“Bombings?” Ariel’s eyes widened as she edged closer to the cake to study it. “I didn’t hear about any bombings.”
“They happened seventeen years ago,” Roarke told her.
“Oh.”
“Here’s the church, and the rectory behind it,” Eve continued. “Deep in Soldado territory. The youth center—northwest of the church, but still in boundaries. Now, up here . . . What’s happened here, just a few blocks north of where the youth center was built? In that one-time hot zone.”
“What?” Ariel bent closer.
“Gentrification. Homes and properties, just hitting the edge of St. Cristóbal’s parish. A few were there before, the ones that held on during and after the Urbans. And in the last ten, twelve years, there’s more. Successful business owners and so on, settling here, cleaning it up, increasing its value. He’d see this every day. Somebody who lived here, crossed up and over to the center, visited parishioners—and bonded with the Ortiz family—would see this neighborhood, the houses, town homes, condos every day. He’d have seen them twenty years ago. He’d have seen that section every day. He wanted to keep it. He wanted more.”
“Seven Deadly Sins again,” Roarke commented.
“Huh?”
“Envy. In your face, day after day? You covet.”
“Yeah. Yeah. We’re hitting a lot of them. Got your lust, greed, pride, and now envy. Interesting.”
“I’m completely lost,” Ariel said, and brought Eve back to the moment.
“Sorry. Something just hit me, made me think about a case.” She straightened, but kept her gaze on the Upper East Side. “I think maybe we’ll take that slice out of the Lower West. SoHo looks good enough to eat.”
She ate cake, she drank champagne, and spent the better part of an hour doing her duty—and trying to keep at least part of her mind on the conversation. The minute their guests were out the door, Eve went back to the cake.
“Okay, so I need to hack this sector off and take it up to the office. It’s a good visual for—”
“Eve, for God’s sake, it’s cake. I can program you a holo-model of that sector in about twenty minutes. Probably less.”
Her brow furrowed. “You can? Oh. That would probably be better.”
“And involve less calories. But before I do . . .” He crooked his finger, then started toward the steps. “What’s the point?”
“I’m not sure, exactly. It was just looking down at it that way, different perspective. You can see, clearly, how the borders between gang turf ran, how they blended, putting certain areas in contention. And how the neighborhood’s changed. Where everything is. Church, rectory, youth center, the Ortiz home, the restaurant. Then
there’s Lino’s former apartment building. And I’m thinking about what Lino said to his mother, to Penny. He’d come back with a big car, have a big house. You can get a car anywhere, but the house—”
“Would have to be in the neighborhood. He can’t show it off unless it’s in the neighborhood. But, if he had a big house in the neighborhood, why was he living in the rectory?”
“I don’t know if he actually had it, or if he was just coveting it. But he was waiting for something. Years of waiting, deliberately on his home turf. If he sticks that long, and under those circumstances, doesn’t it follow he may have planned to stick for good?”
“The big house, the wealth, the importance, and the girl.” With a nod, Roarke strode down the hall with her. “And the ground you’ve always considered yours.”
“When he got what he was waiting for—and it has to be money, or something that leads to money—why leave again? He wasn’t here for shits and smiles. He had a purpose. I haven’t looked for it here, because I was going on the assumption he came here to hide. Maybe so, probably so.”
She pushed at her hair as they turned into her office. “Maybe so. But there could have been something here he was waiting for. Something he got to see every day, and feel smug about. That kept him going, kept him playing the part that had to squeeze at him.”
She paced around the murder board, thinking it through, working it out. “How much do you own on Grafton Street?”
She threw him for a moment, then he nodded slowly. “A bit of this, a bit of that. Yes, I wanted to have what I could only envy as a boy.”
“Rosa knew him, but made it clear he left them be—mostly. He liked old Mr. Ortiz, respected him. Envied, maybe, if we go back to the Deadlies, maybe.” She hooked her thumbs in her pockets, circling it in her mind as she’d circled the board.
“The Ortiz group is a big, tight family. Like a gang? They look out for each other, hold their territory. He gets close to them as Flores, marries them, buries them, visits them in their nice homes. The big house. He wants what they have. How does he get it?”
“Are you thinking he killed Hector Ortiz?”
“No, no, natural causes. I checked that through and through. And he respected Hector Ortiz. He, in his way, admired him. But the Ortizes, they aren’t the only ones with nice houses, with a big house, with ties to the church. I need to run some of the properties, just see, just play this line out and see. I could use that holo.”