That sounded positive.We had somewhere to start.Although I had a feeling when he said ‘we,’ he didn’t mean me.
Zachary said something else.I sharpened my ears.“Tat…”
“Tattoo?Someone had a tattoo?”
Mendoza gave me a look, one that said clearly, “Don’t try to help.”I arched my brows at him.
“Tati,” Zach said.“—ana.”
“Tatiana?There was a girl there named Tatiana?”
He nodded.Leaning back, he looked exhausted.And Mendoza must have seen it, too.His voice gentled.“Should I talk to Tatiana?Or avoid her?”
Zachary managed a shrug.The machine must not have liked it, because it whooshed harder for a second before it settled down again.
“Not sure?”Mendoza said.“That’s OK.But it’s the place where Tatiana is?”
Zachary nodded.
“I’ll find it.And find who did this.And arrest him.Or them.”
Zachary’s lips moved.There wasn’t any sound behind the word, and Mendoza had to bend closer to hear it.Under the circumstances, I had no problem keeping my eyes off his posterior—my attention was focused on Zachary—but my peripheral vision noticed, and approved of the movement.
“Them?”Mendoza said.“Two?Three?”
There’d been two.Mendoza nodded and straightened.“We’ll let you rest.I’ll be back later.”
“Me, too,” I said, over Mendoza’s shoulder.Zach lifted a hand in a weak wave, but I think he was asleep before we’d closed the door behind us.
Outside in the hallway I refrained—barely—from grabbing Mendoza’s lapels and pushing him up against the wall so I could shake the answers I wanted out of him.Instead I folded my arms tightly across my midriff, the better to keep from assaulting him.“What happened?”
“I was talking to Araminta Tucker,” Mendoza said, “when the hospital called.Zach was brought in earlier this morning.A shopkeeper on Thompson Lane discovered him in the alley behind a discount tobacco store when he came to work.”
I opened my mouth, and he added, “He was interviewed.He has nothing to do with anything.”
I closed my mouth again.And opened it.“Who interviewed him?You?”
Mendoza shook his head.“He called 911.An ambulance showed up.And a squad car.The officers took a statement.”
“And you read it?”
“I spoke to them,” Mendoza said.“The shopkeeper is out of it.”
Fine.“So Zachary was brought here.What was wrong with him?”
“He’d been given a beating,” Mendoza said, something which had been pretty obvious from looking at Zach.Either that, or he’d fallen down a mountainside.But since we don’t have many of those around here, I’d assumed it was the second scenario.
“And?”
“It’s mostly just scrapes and bruises.I know he looks bad, but most of it’ll heal in a week with no after effects.”
Mostly… “What’s the damage that won’t heal in a week?”
“He has a couple of broken ribs,” Mendoza said.He sounded reluctant.“I’m guessing someone kicked him.More than once.”
My stomach rebelled, and I swallowed.Hard.“And?”
“One of the broken ribs punctured a lung.”
