Last Call by Baxter Clare Page A

then Izzy getting sick—”
    “Detective Jantzen never talked to him later?”
    “Not that I remember. Izzy’s usually in school during the day. He goes to special school.”
    Frank watches Izzy fussing with the blanket, making sure each doll is tucked in just so. She asks, “Would you mind if I ask him a few questions? I promise I won’t upset him.”
    “Of course,” the woman says, “but I don’t know how he can help. Izzy,” Mrs. Miron says to claim her son’s attention. “This lady would like to talk to you.”
    Izzy grins at Frank, and she smiles back.
    “Hi, Izzy. What are you playing with?”
    “These are my dolls,” he answers thickly.
    Frank waits while he names each one. When he’s done, she says admiringly, “They’re very pretty. What are you doing with them?”
    “I’m putting them to bed.”
    “Do you do that every night?”
    He nods and tugs at the hand towel. Mrs. Miron adds, “He started doing that right after his father died. We explained how dying is like a long sleep and when Izzy saw his Papi in the coffin he insisted we give him a blanket. He wouldn’t stop pestering us until my son brought a blanket in from his car and let Izzy tuck it around him. Since then he tucks all his toys in, every night. Don’t you?”
    Izzy’s nod is happy and Frank asks if Izzy was in bed the entire weekend of the Pryce killings.
    Mrs. Miron answers for him. “The wedding was on Sunday and Izzy was tugging at me all day Saturday. I felt bad, what with him just losing his Papi, but we were so busy getting ready for the wedding. And then he got sick Sunday—I had to leave before they cut the cake—and I felt so bad I’d been neglecting him but there was just so much craziness.”
    “So he was okay Saturday?”
    “Yes, he seemed fine then. I noticed his nose was runny and I gave him some yerba tea that night but it wasn’t until the next day that he got the fever.”
    Frank pulls two pictures from her notebook. “Izzy?” She gets his full attention before saying, “I’m going to show you a picture of a boy and a girl and I want you to tell me if you’ve ever seen them before. Okay?”
    “Okay.”
    Frank hands him the pictures of Ladeenia and Trevor. Even before they have left her hands, Izzy is beaming.
    “I put them to bed,” he announces. Jabbing a finger toward the window, he added, “I put them to bed outside. They were outside and I put them to bed.”
    “You put them to bed,” Frank repeats slowly.
    “I put them to bed outside,” Izzy repeats, nodding.
    Mrs. Miron is alarmed and Frank puts a hand on her arm.
    “When did you do that?”
    “When they were sleeping out there. In the casita. .”
    “Isador!” his mother cries. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    The boy the size of a man looks like he’s about to cry and Frank answers, “It’s okay, Izzy. Maybe that’s what you were trying to tell your mother the day of the wedding.”
    Izzy just looks scared and confused, but Mrs. Miron sags. She throws a troubled glance toward Frank while reassuring her son. She cradles him with one arm while the hand of the other flies to her mouth.
    “Ay Dios,” she breathes. “Como no. He kept going on about the casita and how he put the children to bed. I thought he was talking about his dolls.”
    Frank asks gently, “Do you remember putting the children to bed, Izzy?”
    He lifts his big head up and down.
    “What do you remember?”
    “They were sleeping, but they weren’t put to bed right. I had to put them to bed.”
    “Can you show me with your dolls how they were when you found them?”
    Izzy glances at his mother and she nods approval.
    “They were like this,” he says, taking two of the dolls and wrapping them together one atop the other in the towel.
    “What did you do with them?”
    “I put them like this.”
    He puts the dolls side by side again, covering them to their chins. “I put them to bed.”
    “One more question,” Frank says more for his mother’s