White Tombs Read Online Free PDF

drawer. It’s a waste of time. Plus, if robbery’s the motive, why worry about covering your tracks?”
    “Or if he wants to make it look like a robbery, he leaves a deliberate mess.”
    “Exactly.”
    “So, what do you think the perp was looking for?”
    “Why don’t you take this bedroom, and I’ll check out the other? See if we can find out.”
    She slipped on the pair of latex. As he stepped past her, she touched his arm and he turned to look at her.
    “There’s a lot riding on this one, John.”
    She stood close enough to him that he caught the scent of strawberries.
    “ El color de la sangre siempre es el mismo . The color of blood is all the same, Rita.”
    “Meaning?”
    “This investigation is no more and no less important than any other.”
    She let out a breath and peered down at her shiny black western boots with the squared toes.
    Then she looked at him again. Given her height and two-inch heels, she was nearly as tall as him.
    “You’ll never change.”
    Santana knew that he, in fact, had changed. But it had happened in another time and in a place that was now just a distant memory, long before he met her.
    “People should change only if it’s for the better, Rita. But it doesn’t always work out that way.”
    She frowned and he could tell that she had been stung by his comment, though he was speaking about himself rather than her.
    “I haven’t changed, John. I know there are other things, important things, that shouldn’t have to be …” she paused as if searching for the word.
    “Sacrificed?” he said.
    “Yes,” she said after a time.
    Santana knew that she wanted children. She had told him how she had tried with her ex-husband, Tom, for two years until they finally discovered that he was shooting blanks. It had driven a wedge between the two of them that could not be overcome. Once, after making love, when she had asked Santana to share his thoughts about having children, he had been clear. He would not bring a child into the darkness of this world.
    “You all right?” he asked.
    “The clock keeps ticking.”
    “On this investigation, too.”
    She gave him a thin smile. “Let me know if you find anything.”
    T he second bedroom had a cherry wood desk, PC, printer, fax machine, four-drawer file, and built-in shelves filled with thick law books. Santana started with the files hanging on rods in the four-drawer cabinet. Each file had a neatly typed name inside a plastic tab attached to the top of the file. The files were arranged alphabetically by last name. All the names were Hispanic. The files contained a snapshot of each person and applications for visas. There were applications for the J1 and J2 visas, which restricted students to one year in the states, and the F1 and F2 student visas, those without restrictions.
    Santana remembered how he had come on an F1 visa twenty years ago, how lost and alone he had felt. He wondered how many of these names in the files had come alone without their families, and how many were still here legally.
    Some, he noted, had the B1 or B2 tourist visas, which prior to the 9/11 terrorist attack granted individuals a three-month stay but now were limited to one month; others had H1B, the temporary worker visas for professionals. But by Santana’s count, there were nearly one hundred files of immigrants who had applied for the H2B visa for nonprofessional workers. The files contained labor certifications from the state and federal government. But as he looked more closely, he realized that many of the workers had applied for the same job at the same business within weeks of one another.
    Santana jotted down ten random names and the places they worked in his notebook. He found nothing he deemed important when he searched the rest of the office. As he headed toward the hallway and the master bedroom room again, Rita Gamboni walked in.
    “Anything?” she asked.
    “An awful lot of applications for H2B worker visas. I’m going to check out a few