46. Hugo
Chapter 46
Hugo
Since I told Mallory everything about my dream in the middle of the night, I've been unable to think of little else. It has consumed my morning. I wish I could travel back in time, shake my younger self. Is it possible my dad's killer has been living in my memories all this time?
"Hey," Claudette says, stepping into my office. "My dad asked if you can call him when you get a chance. He thinks he might've remembered something."
I perk up, reaching for the phone.
Claudette's outstretched arm has me pausing. "Keep in mind, my dad might not be the most reliable source of information."
"Thank you for the heads-up," I tell her. Even if that's true, like Mallory said, the smallest, most insignificant detail can be consequential.
Jimmy Esteban answers on the fourth ring.
"Hugo," he says, in lieu of hello . "I was hoping you'd be able to call me soon. I had a memory, and at my age, you never know how long those will last."
I breathe a laugh. "Hit me with it."
"The redhead guy. Your dad said he was there trying to buy land, and he wasn't taking no for an answer. But when it came time for him to be questioned by the police, he told them he was an employee. Only reason I know that is because the detective let it slip. Not Towles, the other one who retired and moved to Alaska. "
"Hmm," I answer, because I'm not sure what to say.
"Here's the thing, Hugo. I don't think he wanted to buy land. I think your dad was just saying that."
"Why would he do that?" Last night's dream comes back to me. The same as it always is, the words never changing.
I told you no.
You don't have a choice. He's in charge now .
There is always a choice.
What does it all mean?
"I think your dad was trying to keep somebody from doing something on his land. With his business."
I spend a moment absorbing that before asking, "Do you mean money laundering?"
"I don't know what I'm implying, exactly. But I know"—he pauses—" knew your dad. There was no way he was going to let anything illegal happen. Assuming that's what the red-haired guy was there for."
"Why didn't my dad go to the police?"
"Maybe he was silenced before he could. Or maybe he didn't feel like they could help him. "
I think back to Detective Towles showing up at my house, case file in hand. The redacted name, and how Mallory pointed out the age of the ink didn't match the age of the document.
He's in charge now . I've never focused on those words before, never given them consideration. They press at me now, demanding closer examination.
I shift my weight, lightly brushing two knuckles over the desk as I think. "Mayor Rooney was the mayor at the time my dad was killed, right?"
"Yes, I believe so."
Thoughts turn over in my mind, rapid and hard to decipher.
My dad is dead, and then what? For what? Who benefits?
"Thank you, Mr. Esteban. You've given me a lot to think about."
We say goodbye and hang up. My mind races, flitting through everything Mallory and I have learned.
At this point, there is only one person I can think to call.