A Family Man At Last

by Cynthia Thomason

  “I barely knew the judge,” Miguel said. “Saw him a few times around Sweet Pine, Tarpon Joe’s and here at the marina when I’d come to pick up my dad.”

  “Ever talk to him much?”

  “No. Didn’t have anything to say to him.”

  “You’re like a lot of people around here. I’m having trouble finding folks who knew my dad on a personal level.”

  Miguel emitted a harsh croak from deep in his throat. “Your father wasn’t a Keys guy. He wasn’t like the rest of us. Kept to himself mostly.”

  They’d reached the end of the dock. “This is where it happened,” Edward said. “Water is probably only about six feet deep at high tide, less when the tide is out. Seems odd to me that my dad would have drowned in such shallow water.” He studied Miguel’s face for some sign of agreement.

  “People can drown in just a few inches of water,” Miguel said. “Maybe the judge couldn’t swim.”

  “Actually, he was an excellent swimmer.”

  “Maybe he had a heart attack,” Miguel offered.

  “No. Nothing like that. The autopsy would have found evidence of that.” Edward looked over the water, hoping to relax Miguel by diverting attention from him. “You can see why I’m puzzled,” he said. “I need to talk to people who have lived in this area for a time, see what they might know.”

  “You think your father was murdered, despite all the evidence?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. As you look around this dock, what do you think, Miguel? Is it logical that a man would fall off his own dock and drown?”

  “How would I know?” Miguel said. “I guess you’ve talked to the cops about this.”

  “I have. But I’m not satisfied with their conclusions.”

  “Monica’s the homicide detective, and she thinks it was an accident. Why don’t you believe her?”

  “I believe that she believes it,” Edward said. “And I have tremendous respect for your sister. I appreciate that she’s helping me find the truth.”

  “Seems to me the truth has been laid out in front of you,” Miguel said.

  “Sometimes the most obvious clues can be overlooked.” Edward stayed calm despite the obvious cat-and-mouse game.

  Miguel squinted at Edward. “Monica tells me you’re not a cop.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Seems like you’re doing a cop’s work.”

  “I’m doing a son’s work. Like I told you, I just want to know the truth.”

  Edward switched into confidant mode and asked Miguel a few questions about his background—where he was born, how long he’d lived in Sweet Pine, what jobs he’d had. They were two guys talking...and getting nowhere. But this was one of the methods in a criminal psychologist’s toolbox.

  “Let’s get out of the sun,” Edward suggested. They went back to the porch. Edward brought out two glasses of icy cold water and prompted Miguel to sit. Edward took the seat next to him. “Here’s my problem, Miguel. I haven’t found many people who were friendly with my dad. In fact, I’ve discovered that a few Sweet Pine residents didn’t like him, period.” That wasn’t technically true, but again, it couldn’t hurt to make Miguel feel like he wasn’t alone with his resentments.

  “You won’t get an argument from me,” Miguel said. “I suppose Monica told you how the judge conned our dad out of his share of this marina.”

  “Actually, your father was never the owner of any part of the marina, so it would have been impossible to con him out of it.”

  “You know what I mean,” Miguel said. “He promised my dad a share of this property, and he never gave it to him.”

  “I’m still grappling with that,” Edward said. “I’ve always thought of my father as a fair man. There must have been a good reason why the shares were never passed to Juan.”

  “I’ll tell you who was a fair man,” Miguel said. “Juan Cortez. And he didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  Miguel remained silent for almost a whole minute. Finally, he looked at Edward. “I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to find out if I hated the judge enough to have killed him.”

  “Did you?” The question was a criminal psychologist’s trick. Ask bluntly and watch for reactions. Miguel stared hard at Edward but didn’t speak.

  “I know you thought my father was unfair to your family,” Edward began. “It could be motivation for a crime.”

  “Well, I didn’t kill him.” Miguel smirked. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not sorry he’s dead.”

  Edward took a deep breath. That last comment had been like a fresh stab wound to his heart. Stay calm, he warned himself. You promised Monica. “Miguel, if you didn’t kill him, then you won’t mind telling me where you were when he died. It was last Friday night.”

  “I’m starting to mind this whole conversation,” Miguel said. “But if it will get you off my back, I’ll tell you that I was in Miami.”

  “Can anyone verify that?”

  Miguel set his glass on the table and stood. “This talk is over except for one thing. I want to know exactly what you do for a living. You probably had life handed to you from a rich judge with no strings attached. But something’s going on here.”

  “You couldn’t be more wrong,” Edward said. “In fact, if you compared your early life with mine, before I met the judge, you’d be surprised and probably grateful for the family you did have once.”

  “Okay, so you’re not a rich spoiled guy. You can still answer my question. Who are you?”

  “I’m a criminal psychologist,” Edward said. “I talk to guys who’ve gotten in trouble. I try to figure out what made them do the things they did. And I help them, if I can.”

  Miguel dropped his forehead to his palm. A string of epithets came from his mouth. Finally, he looked Edward in the eye and said, “I know what this is really all about.”

  “You do? What is it about, Miguel?”

  “You work with cops so you must have taken a good long look at my record. You know that Judge Smith helped put me behind bars.”

  In fact, Edward had not looked at Miguel’s record, but to admit that he hadn’t would not help him uncover what he wanted to know. He addressed the second part of Miguel’s accusation. “My father had already retired from the bench when you went to prison. And he only worked in South Carolina. How could he have influenced your sentence here in Florida?”

  “I bet judges talk to each other. Know people in common. What if Judge Smith called my judge and recommended a tougher sentence for me? I probably never stood a chance. But you know that, don’t you?”

  “I can’t imagine that would have happened,” Edward said. “It would be unethical.” He wasn’t sure what to say about Miguel’s guesswork and suppositions at this point. He wanted to believe in the judge, but then, there was that promise to Juan that never materialized, either.

  “I’m out of here,” Miguel said. “Knew I shouldn’t have come down to the Keys. Knew I shouldn’t have trusted Monica.” He stomped off the porch and turned toward Edward.

  “I didn’t kill your old man,” he called out. “And I’m not going back to prison for something you think might have happened. You’re not going to railroad me.”

  Edward watched Miguel drive away, his back tires spitting gravel. Edward was glad he didn’t have many boats out this afternoon. He wanted time to make notes and think about his conversation with Miguel. Something about the conviction in the man’s voice convinced him that he was innocent of killing the judge. Edward wanted to tell Monica his conclusion right away. Not only that, but he also wanted to see her to put her mind at ease. A phone call wouldn’t work. He would take her to dinner.

  * * *

  FORTUNATELY, ONLY TWO boats went out that afternoon. Edward was able to give A.J. an hour off and still have enough time to contact Monica. W
hile he waited for the boats to come in, he made notes about his conversation with Miguel. He was quite certain that Miguel had committed the crimes that put him in jail, but he was not a murderer.

  After the last boat returned, Edward hosed it down and went in to take a shower and change his clothes. Feeling better, he called Monica on her cell phone. When she answered, she sounded breathless.

  “Hi, Monica. It’s Edward. How would you like to catch a late dinner with—”

  She interrupted his invitation. “What happened at your place?” she demanded.

  Her tone surprised him. “Just what I told you would happen,” he said. “We talked for about forty-five minutes and then Miguel left.”

  “No, it was more than that,” she said.

  His heart beat fast. “What’s wrong, Monica? Why are you upset?”

  “He’s gone, Edward. Emilio is gone. Miguel took him.”

  Edward shook his head to relieve a sort of brain freeze that threatened to numb his ability to reason. “What are you talking about? How could Miguel have taken Emilio? Weren’t you home like you said you would be?”

  “For all but an hour, still, you don’t know Miguel like I do. Despite all your talk of psychology, you don’t understand what people are capable of.” She was sobbing openly now.

  “I’ll be right there,” Edward said. “We’ll figure this out together.”

  He disconnected and ran from the house. In a little more than five minutes, he was pulling in front of the cute house on Lantana Lane. The driveway was full of vehicles, including Monica’s gray sedan. She came from the house when he got out of his car.

  Edward’s heart ached for her. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face blotchy.

  Edward was confused. He was certain that his interview with Miguel had gone well. Yes, the man was angry. Yes, he had a chip on his shoulder. But when he’d left the house, Edward was certain Miguel was headed back to Miami. Alone.

  He approached Monica slowly. When she didn’t back away, he took her in his arms. “It’ll be okay, Monica,” he said, leading her to a wrought-iron bench near the driveway. She sat and released a deep sigh.

  Edward sat beside her. “Tell me what you know.”

  “I went to the station for no more than an hour this afternoon to catch up on some paperwork. When I left, Mama was home and Emilio was outside playing with his trucks.” She glanced to where several toy trucks had been left on the lawn. “I got back around four o’clock. When I didn’t see Emilio, I assumed he was in the house.”

  “But he wasn’t?” Edward prompted.

  “No. I asked Mama where he was. She looked puzzled and said she had just checked on him. He was still playing on the lawn.” Monica twisted on the bench and lowered her head. “I knew right then. Something told me. I couldn’t breathe. I ran outside and drew enough breath to start calling Emilio’s name. Mama came outside and asked me what was wrong.

  “When I told her I couldn’t find Emi, she began to cry. ‘He was just here,’ she said.

  “I asked her if Miguel had come back to the house. She said he hadn’t.” Monica scrubbed a tear from her cheek. “That she knew of, anyway.”

  Edward formulated a timeline of events in his mind. Miguel had left the marina a little after one, supposedly to go to Miami. Monica discovered Emilio missing around four. What had Miguel been doing for those three unaccounted hours? He asked Monica if she had a theory about where Miguel might have been, what he might have been doing.

  “Miguel has always been unpredictable,” she said. “He could have been anywhere. I checked Tarpon Joe’s, a former hangout of Miguel’s, but he hadn’t been there. I can only assume now that he was somewhere thinking of a way to get what he wanted. I’ve never felt pain like this before, not even when my dad died.” She looked at Edward then. The hurt in her beautiful eyes was almost his undoing. He would have willingly taken her pain upon himself if he could have done so.

  Thinking to calm her, Edward made practical suggestions. “Have you called Emilio’s friends?”

  “Of course. I went to every house near us where Emi plays and even drove to the neighborhoods of his school friends. No one has seen him.”

  “What about the people who live on this street, the ones who don’t have children? Did you check to see if they saw anything unusual?”

  “Yes. No one saw anything.” She twisted her fingers together. “That makes me think that wherever Emi went, he went willingly. No one heard any screams or cries. I called the sheriff’s department and informed them of Emi’s disappearance. They issued a missing-children’s bulletin immediately.”

  Edward took her hands in his. “Monica, are you thinking that someone you don’t know took Emilio?”

  She nodded. “I did at first. The thought terrified me. But then I got a voice message from Miguel.”

  “Just a message? What did he say?”

  “He said...” Monica nearly choked, but after a deep breath she was in control enough to continue. “He said he never should have trusted me.”

  She broke into fresh tears. Edward put his arm around her and held her tight. “You’ve tried calling him?”

  “Incessantly. His phone just rings until it goes to voice mail. I’ve left a message every time. I’ve begged him...”

  Edward tried to make sense of the chaos in his brain. He hadn’t accused Miguel of anything. Still, he was angry about a lot of things, especially how his life had turned out, and he felt the world had betrayed him. But he wasn’t a killer.

  “Have you told the sheriff’s department that you knew it was Miguel who took Emilio?”

  “Yes. I called them right away, told them it was a kidnapping and gave them a description of Miguel’s truck. They put out an APB on the truck, but said they couldn’t call it a kidnapping. They said it appears that Emilio went with Miguel of his own free will. And, besides, Miguel is the boy’s father, and by all rights—”

  “But it isn’t that simple,” Edward said.

  “I know that, but in the eyes of the law...”

  Edward gently rubbed her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “Look, Monica, I don’t know Miguel. I admit that, but from what I saw of him, he won’t hurt Emilio. Violence is not a core feature of his makeup.”

  She stared up at him with bright, luminous eyes. “But you thought...”

  “I know. But I would want to interview anyone who might have had a motive, and Miguel did. But he didn’t kill my father. I’m almost sure of that. He took Emilio to punish you, but he won’t hurt him.”

  She put her cheek against his shoulder. “Thanks for saying that, Edward.” After a quiet moment, she stood up from the bench. “I’ve got to go back inside. There could be a call on Mama’s phone. Miguel has her number as well as mine.”

  “I’m going with you.” Edward followed her to the house. From the doorway, he heard people chattering intensely and crying. He and Monica stepped inside and he was awed by the number of people in the small home.

  Monica made an attempt to introduce Edward. Some names and faces stuck, others he tried to remember, but he could see how worried they all were, how much they cared about Emilio, and he felt for them.

  Edward wondered at the kindness shown to him by all of Monica’s family. No one seemed to blame him for what had happened, although he would have understood if they had. He blamed himself. What had he said that sparked Miguel’s actions?

  He recognized a few Spanish phrases, ones that identified the person who was responsible for the fear and sadness today. Miguel. And yet, for Monica’s sake, Edward wanted to make this right.

  Two hours passed. At this point, Emilio had been gone for more than five hours. The family had taken to the sofa and the few chairs in the room. They all tried to comfort Rosa while following Monica’s every move.

  “I wish I could do something else,” she said repeatedly. “Thi
s waiting is such agony.”

  Edward understood. She was a cop. She acted. She solved problems. Only this time, she couldn’t solve her own.

  Shortly after nine, Monica’s phone rang. She jumped up from the sofa, her eyes fixed on the digital screen. “It’s him,” she said. “It’s Miguel.”

  She answered the call. “Where are you, Miguel?” she asked. “How is Emi?”

  She paused while her brother spoke.

  “Of course. I’ll do anything you say. Just tell me what you’re going to do with Emilio. And please, Miguel, let him come home.”

  She disconnected. Everyone in the room waited with rapt attention. She took a long breath and said, “Emilio is okay. Miguel is leaving him at a McDonald’s in Key Largo. I can pick him up there.”

  The release of tension in the room was audible. There were tears of joy. Rosa said a prayer. Monica grabbed her car keys.

  “Key Largo?” Edward said. “Isn’t that at least an hour away?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  ONCE IN HER SEDAN, Monica called the police in Key Largo. “I need an officer at McDonald’s on US One immediately. It’s a case of child endangerment.” She requested that an officer be sent to the restaurant to stay with Emilio until she arrived.

  Edward listened to her calm, rational voice and wondered how she was able to keep her emotions in check.

  “Can you make it a female officer, please?” Monica added. “This child will feel more secure with a woman.”

  When she disconnected, Monica turned on the flashing lights on the roof of her car and sped north on the highway. “That was a good idea,” Edward said. “You understand a bit of psychology yourself.”

  “It’s not psychology,” she said. “I just know Emi.” She then called the McDonald’s. “You have a five-year-old boy there alone. Please put him on the phone.”