Ah? Ariel looked at Deborah with a little less enthusiasm and shook her head. Lázaro! Her son stepped forward, and as she resumed her monologue with barely a pause, he began to translate for her. I came here from Santiago de Cuba in 1962, Lázaro said for his mother. Under Batista I saw some terrible things. People disappeared. Then Castro came and for a while I had hope. She shook her head and spread her hands. Believe it or not, but this is what we thought at the time. Things would be different. But soon it was the same thing again. Worse. So I came here. To the United States. Because here, people don’t disappear. People are not shot in the street or tortured. That’s what I thought. And now this. She waved an arm toward the house next door.

I need to ask you a few questions, Deborah said, and Lázaro translated.

Ariel simply nodded and went right on with her riveting tale. Even with Castro, they would never do a thing like that, she said. Yes, they kill people. Or they put you in the Isle of Pines. But never a thing like this. Not in Cuba. Only in America, she said.

Did you ever see the man next door? Deborah interrupted. The man who did this? Ariel studied Deborah for a moment. I need to know, Deb said. There’s going to be another one if we can’t find him.

Why is it you who asks me? Ariel said through her son. This is no job for you. A pretty woman like you, you should have a husband. A family.

El victimo proximo es el novio de mi hermana, I said. The next victim is my sister’s sweetheart. Deborah glared at me, but Ariel said, Aaahhh, clucked her tongue, and nodded her head. Well, I don’t know what I can tell you. I did see the man, maybe two times. She shrugged and Deborah leaned forward impatiently. Always at night, never very close. I can say, the man was small, very short. And skinny as well. With big glasses. More than this, I don’t know. He never came out, he was very quiet. Sometimes we would hear music. She smiled just a little and added, Tito Puente. And Lázaro echoed unnecessarily, Tito Puente.

Ah, I said, and they all looked at me. It would hide the noise, I said, a little embarrassed at all the attention.

Did he have a car? Deborah asked, and Ariel frowned.

A van, she said. He drove an old white van with no windows. It was very clean, but had many rust spots and dents. I saw it a few times, but he usually kept it in his garage.

I don’t suppose you saw the license plate? I asked her, and she looked at me.