that.’
They sat in a vinyl booth at the back of Denny’s on Rosecrans, a couple of blocks from where Esguio said he lived. Grace ordered French toast; Esguio stuck with coffee. He had wide lips and took small sips of air as he talked, as if breathing was hard work.
‘Descanso. You one of Francisco Descanso’s grandkids?’
‘You knew my grandfather?’
‘Sure. Everybody knew him. Terrible thing, what happened to his son.’
Grace blinked and looked away.
She could feel his face change. She should have expected it. Esguio was Portuguese. Of course he’d know about her father. Back then everybody Portuguese lived in a tight community in Point Loma, fished on boats passed down to their sons.
‘Must have been, what? Thirty years ago?’
‘Twenty-one. I was eleven when he washed overboard.’
Eleven when Lottie dragged her and her kid brother, Andy, out of the warmth and safety of Point Loma, into a life on the road. Grace had spent the last of her childhood shuttling from one beer-soaked bar to another, living out of cardboard suitcases while Lottie warbled in bars, living out her fantasy of becoming a country-western singer.
If her father had lived, Grace wouldn’t feel so damaged today. By any standard but her own, Grace had done well, but every step along the way had been punctuated with failure and despair and terrible doubts. Goodness was a fragile thing, chipped daily out of the rocky soil of her spirit. Lottie, on the other hand, soared like a vast overwrought blimp, gliding over the wreckage of Grace’s childhood, never coming down to earth long enough to be tethered to anything as pesky as consequences.
‘Your father was a good man,’ Esguio said. ‘You know that.’
Grace shrugged. ‘Thanks. Always good to hear.’
Esguio sipped his coffee. She could feel him watching her, probing the pain, and in a courtly way stepping back. He frowned and shifted gears.
‘Wait. You’re the one we sent to Guatemala, right? From the parish. We were in Portugal that year. We heard she died over there. Sister Mary Clare.’
‘Yeah. Yeah, she did.’ The bad things crowded into her mind, fresh from their naps and grinning, wanting to play.
‘We heard there was a fire.’
A bad thing bared its blunt teeth and cocked its shaggy head, and Grace could feel the whiff of its breath on her face. Her heart was starting to hammer. She took a deep breath and let it out, trying to find her quiet place, quiet the demons.
‘We heard you were going to be a heart doctor. Work with kids. Then you quit.’
Grace studied her hands and looked up. ‘Mr. Esguio, I’m sorry about your van. They have to process it for prints and –’
‘That doesn’t take two years.’
The waitress put down the plates. Esguio gazed longingly at her French toast.
‘No, but when something’s been used in the commission of a felony, when somebody’s been murdered and that was the vehicle used to transport the suspect …’
Esguio watched as she poured syrup, a slow dawning growing across his face. He looked pained. ‘I’m never going to see that van again in my lifetime, am I?’
‘Probably not.’ Grace shoveled in a forkful of food and washed it down with orange juice. ‘Mr. Esguio, somebody bad is after me. Somebody Eddie knew.’
‘No kidding,’ Esguio marveled. ‘Do the police know?’
‘I am the police.’ Or close enough. ‘That’s why I’m asking these questions and why it’s important you tell me what you know. How did you come to hire Eddie Loud?’
‘This recruiter came to the Portuguese Hall. Trying to place these folks. I got a card here someplace.’ Esguio fished it out of his wallet and passed it over the table.
NEW LIFE
giving those ready a second chance
CURTIS CRUMWALD, DIRECTOR
an outreach of the Center for BioChimera
‘He told us how the Center sounds like a science place, but it’s got a big hospital there, too. Where they do research, helping people. Eddie had problems, but he’d been in a halfway house three years, no incidents. It was all monitored. He’d never even had a parking ticket, Grace. Nothing. He even liked to cook.’ A small lost laugh.
‘Can I keep the card?’
‘Sure. I’m not going to be needing it. Know how much money is tied up in that van? I can’t believe it. Gone, poof, just like that. Damn. Two in one day.’
Some antenna tweaked. ‘What happened to the other van?’
‘Wasn’t a van, just a food cart, thank the good Lord and all His Saints.’ Esguio crossed himself. ‘Still.’
‘Tell me about the other guy you hired for the food cart. What happened to him?’
‘Woman.’ Esguio made a face and drained his water glass. ‘Heartburn. Acid reflux.’ He eyed her untouched water glass and Grace passed it over.
‘Thanks.’ He took a deep drink and crunched ice. ‘Where was I?’
‘The woman you hired to work your food cart,’ Grace prompted. ‘Something went wrong with it.’
‘Jazz Studio, that was her name. Should have been my first tip-off, right? Somebody with a fake name isn’t going to think twice about trashing the cart. I blame Eddie, though.’
‘How’s that?’
‘They had a big fight right beforehand. I think whatever he said got her stirred up.’
‘How’d they know each other?’
‘Hired them from the same place.’
Grace studied the card.
‘So this Jazz Studio and Eddie Loud are both outpatients at the Center for BioChimera. What were they being treated for?’
‘They never said what exactly. “Patient confidentiality.” That’s where they get you over the barrel. I should have stuck to distributing turkeys to St. Vincent’s at Christmas.’
‘Did Eddie Loud ever talk about video, or TV recording, or hidden cameras?’
‘Never. Although when he was really tired, he’d start acting like he thought somebody was after him, out to get him.’
Grace mulled that over. ‘Where’d you have Jazz working?’
‘The Center. Nice easy job, no stress. Everybody loves the food cart, right? And I thought it would be familiar. They had Jazz working in Records for a while so she knew the building.’
‘What happened?’
‘Her first day on the cart’s yesterday, Sunday? Gave her that on purpose, because it’s a light day at the Center, only people there are those who have to be. So she takes the cart to Records, where she used to work? Hadn’t been there ten minutes when she causes this ruckus and her old boss has to call security.’ Esguio shook his head.
‘Ever find out what set her off?’
‘No. But something scared her. Bad.’
Grace pushed the plates out of the way. ‘Any idea where she lives?’
Esguio shook his head. ‘Or Eddie either. They keep that part quiet. Jazz could be living at the Center now in a nice padded room, for all I know.’
‘Could I have your home number, if I have any more questions?’
He