The North Face of the Heart - Dolores Redondo Page 0,130
another time. In fact, he admitted he covered for Nelson one time, telling Chief Meigs that Nelson was with him, when in fact the man had peeled off early.”
Amaia gave him an inquiring look. Were things starting to click into place?
“But he also said Nelson had problems in his marriage, a lot of family matters he had to deal with. Lorenzo likes to think of himself as an understanding guy, says he was drinking a lot ten years ago and his own marriage almost went down the tubes. He got through that, but when he looked at Nelson, he saw his former self. Figured his partner needed protection. When Lorenzo was having a hard time, he was ashamed to own up to his problems. Used to sneak off to Alcoholics Anonymous. Wanted nobody to know, so he made up all sorts of excuses. He admitted that for a long time, he was lying to practically everybody. He claims that’s a phase, one you can overcome once you’re ready to face reality. ‘You take things you’re ashamed of and make them things you can be proud of’ is how he expressed it. He showed me a lapel pin commemorating a full decade of sobriety.”
“So he thinks Nelson has problems with booze?”
“Seems he never asked Nelson directly,” Johnson said ruefully. “Just part of being an understanding guy, I guess.”
“Oh, that’s terrific! So we’ve got a partner who covers for Nelson because he likes him and assumes he’s an alcoholic. That certainly doesn’t give us anything new to work with, does it? Except that Brad Nelson had problems with his family, he thought he had to resolve them, and he used that as a pretext to be absent from work. At critical times! And nobody except his benevolent partner knew.”
“You still don’t believe Nelson’s the Composer?”
“Fits of anger correspond much better with the profile of someone with a drinking problem, in my opinion. Alcoholics Anonymous often has meetings in churches. Remember, Captain Reed told us he saw Nelson sneaking into a church, even though absolutely no one thought he was religious.”
“Okay. Anyway, I told you I had more than one piece of news,” he said, patting the canvas sling with the walkie-talkie at his hip. “There’s still no cell phone service, but it seems the hospital’s computer system is functional. A nurse told me they have Internet. It’s spotty, but they’re receiving emails. I got hold of the system password and picked up several emails. It’s as slow as molasses; took me practically twenty minutes. One is addressed to you.” He took out his BlackBerry and showed her the screen. “It’s from a Virgil Landis, general manager of the American Insurance Association.”
Johnson steadied his PDA on his forearm so she could read as he summarized the contents. “He goes into detail about the way the association works and what their adjustors do. He confirms that adjustors have access to all the data submitted for policies reinsured by the AIA and that they visit the disaster scenes to assess damage and approve payments. I have to say he was really helpful. The only information he doesn’t include is the extract from the personnel files you requested. He can’t send that via email because of privacy concerns.”
Amaia looked up from the screen. “All right, but that wouldn’t have helped us a lot anyway. I think I might have gotten the ages of the children wrong. Because of the victims’ ages, I thought he was repeating everything exactly as before, but exact matches probably weren’t necessary. If, eighteen years ago . . .” She glanced down at little Jacob, standing by her side. “If he did all that and disappeared, even if he managed to establish a new life for himself very quickly, his children would necessarily have to be younger. Jacob was a big help with that. I’m speculating our man has a four- or five-year-old son named Mic, or Michael, or maybe Micah, and it’s the boy’s violin. The other children might play instruments as well. I think that’s why he came back for it in Galveston.”
Johnson was willing to play along with her theory. “He saw his son had scribbled on it, and he was afraid that might lead back to him.”
Amaia tilted her head, reflecting. “When he leaves a violin at the crime scene, he’s not just transforming an ordinary space into a music room. If his children also play the violin, he’s trying to make everything match. That would lend credence