“It wasn’t because of that; when he lost the contract, wasn’t I the first one there to help your wife sign up for unemployment? Didn’t I find housing for the Valdéz family?” Andrés burst out.

There were murmurs of acknowledgment, yes, he had done these things. “All the more reason to ask, why the glue, Roberto?”

Andrés looked directly at me for the first time. “It’s what I told you this afternoon, that Zamar signed a new contract with By-Smart in a panic. And to warn him—I am sorry to confess it, I am ashamed to confess it—I did put the glue in his door to show him what could happen to him if he hurt the neighborhood. It was a child’s trick, no, a punk’s trick, now I am sorry I did it, but for me, as for many, repentance has come too late for amendment of life.”

His voice was bitter, and he paused, as if swallowing his own bitter pill. “After the glue, first Zamar made threats, saying he will take me to court, but we talked, and he promised me, he will go back to By-Smart—like I told you already.”

I nodded, trying to evaluate his tone, his eyes—his truthfulness. “Whoever destroyed Fly the Flag did it very carefully so as not to kill the illegal immigrants working the graveyard shift. Rose Dorrado said if you knew about the sweatshop Zamar was running, you would be furious—were you furious enough to burn down the plant?”

“I did not even know until this afternoon that he was running that sweatshop, and I swear”—Andrés put his hand on a big Bible lying open on his desk—“that I did not start that fire.”

This brought some calls of support from the women crowding in at the door—and some dark glances in my direction—but Tomás looked at him soberly: Andrés was not just a coworker but a leader in the community. Tomás, at least, needed to know he could trust the pastor.

“The fire was set using the same method you used when you put Diego’s stereo out of commission,” I said. “Maybe you didn’t start it yourself, but perhaps you showed Freddy how to do it.”

Again, I took the drawing out of my pocket. I laid it on the desk in front of him. “Did you draw this for Freddy?”

To my astonishment, instead of rapping out a denial Andrés turned the color of putty and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. “Oh my God. That is why—”

“Why what?” I demanded.