Frank murmured, "I take it you two don't get along."
"Truth is, Detective, there was a time when I loved my sister, but that time has long since passed. She chose her path and I chose mine. We went our separate ways many a year ago but I still pray for her. I pray for that girl every day."
"Mind if I look in here?" Frank asked at the armoire.
"Help yourself."
She pushed aside a few hangers, some neatly pressed pants and button-downs, a gray suit, a blazer, some winter jackets. A very ordinary closet. Bending to look at some little pellets scattered around a jumble of hightops and a dusty pair of dress shoes, she asked, "What do you pray for your sister?"
"I pray that she returns to the Lord. To the one and true God."
Frank wasn't surprised that the pellets were rice grains. Dealers used rice to keep their powders from solidifying, just like rice in a salt shaker. Frank checked the pockets in Danny's clothes, finding nothing. Not even lint. She was sure Mrs. Duncan turned Danny's pockets inside out before she washed his clothes, and being a smart boy he'd make damn sure there was nothing in them. The rice had probably spilled out of one of his hightops.
"Which god is she with now?" Frank asked, pointing at the bureau. "May I?"
Mrs. Duncan nodded impatiently. She looked like she was trying to contain herself, then she burst out, "Crystal is with no god!"
Frank's hand expertly fished through Danny's folded underwear and paired socks, while she kept an eye on his mother, thinking she might start crying. Instead Mrs. Duncan stamped her foot and grabbed her lips in her palm, hissing, "She's in league with Satan.”
Mrs. Duncan's histrionics amused Frank but she pretended concern.
"How do you mean?" She frowned, her fingers sliding against something cool and slick under a stack of T-shirts. Frank hid the drawer with her back and lifted the shirts. A Hustler and a Maxim.
"I mean that girl is evil. She got the call. Ever since my great-great Grandmother Green, at least one child in every generation has had the call. It was clear right off that Crissie had it. And she used it for her own ends, soon as she figured out how. I love my mother but I curse her for encouraging that dark seed in Crissie."
"What do you mean she uses it for her own ends?"
"To get her way. To get what she wants. It's always been that way. Only now she calls it santeria, claims it's a perfectly legitimate religion. Huh," she snorted, "just cause a thing's legal don't make it right. No matter what sort of fancy cloth you dress it in, it's still witchcraft. Plain and simple. She brags she's the most well-known priestess of that devil worship this side of New Orleans. And she got my boy involved in that foolishness. You want to know who killed my son, Detective? My sister did. Plain as you're standing in front of me, my sister did, God help me."
"Are you saying she cut his throat?"
Mrs. Duncan stamped her foot again. In frustration or anguish, Frank couldn't tell, but she went on in a hushed voice, as if someone might be listening to them.
"I'm saying she's directly responsible for him straying from the Lord's path. If Daniel had followed in God's footsteps the way he was raised to, he'd be alive today. But my sister tempted him with material goods, Detective. She tempted him with gods that like women and liquor. And that's not all. She prays to those gods and she made my son bow to them too, and this is what comes of it, my son stretched out in a funeral parlor, barely twenty-six."
Frank nodded. Danny's mother hadn't been holding anything back, so Frank asked bluntly, "What kind of work did Daniel do for your sister?"
"I don't know anything about that," she said, her face rigid with pain. Frank guided her into the easy chair. She perched next to her at the foot of the bed and launched into her good-cop routine.
"I can't imagine your grief, Mrs. Duncan. But I am sorry for it. I've been working in this neighborhood for eighteen years and I've seen the damage your sister's done. She's untouchable, Mrs. Duncan. Maybe it's those gods she prays to, I don't know. Whatever it is, we've never been able to stop her. She keeps dealing her drugs and kids keep dying. Good kids. Kids like Danny who started off right, and had dreams and aspirations until they met up with your sister. I want to stop her, and I know you do too. It's too late to save your son, Mrs. Duncan, but maybe we can stop other mothers from going through what you're going through."
Tears slid down Mrs. Duncan's cheeks as she tried explaining, "My son was a good boy, Detective. He never meant anybody no harm. I raised him right, I swear I did. But he just fell in with that sister of mine. I warned him about running with her. But he wouldn't listen. I don't know what he was up to with her, but I know it wasn't good. I haven't talked to Crystal in seven years. My other sister's always talking to her. But I wouldn't. I couldn't. Not with her running with the devil like she does. Maybe Jessie could help you. I just don't know."
She daubed at her face with a wadded tissue, whispering, "Excuse me," then bolted from the garage.
Frank sighed, checking under the mattress and bed frame, under the rug and on top of the armoire, around the tools and potting soil in the garage side. Nothing. Retracing her steps to the kitchen, she stepped through the back door, bending an ear to the living room.
Lewis was saying, "Let me ask you something here, off the record. Between you and me, you see, I know and you know what your aunt does for a living. So it seems strange to me that this boy would be off getting involved with some Nicaraguans he don't even know. I mean if he wants to get into that line of business, it would seem to me he'd be working with his auntie, you know what I'm saying? Why your brother be working with strangers, you know?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Girl, please," Lewis chuckled good-naturedly. "I didn't fall off the turnip truck yesterday, n'mean? I ain't no outsider don't know chitlin' from chicken. Everybody know about your auntie. I been hearing Mother this and Mother that since I was this high, n'mean?"
Frank couldn't see Lewis holding her hand above the floor.
"You can tell me, girl. What was goin' on between Danny and your auntie?"
There was a pause. The stiff plastic creaked, and Lewis uttered something quietly.
Finally Kim admitted, "He hustled for her for years. He started spotting corners, then running them. But lately Danny was real unhappy with Aunt Crystal. He said that he took all the risk but didn't get none of the reward. He said he was tired of being treated like a little nappy-headed nigger."
There was a smile in Kim's voice as she added, "He'd carry on something about how Aunt Crystal didn't treat him any better than a slave. He used to call her the White Master, and there was some truth to that. Aunt Crystal always be thinking she better than most folks."
"Is that why Danny wanted to break away from her?"
Frank winced at Lewis's bluntness and the next thing she heard was Lewis asking, "With Echevarria and Hernandez?"
Lewis kept giving Kim answers when she should have been keeping them to work with.
"But I'm not real clear about it all. I didn't really want to know too much about it. You might want to talk to my Aunt Jessie. Danny was pretty tight with her. He'd go hang at her place when Mama got mad at him. But she never stayed mad long. He could always charm his way out of trouble."
Not this time, Frank thought, while Lewis asked about Carrillo.
"I think they were getting the coke from him. He was bringing it up from Mexico or something. I'm not sure."