Chapter 3 - THE LOCKET BECAME EVIDENCE
Cole did not hand the locket back.
Mateo expected to explode.
Instead, he forced himself to sit.
“What happens to it?”
“It gets documented.”
“That belongs to my daughter.”
“And she brought it into a secure facility and gave it to an inmate while saying it may relate to your case.”
“I’m her father.”
Cole’s expression did not change.
“In here, you’re also an inmate. I have procedures.”
Mateo hated him for being right.
Cole placed the photograph in a clear evidence sleeve.
The image was old and slightly faded.
Daniela sat at the kitchen table in the Vargas home.
Gabriel stood beside her.
Neither looked happy.
The photograph seemed to have been taken from the hallway.
On the back, written in Daniela’s handwriting, were four words:
Gabe came again. 10/14.
October 14.
The night she died.
Mateo’s chest tightened.
Gabriel had testified he had not been inside their house that month.
Mateo looked at Elena.
“Baby, who gave you the locket?”
She started crying.
The guard moved closer.
Cole raised one hand, stopping him.
“Elena,” Mateo said gently. “Nobody’s mad at you.”
“I found it.”
“Where?”
“Grandma’s sewing box.”
Rosa’s sewing box.
“When?”
“Last summer.”
“And Uncle Gabriel saw it?”
Elena nodded.
“What did he tell you?”
She swallowed.
“He said it was Mommy’s old junk.”
Mateo looked toward Cole.
Elena continued.
“He opened it. Then he got really mad.”
“Why?”
“He asked if I showed Grandma the picture.”
“Had you?”
“No.”
“What happened then?”
Elena twisted her cardigan.
“He told me if I loved Grandma, I’d never show anybody.”
Mateo felt something cold spread through him.
“That’s why you hid it?”
She nodded.
“Why bring it today?”
Elena stared at him.
“Because you keep asking me if I remember Mommy.”
Mateo closed his eyes.
He had never asked whether she remembered the murder.
Only her mother.
But to Elena, apparently, those memories had remained connected.
The visit ended.
Cole personally carried the locket away.
Before leaving, he stopped beside Mateo.
“You have counsel?”
“Post-conviction clinic at Northwestern took a look last year. They said there wasn’t enough.”
“Call them again.”
Mateo almost laughed.
“You think they’ll answer because of a kid’s necklace?”
Cole looked toward the evidence sleeve.
“No.”
He tapped the photograph.
“Because somebody testified he wasn’t there, and this says he was.”
May you like
Mateo watched his daughter disappear through the visitors’ exit.
For the first time in three years, hope frightened him more than prison did.
