Thomas Blackhorse's Arc

Chapter 9 of 17

Thomas drove past his office without stopping. The door hung open. Ray's cruiser sat at the curb, light bar dark. Thomas kept going. He knew what was inside. Nothing. She had cleared him out and left him with one thing only: her name. A name was not enough. She had stayed ahead of him at every turn because she knew him and he did not know her. He needed her past. He needed to know where Juanita Casablanca came from before she was a civilian aide in the police department eight years ago. He called Ray from the road. Ray picked up on the first ring, breathing like a man climbing stairs. "Personnel file," Thomas said. "Casablanca. Everything before she got hired. Application, references, prior address." "I already pulled it," Ray said. "That's why I'm not at your office. Thomas. The file is thin. Three pages. Her references are dead numbers. Her prior address is a lot with no house on it." "Her name." "What about it." "It's not hers. Run it through the state. Then run the Delgado girl's mother's maiden name." Ray went quiet. Thomas heard a keyboard. "Ruiz," Ray said. "There's a Juanita Ruiz. Same birth year. Foster placements out of Gallup. Aged out at eighteen. Then nothing until Casablanca shows up on our payroll." Thomas pulled over. His hands sat still on the wheel. "Ray. Send me the foster file." He drove to the Delgado house. Pablo answered the door in a work shirt, keys in his hand like he'd been about to leave and forgotten why. Behind him Maria stood in the kitchen doorway, arms folded, thin as a coat on a hook. "I need to ask about family," Thomas said. "Yours. Before the girl was born." Maria's mouth tightened. "I don't have family." "You had a sister." Pablo looked at the floor. Maria's eyes went hard, then wet, then hard again. "Half sister," she said. "My mother's first. The state took her before I was born. I never met her. I don't say her name in this house." "Juanita." Maria put a hand on the doorframe. Pablo reached for her elbow and she let him. "She wrote once," Maria said. "When our girl was six. Wanted to meet her niece. I never answered. I threw the letter out." Thomas felt the floor of the case shift under him. Not a stranger. Not a stalker. A sister the girl never knew she had, standing in the school hall, leaving a note in her locker. I'm still here. He drove back to the Jeep and opened the foster file on his phone. Group homes. A runaway report at fifteen. And one steady address, ages ten to fourteen. A boys' and girls' ranch outside Gallup. Where Earl was. He called Earl. It rang eight times and went to a recording. He called again. Same. He put the Jeep in gear and drove north.