Exacting Justice

by TG Wolff

  “Mari,” Cruz said, hearing the whine in his voice. “It’s Christmas.”

  “Yes, it is, which means you will be nice to this woman who has no idea that she is being set up. Her, um, mother is coming, too.”

  The phone on his belt rang. Cruz grinned at his sister.

  The knife in her hand pointed his way. “No, Jesus. It’s Christmas.”

  He shrugged in a it’s-not-in-my-control way and answered the call. “De La Cruz, at your service.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re hitting the nog.”

  Who knew salvation sounded like whiskey over gravel. “Hated that shit, even when I was drinking. Merry Christmas, Yablonski.”

  “Merry Christmas back at ya. Listen, I don’t want to interrupt your holiday, but I got a loose connection between Parker and Martinez. Martinez is a graduate of Cleveland Central Catholic High School. Hayley Parker nee Whitley graduated the same year as Mathias Martinez.”

  “Nee? Where the fuck did you learn that?”

  Mariana glared, the knife point swing back at him. “Tito! Watch your language.”

  He mouthed his apologies. Cleaning up his language when he moved in with Mari had been nearly as hard as staying sober. His mouth usually achieved a G-rating, no worse than PG-13 most days but he still slipped, especially when he was in cop mode, as Mari called it.

  “My new app,” Yablonski said. “It’s a word of the day. I’m using it to expand my vocabulary.” When Cruz laughed, Yablonski simply said, “Cretin.”

  “Looks like we need to pay a visit to Mrs. Parker. You in?”

  “Today? You serious, Cruzie?”

  The front door opened, and his mother descended upon her hapless victims. “Hola! Feliz Navidad!”

  “Yes, Yablonski, I’m serious.” The high-pitched laughter of women overflowed from the living room; the noose tightened around his neck. “Dead serious. Let’s go now. I can be there in fifteen—”

  “Hayley Parker isn’t going anywhere. Tomorrow is soon enough. Sounds like you have a houseful. Enjoy the time with the family and we’ll go out tomorrow.”

  “No, Yablonski, don’t…” Cruz talked to dead air.

  “Jesus,” his mother’s voice lilted across the living room. “Come meet Agnus Rivera.”

  Tuesday, January 2

  The Lake Erie snow machine buried the eastern suburbs in depths measured in feet, while the city wasn’t slowed by the inches on the streets. Under the dull light of a gray day, life had settled down. Too cold and dark to be out.

  Domestic violence was the problem now. Too many people cooped up too close together at a time when emotions ran too high—or too low.

  Chief Win Ramsey looked over the winterscape. A conference table sat in the corner of his office. Five somber faces waited patiently for the chief’s attention.

  “Detective De La Cruz, your report,” he said, without turning around.

  Cruz lifted the single sheet he had emailed to the chief. “We have exhausted leads on both the Hall and Martinez cases. The follow up interview I conducted with Hayley Parker confirmed that she knew Mathias Martinez from high school. She denied seeing him since their graduation six years ago. No evidence was found linking the two or connecting her husband directly with Martinez.”

  The interview had been mind-numbingly tedious. Parker had made his wife so afraid of talking to the police that it took a half hour to get her to admit knowing Martinez, even after confronted with the year book containing both their pictures. It saddened him to think of all the opportunities graduating senior Hayley Whitley had in front of her and the life Hayley Parker had chosen.

  The bright spot in the memory was Jace. Cruz left the house after the unproductive conversation with his mother, and Jace sprang out from under the porch wearing a fall weight coat. He wanted candy.

  Cruz had pilfered three candy canes from his sister’s Christmas tree, knowing he was going to the house. Strawberry, orange, and fruit punch. Peppermint wasn’t an option in the Moreno household. Jace had squirreled the candy into the waistband of his jeans and snuck in the side door but not before he gave Cruz a grin that took up his entire face. Making the boy smile was the only good part of the day.

  He pulled his mind back to the report he was giving. “We have little material evidence. The boot prints at the Martinez scene were most likely a rubber pull over boot—like a wader—sized nine to eleven. Follow up with those who reported finding Martinez resulted in no additional information. No one saw a vehicle or person on the side of the road. Recreating the event, the suspect likely pulled off on the shoulder, putting the vehicle between his work area and westbound traffic. Although nighttime temperatures had been cold, most days have remained above freezing and the ground has not frozen yet. The post was driven in about two feet. Using a five-pound hammer, I was able to drive a similar stake in about three minutes. Like Hall, Martinez’s head had been prepared and slid onto the post. The entire event would have taken less than five minutes.”

  “The suspect wasn’t only prepared, Detective, he had to be calm and confident. No fingerprints again? Strands of hair? DNA?”

  “Only the victim’s, Chief. The security camera angle from the dealership did not reach to the area where the suspect parked.”

  “Do you think he knew that, Detective?”

  “There is no reason to expect he didn’t.”

  “And by ‘he,’” Dr. Chen said, “Detective De La Cruz is playing the odds. Clearly, the suspect has some level of physical fitness to have handled the bodies. The boot print is notably average. The average female shoe size is nine, the average male ten and a half. Historically, violent crimes of this nature are perpetrated by males but, to be clear, the evidence is silent, so far, on gender and race.”

  The chief turned to the table, leaning on the chair reserved for him. “Age?”

  “My guess would be late teens to forties. Maybe even fifties, depending on activity level.”

  “Your guess, Doctor?”

  “The evidence simply isn’t there.”

  The chief’s gaze roamed across the table, stopping at the narcotics detective. “Detective Yablonski. What do you have to contribute?”

  “The recovery from the Martinez storage unit was significant. The lab is still processing the weapons.”

  “Ms. Hyatt. What say the press?”

  “With the holidays, the story was short and on the back pages. The Cleveland Orchestra concert received top billing over our press conference. At this point, it had its thirty seconds in the spotlight and people have moved on.”

  The chief nodded curtly. “Then we’ll consider this matter closed and pray to God it stays that way.”

  January 5

  I met Rob at the grocery store. He kept dropping the ten bags of chips he was trying to carry. Drop one, pick it up, drop another, pick it up, drop a third, pick it up, drop a fourth, I picked it up.

  I stacked it on top of his pile and he smiled at me. That’s when I saw what he was. You can see the infestation in their eyes. He is so young. He doesn’t look as bad as the others. Maybe evil hasn’t fully tainted his soul yet. Maybe he can be saved.

  Chapter Eight

  Friday, January 5

  Cruz couldn’t get Jace Parker out of his mind. The only Christmas tree in the house had been the handmade one taped to the front door. The boy hadn’t looked bothered by the lack of the holiday. Cruz suspected it was sadly normal. And so he was here, Fullerton Elementary, with a rounded garbage bag he carried over his shoulder, Santa Claus-style.

  The principal, an older woman who radiated a don’t-bullshit-me attitude, squinted to read the fine print on his ID. “What department are you with?”

  “Homicide, but this isn’t an official visit,” he said hastily.

  “Then what is it?”

  He tossed the bag on the counter and pulled out the thick winter coat, two hats, two pairs of gloves, and boots. “It’s for one of your students. Jace Parker.”

  “I see.” The princi
pal called into an adjacent room. “Ms. Williams? Would you mind stepping out here?”

  “What do you need, Mrs. Kaylor?”

  Cruz had danced with the devil a time or two, but angels never crossed his path. Not until the woman walked through the door. She was tall with a riot of curls nested atop her head and skin the color of his favorite coffee. Her large, moss green eyes were as unexpected as they were mesmerizing.

  “This is Detective De La Cruz with the Cleveland police,” the principal said. “He is here about Jace Parker.”

  “I hope there isn’t any trouble. I’m Aurora Williams. His teacher.” She held out her hand.

  He stared at it.

  “Detective?”

  He lifted his gaze from her hand to her face. The smile there jolted his enthralled ass back into gear. “No, Ms. Williams. No trouble. It’s more like a gift. It is a gift, but he can’t know it’s from me.”

  She held up the coat. “Oh, it looks so warm. Two hats?”

  “I figure kids lose them. Not in a bad way. I mean, I lose them, so why wouldn’t a kid, you know?” He should shut up.

  “I’m guilty of losing a few myself. This is so generous. You know Jace then?”

  “Yeah. I know Jace. Can you give it to him somehow? Maybe make it seem like he won a contest or a raffle or something.”

  She looked at her watch. “I need to get them from gym class. Why don’t you come with me? You can meet the class. It’s important they have positive experiences with police officers.”

  Suddenly, he wasn’t in a hurry to leave. “I have a safety talk I do. It only takes fifteen minutes.”

  “Perfect.” She took his hand and pulled him away. “Come with me, Detective, and we’ll corral your audience.”

  Ms. Williams led her class in. Curious gazes measured the stranger sitting on the tall stool. Jace came in near the end of the line, his blond hair waving as he bopped along. His eyes opened wide as recognition dawned.

  “Cruz!” The boy ran over, sliding to a stop before he ran into his legs. “Do you have any candy?”

  “Sorry, kiddo. Fresh out.”

  Jace looked sad for a brief moment and then his smile was back. “That’s okay. I still got some of the candy canes you gave me. I only eat a little bit to make it last.”

  “Jace,” Ms. Williams called. “Take your seat.”

  The boy obeyed immediately. If Cruz’s teachers looked like Ms. Williams, he might have minded better in school, too.

  “Class, we have a special guest. This is Police Detective De La Cruz. Can you say hello?”

  “Hello, Detective Della Cruuuz,” thirty five-year olds said in a sing-song cadence and harmonious dissonance.

  “Hello back to all of you. Thank you to Ms. Williams for inviting me in today.”

  Thirty minutes later, Cruz was escorted to the door by a laughing Aurora Williams. “You have a gift with children. Do you have any of your own?”

  “No. I’m not married. I have two nieces, though. They keep me on my toes.”

  “I’ll bet they do. Maybe—”

  His cell interrupted her. “Excuse me,” he said turning away for privacy. Dispatch gave him the address for his next customer. Ending the call, he turned back to the teacher. “I have to go. Thank you for helping me with the coat.”

  Her hand lightly rested on his forearm. “Thank you for speaking with the class. They really enjoyed you. Stay warm out there.”

  He thought of her later as he climbed through a dumpster. The pretty teacher who, as Jace as said, smelled good. She made him feel warm, in a way no one had made him feel warm in a long time. Lifting his hand, he nearly touched the scars of his sewn-together face, stopping when he remembered where he was. She had to have seen them but didn’t seem to care. Maybe it was time he got over the Frankenstein he saw in the mirror. Maybe. Yablonski’s nurse Erin. She had friends. Maybe.

  He finally reached the homeless man who passed on in the dumpster. His face was slack, serene even. And why not? He was beyond his cares.

  February 13

  I’m no match for the evil rooted in Rob’s soul. By his own freewill he accepted it. I accept that I cannot change that. But he is trying to infect others. That I can stop.

  Tonight, I’ll send the serpent within him back to hell. His death won’t be wasted. He’ll be a sign to save others from his fate.

  Chapter Nine

  Wednesday, February 14

  Cruz worked past the end of his shift. He didn’t mind. He was in a rhythm. Work. Family. Work. AA. Work. Friends. Work. House projects. The balance he found kept his mind and body busy. Work never ended. There was as much as he wanted. Family was dance recitals and basketball games, dinners, and sleepovers. There, too, was as much as he wanted. AA was the rock under his feet, which he accredited with getting back his friends. When there was a gap in all of the above, he worked on his house. The update to his main bathroom was finished. Next his sights were set on a new master bedroom.

  As Cruz sipped the cup of coffee, the ninth of the day. He and life were on good terms finally. He enjoyed the cold but sweet brew as he reviewed his report on the case of the lion and the antelope.

  The lion walked along Euclid Avenue through the Cleveland State University campus. An antelope walked in the opposite direction, on the other side of the wide street. Gazes locked. The antelope ran; the lion chased.

  The antelope pulled away, his long legs swiftly covering the concrete savannah.

  The lion sprung, sweeping a bottle from the ground and flinging it at the antelope.

  Struck, the antelope staggered but didn’t fall. The antelope ran to the safety of the herd.

  The lion turned and ran…into the arms of the police. That is how the lion ended up on Cruz’s desk on the cold, wet, messy afternoon.

  “I was hungry, is all.” Brian Bigelow, aka the lion, explained calmly, simply as if the interlude was as mundane as ordering a cheeseburger to satisfy a craving.

  Bigelow was locked up, again. The county prosecutor and the public defender had been notified, as had Bigelow’s mother. The latter was bringing down the meds the lion unprescribed for himself.

  The antelope, otherwise known as Shawn Quigley, was shaken but unharmed thanks to the quick action of a group of strangers, a cell phone, and a campus patrol car.

  Cruz re-read the written statements. His cell rang, and he answered without taking his gaze from the computer screen. “De La Cruz.” He sipped the coffee.

  “This is Aurora Williams. Do you remember me?”

  Cruz coughed as the coffee went down the wrong pipe. Remember her? He had dreams about those killer green eyes.

  “Detective? Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” Cough cough. “I’m fine. Just fine.”

  “I don’t mean to interrupt; you’re probably on your way home—”

  “No,” Cruz said quickly, not wanting to chase her away. “Not at all. I was just finishing up a few reports.”

  “Oh, so you’re working.” The statement had an air of disappointment.

  “It’s nothing I can’t catch up on later.” He hit save, closed the report, and spun away from the screen. Nothing to distract him. “What can I do for you?”

  She took a deep breath. “I was hoping you might be willing to meet me.”

  Hell yes. “Where?”

  She named a restaurant and a time that let him finish his reports and review new ones in from the lab. It was hard to concentrate on the medical jargon and statistical interpretation when his head kept going back to the phone call.

  She lied.

  She said she wanted to talk to him about her class, but it was a lie. He heard it through the phone.

  Still, he was game. The only thing waiting for him that night was a gallon of paint. So, what the hell, he could paint tomorrow.

  In a trendy restaurant in the resurgent Tremont neighborhood, he followed the hostess through the dining room crowded with couples in various states of dinner and merriment. In fact, the only
table that was not fully occupied was set for two at the very back of the house.

  Aurora stood when she saw him. She wore blue jeans and a red sweater that hugged her curves. Her hair was down, soft curls falling past her shoulders.

  “Ms. Williams,” Cruz said, closing the distance between them.

  “Please. Call me Aurora. I appreciate you meeting me on such short notice.”

  He took the seat next to her. “You did me a favor. I would have been doomed to several more hours of paperwork if you hadn’t called. I don’t know if I would have gone into law enforcement if I knew how much paperwork there is. I always hated writing papers in school.”

  She laughed, maybe a little nervously, but it looked good on her. Touching the end of her hair, she smiled shyly.

  A waiter came to their table. “Good evening. Can I start you with something to drink?”

  “Um.” Cruz looked at her glass of wine. She was clearly expecting somebody, squeezing him in to her evening. Whatever she had to say, he wouldn’t have to wait long. “No, I, uh, won’t be staying.”

  Her brows pinched together, as if she were hurt.

  “Is something wrong,” he asked, giving her the space to tell him the truth behind the invitation.

  Her gaze drifted to the next table. “I…well, I had hoped, if you didn’t have other plans…that you might consider, maybe—” her eyes found his, “—having dinner with me?”

  His brows shot up. “Dinner?” Another stall tactic.

  Her cheeks blushed. “I mean, you have to eat, right?”

  “Right.” She was sweet in her embarrassment. She didn’t realize she didn’t have to sugarcoat it. He’d give her whatever she needed, if he was able. Maybe there was trouble with an ex-boyfriend or issues with a landlord. “I’ll take a ginger ale, if you have it.”

  When the waiter left, Aurora reached into her bag. “I wanted to give you these.” She handed him a thick pack of brightly colored paper. “The children made them for you.”