. Both inside and outside."

"Well, you were there before, so you left them then."

"Uh-huh. You know, there's a funny thing about that. I could have sworn you were the one who opened the door both times, when I went in and when I went out."

"Obviously not."

"Yeah, I guess not. But I could have sworn."

We ate silently for a few minutes. She continued to press her leg against mine below the table. The steaks were very good. Not worth fifty-three dollars each, but good.

Olivia said, "Have you learned anything interesting about Alejandra Delarosa?" She didn't look at me as she asked the question. She was very focused on her filet.

I said, "I have, actually. Several things."

"Really? Like what?"

I decided it was time to put on some pressure. I reached over with the back of my fingers and moved a lock of her hair away from her face. "You don't really want to talk about her over dinner, do you? An evil woman like that?"

She cut a small slice from the steak. "I don't mind. It's interesting."

"Doesn't it kind of turn your stomach, thinking about what she did?"

Her leg moved away from mine. She said, "Not really."

I watched her carefully as she lifted the bite of steak to her lovely lips. The lower lip seemed to tremble, just slightly. I almost felt sorry for her, but it had to be done. I said, "We were talking about how rich and powerful people are really like the rest of us, but people like that Delarosa woman, they're a whole other species, if you ask me. Anyone who could do what she did to an innocent human being doesn't deserve to be considered human. No conscience. No heart. She's nothing but an animal. A disgusting animal."

"Maybe she had good reasons. Maybe that Toledo man wasn't so innocent. Maybe she was defending something, or getting some kind of justice."

"Seriously? What good reason could a woman have for blowing a man's brains out in front of his wife? What could she have been defending that would justify a thing like that?" I shook my head. "The woman is obviously a sociopath. She cares about nothing and no one but herself. She robbed a woman of her husband and abandoned her own husband and daughter for money. She has no more compa.s.sion than a snake or a shark."

Olivia Soto put her fork down on her plate. It clattered loudly, drawing the attention of the couple at the next table. She said, "Excuse me," and slid along the booth away from me.

I said, "Are you okay?"

"I... No. I'm sorry. I don't feel well all of a sudden."

She stood and hurried away, disappearing into the hallway toward the restrooms. The couple at the next table were still watching. I looked at them and shrugged, then went back to work on my steak.

Olivia was away for about ten minutes. I had finished my meal when I saw her coming back between the tables. She slipped into the booth but didn't slide over to her plate. Her eyes were red, and the skin on her cheeks was blotchy. "I'm sorry," she said, "but do you think we could go now?"

"Sure we can. What's wrong? I hope it wasn't something I said."

"I'm just not feeling very well. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." I got the waiter's attention across the dining room and made a signing motion with my hand. He nodded, then walked into the kitchen. I looked back at Olivia. "Is there anything I can do?"

Her lower lip was trembling again. Her eyes were welling up. She looked down and shook her head. I reminded myself that Arturo Toledo and Fidel Castro weren't around anymore to get their feelings hurt. I reminded myself that a couple of guys had put three slugs into my Kevlar vest and left me for dead. I reminded myself that Olivia Soto wasn't her real name, that she was her mother's daughter, and she was lying about it to get close to her mother's victim. After all of those reminders, I felt a little better about myself, but not much.

With the check paid, we went out to the car.

"So, what is it?" I asked as we drove out of the lot. "Nausea or something like that?"

She stared straight ahead and said, "Something like that."

Neither of us said anything for the rest of the ride to her place. I pulled into the driveway and parked. I got out and went around to her door. She was out of the car before I got there. We stood facing each other.

She put her hand on my arm. "It was a wonderful meal. I'm sorry I ruined it."

"Don't worry about that, Olivia. But listen. Obviously you're not sick. Something else is wrong, isn't it?"

She moved closer. "Would you please hold me?"

I put my arms around her. She turned her head and pressed her cheek against my shoulder. Her hair smelled of roses. Her body against mine felt strong but soft. I told myself again that she was a liar at the very least.

I said, "I wish you'd tell me. Whatever it is, maybe I can fix it."

She shook her head. "It's not like that."

I dipped my head down to her level, trying to make eye contact. "You sure? I'm pretty good at fixing things."

She waited for a second before answering, and for one crazy second, I thought she might actually be thinking about telling me the truth. Then she seemed to rouse herself with a little shake of the head. She reached up and touched my cheek. "Some things can't be fixed, Malcolm."

She kissed me gently. I didn't pull away, but I didn't do much to encourage her, either. I seemed to watch it happening from a distance, as if some other man was standing there. Certainly not Haley's man.

When it was over, she touched my cheek again. "I need you here tonight, Malcolm. I need someone with me."

"'Someone' sounds a lot like anyone."

"No, it's you I need."

"Tell me what's wrong, Olivia. You told me once you lost someone. Is that what's hurting you so much?'

"Can't you just stay with me?"

I shook my head. "Not the way you want."

"Then let's just say good night."

I watched her pa.s.s through the gate and waited until I heard the sound of her front door open and close, then I got into the Aston Martin. The gun had been digging into the small of my back all evening. I reached back, unclipped the holster, put the weapon in the Aston Martin's glove box, and drove away.

Heading northeast on Washington Boulevard through Venice, I remembered the softly yielding warmth of her lips on mine. Her kiss had been foreign, yet familiar. Her kiss had made me ache for Haley, for the way my wife used to touch my cheek before she kissed me, exactly as Olivia had just done. It seemed a cruel coincidence that Olivia would touch me the same way.

I told myself to focus on the facts. I reminded myself that her real name was Maria Olivia Delarosa Sotomayor. I reminded myself that there was a chance Olivia was the woman Dona Elena had seen on the night of the home invasion, that the family resemblance between Olivia and her mother could easily have confused a woman drunk on Chablis, especially in a darkened bedroom. I told myself I was too smart to let my guard down because of the way a woman touched my face. Olivia was playing a dangerous game, whatever it might be. Castro had died. I had almost died.

But when I had spoken harshly about her mother, Olivia had nearly broken down. I had no doubt at all that my words had truly hurt her. If Olivia was capable of betraying Dona Elena's trust, of partic.i.p.ating in a kidnapping attempt or a murder attempt or whatever the ultimate goal had been during the Montes's home invasion, why would it pain her so deeply to hear her mother described as that same kind of monster? The simple answer was usually the correct answer, and the simple answer was, Olivia had reacted to my words the way any decent, loving daughter would. She was no sociopath. She had reacted with genuine shame and sorrow. Her response couldn't have been an act, because she had no idea I knew she was Alejandra Delarosa's daughter. On the contrary, Olivia had done her best to conceal her pain, and that effort at concealment could only mean the love and shame she felt was real. I still didn't know what Olivia was doing, but I knew in my gut she was no criminal.

I made a U-turn at McLaughlin Avenue.

Driving back to her apartment, I decided it made sense to come clean. I would tell her that I knew who she was, and she would explain what she was doing, why she had moved into Dona Elena's life with an a.s.sumed ident.i.ty. There must be a good reason, some angle I hadn't figured.