"Yeah. Long day. Hey."

Annie looked at her.

"Thanks for everything."

"Forget about it. I'm happy. I closed a case, right?"

"Right. Sleep well."

"Yeah, you too. Sweet dreams, huh?"

"Back at you."

Frank was left with dinner as cold as her anger.

CHAPTER 42.

"I know you've got a busy day but I need five minutes of your time."

Cammayo protested, "I've already told you and Detective Silvester everything I know."

Frank squashed her irritation. "Telling me everything I want to know would take months. All I want is five minutes."

Cammayo bowed his head. He opened the door and Frank entered the familiar apartment. Seeing her, Cammayo's roommate retreated from the living room. Cammayo switched off the TV.

Frank said, "Tell me about Pablo."

"What about him?"

"Anything. Everything. What was he like? What was his favorite color? Did he have a nickname? Did he like baseball? Football? Everything."

"He liked baseball. He was a Yankees fan. I don't know his favorite color. I do know he was good boy and I wonder every day what kind of man he would have been. If he could have kicked the dope."

"You say that like you know he's dead."

"I'm under no illusions, Detective. I know the kind of junkie my brother was. I know the odds of him being dead by now. But you asked what he was like. He was kind. That's what I remember most. He could be stern and sometimes he hit us but never without a reason. He punished to teach a lesson. But mostly he was affectionate. I remember my sister hugging him all the time. My younger brother, too. He'd sit with them on either side of him, an arm around each child. He smiled a lot and laughed. Pablo laughed like birds singing. I always envied him. I never saw humor in the world the way Pablo did. He was kind. He had a gentle soul. That's why it was easy to keep his secret all these years. He was easy to help. If you knew him, you'd want to help him. He was like that. A very kind young man. Very giving."

Frank took an unoffered chair and Cammayo perched on the sofa.

"How old was he when he started using?"

Cammayo frowned. "I was twelve so he must have been sixteen. I tried to get him to stop but he'd just laugh and tell me not to worry. Which of course I couldn't do, so I prayed for him. I prayed for all of us. With our father pa.s.sed on, Pablo was the head of the household. My mother worked two, sometimes three jobs, so you see, it was Pablo who raised us. Until the drugs became more important and then it was my turn to wear our father's shoes."

"Is that why he came to you that last night?"

"I suppose. And he knew I'd help him. I loved Pablo. I'd do anything for him."

"And you did. For a long time."

"Yes."

"I never had a brother or sister," Frank volunteered, "but if I loved them I'd have probably done the same thing."

"Maybe, maybe not. We're all different. I wrestled with my conscience a long time. For me, in the end, blood was thicker than water. It's ironic."

"How so?"

"I wanted to be a priest so I would be freed from all corporal attachments yet I am bound to my brother by this invisible chain."

"And you never told anyone?"

"Only G.o.d."

"Why didn't you tell?"

"The better to protect him. I chose the lie that he owed a dealer money. It was certainly believable. It explained why he left in such a hurry and it protected him from harmful speculation. It was easily a.s.sumed he was in trouble over drugs and that was what I wanted everyone to think."

"Where do you think he might have gone?"

"He didn't have any money. I managed to find a little over twenty dollars but I imagine that was quickly used on dope. He couldn't have gone far. I remember he said he might go to Panama and that he'd call me. But of course he never did."

"What's in Panama?"

"Our grandparents were there. Our mother and father were from Panama City. They came to the United States when Pablo was seven. My mother always talked of going back..."

"Of everyone in your family, who do you think Pablo was closest to?"

"My mother. Well, before that, my father. I know it was hard on him. He didn't laugh a long time after my father died. None of us did, but with Pablo you noticed such a thing."

"So if he was closest to his mother why didn't he go to her that night? Why didn't he ask her for help?"

Cammayo shrugged, stared at the carpet. "Because he knew I'd help him. That I'd do whatever he asked. I don't think he wanted to hurt my mother any more than he already had. The drugs hurt her. He'd beg money from her and when she finally realized where it went each time, no matter how elaborate the story, she finally stopped giving it to him. Then he'd steal it. She had to hide whatever she had from him."

"He was still living at home with you and your family, so what was he doing in the East Village that night? Why so far away?"

"I couldn't tell you. There were many nights Pablo didn't come home. More nights than not."

"Did he have a girlfriend?"

Cammayo smiled for the first time. "For a while he went with a beautiful girl named Alma. She was very quiet, very shy. Everyone called her Conejo-that means rabbit in Spanish. She was just like one. Soft and shy." His smile faded. "She started using when Pablo did. I heard she died about a year after he left. She was pregnant and went into premature labor, but the baby was crooked or something. It wouldn't come out right and she died in labor. Her heart stopped. I heard she weighed eighty-five pounds when she died."

Frank couldn't help comment, "For such a kind young man your brother sure spread a lot of misery."

"Satan comes in many guises, Detective. For our family he came in the form of white powder. I wish you could have met him before the drugs. You couldn't have helped but like him. Ask anyone. He was a good person until the drugs took him."

"Drugs don't take people. People take drugs." Hearing the hypocrisy in her anger she changed the subject. "What did he take with him when he left? Besides money."

"Nothing. He came in through the fire escape. I knew because the window was open and all the cold air was blowing in. Then he left the same way after I gave him the money."

"Why didn't he use the door?"

"I don't know. Maybe he heard the TV on and didn't want my mother to see him."

"Who was watching TV?"

"My mother had it on. She was asleep on the couch with my sister."

"So who else saw Pablo that night?"

"n.o.body. Just me."

"What did he look like?"

Cammayo closed his eyes. "Scared. Sick. Junkie sick. He was sweating and shaking. He smelled. He was dirty. He was sick."

"What was he wearing?"

"I don't know. Dark clothes, maybe. I can't remember. Nothing stands out."

"How was he wearing his hair?"

"I don't know. He had a cap on. A ski cap."

"Anything unusual about his face?"

"Yes," Cammayo answered right away. "His eye was swollen almost shut."

"Which one?"

Cammayo touched his face. "The right one."

"From top to bottom, tell me everything you remember about that night."

Cammayo cooperated. His story was consistent with his statement. Unwavering. Frank had hoped to find some inconsistencies and her frustration turned to anger.

"Do you think your brother loved you?"

"What does this have-"

Holding up a palm, Frank interrupted, "Yes or no. Did Pablo love you?"

"Yes."

"And his mother?"

"Yes."

"And his sister and his other brother."

"Of course."

"Then explain to me, how in all this time, your brother hasn't once contacted you or Flora or your mother or Edmundo. Can you explain that?"

"No. I can't."

"You must have wondered about it."

"Every day," he admitted.

"So what's your best guess?"

"I already told you. My brother was a junkie. He's probably been dead a long time. I hate the idea but I take a pitiful comfort in it."

"How so?"

Cammayo shrugged. "I hate that his life was wasted on poison. He was a wonderful young man. He was kind and generous and he loved to make people laugh. I hate to think the gift of his life was taken so early. But then I find comfort in that as an explanation for his absence and silence. Surely death could be the only thing keeping him from us. If he were alive he would certainly have reached out to one of us by now. I like to think it would be me. That he trusted me before he left, and that he would trust me again. That he would know how well I'd kept his secret. For all these years. Until you came along."

"Tell me about Leavenworth."

"Leavenworth," Cammayo repeated.

Frank lied, "Pablo called you from there. We have the phone records."

"You have phone records of Pablo calling from Leavenworth}"

She nodded. "What did he want?"

Cammayo was either completely dumbfounded or a great actor. The way he held Frank's stare indicated the former. "Pablo was in Leavenworth?"

"What did he want?' Frank asked again.

Cammayo sputtered. "When was this?"

"You're telling me you don't know?"

"Of course I don't know. He never called me from anywhere. I've told you! I haven't heard from him since he left. When was he in Leavenworth?"

"You tell me."

"I don't know!" Cammayo bolted off the couch. "Why are you doing this? For G.o.d's sake, woman, when was he there?"