Page 20 of Delusional

“Okay.” I showed her my badge and said, “There’s no issue, really. We just needed to talk to someone who was in class here. He’s been cooperative.”

Jeannie looked past me to the bench. “Then why is he crying?”

Before I could answer, the security guard held up her hand. She looked over her shoulder to make sure the loudmouth wasn’t anywhere close by. “Dr. Lemm is a whack job. He teaches political science. He’s already on probation for trying to spray our ROTC cadets with a hose.” She shook her head. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. But Dr. Lemm is watching, so I’m going to make this look good.”

I was a little confused when she started pointing dynamically toward the parking lot. When she spoke again, her voice was still calm and pleasant. “I’m so sorry that pinhead bothered you. I know you’re only trying to do your job. Is there anything I can help you with?” She finished it by stamping her feet and vigorously shaking her head.

I had to bite my lip not to laugh out loud. I managed to get out, “No, we’re good.” I played along, hanging my head like I had been chastised.

The security guard said, “Oh, that is a really nice touch.” She stomped dramatically away, then turned back toward me for a moment and said, “Have a blessed day.”

CHAPTER 22

AFTER SPEAKING TO him, Maggie and I felt confident eliminating Jimmy Pinter from our suspect list. It was clear the guy had had nothing to do with the bombing at the Office of Technology. I was sorry to leave him more upset than we’d found him. That was never my goal when conducting interviews. Grief was hard enough without a cop stirring up shit on a case like this.

I turned to Maggie and said, “I feel like it’s no coincidence to find ourselves in Queens with a little free time.”

Maggie asked, “What do you mean?”

“We keep bringing up the bombing that killed Sergeant Rose Vega, but aside from reading the file carefully, I don’t have a feel for the crime itself. Or the crime scene. Or her family. I know the neighborhood is not too far from here. How’d you feel about visiting and seeing if anyone’s home?”

Maggie considered the suggestion. “You’re right. A tough assignment, but it has to be done.”

Sergeant Vega’s house was in what I considered a nice, quiet, typical Queens neighborhood. Mostly single- or two-family houses, small Tudors and colonials in brick or siding. Not a lot of traffic. I could tell that in the summer the trees would provide nice shade for families that were lucky enough to live in an area like this. I could picture kids playing hide-and-seek or tag on the wide sidewalks.

It wasn’t hard to recognize the house we were looking for. I didn’t know if it had to do with the investigation, but I was a little surprised the area hadn’t been cleaned up completely in the months since the explosion. The remnants of a melted and distorted carport were still evident next to the house, the support posts rising into the air like old, arthritic fingers. There were no plants or grass near where the explosion and fire had taken place. It had to be a grim reminder to Sergeant Vega’s family.

A minivan was parked in the driveway. I took that as an opportunity to talk to whoever was at home.

Maggie and I made our way up the front walkway slowly, purposefully hoping to give whoever was inside a chance to see us. The plan worked and we were met at the front door by a man in his mid-thirties, dressed in blue surgical scrubs, holding a beautiful toddler girl in his arms.

We introduced ourselves, and he verified he was Armando Vega, Sergeant Vega’s husband. He invited us inside and put the little girl down for a nap. He explained that he had to head into work in a little while, and his mother would come over to watch the kids.

He had a sort of dazed look to him. Even though it’d been five months since his wife’s death, he was a guy barely hanging on. I understood completely. I had been there too, when my first wife died.

I let Maggie take the lead with her more technical questions about what had happened. She began by asking about the police cruiser.

Armando told us, “Rose would bring her cruiser home occasionally if she had a special assignment early in the morning.”

“Did she always park it in the driveway?”

He nodded, then took us through what had happened that morning. “I kissed Rose good-bye at the back door and watched her walk to her car. The kids were running through the kitchen to try and see her one more time when she opened the door to her patrol car.”

The dark-haired man in blue scrubs had to pause. He leaned down and placed his forehead in his hands. This wasn’t easy and we weren’t going to push. Finally, he looked up and said, “That was it. There was this huge flash. The heat knocked me back, and I was barely conscious enough to grab the kids before they kept running out the door. When I got back on my feet, there was nothing but a giant wall of flames.” He stopped again to catch his breath.

Maggie asked, “Did you hear anything at all prior to the blast? Like a scraping or scratching sound?”

Armando slowly shook his head. “There might have been a… pop. But I don’t really know. Everything was a blur. Everything is still a blur.”

We spoke for a few more minutes. Armando Vega looked at us and said, “Who would do something like this? Rose helped people. What would killing her achieve?”

I didn’t answer because I didn’t have an answer.

CHAPTER 23

ONCE WE WERE back outside in front of the Vega house, I took a moment to look up and down the street. I focused on each house for a moment. They were all similar sorts of homes. Many of them were obviously from the same builder. None particularly stood out to me.

Maggie understood I was doing something. She just didn’t know what.