“Why would someone with no criminal record, a pillar of the community, a widower with a family, commit such a heinous act?” Laura asked.
“I don’t think he was involved in the Albrights’ murders. He probably thought she left the country, because that’s what the killers wanted everyone to think. That’s why they embezzled the money in the first place.”
“But Pollero would know that she didn’t embezzle the money.”
True. He would know because she didn’t come into the bank that day.
“Unless,” Lucy said, “she called him. Or talked to him. Maybe she was under duress when she did it, or maybe she was really thinking about taking the money and running. Or he knew all along that she was being set up. That doesn’t mean he knew her family was going to be murdered.” She thought about it. She didn’t know Frank Pollero, and she was only going by her first impression. She knew he’d been lying, that he’d been coached. Maybe he’d been coached after the fact, so when the FBI came he knew exactly what to say. Whatever it was, now that he knew that the Albrights had been murdered he realized that he was an accessory and decided to disappear. He had his daughter, but his freedom was more important.
They tracked down Kitty Fitzpatrick where she worked as a waitress in a steakhouse. She could pass for Denise Albright in basic appearance, but the reserved, conservative appearance of Denise was nothing like the flamboyant and bright Kitty. She couldn’t say for certain that she’d been to the bank on that day, but she said the picture was of her and that she came in almost every Friday to deposit her cash tips.
“If the money doesn’t get in the bank, I spend it,” she said with a laugh.
After a few more basic questions about her habits and who she knew at the bank, Lucy ruled out that Kitty was involved. She and Laura left twenty minutes later.
“We’ll find him,” Lucy said, more to herself than to Laura.
“You sound confident.”
“He’s not a seasoned criminal. He might have money stashed away, but he doesn’t have a criminal mind. He’s not going to know how to stay off the radar of law enforcement, but mostly, he’s not going to be able to turn his back on his daughter. If he manages to get out of the country—or even to a hideout in the States where we won’t easily find him—I’d give him three weeks, four tops, then he’ll call her. He’ll have to. He’ll miss her too much.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Lucy was confident she was. But she didn’t want to wait a month to find Frank Pollero. She wanted to talk to him now, because he knew who killed the Albrights. And the killer now knew that Pollero was a weak link.
Chapter Twenty-four
TAMAULIPAS, MEXICO
THURSDAY, LATE MORNING
Ricky hadn’t gone to school in three years, but from the beginning Javi said he needed an education. Every morning for three hours Javi had Ricky studying. Javi came up with a program that included a lot of reading but also some math and science problems. Most of what Ricky knew about science was because he read about it. Once a month, Javi went to Ciudad Victoria for three days. Ricky didn’t know what he did—it might not have been legal—but he’d come back with books from a used-book store. Those days, when Javi was gone and it was Ricky and the dog, Ricky thought about going home. But in the end, he realized that he would rather be here and safe than home and scared.
It was a nice day, so Ricky took the book he was reading—the fourth Harry Potter book, The Goblet of Fire—to the bench down the hill from Javi’s place. Javi didn’t care much about what he read, as long as he read for an hour every day. Ricky read a lot—a lot more than an hour. The book was very worn and half the cover was missing and there were stains on many pages, but Ricky didn’t care. He’d read the other books, but Javi hadn’t been able to find number four until last week, when he went to town. He brought it back for Ricky, and Ricky was so excited he almost cried. He was savoring the story, but he was almost done. When he was done, he’d read the whole series over from beginning to end.
Reading Harry Potter reminded him of his sister Becky. She had the whole series, brand-new and in pristine condition. She’d read him the first book over the summer, when it was too hot to go out and do anything. Ricky missed his family, but he missed Becky most of all. She liked him. His parents loved him, Tori tolerated him, but Becky really liked him and he liked spending time with her. She did things with him she didn’t have to do—like reading him Harry Potter and playing video games when no one else wanted to.
He thought about Becky a lot. He was sad, but not like before. Javi said he had perspective and time. Maybe. Or maybe he was just so used to the sadness it felt normal.
He heard footsteps and froze. They lived in a safe, remote area and no one bothered Javi, but Javi had warned him about bandits and kidnappers and drug mules who might cut through these hills. Under no circumstances could anyone think he was American. Ricky’s Spanish was really good now, and while he didn’t read it all that well, he could speak and understand it perfectly. Javi even taught him how to talk with an accent, so he’d sound almost native.
“Ricky.”
His heart skipped a beat. He turned and saw Mr. Young standing twenty feet away, at the top of the path that came down to his reading spot. Ricky didn’t know whether he should run away, but he sat there, a mix of emotions hitting him that he couldn’t quite sort out.
Fear.
Sorrow.
Joy.
Homesickness.
“Mr. Young.” He barely got the words out.
“Javi told me you were here. We need to talk.”
Ricky shook his head, but he didn’t move.
Mr. Young came down the path and sat next to him on the bench. “It’s nice here.”
It was Ricky’s favorite place. A creek ran through it—sometimes, it ran high and came all the way up to the bench that Javi had made. Sometimes, it barely ran at all. Trees provided shade, even on the hottest days.
“A lot has happened these last couple of days, Ricky. Yesterday, Ginny told us the truth. She kept your secret for three years.”
Ricky wanted to know what happened, but he was scared it would be very bad news.
So he remained silent. He didn’t want to know.
But Mr. Young continued talking.
“The FBI is in charge of your parents’ case now. I don’t know how to talk to you about this. I know you’ve been through hell, kid. So, I’m just going to tell you straight out. You know that your parents and sisters were murdered, that’s why you ran.”
Ricky closed his eyes. His chest got all tight and he didn’t want to remember.
“Their bodies were identified through DNA. Your grandparents now know that they are dead, but they also believe that you are alive. That you called them every Christmas, remained silent. Ginny told us that you saw one of the men who killed your parents and that he was a policeman. He came to my house and you thought he was going to hurt us, so you ran. I don’t blame you, Ricky. No one blames you for being scared. You were nine years old. But I need you to come home with me. No one knows that you were in the house that day, that you saw and heard what you did. I brought an FBI agent with me. You can trust him.”