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“Maybe. Maybe. Or he slipped. Five years, you could get careless, say something, do something. Shit. I don’t know. Gotta think. Let me know when you’ve got something.”
“You got any jelly-filled?”
“Probably.” She smiled, cut him off.
She organized her notes, added the Solas family photos to her board—though she considered them periphery. She was debating calling the lab and pushing for her tattoo when Peabody poked her head in.
“We got—Hey, doughnuts.”
“You’ll get yours. What have we got?”
“Marc Tuluz. Want him in here or the lounge?”
“Here’s a puzzler,” Eve began. “If we’re in the lounge interviewing him, how many doughnuts will be in this box upon our return?”
“I’ll bring him in here.”
The man had the long, streamlined build Eve associated with runners, and skin the color of coffee with a liberal dose of creamer. His eyes, a hazy blue, looked weary, but met hers levelly. “Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Mr. Tuluz, thanks for coming in. Have a seat.”
“Magda said I missed you this morning. We’re still not working at full power. Miguel . . . Well, I guess Magda told you we considered ourselves a team. And friends.”
“Sometimes friends of the same gender share more openly than they do with friends of the opposite sex.”
“Yeah, I guess they do.”
“So, tell me about your friend and teammate.”
“Okay.” Marc took a couple breaths. “It’s hard to think about him in the past tense. Miguel was smart and interesting. Competitive. He played to win. He put a lot of himself into the center, into getting the kids involved and excited about being part of something. A team. About contributing to that team. He didn’t preach at them, so, well, they listened instead of tuning out half of what he was talking about. They related to him, and he to them. Hell, half the time they didn’t think of him as the priest. Just as one of us.”
“That’s interesting,” Eve said, her eyes sharp on Marc’s face, “because he wasn’t. A priest, that is. He wasn’t Miguel Flores.”
And the face Eve studied went utterly blank. “Sorry, what?”
Eve glanced at Peabody and motioned to her to take over.
“We’ve confirmed through dental records that the man you knew as Miguel Flores had assumed that identity approximately six years ago. We haven’t yet identified the man who assumed that name.” Peabody paused, watched Marc try to take it in. “At this time, we’re trying to identify him, and by doing so ascertain why he assumed another identity. By doing that, we may step closer to who killed him. Regardless of who he was, Mr. Tuluz, you were friends for several years. Good friends. Anything you can tell us may help us, and lead us to his killer.”
“Give me a minute, okay? This is, like . . . This is so way out of orbit. You just told me that Miguel wasn’t a priest?”
“Not only wasn’t a priest,” Eve put in, “wasn’t Miguel Flores.”
“Then who—You just said you didn’t know.” Marc pushed the heels of his hands to his temples, squeezed. “I can’t quite get it. I just can’t get it. Not a priest. Not Miguel. Not . . .
“You’re absolutely sure of this? Which is a stupid question because why would you tell me if you weren’t? All that time. It’s surreal. It’s . . . thanks,” he said when Peabody offered him a bottle of water.
He drank, three long, slow sips. “My mind’s blank. It’s gone off. I can’t remember your name.”
“Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Right. Right. Lieutenant Dallas, he counseled those kids as a priest, took confessions. He gave some of them their First Holy Communion. They listened to him, believed in him. That’s a terrible betrayal. And even saying that, I’m more upset knowing he lied to me every day.
“I loved him,” Marc said with a quiet kind of grief. “Like you would a brother. And I thought . . . if he was in trouble, hiding from something, someone, he could’ve told me. I would’ve kept his confidence. I’d have found a way to help him.”
Eve sat back, digested that. “What happened the day you confronted Solas?”
“Hell.” Marc blew out a breath. “We shouldn’t have. We were both so pissed. Miguel . . . I don’t know what else to call him. He had a temper. He kept it on a leash, worked at it, but now and then, you’d see it flash. Flashed big-time with Solas. Barbara was desperate when she came to us. Her face was all bruised up, and she could hardly talk for crying. It wasn’t for herself, that was the kicker, I guess. It came out that the bastard had been abusing her for years. And she took it, too afraid to do anything else. But he moved on her younger sister, and that she wouldn’t take. Miguel kept his cool with her. He was really good with her, calm, kind. And he told Magda to take her to the clinic, to have them call the police. As soon as they left, he said we were going to pay Solas a visit.”
