Sacrifice Fly by Tim O'Mara

his belt.
    “You are from Francisco’s school,” he said.
    “I’m his teacher.”
    He nodded. “Senora Santos told me you were here yesterday looking for Francisco. It
     was you who found Mr. Rivas?”
    “How did you know that?”
    “The detective who came by last evening—Detective Royce—mentioned it. That must have
     been quite a shock for you.”
    “You could say that.”
    He gave me a sympathetic smile. “Unfortunately, there is no new information regarding
     Francisco or his sister. And now”—he placed his hand on Mrs. Santos’s shoulder—“to
     add to her miseries, her apartment has been violated.”
    Elsa’s mother whispered something to Frankie’s grandmother, and again the two women
     shook their heads. I took a quick look around the room. I’d never been inside the
     apartment, but everything looked pretty much the way I guessed it should. There was
     an oxygen tank in the corner of the living room, the same snake and white cross on
     its side.
    “Was anything taken?” I asked Mrs. Santos, but she was not looking at me, so Elijah
     Cruz answered.
    “She does not believe so.”
    “I didn’t notice any damage to the front door. Who else has a key to the apartment?”
    Cruz translated my question for Mrs. Santos.
    “Solamente Francisco … y Johnny ,” she said to Cruz just above a whisper.
    “Her grandson and the super,” Cruz told me.
    Mrs. Santos looked at me and for the first time since I’d entered her home, addressed
     me directly.
    “You no think Frankie came home and not tell me?” she asked.
    “No,” I said, noticing all the eyes in the room on me now. “I don’t think anything.
     It’s just a routine question.” Shit, Ray. Could you sound more like a cop?
    “He no come home without telling me,” Mrs. Santos said to Elsa’s mother. “Imposible.”
    She started to breathe a bit heavier, and Elsa’s mother went to the corner of the
     living room and wheeled over the oxygen tank. She took the opportunity to throw a
     distrustful look my way before she handed the blue mask to Mrs. Santos, who took it
     and placed it over her nose and mouth. As I watched her breathing, Elijah Cruz took
     me by the arm.
    “Perhaps we should talk outside, Mr. Donne.”
    “Yeah,” I said. “Maybe we should.” I gave Elsa a look and motioned with my head toward
     the front door. She nodded and mouthed, “Thank you.”
    When we got to the hallway, we were met by a gray-haired man in a blue denim shirt
     with the name JOHNNY written on it in gold script. He placed his toolbox on the floor, took Cruz by the
     hands, and held them.
    “Johnny,” Cruz said. “Thank you for coming so quickly. I am very grateful. As is Senora
     Santos. This is Mr. Donne.”
    “Mucho gusto,” Johnny said, shaking my hand.
    “I’m impressed,” I said. “It takes me a week to get my super to return my phone calls.”
    Johnny smiled. “Senor Cruz, he call. I am not too busy. I come.”
    Elijah Cruz put his hand on Johnny’s shoulder.
    “Johnny is a member of the church, Mr. Donne. We look out for each other.”
    “Si,” Johnny said.
    “Let us leave you to your work, Johnny,” Cruz said.
    “ Mucho gusto, Senor Donne.” Johnny picked up his toolbox, gave us a smile, and stepped over to
     the door to get to his work.
    “I apologize for Senora Santos, Mr. Donne,” Cruz said. “She is very tired and very
     upset. The police, the newspapers. And now”—he pointed to where Johnny was crouched
     down removing the old lock—“this.”
    “Where was she when the break-in occurred?” I asked.
    Cruz smiled and said, “Detective Royce said you were a police officer once.” He paused.
     “The church. Las Mujeres —our women’s group—meets Wednesday afternoons. It is as much a prayer group as it
     is an opportunity for the women to share time and food with each other.”
    “I’m confused,” I said. “You work at the church, Mr. Cruz?”
    “No, I would not say that. I am a parishioner, like