“I understand,” Louis said.
Mrs. Reardon leaned closer. “What did you say the granddaughter’s name was?”
“Diane.”
“Are you going to tell her about Jim? Maybe I could convince him to see her.”
Louis tried to picture Diane Woods in this place, on this porch, giving James Reardon an embrace. Or him giving her a grandfatherly one back. But he knew there were no bridges that could be built between them.
“I’m sorry,” Louis said. “I don’t think she’d come.”
“He’s dying,” she said softly.
Louis drew in a small breath, his chest tightening. “I still don’t think she would come, but I’ll ask her.”
Nan Reardon glanced back at her husband sitting in the shadows and then looked back at Louis. “He never talks about Sophie. I don’t think he ever forgave her for leaving. Or himself for pushing her away.”
Louis noticed she was looking at the photograph in his hand.
“Jim got rid of all her pictures when she left,” Nan Reardon said. “I don’t suppose I could have that one?”
“No, I’m sorry,” Louis said.
“Nan!”
She turned to look back at her husband.
“I’m sorry, I have to go,” she said softly. She shut the door.
Louis stood there on the porch, gathering his thoughts. He held the picture up to the porch light, studying Frank’s face. Frank’s hair was thick and dark, his facer thinner, almost pale. He didn’t look Mexican, at least not like the brown-skinned people Louis had seen in Immokalee.
But Reardon had been sure that Frank spoke in a foreign language and had a Spanish name.
There was only one answer. Frank Woods wasn’t his real name. Which was why Landeta hadn’t been able to find any history on the guy. And without even a real name to go on, it was a sure bet they weren’t going to find any now. Or anything concrete to connect Frank to the Umber case.
Louis slipped the picture back in his pocket and started down to the Mustang. It was going to be a long drive home -— all the way back to square one.
CHAPTER 31
It was past seven by the time Louis headed the Mustang back over the Caloosahatchee Bridge. On Cleveland Avenue, he stopped at a 7-Eleven and called Landeta.
“Why are you calling me at home?” Landeta asked.
“I found out something important about Frank Woods.” Louis waited. He could hear Landeta breathing heavily. “You want to know what it is or not?”
“So tell me, Rocky.”
“Look, I haven’t eaten all day. I’m going to grab something at McDonald’s and then I’m heading over to the station. Meet me there and we’ll go over it.”
“No,” Landeta said. There was a pause. “Why don’t you just come over here?”
“Your place?”
“Yeah.”
Landeta inviting him to his home? What was this, some new attempt at making nice?
“All right,” Louis said finally. “Give me your address.”
The address turned out to be nearby on First Street, only about a mile from the Fort Myers Police Station. The Babcock Apartments were above an empty store. Most of the old storefronts had FOR RENT signs in the windows. The street was empty of people and traffic. Louis grabbed a couple of Frank’s books and went into the lobby.
He scanned the mailboxes for Landeta’s name, and pressed the buzzer for Number 1. When nothing happened, Louis peered through the second locked glass door into the plain hallway. He buzzed again. Nothing.
He was just about to give up when he saw Landeta coming down the stairs. Landeta jerked open the door.
“Sorry,” he said, “I was on the phone.”
Louis stood in front of him, the books from Frank’s apartment in his arms. Landeta didn’t move, didn’t seem interested in inviting Louis in.
“I saw Sophie Reardon’s father this afternoon,” Louis said.
“Who?”
“Sophie Reardon. Diane’s mother...Frank’s wife. I finally got Diane to give me the maiden name.”
“And?”
“I have some stuff I need to tell you. You going to ask me in?” The lobby was hotter than an oven.
Landeta didn’t budge. “Tell me here.”
Louis drew in a breath. “Look, I’m tired of this shit. I’ve been your errand boy long enough. You asked me to come over here. Either you let me in and we talk or I take what I have to Horton.”
Landeta hesitated a moment then stepped back. “Okay. Come on up.”
Louis followed him up the narrow stairs to the second floor. Landeta was dressed in plain black pants and what looked like just an older version of his usual white dress shirt, neck unbuttoned, sleeves rolled above the elbows. He was wearing only black socks on his feet.