Page 6 of Golden Girl
The Chief and Andrea don’t know the Howe woman personally, but they’re all locals, so the Chief knowsofher. Vivian Howe used to be married to JP Quinboro, who owns an ice cream parlor called the Cone on Old South Wharf. The Chief knows that Vivian Howe and JP Quinboro have three children. Their son just graduated from the high school; he played attack on the lacrosse team, and Ed used to see him written up in the newspaper. There are daughters too; one of them has been brought into the station a couple of times for minor infractions.
It’s life on an island. The Chief doesn’t—didn’t—knowVivian Howe, but he knows a lot about her. And she probably knew just as much, if not more, about him. Andrea said that one year, the plot of Ms. Howe’s novel came perilously close to the events of the summer when Andrea’s cousin Tess and her husband, Greg, were killed in a sailing accident. Andrea had read Ed a passage while he was falling asleep.
“Do you think she heard about Tess and Greg and used it in this book?” Andrea had asked. She’d sounded excited about the prospect rather than angry.
“Who called it in?” the Chief asks Dixon now.
“Cruz DeSantis,” Dixon says.
The Chief frowns. “How did he get involved?”
“He’s friends with the son of the deceased,” Dixon says. “He was on his way over to their house when he found Ms. Howe. He said at first he thought she’d twisted her ankle. He’s pretty shaken up.”
“Did he see anything?”
“They’re bringing him in for questioning,” Dixon says. “Falco was the responding. And here’s where things get uncomfortable, Chief. Falco says he saw DeSantis run the stop sign at the end of Hooper Farm Road and take off down Surfside going way too fast less than five minutes before the call came in. Falco said he nearly pulled DeSantis over, but he recognized the kid and decided to let him go.”
“So Falco thinks DeSantis hit the woman?” The Chief has known Cruz DeSantis since he was a toddler. Cruz’s father, Joe DeSantis, owns the Nickel, a sandwich shop that the Chief patronizes three (meaning four and sometimes five) days a week. Cruz is going to Dartmouth in the fall on an academic scholarship. The Chief stands up. “I’ll talk to him.”
“What?”
“I’ll do the questioning,” the Chief says. “Let me know as soon as we hear from the ME. I assume Falco secured the scene?”
“Yes,” Dixon says. “Forensics is on their way from the Cape.”
“Any other witnesses? Any joggers? Dog walkers? Cars driving by?”
“A couple pulled over after DeSantis stopped,” Dixon says. “But they weren’t there at the time of impact.”
“Neighbors?”
“Falco knocked on doors. Nobody saw anything.”
“Great,” the Chief says, meaning not great. “I’ll talk to the kid.”
Cruz DeSantis is tall, lanky, and Black; he wears his hair in a military-tight buzz cut. Joe, Cruz’s father, flew with the Eighty-Second Airborne in the second Persian Gulf War. Less than a year after Joe got home from Iraq, Joe’s wife was diagnosed with a rare, aggressive type of cancer, and she died shortly after, leaving Joe with a three-year-old to raise on his own. Joe has done a fine job with the young man, an extraordinary job, though when the Chief walks into the interview room, Cruz looks nothing like his usual self. He’s wearing jeans and a rumpled T-shirt that saysVIRGINITY ROCKS—maybe ironic, maybe not; Joe runs a pretty tight ship. Cruz’s expression is 90 percent devastation and 10 percentI don’t want to be here.Behind his glasses, his eyes are watering.
“Chief?” Cruz says, getting to his feet.
The kid looks so shook up that the Chief wants to give him a hug but instead he indicates that Cruz should sit. “Did anyone offer you something to drink? Water? Coffee?”
“I can’t. I don’t want…” Cruz collapses in the chair and clutches his head. “Vivi isdead. She’s…” He swallows. “She’s dead.”
“Okay, okay,” the Chief says. He wonders if he made a mistake deciding to do this interview himself. He’s never had a problem separating his personal and professional lives, but the Chief holds Joe in very high esteem and he has grown fond of this kid and rooted for him to succeed. “Just take a couple deep breaths. I know you’re upset. A lot of people are going to be sad when this news gets out. It’s my responsibility to try and figure out what happened.” The Chief eases into the seat across the table from Cruz. “Let’s start with what you remember about finding Ms. Howe.”
“Vivi,” Cruz says. “She’s like my second mom. Leo and I are…well, we’ve been best friends since preschool. And Vivi…she jokes that I’m her favorite child. I have, like, my own seat at their dinner table. And Vivi bought a Christmas stocking with my name on it that she hangs on the mantel.” Cruz chokes up. “I feel like Ibelongat that house. Like I’m part of the family. Not because I’m some motherless kid she feels sorry for but because she…lovesme.”
“I’m sorry, son.” The Chief picks up his pen. “You were headed to the Howe residence when you found her? At seven fifteen in the morning?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Early visit for a Saturday,” the Chief says.
Cruz drops his head onto the table and starts crying. The Chief gives him a minute, then says, “Where were you exactly when you first saw Ms. Howe? Walk me through it.”
“I was coming from my house so I took that soft left onto Kingsley and I saw…a person, Vivi, lying on the ground. She was almost to the bike path but not quite. I thought she’d hurt herself,” Cruz says. “I knew right away it was her. She runs that road every single morning. I thought she’d sprained her ankle so I pulled over and hopped out. And when I reached her, I saw…it was bad. I called 911.”
“Wait,” the Chief says. “Let’s go back. You were coming fromyourhouse? You’re sure about that?”
