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“Did he say anything?”
He shook his head. “He couldn’t articulate.”
“Were you with him when—”
“Yes. I stayed.”
“Thank you for that.”
“Jesus, don’t thank me,” he said, sounding almost angry. “Believe me, as soon as he was gone, I was out of there. I knew what it would look like. I showed no more guts than Manuelo. I grabbed my ass and ran. And…” He stopped, looked away, toward the brightly lit entrance to the theater.
“What?”
He blew out a gust of breath. “There were plenty of times after that last afternoon with you when I wished he was dead.” He looked directly into her eyes then. “Not dead specifically. Just…just not. In the depths of my rotten soul, I wished him away.” He continued looking at her for ponderous seconds before speaking again. “But I didn’t kill him. Do you believe that?”
She opened her mouth to speak but discovered she couldn’t. His story was more credible than she wanted it to be. But she also remembered that afternoon of fevered lovemaking, the hunger and urgency of it. Her impassioned responses had unleashed from him a wild possessiveness. She remembered the way his large hands had moved over her body, claiming it, the intensity with which he had thrust into her, and how jealously he’d held her afterward.
She lowered her head and massaged her temples.
“Forget I asked,” he said curtly. “You’re not going to believe me until you have Manuelo Ruiz’s sworn statement that he accidentally stabbed your husband. You and Rodarte.”
She reached out and angrily grabbed his hand. “Don’t you dare compare me to Rodarte. And don’t give me attitude, either. You’re asking me to believe in your innocence. I want to, Griff. But believing you also means accepting that my husband, the person I had loved and admired for years, was a madman who plotted your murder. It’s a lot to absorb so soon after burying him. Forgive me if that’s proving to be difficult.”
She dropped his hand, and for several moments the atmosphere crackled. He was the first to relent. “Okay. No more attitude.” He reached into the backseat and got the duffel, placed it in his lap, and unzipped it. “My only hope of exoneration—from anybody—is to find Manuelo Ruiz.”
He rifled the bag, removing what appeared to be the aide’s keepsakes from El Salvador. A rosary. A map of Mexico, with a red crayon line snaking up through it to a starred spot on the Texas border.
“His route,” he said. There was an old photograph of a couple on their wedding day. “His parents, you think?” He passed her the picture.
“Possibly. Their age looks right.”
That was it except for a few Spanish-language paperback books and an inexpensive wallet. Griff checked every compartment. In the last one he looked, he found a piece of stained paper. It had been folded so many times, the creases were dirty and almost worn through. Griff carefully spread it open on his thigh.
He read what was printed on it, then smiled and passed the sheet to her. Written in pencil were four digits and a name. She looked back at him. “An address?”
“Appears to be. It’s a place to start looking.”
“It could be right here in Dallas or in Eagle Pass.”
“Yeah, but it’s something.” He seemed suddenly galvanized. “Do you have a cell phone?”
She reached into her handbag and withdrew it. Checking the readout, she saw that she’d missed several calls. “I had silenced it at the office and forgot to turn it back on. Kay called once. Rodarte’s called three times. The last time was twelve minutes ago.”
She handed the phone to Griff. He pressed the send button, so that Rodarte’s number would be automatically dialed. It rang only once before he answered. “Mrs. Speakman?”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Rodarte. You’ve got me. And I’ve got her.”
“You’re a moron, Burkett. You’re just digging yourself in deeper.”
“Listen, I’m gonna make this quick, simple enough even for you. I did not kill Foster Speakman. Manuelo Ruiz did.”
Rodarte laughed. “Right. The minion. The slave who idolized the guy. Yank somebody else’s pod.”
“It was an accident. Manuelo was fighting with me.”
“Trying to protect Speakman from you.”
“Wrong again, but we’ll go into the details later. You and I both need Manuelo. You’re right about him worshiping Speakman. That’s why he was so horrified by what he’d done, he ran. Find him and all our problems will be over. I’ve got a lead for you.” He read off the address. “We found it in Manuelo’s belongings. He didn’t have much, so this means something or he wouldn’t have kept it.”
