Dudley picked up the paper, but Holmes grabbed it from his hand. The big man looked at the paper and a new wave of sweat washed over his face. “This is what you’re asking me about?” He shook it in front of Decker. “This is what you’re in an uproar about? So what? So I changed my name. I didn’t think Tomas Martinez would go over too well in the Silicon Valley. You think I’m an upstart spic, is that what you think?”

The best offense…

Dudley took the paper from Holmes’s hand. “This is a legal name change.” He stared at Decker and then at his client. “What’s the prob-” He stopped himself.

“What’s the problem?” Decker finished the sentence. “Yes, Mr. Dudley, we do have a problem. Tomas Martinez was born in Madrid, New Mexico, and died of pneumonia when he was eight years old.”

“Oh, for God’s sakes!” Holmes bellowed. “Do you know how many Tomas Martinezes there are in New Mexico? It’s a very common name.”

“I’m sure it is, but there’s only one Tomas Martinez that matches your Social Security number and date of birth.” Holmes was struck silent; his lawyer as well. “You want to tell us how you came to take Tomas Martinez’s identity?”

Dudley moved in. “I’d like a few minutes alone with my client.”

“Of course,” Decker said. “Just look up at those cameras when you’re ready to talk to me.”

“OKAY,” HOLMES SAID after Decker returned. “This is the story and it’s the God’s honest truth. Are you ready to listen?”

“I’m ready to listen.”

“Okay. I’m going to tell you what’s going on with that and we can all go home.” The big man let out a big sigh. “I got into trouble when I was younger. I had a hard life, I had an old man who beat the crap out of me. I had an old lady who was a junkie. I was the oldest, so everyone gave me shit. I’m not asking for sympathy. I’m just giving you some background as to why I did what I did, okay?”

“Sure,” Decker said.

“I grew up in New Mexico, which, if you’ve ever been there, is a sparsely populated state with lots of wide-open space. Like I said, my old man was a con and my old lady was a junkie. I became a wild kid and there was no one around to stop me. Just me and a bunch of bums and the open road.”

“Go on.”

“No discipline, no nothing. I did some things that I’d like to forget.”

“Like?”

“Ah, c’mon! Do I have to spell it out?”

“It would be nice.”

“Jesus! Okay. Auto theft, B-and-Es, assaults. I got into a lot of fights. I was an angry, wild kid with no discipline. It finally caught up with me when I was eighteen. I did a few years in Roswell Correctional Center, and then they paroled me for good behavior. I came out a changed man, Lieutenant. This is the key. I became a completely changed man.”

“A stay in prison can change a man.”

“You better fucking believe it! I wasn’t ever going back inside again. Never ever! All I wanted was a fresh start and a couple of breaks. I moved to Madrid, which is only about ten miles south of Santa Fe. I only stayed there for a little while because it was too close to Santa Fe for me to be comfortable. Lots of bad memories. Tomas Martinez was dead. Tomas Martinez didn’t have a record. I figured what’s the harm? He was my fresh start.” Holmes’s shirt was sodden. “I worked construction in southern New Mex and all the way up in the Four Corners. I worked hard and kept my mouth shut. I had natural talent for woodworking. I learned all I could until I felt good enough to branch out on my own. I searched for good places to live, and at that time, Silicon Valley was the up-and-coming place. The men here…”

Holmes laughed derisively and waved his hand.

“They’ve got brainpower, I’m not going to deny that. They can do amazing things with chips, motherboards, and computers, but they don’t know a hammer from a screwdriver. It’s Nerd City. I figured it was a good place to make a kill-to do well in the construction trade. People were coming in all over the place, and housing was sprouting up like weeds. After my visit, I said to myself, ‘Buddy, you hit gold.’ So I changed my name to something more white-collar and set up shop. You look at my records and you’ll see I’m telling the truth.”

“So I have your permission to look at your records?” Decker asked.

“No, you don’t,” Dudley answered. “He was speaking metaphorically.”

“There’s nothing to see even if I gave you permission,” Holmes said.

Decker was quiet for a moment. Like all good tall tales, this one had snippets of truth. “What was your given name?”

Holmes’s eyes darted from side to side. If the guy had any smarts, he had to figure that this was going to be Decker’s next question.

“Is that really necessary?” Holmes stalled. “I want to put that part of my life behind me.”

“Yes, it is really necessary.”

“Why?” Dudley asked. “Unless it has direct impact on the so-called charges that you’re going to present us with, it is irrelevant.”

“It has to do with the truthfulness of your client, sir.” Decker faced Holmes. “What’s your given name?”

Holmes was silent. Dudley filled in the silence. “If you want to know the answer to that question, come back with a warrant.”

Decker held up the palm of his hand. “It’s rhetorical, Counselor. Because Mr. Holmes has to know that if he was in the prison system, his fingerprints would be on file.”

Holmes reached for more tissues but had used them all up. Decker looked at the mounted video camera and asked for another box of Kleenex. “You know that sample tile that you gave prospective home buyer Oliver Scott day before yesterday? Well, it contained two beautiful right thumb- and index fingerprints.”

Holmes looked green. “He was a cop?”

“He was a cop and he’s looking at you as we speak. Now, when you were incarcerated way back when, we didn’t have the luxury of Automated Fingerprint Identification System, but your prints, of course, were filed even if they weren’t inputted into AFIS. The key is to know who you’re looking for. And we damn well knew who we were looking for. So all we had to do was call up Roswell, and bingo, we had a match. Now, do you want to tell me your given name?”

“You don’t have to answer that, Ray,” Dudley told him. “Either charge him, Lieutenant, or we’re going home.”

Decker regarded Holmes. “If I book you for murder, there’s no turning back. You’re in the system once again, Mr. Holmes. That means you’re going to spend the night in jail while your lawyer sleeps in his bed-”

Holmes held up his hand. His face had become defiant. “If you know who I am, you tell me.”

“Does the name Isabela Devargas ring a bell?”

Holmes blanched and a downpour of water cascaded over his face.

“That’s a woman’s name,” Dudley said.

“That’s a dead woman’s name,” Decker answered.

39

D UDLEY SAID, “I need time alone with my client.”

Decker ignored him. “We found her body, Mr. Holmes. She’s right there where you left her. If there were intervening circumstances, now’s the time to tell me.”

“I told you, I need time alone with my client,” the lawyer insisted.

“You can have as much time as you want once I book him for murder.”

“Lieutenant, even if he talked to you now, you can’t use what he says.”

“I can if he allows it.”

“I didn’t kill her,” Holmes protested. “I did not kill her!”

“So tell your lawyer that you want to tell me about it.”

“Ray, shut up!” Dudley said.

“You shut the fuck up,” Holmes snapped back. “It’s not your ass on the line. He’s right about one thing. You’re going to sleep in a bed tonight.”

“You’re paying me to advise you, let me advise you. First, let me talk to you so I know what’s going on!” Dudley turned to Decker. “I repeat. I need to talk to my client in private.”

“I’m trying to help you, Mr. Holmes.” Decker pulled out his coup de grâce and handed it to Dudley. “I’ve got a warrant for your arrest for the murder of Isabela Hernandez.” He turned to Dudley. “The woman was once Mr. Holmes’s sister-in-law.” Back to Holmes. “I haven’t executed the warrant yet. So if you want to talk to me, now’s the time.”