"Julio," Millar's father said, stepping toward his son. His stocky wife, her jet black hair disheveled, joined him.
Julio ignored everyone but Dance. "That's all you care about, right? He tells you what you want to know and then he can die?"
She remained calm, recognizing a young man out of control. She didn't take his anger personally. "We're very anxious to catch the man who did this to him."
"Son, please! You're embarrassing us." His mother touched his arm.
"Embarrassing you?" he mocked. Then turned to Dance again. "I asked around. I talked to some people. Oh, I know what happened. You sent him down into the fire."
"I'm sorry?"
"You sent him downstairs at the courthouse to the fire."
She felt O'Neil stiffening but he restrained himself. He knew Dance wouldn't let other people fight her battles. She leaned closer to Julio. "You're upset, we're all upset. Why don't we--"
"You picked him. Not Mikey here. Not one of your CBI people. The one Chicano cop--and you sent him."
"Julio," his father said sternly. "Don't say that."
"You want to know something about my brother? Hm? Do you know he wanted to get into CBI? But they didn't let him in. Because of who he was."
This was absurd. There was a high percentage of Latinos in all California law enforcement agencies, including the CBI. Her best friend in the bureau, Major Crimes agent Connie Ramirez, had more decorations than any agent in the history of the west-central office.
But his anger wasn't about ethnic representation in state government, of course. It was about fear for his brother's life. Dance had a lot of experience with anger; like denial and depression, it was one of the stress response states exhibited by deceitful subjects. When somebody's throwing a tantrum, the best approach is simply to let him tire himself out. Intense rage can be sustained only for a short period.
"He wasn't good enough to get a job with you, but he was good enough to send to get burned up."
"Julio, please," his mother implored. "He's just upset. Don't listen to him."
"Don't do that, Mama! You let them get away with shit every time you say things like that."
Tears slipped down the woman's powdered cheeks, leaving fleshy trails.
The young man turned back to Dance. "It was Latino Boy you sent, it was the chulo."
"That's enough," his father barked, taking his son's arm.
The young man pulled away. "I'm calling the papers. I'm going to call KHSP. They'll get a reporter here and they'll find out what you did. It'll be on all the news."
"Julio--" O'Neil began.
"No, you be quiet, you Judas. You two worked together. And you let her sacrifice him." He pulled out his mobile phone. "I'm calling them. Now. You're going to be so fucked."
Dance said, "Can I talk to you for a moment, just us?"
"Oh, now you're scared."
The agent stepped aside.
Ready for battle, Julio faced her, holding the phone like a knife, and leaned into Dance's personal proxemic zone.
Fine with her. She didn't move an inch, looked into his eyes. "I'm very sorry for your brother, and I know how upsetting this is to you. But I won't be threatened."
The man gave a bitter laugh. "You're just like--"
"Listen to me," she said calmly. "We don't know for sure what happened but we do know that a prisoner disarmed your brother. He had the suspect at gunpoint, then he lost control of his weapon and of the situation."
"You're saying it was his fault?" Julio asked, eyes wide.