Standing in the foyer, Marissa started to cry again. Then her dad came in and put an arm around her and in that pseudo calm voice said, “It’s gonna be okay, sweetie. I promise.”
Marissa couldn’t take it anymore. If he was in denial before, now he was hopeless.
She broke away and said, “Please, Dad, just stop it already,” and went upstairs, not even realizing she’d passed the spot where the body had been until she was in her room.
She checked her phone and saw that she’d received a bunch of e-mails and texts from her friends as news of the robbery had been getting around. She felt like she really needed to vent, let out her anger, so instead of replying individually she went online and posted a long entry on her Artist Girl blog, which most of her friends- her closest friends, anyway- read every day. She described the robbery as dramatically as possible, focusing on how terrified she’d been when she woke up and heard the intruders in the house and everything that had happened with the shooting and how the police had questioned her and her family for most of the night. She left out the part about how Clements had questioned her about her drug use in the house, paranoid that this would somehow incriminate her. Although she didn’t mention anything about Gabriela specifically, she hinted at it, ending with “Now things seem to be getting even more fucked up. This is the craziest day of my life.”
After she posted the blog, she searched Google News for “Gabriela Moreno,” hoping to find nothing, but there were two news items about the shooting. Marissa read them, feeling devastated and numb. The items gave pretty much the same minimal information that Marissa’s mother had already reported: Gabriela had been shot to death in her Jackson Heights apartment this morning by an unknown assailment. The motive for the shooting was also unknown.
“Goddamn it,” Marissa said, and she picked up the keyboard and banged it against the desk. It sounded like something cracked, but she didn’t care.
She hoped that whoever killed Gabriela rotted in hell for it, but she still couldn’t believe that Gabriela had actually been involved in the robbery. Maybe her dad was right about it being a coincidence. Maybe Gabriela was shot for some crazy random reason. It seemed farfetched but not any more farfetched than her having anything to do with that dead guy, Sanchez.
“Marissa.” Her father knocked on the door. “Marissa, can you come downstairs for a sec, please? Detective Clements is here.”
Great, just what Marissa needed.
“Coming,” she said, nearly whispering.
“What?”
“I said I’ll be right there!” she shouted.
She took her time, answering a few more e-mails, then went downstairs. Her mom, her face still smeared with mascara, was at the dining room table with Clements. Her dad looked more serious than he had before.
“What’s going on?” Marissa asked.
“Please… join us,” Clements said.
Marissa sat in the empty chair, noticing that her mom and dad were avoiding eye contact with each other.
“I guess you heard the news,” Clements said.
“About Gabriela, yeah,” Marissa said.“Why? Nobody else died, right?” She was only half joking.
“No one else died,” her dad said in a monotone.
“I was just filling your parents in on a few of the latest developments,” Clements said.
“Oh, no, what now?”
“She was involved in the robbery,” her mom said.
“You know that for sure?” Marissa asked.
“It’s very likely she was involved,” Clements said. “We’ve established a connection, a very definite connection, between her and Carlos Sanchez”.
“What kind of connection?” Marissa asked.
“They had a history,” Clements said. “They dated for several years and there was a history of domestic violence. She’d even gotten a restraining order against him.”
Marissa looked at her mom, then her dad, in disbelief. “Did you guys know about this?”
Her mom shook her head. Her dad didn’t have any reaction.
“She’d been in contact with him by cell phone numerous times in the days prior to the robbery,” Clements said. “A neighbor also thinks he saw Sanchez at her building one day last week, but that hasn’t been confirmed yet.”
“Wait, that doesn’t make any sense,” Marissa said. “If she had a restraining order against him, why would he’ve been at her building?”
“We’re not sure,” Clements said. “Her sister said their father in Ec ua dor is ill and needs money for an operation, so that may’ve been the motive.”
“Tell her about the AIDS,” Dana said.
“Her father had AIDS?” Marissa asked.
“Not her father- Sanchez,” Clements said. “And he didn’t have full- blown AIDS. He was HIV positive.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Marissa’s dad said.
“We all have to get tested now,” her mom announced.
“That’s ridiculous,” her dad said.
“His blood was all over the staircase,” her mom said, suddenly looking and sounding maniacal. “It could’ve splattered on you.”
“Oh, stop it,” her dad said, waving a hand at her dismissively.
Marissa couldn’t believe her parents were actually arguing about HIV transmission. They’d officially hit a new low.
“The risk for HIV transmission in this type of situation is minimal if not nonexis tent,” Clements said. “The virus dies almost immediately when it’s exposed to air.”
“See?” her dad said to her mom, like he was so proud of himself. “I don’t care,” her mom said.“The blood was everywhere, I want to get tested.” “If you want to get tested, get tested,” her dad said. “I can’t stop you.”
“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Marissa said to Clements. “You think Gabriela took the code to the alarm so she and her ex- boyfriend could rob our house?”
“It seems logical,” Clements said. “Your mother says she believes Gabriela had access to the code.”
“What about the keys?” Marissa asked.
“She could’ve copied them at some point,” Clements said. “We’re talking to area locksmiths, and my guess is we’ll find out that she copied the keys to the back door.”
“I don’t believe it,” Marissa’s mom said. “If Gabriela robbed the house, then who killed her? Explain that.”
“It’s too early to speculate,” Clements said.
As Marissa’s mom rolled her eyes, Marissa said to her dad, “I thought you heard another guy in the house.”
“I’m not sure about that,” he said. “It could’ve been a woman.”
“According to your parents,” Clements continued to Marissa, “Gabriela wasn’t aware that you’d canceled your trip to Florida, so she may have believed the house would be empty. Did you tell her you weren’t going to Florida?”
Marissa didn’t say anything, just shook her head.
It was starting to set in-Gabriela had been involved in the robbery of their house. She’d actually been involved.
“Oh my God,” Marissa said, “I don’t think I can handle any more of this.”
Her dad, suddenly all protective, said, “If you don’t have any more questions for her, why does she have to be here?”
Ignoring him, Clements said to Marissa, “I understand you were close with Gabriela.”
“Yes,” Marissa said, trying her hardest not to cry. “I was.”
“Did you talk to her at all during the last few days?”
“Monday,” Marissa said. “I saw her Monday.”
“Did she mention anything to you about how she needed money, or about how she’d gotten back with her old boyfriend?”
“I had no idea she even had a boyfriend.”
“So there was nothing unusual in her behavior?”
“Nothing at all. She was her usual happy, smiley self.”
“Well, she was apparently very good at keeping secrets,” Clements said. “Did she ever mention anything to you about drug use?”
“Gabriela?” Marissa said, shocked. “Are you kidding? She was totally antidrugs.”
“Sanchez had a history of heroin addiction,” Clements said. “It’s likely that since he had a relationship with Gabriela she was using as well, at least when they weretogether.”