Jonathan Kellerman - Breakdown

A thick-armed, white-haired man with a too-black mustache worked the counter at Armando’s. Off-hour, only one customer, an orange-vested city worker toting a hard hat and texting as he waited for a take-out order.

The place wasn’t much more than a kiosk, maybe a former pushcart deprived of wheels. Scant free space was filled with hand-lettered signage — breakfast, lunch, and dinner menus on wooden plaques hanging from chains. All that added up to iterations of the same basic food groups: meat, tortillas, beans, cheese — plus an impressive list of soft drinks from Mexico, Central America, a few from the U.S.

Terrific aroma wafting from the rear. One person working the grill and the oven.

When the hard hat left with a sack of massive burritos, Lorrie Mendez stepped up and took his place and spoke in Spanish to the front-man. He waved the cook over.

Maria Garcia stepped outside, wiping her hands on her apron. Her hair had grown out from the photo on the dresser, capping her full face with tight gray curls. She looked older than the photo had suggested, eyes and mouth struggling with gravity, meaty face weathered.

Under the apron, she wore a red-and-blue-plaid shirt and baggy jeans rolled into broad cuffs at the bottom. On her feet were wide, red-soled chukka boots.

Mendez said, “Hi, Maria. We’re the police about Alicia. What can you tell us?”

Maria Garcia’s narrow mouth quivered. She said, “Solamente Español?” in a high, plaintive voice.

Mendez stepped closer to her, forcing eye contact as she spoke.

Maria Garcia seemed to sink lower with each sentence. “Imelda Soriano” evoked a blank look but each mention of “Alicia” elicited a low moan. By the end of the detective’s delivery, she was sniffling and crying silently.

Mendez began asking questions. Garcia dabbed her eyes with her apron and answered without apparent guile. Haltingly at first, then picking up speed and passion and volume. But the tears never stopped trickling and when I retrieved paper napkins from the taqueria and handed them to her, she said, “Tenkyou.”

Milo and I know enough Spanish to get the gist but it’s often the nuances that matter and when Lorrie Mendez finally gave her card to Garcia and the woman trudged back to her station, we were ready to listen.

We walked back to the car but remained on the sidewalk.

Mendez took out her phone. “Sorry, can I do one thing, guys? That loser who came into the building was one of the s-bags I saw dealing in the park, might as well tell someone where he bunks out.”

Milo said, “Go for it.”

She made the call, hung up, said, “To me she seems totally torn up, what do you guys think?”

Milo said, “No tells that I spotted. Alex?”

“Same here.”

Mendez said, “We can all be fooled but for the time being I’m going to believe her. Her story is she loves Alicia and Alicia loves her, she’s never met anyone like Alicia, never will, they’re inseparable. She’s staying in the room and taking on all the rent by herself even though she can barely get by, because she’s hoping Alicia will show up. Said she even started praying again.”

Milo said, “As you were talking, she didn’t seem too optimistic.”

“She went up and down emotionally,” said Mendez. “One minute she’s in despair, the next Alicia’s bound to be on her way back from some unexplained ‘absence’ though Maria has no clue where or why. She says they’ve never been away from each other. I asked if Alicia could’ve visited her parents. Maria says no way, they’re intolerant rustic types — tenant farmers somewhere in central Mexico, Alicia never said exactly where.”

“They’re lovers and Alicia doesn’t tell her that? Why so secretive?” said Milo.

“According to Maria, Alicia’s estranged from her entire family because she moved away, supposedly to take a job, and also because they wanted her married off at sixteen. The real reason she left was she knew she was gay. So no way she’d go back there, let alone on the spur of the moment. No reason to, she was happy.”

I said, “Estranged from her family but she still keeps a picture of them. Maybe that’s denial on Maria’s part. Alicia going home could mean she was ending their relationship.”

“Good point, Doctor. Problem is, I’ve got no way to find them.”

Milo said, “Is Maria also a country girl?”

“She’s from a town south of Tecate. The two of them met in Tecate, cleaning rooms at a fancy spa. They fell in love and decided to take off together because they were hoping for more tolerance in the States. With all the machismo in Mexico, they were always getting hassled by local men.”

Milo said, “Both of them are illegal.”

“Yup. But I do believe Maria’s using her real name. Frankly, she doesn’t seem smart enough to weave a big-time web. She’s probably also righteous about phoning the station the day after Alicia didn’t come home. She admits that she spoke only in Spanish, got spooked and hung up without waiting for an answer. Happens all the time, no matter how often we tell them we don’t report to La Migra, they get nervous. But she spoke freely to me, so at this point, Alicia’s disappearance is overriding everything else.”

I said, “Sticking around and hoping for the best.”

“More like clinging to hope, Doctor. Down deep she’s got to know it’s not good. That’s certainly how I feel. Because like Imelda, Alicia was a homebody. Once she was in her room, she rarely went out, Maria even did all the shopping.”

Milo said, “So no reason for her to rabbit without explanation. Unless she and Maria had a big fight.”

“Maria denies it, just the opposite, claims they were getting along great. So now we’ve got two ladies working near each other who’ve slipped off the face of the earth around the same time.”

Milo said, “Right after Zelda Chase was found dead at one of their workplaces.”

“And the morning before Alicia disappeared, she told Maria she didn’t like her job anymore but wouldn’t say why. Maria didn’t push it, that was typical for Alicia. She didn’t like to talk. When Alicia was late coming home, Maria didn’t connect it to a job issue. Still doesn’t, she keeps talking about bad men all over the city.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“No, just a general feeling,” said Mendez. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s a rape survivor.”

I said, “When did she start worrying about Alicia not coming home?”

“Not right away because Alicia typically arrived late. Nine, even ten p.m., the commute could stretch out due to traffic, buses breaking down. Around eleven, Maria started to get concerned and tried to phone Alicia. Even then, when she couldn’t get through to Alicia’s phone, she figured Alicia was still on the bus, that’s why reception was bad. But by midnight, Maria’s freaking out because Alicia’s phone is turned off and that hadn’t happened before. Unfortunately, it’s one of those prepaids. Both women use them because they don’t have paperwork for normal accounts and that fleabag has no landlines. Around twelve-thirty, Maria went looking for Alicia on the street, starting with the area around the bus stop. She describes that night as ‘hell.’ The following morning she called the cops. She still walks around asking people if they’ve seen Alicia. I think if she admitted the truth to herself, she’d have a breakdown.”

I said, “Did she search in Bel Air?”

“Nope,” said Mendez. “She wanted to, but she has no idea where Alicia worked other than it’s near Beverly Hills. Her take on the city is pretty poor, I’m not sure she’s ever been west of Vermont. So what now?”

Milo said, “Good question.”

I said, “Something just hit me. Maria says she and Alicia never spent a night away from each other. She describes Alicia’s position as a day job. But Mrs. DePauw told us Alicia was with her in Palm Springs, had earned time off — as she usually did — because of the time it took to drive back to L.A. That sounds like a live-in position.”