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Stuben scooped up noodles. “Best place for him.”
“How about any of the alternate gangs? Would any of them take a hit at Lino after all this time?”
“Skulls, Bloods. Most of them are dead, gone, or locked up. Always a few around, both sides of that. But that fire’s been out a long while. How’d he buy it?”
“You’ve heard about the murder at St. Cristóbal’s? The one posing as a priest.”
“Martinez?”
“Yeah. How’s that play for you, him going under like that for five years—in plain sight?”
Stuben sat back, gave it some thought over his tube of cream soda. “He was wily. He had brains and could stay frosty. It was hard, even when he was a kid, to pin anything on him. Knew how to cover his tracks, or get someone to do it for him. He fought his way up to the top level of the Soldados by the time he was sixteen. Had to be something in it for him, some game. Something big to keep him under. You had the Soto girl in on this?”
“Today.”
“She’d have known, no question in my mind. He came back, he’d go to Penny Soto. Lino had a weak spot, she was it. He made her a lieutenant, and she’s not fifteen, for Christ’s sake. Word was, there was some dissention in the ranks about that. Lino took out the dissenter with a pipe, and let her kick the shit out of him. ’Course, the dissenter claimed, from his hospital bed with his jaw wired, that he fell down some stairs. Back then? You couldn’t work one of them against the other. They’d take a knife to the heart first.”
“Times change.”
Stuben nodded. “They do. You might try Joe Inez.”
“I ran it by him once. Weak link?” she asked, but for courtesy as she already knew.
“That’d be the one. Joe, he didn’t have the kill switch in him. Didn’t have the hardness for it.”
“Is there anyone else I should talk to? Any other former members? I’ve got a couple people working on getting me names, but you’d know better.”
“I can tell you anybody who was top rungs back that time, they’re gone. Dead, in a cage, or in the wind. Some are still around, but they’d’ve been rank and file. Martinez and Chávez were in charge. And Soto. She took it over when they lit out.”
“I appreciate it, Detective.”
“You get anything leads to closing the bombing, we’re square.”
She got to her feet, paused. “One more thing. The families of the victims. Are you in touch?”
“Now and then.”
“If I need to, can I tap you again on this?”
“You know where to find me.”
17
EVE FOLLOWED HER NOSE TO ST. CRISTÓBAL’S. Rosa, her hair bundled over a face prettily flushed, answered the door. She wore an apron over a colorful top and slim black pants.
“Hello. How can I help you?”
“A couple of questions for you, and for Fathers López and Freeman.”
“The fathers aren’t here right at the moment, but . . . Would you mind coming back to the kitchen? I’m making bread, and you caught me right in the middle.”
“Sure. Making it?” Eve added as she and Peabody followed Rosa through the rectory. “Like from flour?”
“Yes.” Rosa tossed a smile over her shoulder. “And other things. Father López is especially fond of my rosemary bread. I was just about to shape the dough, and don’t want it to over-rise.”
In the little kitchen, a work counter held a large bowl, a stone board, a bin of flour.
“My mother bakes bread,” Peabody commented. “And her mother, my sister. My dad gets his hands in sometimes.”
