was of medium height, with thick, curly black hair, an olive complexion, and a face that was almost pretty, with a wide mouth and deep-set almond-shaped eyes. He wore a navy blazer over crisp white shirt and ironed blue jeans. His attitude was friendly but a little suspicious. He regarded them warily, while maintaining a courteous smile.
“I’m sorry, but we’re closed for lunch. Can I help you?” he asked, crossing his arms and tilting his head to one side.
“Yeah, we’re lookin’ for Raymond Santiago,” Butts said, swinging his large head around to peer through the partially opened curtains.
The young man smoothly closed the curtains behind him, and his smile relaxed a bit. “I’m Ray Santiago—can I help you?”
“Mr. Santiago,” Lee said, “maybe you’d like to sit down. I’m afraid we have some bad news.”
“I don’t need to sit down,” he replied. “What is it?”
“It concerns your girlfriend, Ana Watkins,” Butts said, holding up his badge.
Santiago’s face hardened when he saw the shield. “What about her? Is she okay?”
Butts glanced at Lee, so he took over. Once again, he thought it was best to get it over with quickly. As his mother used to say, tearing off a bandage slowly always hurt more than a single quick, firm pull.
Lee took a deep breath. “I’m very sorry to have to tell you this, but she’s dead.”
Santiago’s reaction was unexpected. He stood for a moment staring at them, then abruptly burst out laughing. It was the strangest reaction to bad news Lee had ever seen. He and Butts stood watching uncomfortably as Santiago laughed.
Finally the laughter subsided, and he said, “Okay, you guys, well done—you really had me fooled. Tell Ana that was a good one. I like the whole thing with the badge—for a minute you totally had me.”
“Mr. Santiago, this is not a joke,” Butts said, looking irritated.
Santiago’s eyes twinkled. “No, of course it’s not. Hey, where did she find you guys? You’re good, you really are.” He looked from Butts to Lee and back again. Lee saw the instant the realization hit him. His face froze, then went slack. He took a step backward, as if he had been pushed. His breath caught in his throat and he said simply: “No.”
“I’m so sorry—” Lee began, but Santiago grabbed him by the shoulders, looked deeply into his eyes, and said, “No, don’t. Just shut up—please?”
“Mr. Santiago—” Butts said, but Santiago waved him off.
“No, no, no! Stop it, please, just don’t do this.”
He looked as if he was about to crumple to the floor, so Lee grasped him firmly by the elbow and guided him through the foyer and into the empty restaurant. Butts trudged along behind, muttering to himself. Lee knew the detective hated delivering bad news. He didn’t care much for it himself. He escorted Santiago to the nearest chair and gently sat him down. Santiago began to rock, hugging himself and whimpering softly.
“What happened?” he whispered. “How did she—I mean, was it—did she—?”
“No, she didn’t take her own life,” Lee said. “We think she was murdered.”
“Oh, Jesus!” Santiago said, and began rocking again. “Who would—she didn’t have any enemies, for Christ’s sake! Who on earth—do you know who did it?” he asked imploringly.
“No, I’m afraid we don’t,” Butts said.
He looked as if he was about to lay a hand on Santiago’s shoulder, then checked the impulse, and stared down miserably at his shoes, waiting for him to snap out of it. Both he and Lee seemed to sense that the moment couldn’t be rushed, so Lee took a look around the restaurant while they waited, inhaling the familiar old building smell of moldering ancient secrets.
Little had changed since he was a boy. The dining area was surprisingly airy after the cramped entrance hall, with wooden tables and chairs scattered sparingly around a single large room. Tables lined the far wall of the restaurant, which was dominated by a row of windows overlooking the river. The oak tables and chairs were of eighteenth-century design, and the dark wood had been chosen to match the wide burnished floorboards, which were original. He remembered as a boy how he imagined centuries of feet treading those boards, the soft click and shuffle of shoe leather back and forth as people came and went. This building had been standing for over thirty years when the revolution began, and had sheltered Tories and patriots within its walls—brigands and bandits, lovers and murderers alike.
Santiago had stopped rocking and was staring off into space, a dazed expression