“He is an artist,” Oscar said. “Show her what you got and then go.”

Ballard was annoyed with herself for not thinking through her question.

“Okay,” she said. “Tell your mother I am going to show her a photo of a piece of jewelry and I want to know if she’s ever seen it before.”

While Oscar made the translation, Ballard swung her backpack off her shoulder and opened it on the floor. She removed a file folder containing an 8 x 10 color photo of the bracelet with the artist’s palette charm, which she had printed at home that morning. She gave the file to Oscar to give to his mother. She wanted him invested in this as well.

Oscar opened the file and looked at the photo with his mother. Ballard watched the woman for a reaction and saw the recognition in her eyes.

“She’s seen it before,” Ballard said quickly.

Oscar and his mother exchanged words and Oscar translated.

“She said it was my brother’s. He gave it to Olga because they were in love. Where did you find it?”

Ballard knew the question had come from him.

“I can’t tell you right now,” Ballard said. “But I think your brother is going to get out of prison with it.”

“How?”

“I think I can prove that somebody else killed Olga.”

Suddenly Oscar’s tough shell cracked and Ballard saw hope and fear in his eyes. He then turned away and translated for his mother.

“Dios mío,” she said. “Dios mío.”

She reached out and grabbed Ballard’s hand.

“Please,” she said.

Oscar’s hard shell slipped back into place.

“You better not be fucking with us,” he said.

“I’m not,” Ballard said. “Ask your mother if she knows where Jorge got the bracelet.”

The exchange in Spanish was quick.

“She doesn’t know,” Oscar said.

“What about the charm?” Ballard asked.

The next exchange didn’t need to be translated. The woman shook her head. Ballard looked at Oscar.

“What about you?” Ballard asked.

“What do you mean?” Oscar asked.

“Was your brother in Vineland Boyz?”

“No, but you people at the trial sure tried to make it look that way.”

“What I’m getting at is, where do Vineland Boyz get their chains?”

Oscar didn’t answer, his hesitation rooted in the gang rule about talking about the gang to the police. It could get him killed.

“Do you know what provenance means?” Ballard asked. “Besides having your mother identify the bracelet as your brother’s, I may need to establish where Jorge got it. Then I would have two confirmations when I go to the District Attorney’s Office.”

“He was not a gangster,” Oscar said. “He was an artist.”