Dragon Fruit Page 24

Now I stood in the narrow gap between the wall and the back of the shed. I edged around to the south side of the structure and glanced over at the main house, where a faint interior light glowed. Nothing had changed.

  Rosie was inside the shed, I’d stake my life on it. But was she alone?

  I moved around to the front of the shed, switched on my cell light and shined it along the edge of the door. The old paint still bridged the seam where the door met the frame. What the fuck? No one had entered through the door since it was painted. Or maybe, I realized, that was exactly what Goretz wanted the casual observer to conclude.

  I stepped back out of sight to the side of the shed. I had to think. Did Goretz access the shed through some kind of tunnel leading out from the house? But that would mean Patty was in on it, which I doubted. Besides, this ground wasn’t loam or clay. A tunnel would collapse in the desert sand.

  I shifted a foot and felt something under my sneaker. I switched on my light again, cupping it in my hands, and looked down. What I’d stepped on was the desert shrub planted in front of the new redwood trellis.

  As I stared at the spiky bush, it occurred to me that the choice of plant was odd. It wasn’t trained on the trellis. In fact, it was a good foot shorter than the bottom edge of the trellis. For that matter, it wasn’t even the kind of plant that could grow on a trellis. So what was the point of having it there?

  A bell dinged in my brain.

  The man was fucking clever, all right. Clever, meticulous, and paranoid. I shined my penlight up and down the redwood strips.

  Goretz had jig-sawed a door into the wall and hidden the cuts under the lath. The door was shaped like a giant puzzle. It was a masterpiece of trompe l’oeil.

  Now I knew how Goretz accessed the shed. I was desperate to enter it myself, to grab Rosie and run. But it would take me some time to get through the door, and I’d no intention of being surprised halfway through the process.

  I thought about the skylight. It was far too small for me to fit through. But a light was on inside the shed, and the skylight should give me a view. I’d find out if Rosie was inside, and if she was alone.

  If I could just hoist myself back up onto the seven-foot block wall, I could climb to the roof from there.

  I stepped out into the star-lit yard. Right away I saw what I needed. A stack of concrete blocks, left over from the construction of the shed, tilted against a side fence. Just four blocks should give me what I required: a step-up to the wall. I carried them across the yard, one by one.

  In a flash, I was up and onto the wall, then the shed roof.

  Making as little noise as possible, I stretched out flat and put my face to the skylight. At first I couldn’t figure out what I was looking at in the dimly lit room below. When I figured it out, my breath grew shallow and fast.

  A tiny child lay directly below me in some kind of homemade crib. She wore a nightgown and was curled into a fetal position. Her eyes were closed, but her hand moved a little.

  As I studied her, trying to see if she was OK, the light went out. Then, with a graunching sound, the trellis door opened. Goretz had been inside, all right. After a moment, the door clacked back into place.

  I lifted my head and watched over the roof ridge as the man crossed the yard to the house.

  He shut the back door behind him and the lights came on. I could see his shadow behind the blinds, moving around in the kitchen. This was my chance to break into the shed.

  But Goretz could be making something for Rosie to eat. He might return. I was debating whether or not I should make a move when the kitchen light switched off. After a few minutes the softer interior light was turned off, too. Goretz must have gone to bed. All was quiet and dark at 153.

  Now I couldn’t move fast enough.

  I backed down off the roof, dropped from the fence to the ground, and hurried around to the trellis. The inset lock was one I hadn’t come across before. I gripped my phone in my teeth, shining the light on the lock as I worked with both hands.

  In the end, I had to break the mechanism. Then I grabbed the trellis and pulled. I didn’t have the knack of it, and there was a graunching sound as the siding caught at several points. Then the door gaped wide open.

  I stepped inside the single room, pulled the door closed behind me, and raised my light.

  A chair and a chest of drawers stood against one wall. A shower curtain was pulled back, revealing a toilet and washbasin. That was all there was in the room, except for the crib. The wooden bars rose to within three or four feet of the ceiling.

  Rosie’s curled-up body lay on the mattress. She lay very still, with her back to me. Thank God I’d seen her move. I knew she was alive.

  I didn’t point the flashlight at her. There’d been enough of that.

  ‘Rosie,’ I whispered. ‘Rosie, everything’s going to be OK.’

  She understood Spanish, not English: but did the words matter? I hoped she’d understand the gentle tone of my voice. But Rosie didn’t turn to me. Instead, I heard the tiniest of whimpers.

  The crib was secured with a goddamned combination padlock. I took one look at it and went for the bars instead.

  I suppose I’d have hesitated, if this had been just any old day. Stopped to be sure I could climb out carrying the child. But something told me I could do it, and I wasn’t about to argue with myself.

  A stabilizing rail was nailed about a foot down from the tops of the bars, at just the right height. I grabbed it and managed to lever my body up and over on the first go. I eased myself down to the mattress, and took a breath to calm myself.

  ‘Hey, Sweetie, somebody’s waiting to see you. Rosie—’ I put out a hand.

  Again, she cried a little. She didn’t seem to have the will to either reach out or to pull away.

  The best thing, I knew, would be to gain her trust step-by-step, to wait for hours or even days before grabbing her. But that was time neither of us had.

  I knelt down, reached out and took her into my arms. Dear God, the child weighed nothing. I pressed my lips to her ear.

  ‘You are going to need to be a brave little girl, Rosie. But only for a very short time.’

  When I laid her down on the mattress again, she whimpered. I took that as a good sign: she wanted to stay close.

  I pulled off my sweatshirt and yanked the cord out of the hood. Then I zipped Rosie in, and used the cord to tie the bottom hem shut. So far so good.

  ‘Just for a few minutes, I promise.’ I swung the cocooned child to my back and tied the sleeves around my neck.

  Rosie had grown still. Was she too terrified now to make a sound, or did she feel safe? I didn’t know.

  I jumped for the cross rail and missed. Shit. The little girl weighed nothing, but the problem was the mattress, which had too much give. I tried again, throwing everything I could muster into the leap. I caught the bar, and my grip held.

  Using my feet as well as my arms, I managed to swing a leg over. Rosie hung down to one side of my back. Somehow I managed to get my left arm around to support her. Then the two of us slipped over the bars and down to the floor.

  Just as my feet hit, the door opened and the light switched on. Goretz loomed in the doorway.

  ‘What the hell – who the fuck are you?!’

  ‘Get out of my way, Goretz.’ I reached behind me andstraightened Rosie on my back. ‘Get out of my fucking way.’

  ‘You – you’re in my shed, you – stupid bitch.’ He soundedflummoxed, even unsure of himself. Except for the stupid bitch part: that sounded like he meant what he said.

  ‘Your shed? I wouldn’t admit it’s yours if I were you, you dumb fuck. This is no shed – it’s a fucking prison.’

  I was beginning to see more clearly now. And I could tell, by the expression on his face, that Goretz was beginning to understand the situation he was in.

  ‘I don’t know who the hell you are. But if you think you’re going to come in here and take my kid—’

  ‘Your kid?’ I took a step forw
ard. ‘What, she’s yours because you bought her? Keep talking, you asshole.’

  That’s when the man surprised the hell out of me. He reached into his cargo pants pocket, and when his hand reappeared, it held a small gun.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right. I bought her. Now get the kid off your back. Put her down on the floor and move over to the sink.’

  ‘You need to think about this, Ronald. Use that gun, and you’ll be in deep shit.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘You don’t think I’m doing this on my own, do you? I’m a detective with the Santa Barbara Police Department. Santa Barbara: that’s where this little girl came from. We know who you are, what you’ve done.’

  ‘I haven’t done anything.’ The gun wavered. ‘All I did was take her in. I’m hiding her, you know? From – from immigration. Yeah. Call that a crime if you want, I don’t see it that way.’

  ‘Yeah? OK, we can work with that.’ At all costs, I had to get Rosie out of there. ‘It isn’t you we’re after anyway – it’s Morehead. If you cooperate you might be able to skip the jail time. And in your case, that would be a damn good idea.’

  I saw that Goretz was believing me. But I saw something else that had me worried: he hated me, too. As I watched his expression grew guarded: he’d had an idea.

  ‘Like I said, lady, take the kid off your back.’

  ‘Sure, no problem. That’s something both of us don’t want, right? For Rosie to get hurt.’

  I reached behind my back – and drew out my own gun from my waistband. I didn’t hesitate for a second: I shot the creep in the foot.

  Goretz screamed and crumpled. I heard him moaning through the open door as I hopped up onto the stack of concrete blocks and climbed the wall. Then Rosie and I dropped down into the backyard of the house on Riata.

  We’d done it. For the moment, we were free.

  I lifted the papoose over my neck and hugged the child close. ‘My brave girl.’

  Holding her against my chest, I jogged through the yard and hopped the low wall, climbed into the sedan, and drove five or six blocks away. Then I pulled over and checked to make sure the GPS tracking was still turned off on my cell.

  Next I phoned 911. ‘Go to One-fifty-three Silver Spur Drive. You’ll find a perp named Ronald Goretz in a shed in the back. He’s been shot in the foot. Even with the bad foot, Goretz is a major flight risk. Phone Detective Deirdre Krause of the Santa Barbara PD for more information. That’s it for now.’

  I switched off the cell and tossed it in the back seat. Then I sat Rosie in the passenger seat beside me, angled it back, and belted her in. Her sweet little lower lip trembled.

  I brushed her straight black hair off her forehead. ‘We’re hitting the road, Rosie. I’m Thelma and you’re Louise, and we need to hightail it out of town.’

  Whatever sedative Morehead had given the child was wearing off now. Rosie was uncomfortable, tired, and scared, and she needed a bottle and a diaper change. But that would have to wait. I rested my right hand on her chest to calm her and took off, steering with my left.

  I headed for the freeway. Of course, the cops would catch up with me sooner or later. Later, if we were in luck.

  I hoped nobody would take notice of the Camino languishing in the rental car lot. The last thing I needed was to fork over a thou or two, to bail Blue Boy out of impound.

  But none of that mattered now. I kept on driving, grateful for the chance to put some miles between us and the desert. All that mattered was that I deliver Rosie home to Santa Barbara, to Chucha – and then to somehow spirit her away.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Luckily for me, Rosie’s exhaustion was greater than her discomfort. I was compiling a baby things shopping list in my mind when she fell fast asleep. Her little hand remained locked on my thumb.

  I didn’t know much about babies. Of course, I’d babysat when I was young, but I felt as if I’d forgotten anything I’d ever learned. Still, I had a feeling Rosie was going to make her needs crystal clear when she woke up.

  Once I got to Santa Barbara, I would ask for guidance from Gabi. My office manager had no kids of her own, but she seemed to have raised dozens of brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews.

  Rosie’s grip relaxed. The freeway was empty at this hour and I felt myself relax, too. I glanced down at the sleeping child. She looked a lot like Chucha, all right. They belonged to one another.

  But I was in la-la land, I admitted. In the end Chucha wasn’t going to make it. Then what? What would happen to Rosie?

  I knew two things for sure. First, Rosie was not going back to her abusive birthmother. And second, she wasn’t going to tumble down into the gaping maw of ICE.

  The little girl slept on and on. Dawn was breaking when we hit the coast. When we reached Camarillo, I pulled into a CVS parking lot.

  I didn’t want to attract attention, but on the other hand I didn’t like the idea of locking Rosie in the car on her own. Trying not to wake her, I wrapped her in my sweatshirt and hugged her close to my chest.

  I grabbed a cart and entered the store, located the baby aisle and began to load the cart with diapers, wipes, formula, and baby bottle paraphernalia. I knew Rosie needed more than a bottle, but this would have to do for now.

  As I walked down the aisle, a cute little outfit caught my eye. It looked about Rosie’s size, so I snagged it. Then I noticed a collection of bright plastic toy keys, and I dropped that in the cart, too.

  Shit, I was acting like an indulgent auntie already.

  By the time we got back to the car, Rosie was wide awake and bawling.

  ‘Hey, girl! Let’s get something into you.’ I switched on the radio, and found a station playing light classical music. Then I rinsed out the bottle, filled it with formula and water, unstrapped Rosie and took her into my arms.

  She seemed a little confused about the bottle – or maybe it was my ineptitude that made things confusing. But man was she motivated. I tried to take the bottle out of her mouth at one point, thinking she might need to burp or something – but she made it clear she’d have none of that.

  After she’d polished off the formula I cleaned her up, then dressed her in a fresh diaper and the new outfit. She put up with my awkwardness with grace. The clothes were too big on her, though: little Rosie was all skin and bones.

  ‘Wow. You are one pretty little girl. Once we get some fat on you, you’ll be a stunner.’ I strapped her back in the seat, ignoring her protests. ‘Time to go meet Mama, baby girl.’

  I handed her the plastic key ring, and after a few minutes she settled down. We were on the road again.

  The new day was just beginning as Thelma and Louise pulled into the Cottage Hospital visitors’ lot.

  Rosie needed another change. I needed a change, too. I felt dirty and exhausted among all the freshly showered citizens arriving for work at the hospital.

  But there was no time to waste. Cradling Rosie in my arms, I walked in though the main doors and up to the desk. ‘We’re here to see Chucha Robledo. Jesus Maria Robledo,’ I corrected myself. ‘This is her daughter.’

  This receptionist wasn’t a candy striper but an employee. She shot me a scathing glance, then studied Rosie. ‘Robledo?’ She tipped back her head to look at a computer screen through the lower portion of her smudged bifocals.

  ‘There’s no Robledo.’ She continued to peer at the screen, then pushed another button or two. ‘No, I’m sorry. No one of that name.’

  ‘She’s here.’ I shifted Rosie to my other hip. ‘Maybe you’re not spelling it right. Would you check again?’

  ‘I can, but it won’t change anything.’ The woman looked again at Rosie, and frowned. ‘Are you looking after this child?’

  Rosie didn’t appear to be very well looked after, I had to admit. ‘It’s a long story. But Chucha Robledo, she’s very ill. She wouldn’t have been discharged, I can tell you that for sure.’

  Something was bothering me, tugging at the edge of my mind. ‘Know what? I need to talk to someo
ne in charge.’

  I was surprised when the woman didn’t argue. She kept one eye on me as she made a call.

  ‘Somebody will be out to talk to you.’ She replaced the desk phone in its cradle. ‘Please have a seat.’ She pointed across the foyer to a dark blue couch.

  I hadn’t reached the couch before I heard the door open behind me. I turned.

  The tall and thin middle-aged guy didn’t need to say anything. His expression said it all: the one you are looking for is gone. You will find her nowhere: you must stop looking now.

  He motioned me to follow him into a side room, a kind of half-chapel, half-waiting room. At least it was quiet in there. Not too clangy, efficient, or bright.

  The man dabbed at his nose with a balled-up tissue. He seemed to have a very bad cold. So the guy had a cold – why was I even bothering to notice such a thing?

  But I knew why. My mind was reaching for anything to think about except the truth. Yet only the truth mattered, not just to me but to the child snuggled in the crook of my arm.

  The hospital administrator motioned for me to sit down beside him. He asked a couple of questions. Who was I? Who was Rosie? Then he said a few things about Chucha – but not too much.

  The man wasn’t under any obligation to talk to me. I knew that. But I also guessed the last thing he wanted was trouble. He would say just as much as he thought he needed to say, in order to move on with a minimum of fuss.

  Chucha’s organs were on their way to helping others now, the hospital guy was explaining. He even smiled a little. It was a discreet smile, practiced, conveying just the right amount of sadness.

  He dabbed again at his nose. Then he sniffed and said that Chucha now had a new kind of life.

  That was nice, I replied. Nice for those others. But for Chucha Robledo, it was the end of all hope.

  Sure, there were some harsh questions I had for the guy. But what was the point of asking them now? The answers wouldn’t help Chucha or Rosie, not anymore.

  Then the guy looked at Rosie. I could see he was trying to work out my connection to the little girl.

  The best thing, I decided, was to not stick around. I felt empty inside, reluctant to leave or let go. But there was nothing here for us now.