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However, my bikini didn’t quite cover the tat. A year after I’d gotten the ink, I was on leave for a month at home and swimming in the backyard. I climbed out to my mother standing there on the edge of the pool in her classy black one-piece swimsuit, mouth in a thin, disapproving line.
She said something to the effect of when I had kids the wings would turn into a black blob. My dad was disappointed. Then later, in private, he said, “While I would prefer you didn’t mar your beautiful skin with ink, I’m glad you chose the wings. Nothing is more important than family, and I’m proud of you and the woman you’ve grown into.”
Then he smiled and said, “If you get another tattoo, put it on your ass so your mother never sees it.”
My dad was the best.
I watched as Sergio crossed the room and sat across from me. He was clean-cut, no scars, no attitude, just wary with a hint of confusion in his expression.
“Hi, Sergio. I’m Margo Angelhart, a private investigator.”
He shrugged. “Okay.”
I’d thought of a lot of ways I could handle this conversation, but didn’t know which would be the most productive. I didn’t think putting on my stern military police persona would work, nor did I think playing the softie would get me anywhere. Besides, I didn’t do “softie” well. Even before the Army, I was a bit of a hard-ass.
I wanted to rattle Sergio but wasn’t quite sure what would work best. I sensed his family was important—maybe the most important thing in his life—but didn’t want to push too hard for fear he’d clam up.
“I talked to Antonio Perez. He’s friends with my family.” Mostly the truth. “He’s upset and confused by your confession. Said he would never have believed that you would rob and kill anyone and surprised you confessed to such a violent crime.”
“I did it,” he said, slightly defiant. “Did you see the video? That’s my hoodie. I did it.”
“He had nothing but good things to say about you and your ethics. How responsible you are. He entrusted you with his business.”
Sergio frowned, looked at his hands. “What do you want? I said I was sorry. I didn’t mean to do it, and I’m willing to take my punishment.”
“Maybe if you explain to me why, I can explain it to him.”
Sergio shrugged. “I made a mistake. It just happened. I snapped.”
All three sounded like weak excuses.
“I watched the security video from the store. The shooter doesn’t look like you.”
He snorted. “They played the video for me. I told you I did it. Why would I say I killed a man if I didn’t?”
Why indeed.
“Did you tell Sophia and Henry you killed a man? Do they even know you’ve been arrested?”
Anger flashed across his face and he glared at me, his muscles tense and ready to pounce. “Do not talk about my family,” he said through gritted teeth, his fists clenched as he leaned forward.
I didn’t react. “Relax, Sergio. I don’t want you to get in trouble with the guards. You’ve been a model prisoner, and that will help you if you keep up this lie.”
“What lie? I’m not lying.” He sounded defensive.
“You care about your family. You’ve been working to get custody of your brother and sister. I don’t think that someone who has been fighting so hard to be guardian of two teenagers would kill a man for a hundred bucks and cigarettes.”
He stayed silent.
“I watched your police interviews. You said you didn’t kick over a display the week before the murder. I believe you. So why did the clerk lie and say you did something you didn’t? And that wasn’t the employee who was killed. I think a lot more is going on than you told the police.”
“I lied,” Sergio said. “I did it. I kicked the display.”
“What was in the display?”
His brows furrowed. “What?”
“What display did you kick over because you were two dollars short?”
