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Now I am, I thought. “I’m very interested in what happened here. You mentioned to Millie and to me, just now, that your impression was of kids. How young?”
“Young teens. I didn’t get a good look at them—they were in and out so quickly, and when we looked at the security tape—it’s stationary and focused on the cash register—we only saw them from the back. They didn’t go for the register, just came in and knocked stuff around. We called the police immediately. Maybe that’s why they left in a hurry. But they didn’t have to break our display. It was an antique, been in the diner since my grandparents opened the place nearly seventy years ago, more a conversation piece than anything. We were so upset about it.”
“And you think young teens? Fourteen, fifteen?”
“Like I said, I didn’t clearly see their faces. But the way they moved, laughed—they laughed and mocked Mr. Gomez, one of our regulars, when he confronted them. I felt they were teenagers, probably around fourteen. One may have been a little older. They were having fun being destructive, as if that was their primary purpose.”
“Did you think they were on drugs?”
She considered, then said, “Now that you mention it, they may have been high. Giggly, you know? Not hard drugs—I’ve seen enough addicts and how they act.”
“In the weeks leading up to the vandalism, did you have any other trouble? Maybe a dine and dash? Loitering out front? Did you report teenagers using drugs? Anything unusual?”
She was shaking her head to each of my questions, and I feared my theory was wrong.
What theory? I just had a vague idea about the motive of these three kids and not much more.
Other than I was ninety percent positive that Henry Diaz was one of the three and his friends from today were the other two.
Julia said, “We started closing earlier because of the increase in crime. We’ve had to call the police a few times to roust homeless people sleeping in our doorway and once, in our dumpster. And we’ve shooed away panhandlers a few times. But we also donate our extra food to the homeless shelter three blocks from here, and I’ve given away my body weight in free coffee every year since my sister and I took over the diner. It’s just become more difficult over the last few years.”
I pulled out my phone and showed her the list of businesses I’d compiled from crime blogs and news reports of similar crimes in this area. “Do you recognize any of these businesses?”
“Why yes—almost all of them. They were all vandalized?”
“Or robbed, eight in the last month since Christmas. I think it’s the same three teenagers. Do you think you could talk to the people you do know, pool your collective memories? You might come up with information that can help the police. Then call the detective in charge of your case. Do you remember the name?”
“I have his card.” She walked behind the counter and reached into a small drawer. “Detective Tomas Villines.”
“Can I see the card?”
She turned it to me, and I took a picture of it. Villines was part of the robbery squad of the Violent Crimes Bureau. “I might want to follow up with him,” I told her. Especially since Ambrose wasn’t returning my call.
“I’ll start making calls right now.” Julia seemed pleased to be proactive. “If I hear anything important, I’ll let you know.”
“And you should let the detective know about any new information. I can investigate, but I can’t arrest anyone.”
I called Scotty and told him I’d be a few minutes late for work, then I called Jack. His phone went to voicemail, so I left a message asking if he knew Villines with Robbery, and could he maybe give him a heads-up that I’d be calling him. Then I headed to Henry’s foster care home on 11th Avenue, just north of West Campbell and the canal. Licensed for six foster kids, no infants. Sophia and Henry had been in the home for two years, from when their mother went to prison until last summer, when Sophia moved to the all-girls house. Sergio had the exact date in his notes, but hadn’t indicated why she’d moved. Based on my conversation with her, she much preferred the new home.
Andy called me when I was almost to Henry’s.
“Hey,” I said.
“I haven’t heard from you in two days.”
“I’ve been working.”
“Do you have anything?”
He sounded almost desperate.
I didn’t want to share my theory because I could be wrong, and I didn’t want Andy to get slapped down if this all exploded in our faces. But technically, he was my client, and I couldn’t just avoid answering questions like I did with my brother.
“Do you remember when Sergio mentioned other robberies during his first interview?”
“Yes.”
“I dug into those. They were mostly vandalism and petty theft. The consensus is that the robberies were committed by three teenage boys, two taller, one shorter—just like the Cactus Stop. The MO is the same, the only difference is that someone died. I think if you compare the security footage from the earlier robberies with the Cactus Stop you’ll find that the three suspects are the same.”
