The Replacement Child - By Christine Barber Page 0,82

said. “The chairman of the police advisory committee says he’s never heard of Melissa Baca. He said the secretary who makes the agenda might know something about it. I called her three times, but she didn’t answer and there was no answering machine.”

“What do the state police say?” Lucy asked.

“I paged Lieutenant Pollack twice, but he hasn’t called back. I even called his house and left a message.” Pollack was their snitch, so he would call back. Eventually.

“Anybody else at the state police we can try?”

“I called some officers I know who are part of the investigation, but they gave me that ‘the only person who can comment is Pollack’ crap. I guess since we ran our story with the anonymous sources in it, the state police are cracking down on any officer who talks to the press besides Pollack.”

“Which is pretty damn funny, considering the circumstances,” Lucy said. Pollack was the leak, after all. Tommy looked nervous that she had alluded to it in the open newsroom.

“Any other ideas?” she asked him.

“Not a one.”

Lucy thought about calling Gil, but hesitated. She didn’t want to take advantage of their friendship. Is that what it was? A friendship? She didn’t know. But she was pretty sure that he would think less of her for calling him. Not that he would tell her anything anyway. He wasn’t that kind of cop.

“Okay, Tommy, let’s give it a little more time. Maybe somebody will call you back. And keep trying that secretary. While you’re waiting for calls, write up what you have and add it to the Melissa Baca story.”

The assistant copy-desk chief, who had been listening to their conversation, asked, “You’re calling the Baca story back?”

“Yeah. We’ll just add to it.”

“Do you want to move it to the front page?” the editor asked.

Lucy thought for a second. She was being handed exactly what she had argued for with Lopez. But, truth be told, the story still didn’t warrant the front page. If they could say why Melissa had been about to go to the police advisory committee, maybe Lucy could justify moving it. She looked at the clock. It was almost ten thirty P.M. It was becoming extremely unlikely that they were going to get any calls back.

They could sit on the information, wait until they had time to check it out, and then run the story in the next day’s newspaper. But the Santa Fe Times got the agendas just like the Capital Tribune did. Somebody might have been typing those agendas in and, just as Stacy had, noticed Melissa Baca’s name. It was too chancy.

“No. The story stays in the local section,” Lucy said. She wished that Lopez were there to witness her sacrifice.

“Why don’t you call up those confidential police sources who told you about the drugs and ask them about it?” the editor offered.

Tommy said, “Yeah, right” before walking away. Lucy just shook her head.

Gil was on his way home when he made a detour to Mrs. Baca’s. He didn’t plan on going inside. He was just driving by on the off chance that Ron might be back from the Pecos. Gil had called Mrs. Baca earlier to check on her but had gotten the answering machine. She hadn’t called back.

When he pulled up in front of the Baca house, all the lights, inside and outside, were on and the front door was wide open. Gil got out of his car, flipping the snap on his holster but not switching off the gun’s safety. He considered calling for backup, but the situation didn’t warrant it. Not yet. He went up to the house, calling for Mrs. Baca.

He found her in Melissa’s room, throwing clothes into boxes. The walls were bare; the picture of Melissa with her father was gone.

“Mrs. Baca, what’s going on?” Gil asked.

“These things need to be put away.”

Gil was starting to get mad at her relatives—it was like what people always said about the police: Never around when you need one.

“Mrs. Baca, let’s wait until tomorrow to do that.”

She looked up at him, considering, “Why?”

“It’s late.”

She seemed to accept that. She got up and fixed Melissa’s bedcovers, turned off the light, and closed the door.

In the hallway, she turned to look at him. “What are you doing here, Detective Montoya?” It was the first normal thing she had said to him in days.

“I’m looking for Ron.” She nodded.

Gil got an idea. “Mrs. Baca, did Ron call Monday night to tell you he was coming over to