Page 65 of Den of Iniquity

“You’re the man Yolanda Aguirre said might be calling about Xavier?”

“Yes, I am. I’m looking into several overdose deaths that may have been mishandled. I’m wondering if that might also be true in your husband’s case.”

“Thank God,” she murmured fervently. “Maybe someone will finally believe me.”

“I’m hoping someone will believe me, too,” I told her. “I’m finding that the cases in question have several things in common.”

“Like what?”

“Prior to their deaths, all the victims were involved in numerous domestic violence situations in which calls were made to 911.”

“I definitely made some of those,” Felicity admitted. “When I called, though, I simply wanted Xavier out of the house long enough to sober up. I never wanted him arrested because I didn’t want him to lose his job. But like I told the cops, my husband may have been a drunk, but he never used drugs. And he wouldn’t have killed himself, either.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Xavier hardly ever went to Mass, but he was raised Catholic, and he would never, ever have committed suicide. Even though I had filed for a divorce, he wouldn’t have done that.”

“So you had filed?”

“Yes,” she said. “I had to. The last time we got in a fight, he hit me so hard, he broke my nose. My daughter was seven at the time, and she called 911. That’s when I made up my mind. I couldn’t let my kids grow up seeing their father act that way. That very day I went to court and got a protection order. The day after that I filed for a divorce.

“I was scared to death. I didn’t have a job or any money. I ended up having to go to the food bank just so I could feed my kids. I was starting to think that if he showed up at the house, maybe I’d take him back, but that’s when the cops came by and told me he was dead—that they’d found his body by the railroad tracks. Later, when they told me he’d committed suicide, I tried to tell them they were wrong—that Xavier would never do such a thing—but nobody listened to me.”

“So what did you do?”

“I got a job working nights as a cashier at a Circle K. My mom comes over and sleeps at the house so someone is there with the kids while I’m at work. I don’t make very much. I’m able to pay the rent and buy food, but there’s never anything left over for extras.

“At the time Xavier died, school was about to start. The kids needed clothes and school supplies, and I had no idea how I was going to pay for any of it because he had taken off without leaving me any money. That’s when someone from the M.E.’s office came by to drop off Xavier’s personal effects, including his wallet. There was money in that.”

My heart skipped a beat. “How much money?”

“Almost three hundred dollars.”

“You didn’t mention that in your interview with Yolanda Aguirre,” I suggested.

“No, I didn’t,” she agreed. “I was too ashamed.”

“Ashamed? Why?”

I heard her sigh. “I decided to use that money—Xavier’s money—to buy the kids’ school stuff, so I went shopping at Target. I knew exactly how much money I had and was careful not to go over that amount. But when I got to the check stand, the clerk held up one of the hundred-dollar bills...”

“Hundreds?” I asked.

“Yes, there were two hundred-dollar bills and some smaller ones in the wallet. They added up to $288.”

“What happened then?” I asked.

“The clerk said she couldn’t take the money because it didn’t have a security strip, and she thought it was counterfeit. She said I’d need to pay by credit card.”

“What did you do?”

“What could I do?” Felicity replied. “I didn’t have a credit card, so I took the money, left everything I had picked out either in the basket or on the check stand counter, and walked away. I cried all the way home. How could Xavier have gotten involved in passing out counterfeit money? Did I even know him?”

“Do you still have those two hundreds?”

“Of course I do,” she said. “I didn’t dare spend them. I was afraid someone would end up accusing me of trying to pass counterfeit money.”

“It’s not counterfeit,” I told her. “It’s legal tender, but it’s old. Still, please don’t spend it. I’m reasonably sure your husband was murdered, and that whoever is responsible has killed four other people as well, because in all those cases two mysterious hundred-dollar bills were found among the victims’ personal effects.”

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