“Because you feel bad for me,” I said, and tried to look pitiful.It wasn’t very hard at all.“I sent him out last night.It’s my fault he got hurt.And I want to help you find who did this to him.”
Mendoza hesitated.“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
“You’ll regret it if you don’t let me come along,” I said.“And maybe I’ll be useful.I can tell people I’m looking for my son.He looks enough like me to be.”
“It’s the red hair,” Mendoza said.“Nothing else.”
“It’s something.It’s more than you can say.”
“I can show them my badge and tell them I’m the police.”
“And see where that gets you,” I said.“We might learn more if people just think I’m a mother looking for my son.The ones who know something might not want to talk to the police.”
Mendoza seemed to consider it.Since I had a point, he didn’t argue.“So who am I?”he asked instead.“Nobody’d believe that I’m Zach’s father.”
No.He was too young.And besides, he and Zach looked nothing alike.
“Friend of the family?Or maybe you can just be the cop I roped in to help me with this.You can roll your eyes at appropriate intervals over my insistence that my son would have come home last night, and wouldn’t have visited those kinds of establishments.”
“You want me to pretend to think you’re an annoyance?”
“I’m sure you can handle it,” I said.“It won’t be too much of a stretch.”
When he didn’t seem to have an answer to that, or at least didn’t have an objection, I set off down the hall.“Let’s go.”
Mendoza rolled his eyes—I’m sure of it—behind my back, but followed.
Twelve
We took Mendoza’s car.He insisted.I don’t know whether he was afraid of having me drive, or whether he just thought it was more appropriate to take the official car, but there it was.
The first place we went was the alley behind the discount tobacco store.There was a couple of them on Thompson Lane, but Mendoza must know the address, because he drove straight to it.
It wasn’t anything to look at.Just a paved stretch of blacktop lined by brick buildings on one side and bordered by a chain link fence on the other.On the far side of the fence was a field that at one time must have been host to some sort of building.Part of the foundation still stuck up between the tufts of dry grass and straw.
The alley itself sported the usual array of trash cans and stacks of empty boxes.Behind one of the stores, a swarthy man with large ears was smoking.His eyes followed the path of the car as we rolled past, and I fought back a shiver.
Mendoza glanced over.“Problem?”
I figured, if I told him a random guy with a cigarette had given me a chill, he’d take that as proof that he shouldn’t have let me come.So I smiled brightly.“No.”
Mendoza grunted and pulled the car to a stop.I opened my door and got out.
There wasn’t much to see.The store was a low-slung one story, with a strong steel door on the back, and no windows, most likely to discourage anyone from trying to break in.Tobacco and beer are popular items.
Mendoza nodded when I said so.“Safe spot to dump a body.Even if somebody’d been inside, they wouldn’t have been able to see anything.”
No.I glanced around.“I don’t suppose there are cameras?”
“Not in this part of town,” Mendoza said.And added, “I wish.”
I wished, too.A camera might have shown us who left Zachary here.
“You said this is a safe spot to dump a body.”Not that Zachary was a body.Although he had one.“Do you think the beating happened somewhere else?”
“Most likely,” Mendoza said.He was looking around the alley with his hands on his hips.The gorgeous designer suit and polished shoes were in sharp contrast to our less than stellar surroundings.“Not enough blood for it to have happened here.”
I suppressed another shiver.“You’d know.”
