Anatomy of Fear

46

Terri spread the first set of the Cordero crime scene photos across her desk. They showed the superintendent lying facedown in a pool of blood from every conceivable angle; the second set, details of the body; the third, pictures of evidence collected by the CS team-the unsub’s drawing, a pizza box, a matchbook, a half-smoked cigarette, a pencil. At first none of it registered. But the next group of photos, these taken after the body had been removed, stopped her.

Terri shuffled through the evidence photos again. She had to be sure of what she was looking at.

Her hand was shaking as she called the G. She needed to know if they had this too.

Terri had called, rousing me from a deep sleep to say she was coming right over.

I was still a little groggy, but when she slid a crime scene photograph onto my kitchen counter, I was wide awake.

“Please tell me this isn’t your pencil.”

I tried to think. Did I have a pencil with me when I went down to see Cordero? I didn’t think so, but my thoughts were bouncing around like a ball in a pinball machine. “Maybe it fell out of my pocket when I leaned over to see the drawing.”

She placed a second photo in front of me, an outline of where Cordero’s body had been, the pencil inside it. “The pencil was under Cordero’s body.”

She didn’t have to spell it out.

“Maybe…it was Cordero’s,” I said, though I knew it sounded lame. “The unsub must have stolen it. He stalked me, right? We know that because he saw my tattoo. Then he breaks into my place, steals a pencil, and, Jesus, Terri, he’s setting me up!” My head was pounding again. I got some aspirin, Terri watching me the whole time, that look of doubt registering in the narrowing of her eyes and tightened mouth.

“I thought you believed me.”

“I do, but-” She shook her head. “This isn’t going to look good.”

She didn’t have to tell me that. I took a deep breath. “And there’s more.”

“What?”

“The new drawing, the one of Cordero…You thought it looked different and…it does.” I took a deep breath. “He’s copying my style. The softer pencil-” I tapped the crime scene photo of the Ebony pencil. “I’ll bet he made the drawing with this pencil-with my pencil. And that little detail you noticed-the one of the mouth drawn on the side? It’s a direct copy of a sketch I made-which I no longer have. He’s been in my apartment, Terri. How else could he have my sketch-and my pencil?”

“Oh, Jesus, Rodriguez. The G is running DNA on that pencil. A chewed pencil equals saliva. Saliva equals DNA.”

“How do you know that?”

“I called. I pretended I already knew. As soon as I saw the picture of the pencil I knew they’d be testing it, so I asked when the DNA results would be ready. Some techie told me he didn’t know, that they were backed up, which, thank God, is the only good news.” She sighed. “I’d say we’re looking at a matter of days.”

I eased myself into a chair, trying to comprehend the extent of the nightmare. “I’ll go to them, tell them before they find out.”

“Tell them what? That it’s your pencil they found under Cordero’s body? That a phantom you cleaned up after took it from your apartment to plant at the murder scene, along with a sketch that you say looks like you drew it?” She stopped me before I could say anything. “Your DNA isn’t on file, is it?”

“No, of course not.”

“Okay. So let’s say they get the DNA results from the pencil in two days. Then it’s another two days before they think to test yours.”

“So what are you saying?”

“That we’ve got about three or four days.”

Dolores Rodriguez had first consulted Eleggua because that was the way it was always done. Eleggua, messenger of the gods, who had cured Olodumare was always the first to be honored in any ceremony. Now she lifted the shrine from the floor, poured rum over the rocks, and sprinkled the surface with shredded coconut, though she knew the orisha favored the blood of roosters and turtles. She promised herself if things did not improve-if the feeling something bad was going to happen to her beloved Nato continued-she would find someone who would help. She would do anything to protect her grandson.

She stood over the Eleggua and recited the prayer she had memorized in English.

“Divine Messenger, do not confuse me. Divine Messenger, do not confuse me. Let someone else be confused. Turn my suffering around. Give me the blessing of the calabash. Owner of all four corners, head of the paths, my Father, remove evil so Nato can walk without death.”

Then she made her way from shrine to shrine, offering cornmeal to Chango, sunflower seeds to Osain, toasted corn to Ochosi, and finally dripped almond oil over Inle. She sat on a pew and asked all of the Santerian gods to watch over her grandson and protect him from those who would harm him. Then she tied a scarf over her hair, wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, and headed over to Santa Cecilia to ask the same of Jesus.