The Replacement Child - By Christine Barber Page 0,57

who was found dead in her home on Wednesday.” Her murder went from a front-page story to a four-paragraph brief inside the local section within twenty-five hours. A new record.

Melissa Baca’s death had also been moved from the front page to the local section, and it said basically the same thing as Patsy’s—no new leads. Melissa’s death had been more spectacular than Patsy’s—a schoolteacher being tossed off a famous bridge—so it was being buried more slowly.

Lucy tried to pay attention as they talked about the front page package—a story about how much water the new municipal golf course was using.

As they were wrapping things up, Tommy Martinez came to the door and motioned her outside.

“I think I can get a hold of a copy of the Melissa Baca autopsy,” he said.

“Fabulous. When can you get it?”

“In a few hours.”

“Any clue what it says?”

“Not yet.”

She went back into the news meeting and told the other editors what Tommy had said. Melissa Baca’s murder was back on the front page.

The office was still cold as Gil did a property search on the Internet. The station was quiet; most officers who weren’t out on patrol had found a reason to go someplace warmer. He was trying different variations of the name Baca in the search engine—C de Baca, C’Baca, Cdebaca. Baca and its cousin name, Ce de Baca, were fairly common in Northern New Mexico. There were four Bacas—none related—of the 139 police officers who worked for the city of Santa Fe.

Chief Kline had asked Gil to find Ron Baca and fill him in on the investigation as a courtesy. Gil had called Ron’s cell phone several times, only to be greeted with, “The number you are calling is not in service.” He knew that Pollack had said Ron had an alibi for Melissa’s murder. But he was curious why Ron would have gone off to the Pecos and left his mother all alone. It didn’t make sense to him.

Gil was searching for any property belonging to the Baca family. He thought maybe Ron was staying at a family-owned cabin in the Pecos and was hoping to find a phone number for it. But there was nothing. The search turned up only Mrs. Baca’s house, Ron’s mobile home, and a mention of a trailer that had been bought by Daniel Baca in the late 1970s.

“You know, Gil, you’ll go blind sitting that close to a computer screen.”

He looked up to see Officer Joe Phillips blowing into a steaming cup.

“You didn’t get me any coffee, Joe?” he said without smiling.

“Get off it, Montoya. You know I don’t drink that stuff. This is cocoa. It even has little marshmallows in it. I thought it wasn’t macho enough for you,” he said, laughing. Phillips had been on the force for only a little over a year, but he had a lot of common sense.

“Actually, Joe, you can help me with something. Does Hector Morales still live in that apartment on Airport Road?” he asked.

“Nah, he moved a few months ago. Do you need to find him?”

“I was just about to go look for him.”

“I’d wait until tonight. It’s Thursday. He’ll be at the Silver Cowboy. It’ll be safer, and you won’t have to worry about his girlfriends or his kids being around,” he said before walking off, sipping his cocoa.

Gil was getting ready to leave when the phone rang. It was one of the medical investigators, Cindy Cornell. They’d worked on a stabbing together two years back. She told Gil the same thing everyone else had: “I don’t have a copy of the Baca autopsy, and I can’t get a copy.” But she added, “I did hear that the report is back on the syringe they found in Melissa Baca’s car. It was wiped clean of prints, which is weird.”

Gil agreed. Drug addicts weren’t usually so neat.

“Oh, yeah,” Cornell said. “I also heard a rumor that a newspaper was leaked the autopsy.”

“Which newspaper?” asked Gil.

“The one with the green name. I mean, it’s written in green. Do you know which one I mean?”

He knew which one she meant—the Capital Tribune.

The copy editors invited Lucy on a walk to Starbucks a few blocks away, but she turned them down. She needed to be alone. The dark was just starting to settle in as she walked toward the Plaza. Piñon smoke clung to the air, warm and sweet. The haze in the air made the streetlights glow and wink softly. The setting sun was starting to hit the