“Why did they kill the others?” Landeta asked.
“An attempt to keep the blood pure. Jesus, you’d think this was the Middle Ages or something.”
Landeta didn’t ask any more questions, just took a drink of his Diet Coke.
“Well, if the old lady ever comes to trial, she’ll have motive for one of the murders at least,” Landeta said. “But I doubt she will see the inside of a courtroom. For any of this.”
“The county closed down the restaurant,” Louis said.
Landeta pushed on the lemon peel with his thumbs, exposing the pulp. “Well, maybe Frank can sell his story to the National Enquirer or someone will pay to make a movie of the week.”
Louis was quiet, staring down into his glass.
“What’s the matter?” Landeta asked.
“They deserve to be in prison,” Louis said.
“Everyone knows who they are and everyone thinks they’re guilty,” Landeta said. He bit into the lemon. “The world is going to be one big prison for them for the rest of their lives.”
CHAPTER 53
Louis made his way through the clutter of cameras and reporters and slipped inside the entrance of the Fort Myers Police Station.
The women had been released, and rather than force the women into the media pack outside, Horton had allowed them to wait in a conference room on the second floor. Frank Woods was on his way to take the women back to the island.
Louis stopped at the top of the stairs to catch his breath. He wasn’t even sure why he was here. What was it he wanted to know? He already knew why the killing had started. Did he really expect any of them to tell him why they allowed it to happen?
But still, he had to ask. There had been something about this case right from the beginning that gnawed at him unlike any other he had worked. He couldn’t seem to let it go. Not yet.
He paused at the open door of Landeta’s office. It had been cleaned out. All that was left was the desk, the chair, and the empty bookcases.
Louis continued down the hall to the conference room and opened the door slowly.
The women were seated at a conference table, backlit by the sun streaming through a window. Paula Berkowitz was closest to him, dressed in the shapeless cotton dress, her hands folded in her lap. Next to her was Cindy Shattuck, her blond braid now half undone around her face. Emma Fielding sat nearest the window and her wary gray eyes followed Louis as he stepped around the table.
“We don’t have to talk to you,” Emma said.
“I know that,” Louis said. “But there are some things I need to ask you. Off the record.”
The women sat as stiff as stone statues, dust motes floating in the air above their heads.
Louis slipped into a chair across from Emma. She looked up at him slowly, her expression a mixture of anger and sadness.
“How could you let them kill your babies?” Louis asked.
Emma shook her head. “Francisco told us not to talk to anyone else. He says they still might put us in jail.”
“We don’t want to go to jail,” Cindy said.
“We’re going home to take care of Roberto,” Paula added.
“Roberto isn’t going home,” Louis said. “The state will keep him until all this is over, if not forever.”
“What about the baby?” Cindy asked.
Louis looked at her. “You ask about a baby you were going to let die?”
“It’s her grandchild,” Emma said. “Rafael is Cindy’s son.”
Louis looked back at Emma, trying to keep his voice even. “What you let happen was wrong,” he said.
Emma’s eyes hardened. “You’re judging a situation and people you don’t even know. You came to our home, you shot my nephew, and now your people are desecrating the babies’ graveyard. You just want to punish us for being what we are, for being different.”
“You murdered children,” Louis said.
“We survived,” Emma said.
“That’s not surviving.”
Emma shook her head. “What do you want from us?”
“I want to know why you let it happen. Just tell me why,” Louis said.
Paula started to speak but Emma hushed her with a raised hand. “I was twelve when my stepfather first climbed into my bed,” Emma said.
“I don’t need to hear –-”
“Yes, you do,” Emma said. “I was fourteen when my mother dragged me off to a doctor and he put me on a table and stuck something up inside me and killed my stepfather’s baby.”
Louis couldn’t move. Emma’s face was stiff but her eyes jumped with emotion.
“After my brother Neil left, I was alone,” she said. “I used to lock myself in my closet at night, praying I would die.” Emma straightened her shoulders. “Do you know what it’s like to be twelve years old and want to die?”