No Witness But the Moon Read online

  Vega pulled into the student parking lot. On the far end sat a tow truck with flashing lights. A man who looked like Santa Claus in coveralls was securing Joy’s Volvo in preparation for the tow.

  “Hold your thought,” said Vega. He kept his pickup running and the heater on for the girls as he hopped out. He didn’t want this guy taking Joy’s Volvo anywhere until he was sure what it would cost. Wendy had been helping Joy with the cost of maintenance and repairs but Vega suspected she’d argue that Vega was the cause of this situation and therefore he should pay. It was in his best interests to negotiate the price at the outset.

  The price, it turned out, was non-negotiable. Santa Claus simply showed Vega his rates. Ninety-five dollars for a hookup and $5 per mile to Wendy’s mechanic in Lake Holly ten miles away. Vega figured he was going to pay now or pay later, so he put the $145 on his credit card and walked back to his own truck to warm up.

  “Thanks, Dad,” said Joy.

  “No problem.” His social life was going to consist of Chinese takeout by himself in front of the TV for a long time to come so he probably wouldn’t feel the pinch too badly anyway. Then again, he hadn’t factored in the cost of four new tires yet.

  He turned to meet Katie’s eyes in back. “So you live with your parents in Wickford?”

  The girl nodded. Vega was right about her family having bread.

  “What did you want to tell me?”

  “Last night?” said Katie. “I was with my boyfriend?”

  Vega suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. She had that annoying habit of turning statements into questions. “Go on.”

  “He, um . . . We like to um . . . He has a friend we scored some weed from.”

  Vega shot a sharp glance at Joy. This girl was her friend? First the tattoo and all that talk about not wanting to become a doctor anymore? And now potheads for friends?

  Joy flared her nostrils at him. For the moment anyway, Vega had to keep his feelings in check.

  “My boyfriend’s friend met us near the woods on Stillman Lane,” Katie continued. “That’s like, right around the corner from Perkins Road? He delivers pizza.”

  Talk about leveraging your business interests.

  “So he like, dropped some stash off on his way to a delivery. Me and my boyfriend—we were just about ready to turn back to my house—when we saw this Hispanic-looking dude run out of the woods. Like somebody was chasing him.”

  “Was this before or after the gunshots?”

  “We didn’t hear any shots,” said Katie. “The car windows were closed and we had our music turned up.”

  “Do you remember what time you saw this man?”

  “Around six-thirty?”

  Vega frowned. “Are you sure about that?” He couldn’t believe he was asking a stoner if she was sure about anything. But he needed to pin her down since the shooting occurred right around six-thirty.

  “Pretty sure,” said Katie. “We were watching the clock on account of, my boyfriend had to get me back home and pick up his mom from her personal trainer at seven. Her Mercedes was in the shop. She’d have grounded him if he were late.”

  Vega wondered if Mom knew that while she was flexing her abs her son was smoking blunts. And then driving afterward.

  “This man,” asked Vega. “Where did he go after he ran out of the woods?”

  “He ran a little on Stillman Lane.”

  “Toward Perkins Road? Away from it?”

  “Away. He cut through one of the lawns and just sort of disappeared.”

  “Did you see him get into a vehicle?”

  “Nu-uh. Maybe it was parked somewhere else, but I didn’t see one. Then like, right after that, we drove off and saw all these flashing lights over on Perkins Road. My boyfriend thought the cops were coming for him.” Katie looked at Vega with pleading blue eyes. “I’m not going to get anyone in trouble, am I?”

  “We’ll work that out later,” said Vega. “Right now, I need you to remember everything you can.”

  “I don’t remember anything else.”

  “What was the man wearing?”

  “Dark jeans, sneakers, and a dark jacket, sort of like the one you’re wearing now.”

  “And you say you have no idea whether you saw him before or after shots were fired.”

  “It had to be before.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “’Cause in the newspaper? I saw a picture of the man who got shot?” said Katie. “And see, the thing is? He looked exactly like the man I saw running out of the woods.”

  Chapter 19

  “Please tell me you’re not smoking dope,” said Vega.

  “Nobody calls it ‘dope’ anymore, Dad. And no. I don’t use drugs. Or smoke cigarettes. I don’t even drink and pass out like every other college freshman I know.”

  “You got a tattoo.”

  “And you killed someone—and then joked about it. I saw the tweets about what you said right after the shooting.”

  “I did not joke!”

  “Well, that’s what it sounded like! Somebody told me there’s footage of you on YouTube as well.” So far, Vega had managed to keep that mob incident in the Bronx today away from her. He didn’t want her seeing that. It would frighten her too much.

  The tow truck was heading up to Lake Holly Motors to drop off Joy’s Volvo. There was no way Vega was going to be able to get new tires on that thing until Monday. They both needed to decompress.

  “How about we go somewhere and get a bite to eat?” Joy suggested.

  Vega hesitated.

  “C’mon, Dad. The Star Diner’s right off campus. A lot of cops go there—not just college students. The food’s good. And it’s cheap.”

  “I guess that’ll be okay.”

  The diner was hopping on a Saturday night. The red Naugahyde booths were full. Even the stools at the counter had clusters of young people and cops by the register grabbing coffee on their breaks. Waves of laughter and chatter rippled through the space, ebbing and flowing like voices on a beach.

  Vega and Joy waited for an empty booth. The waitress presented them with menus long enough to be chapter books. The bright lights and noise comforted Vega. Being here with Joy took away some of the anger he’d felt earlier. He could almost feel his appetite coming back. Joy ordered a salad. Vega ordered a burger. The waitress brought tea for Joy and coffee for Vega. The coffee was hot and strong. His hands felt good wrapped around the mug.

  “So, this Katie girl,” asked Vega. “Is she reliable?”

  “Yeah, I guess. We’re partners in chemistry class.”

  “I’ll bet Katie knows a lot about chemistry.”

  “Dad! You are such a hypocrite. When you were my age, you formed that band, Straight Money. You told me yourself that they were all stoners.”

  “But I wasn’t!”

  “Well, neither am I!”

  The waitress brought their meals. Joy dug in. Vega surprised himself with how hungry he was. The hamburger tasted good. Greasy and salty. Since the shooting, Vega had felt robbed of the pleasure of everyday sensations. The sun on his face. The sweet reprieve of dreamless sleep. The tingle in his body when he thought of Adele. Even food had lost its allure. But this burger—it made him feel like maybe he could get those sensations back. Maybe they weren’t lost forever.

  He asked Joy about her classes and listened but he found his mind drifting back to Katie’s eyewitness account. No way could she have seen Hector Ponce running out of those woods at six-thirty, the time of the shooting. It had to be before. But then why would he be running out of the woods?

  “. . . So I talked to my advisor about switching majors . . .”

  Vega nodded at Joy. But his eyes were drawn to three hulking young men who were passing by their booth. College students, he was sure of it. The first was a big white kid wearing a rust-colored knit hat with a ridiculous fringe of wool like a Mohawk. The second was black. He was wearing a Giants football jersey that was supposed to hang loose but revealed a sof
t, bread-dough body beneath. The third, another white kid and the shortest of the three, had on a Valley Community hooded sweatshirt with the hood pulled up and his pants hanging loose and low, the crotch halfway to his knees like some toddler with a soggy diaper. Vega saw Mohawk glance at him and elbow Giants jersey. Giants jersey gave Mohawk a puzzled look. Then Mohawk extended his index finger and curled the others to form the shape of a gun. He pointed it at Giants jersey’s head and puckered his lips.

  “Pow,” he said. Diaper boy laughed.

  Vega put down his burger and rose.

  “Dad?” asked Joy. “What’s wrong?”

  Vega didn’t answer. He turned to Mohawk. “You think you’re funny?”

  “What?” asked Mohawk.

  Vega stepped out of the booth. “What kind of car do you drive?”

  Diaper boy and Giants jersey backed up. Mohawk frowned. “What’s it to you?”

  “I asked you a question.”

  Joy rose now, too. “Dad! What are you doing?”

  Vega pointed a finger at Mohawk’s face. “Answer the goddamned question.”

  “Go to hell, man. I don’t have to say anything to you.” Mohawk turned his back on Vega. “Asshole,” he said to his friends. They laughed. Vega felt a heat rise inside of him. These had to be the bastards who’d threatened his daughter. No way was he about to let them get away with it. He grabbed Mohawk by the back of his hooded jacket.

  “Dad! Stop it!”

  Everything happened fast after that. Mohawk turned and punched Vega in the shoulder. Vega punched back. Giants jersey joined in, landing a hard right to Vega’s cheek. A dish and glass fell to the floor and shattered. People in adjoining booths and nearby tables stepped back. Joy began crying. Two uniformed officers jumped into the fray. Vega recognized Wilson throwing his body between Mohawk and Vega while Duran grabbed Vega’s shoulders from behind. Vega hadn’t even seen them come into the diner.

  “He put his hands on me!” shouted Mohawk. “I didn’t do anything. That cop is fucking nuts!”

  Vega, his cheek already beginning to swell, tried to lunge at Mohawk again. Duran tightened his grip.

  “Qué coño, Jimmy! We come in on our coffee break to this?”

  Vega felt only rage until he looked at his daughter’s face. She turned away. A great wave of shame welled up inside of him. Whatever good will she still had toward him after the shooting had just dissipated in a stupid fight in plain view of dozens of witnesses and two members from his own department.

  “These are the guys who slashed Joy’s tires,” said Vega. He didn’t even sound convincing to himself.

  “Where’s your car?” Wilson asked Mohawk.

  “My car’s been at the mechanic’s since Friday with a busted tailpipe,” said Mohawk. “Matt doesn’t have a car. Andre drove.” He nodded to Giants jersey.

  “Where’s your vehicle?” Wilson asked Andre.

  “Right there,” Andre said, pointing out the window to a silver Toyota sedan gleaming under the floodlights of the diner parking lot. It wasn’t a Jeep. It wasn’t even dark-colored.

  Duran and Wilson exchanged looks. They didn’t need to say a word. It was too late for words anyway. Vega’s fists had done enough talking already.

  Chapter 20

  Officer Duran forced Vega to sit in the booth with some ice on his swollen cheek and not engage anyone. The three young men went outside with Wilson. Joy, meanwhile, took herself off to a stool at the counter and never once looked in Vega’s direction. A boy and two girls she seemed to know from the college came over to console her.

  “You gonna arrest me?” Vega asked Duran.

  “Right now, we’re trying to save your ass,” said Duran. “Wilson’s convincing those punks that if he locks you up for assault, he’s gotta lock them up too and let a judge figure out who started it.”

  “They’re gonna say I put my hands on him first.”

  Duran shrugged. “In the heat of a fight, who’s to say?” They held each other’s gaze across the table. The diner was back to its normal hustle and bustle—all except for Vega in the far corner booth with a plastic bag of ice wrapped in a towel from the kitchen staff. His left cheek was swollen. His left eye felt like it was starting to bruise. Some of the diner patrons craned their necks to see what the commotion was about. Vega felt embarrassed. He held the towel over much of his face and stared down at the chipped Formica table.

  “They didn’t slash Joy’s tires, I take it?” said Vega.

  “It was a big leap on your part to ever think they did. I told you, Jimmy, we’ll take care of the campus situation. But it’s gonna take time. And it’ll take even more if you keep going Rambo on us.”

  Vega studied his hands. His knuckles were swollen. His fingers hurt to move. He hadn’t broken any of them, but he felt like he’d sprained every one. “So if Wilson gets them to take a hike, am I free to leave?”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “But you just said—?”

  “I said, we’re trying hard not to arrest you. But that doesn’t mean I’m just letting you walk out of here. Not the way you’re behaving. You’re emotionally unstable. No better than any EDP we get called out for. Your daughter doesn’t even want to be around you right now. We’re taking her home.”

  Vega swallowed hard. He saw Joy shoot a sideways glance in his direction and quickly look away.

  Wilson walked through the diner doors and gave Duran a thumbs-up. Duran nodded. “Okay. We’re doing well here. The students left without pressing charges. Your daughter’s going home with us. Your ride is on its way.”

  “My ride?”

  “Wilson says you’re friends with this Lake Holly detective his dad knows. He’s on duty. He’ll be your driver. You’re staying in Lake Holly tonight.”

  “What? Where?” Not with Joy, that was for sure. No way would Vega stay at his ex’s house. He’d rather sleep in a motel than lower his pride and go there.

  “Your daughter called your girlfriend for you. You’re staying with her tonight until you cool down.”

  “Oh no. No! I want to talk to Joy. I want to go home.”

  “She doesn’t want to talk to you, man.”

  “Neither does my girlfriend.”

  “Look, Jimmy, your daughter called her and she okayed it. Either you cooperate with us and do things the way I’m telling you, or we haul you down to county psych for twenty-four hours’ observation. What’s it going to be?”

  “So can I drive there at least?”

  “Your truck stays here for the night. I told you, you’re getting a ride. Detective Greco should be here any minute.”

  * * *

  “Do they have a word in Spanish for ‘world-class jerk?’ ” Greco asked Vega on the fifteen-minute drive back north to Lake Holly. “You’re just lucky it was Wilson and Duran who came into that diner tonight or you’d be spending this lovely December evening in the county lockup kissing your career good-bye.”

  Greco fished a Twizzler out of a cellophane bag on the console next to him. He’d signed out an unmarked dark blue Ford Focus for the drive so he could keep in radio contact. The car smelled faintly of cigarettes the officers weren’t supposed to smoke but did so anyway. It was better than the pieces of junk Vega’s department usually stuck him with. Vega reclined his seat slightly so he wouldn’t chance being seen by anyone who might know him. He knew he looked a mess. His left cheek felt like tenderized meat. He was too old for fistfights. With age was supposed to come wisdom. But with him, all that seemed to come were stiff joints and slower reflexes.

  “I don’t want to go to Adele’s,” he said.

  “And I don’t want to take you, so we’re even. I don’t even return your phone calls. They give me too much agita. Not to mention watching that footage of you and your fan club on YouTube.”

  “You saw that, huh?”

  “Last time I looked, it had ten thousand hits.”

  Vega waited a respectable five seconds before asking a question he knew woul
d send Greco’s blood pressure through the roof.

  “Did you ever get ahold of any contact numbers for those NYPD detectives, Brennan and Renfro, from your friend Carlucci?”

  “Jesus, Vega!” Greco hit the steering wheel. “Your problems are multiplying faster than freshmen at a keg fest. And you’re still on about Ponce and your mother?”

  “There was a security camera in my mother’s building. Brennan wrote in his notes that the camera wasn’t working because of a loose wire.”

  Greco shrugged. “It happens.”

  “Yeah, but the DVD was blank. I spoke to a storeowner who has a similar camera and she said a loose wire wouldn’t result in a blank DVD. A loose wire would only affect the current recording—not whatever was on it before.”

  “So?”

  “The only way that DVD could have been blank was if somebody switched it with the one that was in there before. The only person with that sort of access would have been Ponce.”

  “So Ponce switched DVDs—maybe. It’s also possible he never hooked up the camera,” said Greco. “Or he accidentally erased all the images. There’s no way to know.”

  “It sounds to me like he was covering for something. Or someone.”

  “Or he was incompetent. Either way, he’s dead,” said Greco. “Whatever he did or didn’t do, it’s over, man. You’ve got to let it go.”

  “In other words, you never asked Carlucci for Brennan or Renfro’s contact numbers.”

  “I did. Brennan retired to Florida. He doesn’t have the paperwork and says he barely remembers the case. You’re not going to get anything there. As for Renfro? He’s on a joint task force out of Brooklyn now. Carlucci said there’s nothing he’s likely to be able to tell you anyway. He didn’t work your mother’s case except for a few odds and ends. He knew her as a complainant, not the deceased.”

  “What do you mean, ‘a complainant?’ ”

  “Apparently, your mother made an appointment to speak with Renfro before she died. She never told him what it was about so if it was related to her death, the evidence died with her.”