“Oh, nice! I have a Panasonic at home, but I don’t think it’s much different. I love filming home movies of my family. Although the blank tapes aren’t cheap. We usually fill them up as much as possible. Which makes it stand out that this one has… what? A minute of footage at most? When it would normally fit a couple hours?”
“Depends on the recording speed,” Omar replied vaguely.
“Which makes me think it isn’t the master tape. Am I getting the terminology right?”
He merely shrugged in response.
“The young man we just saw was identified this morning, by the victims, as Diego Gomez. You know each other, if I’m not mistaken.”
Omar shrugged. “Sort of.”
“Did you help him?” Detective Truman pressed. “Were you there the night your friend set fire to the house?”
Mamani cleared her throat. “My grandson hasn’t been friends with that boy for a very long time. I would know. I keep a close eye on him.”
“And yet they clearly spent some time together recently,” the detective said. “Long enough to film this.”
Omar opened his mouth, but his grandmother got there first. “Perhaps we should have a lawyer present before we continue this discussion.”
Truman smiled at her. “Big fan of Matlock, are ya?”
“I prefer Murder She Wrote,” Mamani said evenly.
“Fair enough.” The detective exhaled, as if weary. “You certainly could hire a lawyer. And I could come back here with a warrant and seize every tape and camera in the house. But I have a feeling we all want the same thing.” He turned to Omar. “Don’t we, bud? Wouldn’t you rather get on with your weekend, instead of playing this game and upsetting your grandma further?”
“Do I look upset?” Mamani asked, fixing a stony gaze on the detective.
“My apologies, ma’am,” Truman said. “I simply hate disturbing people at home. In a situation like this, I have to follow every lead, and at the moment, I need to determine how involved your grandson was. I have a feeling the raw footage would clear that up.”
Mamani turned wizened eyes on him, and instead of accusation, he saw a hint of fear in them. “Is this true?” she asked. “Would it help?”
Omar swallowed. What could he do? Lie to his grandma? “Maybe,” he said, heading for the stairs. “I’ll go get it.”
“You’re making the right decision,” Detective Truman called after him.
“Go fuck yourself,” Omar murmured under his breath. But not loud enough to be overheard.
He returned downstairs with the tape. The detective was right. He normally used every minute of available space, which meant fast-forwarding through all sorts of footage. He saw a gut-wrenching sequence of Silvia reading aloud from the school newspaper—one of Anthony’s reviews, which made it even better, but really it was the cute way she crinkled her forehead when concentrating that he’d wanted to capture. He blew past some footage of the basketball team before reaching the right spot.
They watched a replay of the same sequence as earlier, except toward the end, Ricky shoved his way on screen.
“I did it too!” he declared.
“I don’t think he really did,” Omar said quickly.
“Who is that exactly?” the detective asked, notepad at the ready.
“A friend of mine,” he answered. “He’s a good kid.”
“What’s his name?”
Omar clamped his mouth shut.
“Make sure Ricky isn’t in the video,” Diego said from the television. “Edit him out. We’re done here.”
The camera dipped, revealing Omar’s shoes. “Is this a joke?” he heard himself ask. “Did you really do it?”
“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” Diego spat in return. The screen went dark as he covered the lens. “Now turn that thing off and get in the damn car!”
The footage stopped there, replaced by the basketball team again as they practiced shooting hoops.
“You see?” Detective Truman asked, beaming at them both. “As I suspected, the footage exonerates your grandson. All I need is a copy and I’ll be on my way.”
“Okay,” Omar replied glumly. This is what Diego had wanted anyway. Sort of.
“Oh. And it would help if you gave me Ricky’s last name.”
That was not part of the plan. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to push Ricky toward another suicide attempt. “It’s something weird,” Omar said, deciding that a half-truth was acceptable. “It sounds like Kawasaki or whatever.”
“Maybe your school will know,” Detective Truman said, not seeming concerned. “Or the victims. Now about that copy…”
“Yeah, yeah,” Omar grumbled. He did it the old fashioned way, by hooking his camera up to the VCR. Which is what he should have done in the first place. He just loved any excuse to use the video editing board at work. The detective made him play back the freshly made copy, wanting to confirm that all of the footage was there. Then he left in high spirits.
Omar shut the door after him. And locked it. When he turned around, Mamani was standing not far away while watching him.
“Well?” she asked.
“Diego asked me to record the video and give it to the cops. I only did it so Anthony’s dad wouldn’t get in trouble.” He explained as best as he could. By the end of his story, he was sitting at the kitchen table with Mamani, who was stirring honey into a cup of tea.
“That boy was always trouble,” she said, “but I liked him anyway.”
“Yeah,” Omar said hoarsely. “Me too.” Then he swallowed. “Do we have to tell Mom and Dad?”
“Is this truly the end of it?” she asked.
“The police got what they wanted,” he said. But he didn’t think it would be the end. Not when Diego found out that he’d let the cops see the footage of Ricky. Which sucked, but what could he do? At the moment, he remained silent while Mamani thought about it.
“You were trying to help,” she concluded. “I don’t see any need to report that to them, anymore than if you had been kind to your sister. Which I would like to see more of.”
“You will,” he promised. “I’ll be the best brother she’s ever had.”
“You’re the only one she has,” Mamani replied, “which is why it is so important. Now then… Don’t you need to be somewhere?”
“Crap!” Omar said, leaping to his feet. “I’ll see you later.” He kissed her on the cheek and ran for the door, wishing he had time to warn Ricky, because Detective Truman was no fool. As soon as Omar was off work, he would swing by Ricky’s place and make sure he was prepared for the coming storm.
— — —
Ricky set his backpack on the bed and checked the contents one final time, making sure he had everything he needed. As far as his parents were concerned, he was going to spend the night at Omar’s house. In reality, he was going to meet Diego at Candle Cave for a final night together before his boyfriend skipped town. All of which sounded so romantic that he could barely stand it. Ricky bit his bottom lip, zipped up his backpack, and went downstairs. He set the backpack in the entryway and was heading to the kitchen for a drink when someone rang the doorbell, so he circled back. Opening the door revealed a balding man who wore dress clothes that still managed to feel like a uniform.