The Gatekeeper

“Well, consider that your assignment. I want everything you can find out about the other guys in your department. Also, get me a list of everyone who has any idea what your work entails. If you’re right, someone at the facility pointed them in your direction. We find that person, the trail could lead back to Madison.”

“All right.”

A hint of hope in his voice, for the first time in days. Jake hoped it wasn’t misplaced. “When will you have what they’re looking for?”

Randall shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Soon. I already have most of what they’ll need.”

“And what are you supposed to do next?”

“Text them this code and wait for a response. I was about to do it when Syd called and said you’d be stopping by.”

“What’s the code?”

“I’m supposed to say everything is great.” Randall’s jaw tightened as he said, “Using the number eight. I suppose that’s their little joke.”

“Joke in what way?”

“In making me send something a teenager might write.”

“It’s smart, actually.” Jake mulled it over, then said, “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Write, Everything is ok. They’ll be forced to respond, and you demand to talk to someone.”

“I’m not so sure—”

“You have to trust me, Randall. Remember, right now they need you. Unless they’re idiots, they’re not going to hurt your daughter until they get the information. And we’re going to use that to buy ourselves some time.”

“How?”

“There’s this ancient Malaysian board game, men versus tigers. The men win if they can surround the tigers and block their movements. Right now, that’s our game plan.”

“Yeah?” Randall eyed him skeptically. “How do the tigers win?”

Jake pulled off his jacket. “Too many questions, Doc. Just pay attention while I go over everything.”

Kelly winced as Emilio sustained another cuff to the head. He sullenly sank deeper into the chair as the middle-aged woman beside him let loose with another tirade. Kelly had no idea what was being said, but the tone was clear enough. Even Rodriguez looked mildly uncomfortable.

When they arrived at the door with Emilio in tow, still trying to jerk out of their grasp like a fish on a line, his grandmother grabbed him by the ear, dragged him to the couch, and launched into an impressive verbal assault. It was rare for someone under five feet tall to be intimidating, but Celia Torres was the exception to the rule. It took a few minutes to get a word in edgewise. When Kelly asked her to come down to the station, Celia’s brow darkened with fury. She cast a menacing look at Emilio, snatched an enormous purse off the counter, and marched out to their bu-car. In the backseat en route to the station, Emilio had opened his mouth twice to speak. Each time he was silenced with a sharp look from Celia. Kelly was concerned that upon arrival they might discover that Celia had summoned a lawyer for her grandson.

But then they got into the interrogation room. Apparently Celia had more than a rudimentary understanding of how to play bad cop, along with a strong flair for theater, neither of which she was afraid to use. Whenever Emilio had the audacity to say something in his defense, she went so completely ballistic they almost had to call in assistance. And the minute Rodriguez mentioned a gang connection, Celia spent ten minutes threatening to do things to Emilio that apparently didn’t bear translating.

After an hour of this, Emilio was a far cry from the posturing punk they’d chased down. His chin quivered, eyes filled with tears. Celia had switched tactics and was mumbling to him in Spanish. Rodriguez occasionally leaned over to translate. “She’s saying he broke her heart,” he mumbled. “Man, she’s good.”

Kelly had to agree, it was an Oscar-worthy performance. Clearly someone watched a few too many telenovelas. But it was having the desired effect on Emilio.

Celia finally sat back and said thickly, “He ready to answer your questions.”

“Great.” Kelly sighed, feeling like she’d been through the wringer herself. “So, Emilio. Where were you yesterday morning?”

“In school.”

“School says you never showed. We called and checked.”

A small growl from Celia. Emilio avoided her eyes. “Yeah, okay. I didn’t go.”

“Where were you?”

“Sí, Emilio. What was so important you miss school, break a promise to your abuelita?” Celia hissed.

“Nothing.” Emilio shrugged. “I just…I didn’t feel like going, yo.”

Kelly held up a hand to stave off Celia’s response. “Here’s the thing, Emilio. There was a raid on an MS-13 house in your neighborhood yesterday. I’m guessing you heard about it?” He shrugged noncommittally. “One of the guns we found was used in a serious crime. And they’re claiming that gun came from you.”

Emilio paled visibly, and Celia sucked in her breath. “Guns! No no no, not my Emilito.” She cuffed him across the head. “See the trouble? This why I tell you, stay away. But no, you want to wear everything blanco and azul.” She shifted her attention back to Kelly. “These boys, the gang? Filthy Salvadorans. I always tell my Emilio to stay away.”

“Well, Emilio didn’t listen. We found his fingerprints inside the house. And on the weapon.” Rodriguez threw a closed file on the table. It would be hours before forensic results came in, but they didn’t have to know that.

“Where’d you get the gun, Emilio?” Kelly pressed.

“Stole it, bitch,” he spat, recovering some of his bravado. Celia inhaled sharply, brought back her palm and slapped his face.

“Mrs. Torres! You need to control yourself. If you strike Emilio again I’ll have to call in child services,” Kelly said sharply. She really didn’t want to do that, since with a caseworker sitting in they’d get far less compliance.

Celia nodded tersely.

Rodriguez leaned across the table. “Stole it from where?”

Emilio shrugged. Kelly caught a flash behind his eyes. Shame? Embarrassment? She leaned in. “See, Emilio, here’s my problem. I’ve got a group of gang members who are going down anyway saying you brought them a gun. And that gun was used to kill someone.”

“Jesús Cristo.” Celia whispered under her breath, crossing herself. Emilio’s face went a shade paler.

“But I find it hard to believe you would be stupid enough to kill someone, then give that weapon to Guzman knowing it might shift the blame onto him. You understand what I’m saying, Emilio? Because that’s how it would look. I bet that right now, they’re thinking you set them up.”

Emilio blanched completely. Sitting there, hair sticking out in tufts, he looked small and very young. And absolutely, completely terrified.

“You said you stole the gun, rata. Gotta arrest you on that.” Rodriguez leaned across the table, balancing on his knuckles. “And since it was used in a murder, that sends you to intake, not Juvenile Detention. Guess who else is spending the night in intake?”

“Tell them, Emilito. Tell them it’s not true.” Celia was rigid, facing straight front. Tears snaked through the heavy powder on her cheeks.

“It’s not true.” Emilio said in a small voice.

“Qué?” Rodriguez held a hand to his ear. “Didn’t hear you, Emilito.”

“It’s not true,” Emilio said. “I didn’t steal the gun. I found it.”

“Where?” Kelly asked.

“Outside their house. I was there yesterday, hanging around.” He glanced sidelong at Celia, who glared back. “Sometimes they give me stuff to do, but they were all still sleeping. I was sitting on the steps, and I saw it.”

“Saw what?” Rodriguez asked.