The Witch On Twisted Oak

by Muller, Susan C.

  “I do miss your papa, and I admit I look forward to seeing him, but I’m not quitting. This is not my choice.”

  “Then what is it? I’m not moving from this room until you tell me.”

  She threw her hands up in the air. “It was that witch next door. First, she ruined your life, then she put a hex on me. Now she’s gone and can’t take it off. Unless you can produce a miracle, I’ll be dead by the next full moon.”

  Ruben didn’t reach his office until late morning. He’d left Mamacita napping. She had finally agreed to take her pills, “Just in case they might help.”

  Julio planned to leave work early and pick her up in hopes that being around her grandchildren would lift her spirits.

  His call to the church asking for an exorcism had produced only an uncomfortable silence although Father Hennessey had promised to go by Julio’s and talk to her.

  He couldn’t help believing this all had something to do with Vincente finishing his doctorate and getting engaged. It must seem to her as if her work was over. All her little chicks were settled.

  Except him.

  She had insisted he go to work. She claimed the only thing that would make her feel better was for him to solve this case.

  “I can die in peace if I know you caught the man who killed both of us. That must be the reason you became a policeman instead of a priest.”

  Now he wasn’t sure if it would be better to solve the case or leave it open. Would that keep her alive?

  One thing he did know: Tessa Reyna had information she hadn’t seen fit to share with him. That was about to end. He didn’t care how good she looked. From this point on, she was the enemy. That’s all he had to remember.

  Adam tapped a stack of papers on his desk. “The forensic wiz-kids found a set of large tree-trimming type clippers under the matt in the trunk of the limo. Fingerprints match Shaw and he works for a landscaping service. It’ll be days before we know if the blood on them belongs to Yolanda Garza.”

  “Would have been nice if they’d bothered to peek under that mat while we were still there. Any other good news?”

  “I’ve run several checks on RJ’s Gym and Body Building. Nothing. All the records come up clean. You want to drive over there and see if anyone has a name tag reading El Jefe?”

  “Let’s run by Tessa Reyna’s place first, and see if she’s ready to open up. Learning that the man who ordered her mother’s death is busy cleaning up all the witnesses might make her a little more talkative.” He wanted to go there first to get it over with, not because he kept picturing her in those shorts and wondering how far up that scar went.

  “You just want me there for protection in case she tries to throw you out again.”

  For protection maybe, but not against being thrown out.

  Adam reached into his pocket. “I’ll flip you to see who has to drive.”

  Ruben considered the size of the seat in motor pool cars. “We can take my car.”

  “I thought I warned you to lock your doors.” Ruben leaned in the open doorway. Music and paint fumes spilled out just as before. It wasn’t Monk this time, but somebody close to his sound.

  Tessa jumped and twisted to face him. Only a corner of the painting was visible but he saw a portion of her kitchen with her crumpled on the floor. In those damn shorts.

  Adam stepped through the door and broke the tension that had built like a physical force. “May we speak to you a moment? We have news on your mother’s case.”

  She dropped a cover over the painting before he could see the rest of it and led the way into the kitchen without a word.

  He liked his coffee, but wasn’t addicted to it like Adam. He seldom bothered with the foul brew from the vending machine at work. But if she would make a pot of that good stuff like the last time he visited, that might go a long way toward lifting the fifty pound weight that seemed to have settled on his shoulders.

  No such luck.

  She plopped into the chair she had used before and he grabbed the only remaining one before Adam had time to claim it. Adam shot him a dirty look. Too damn bad. Move a little faster next time.

  Rubin cleared his throat and started slowly. Let her have a moment to adjust. “Late yesterday afternoon we discovered the bodies of the two men we believe murdered Yolanda Garza.”

  Her body seemed to sink in. “So, it’s over then.”

  Adam pressed closer to the table. “No, ma’am. Somebody killed those two men. And he’s most likely the mastermind. The one who issued the orders. We still need to find that man.”

  Ruben leaned in. “The most dangerous time in an investigation is when the criminal’s plan falls apart. This man is cleaning up his loose ends. As long as we don’t know why he killed Yolanda, we can’t say who he might come after. That’s why I cautioned you about keeping your door locked at all times.”

  “So now I have to lock myself in my own house?”

  “Only for a short time. Is there anyone you could visit for a few days?”

  “No, and if I did, wouldn’t that be putting them in danger? I wouldn’t do that.”

  A flicker of admiration for her attitude caught him by surprise.

  Adam had been circling the kitchen and breakfast room, studying the paintings that covered every wall. He came back to his original spot and cleared his throat. “Would you mind if I used your restroom?”

  She stared at him for several seconds without blinking, then rolled her eyes. “Go ahead, look through my house. I’m not hiding anyone in the back room. Let me warn you, I started painting as soon as the sun came up, so my bed’s unmade and there are towels on the floor.”

  Adam chuckled as he left the room.

  Ruben watched until he was out of sight then returned his gaze to Tessa. “You understand now why we’re in such a hurry to get this wrapped up before more lives are lost. Yet the one person who knew Yolanda better than anyone else is holding back essential information.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she sputtered. “I don’t know who killed her. If I did I would tell you.”

  “I didn’t mean to insinuate you could name her murderer, just that you could tell us what she was like. For instance, my mother says that Yolanda was a witch and put a hex on her, telling her she would die before the next full moon. If she did that to other people, they might have had reason to come after her.”

  He’d have gone after her himself if he’d known what she did. A vein pulsed in his neck, but he couldn’t let Tessa see how angry he was, so he breathed deeply through his nose.

  Tessa shook her head violently. “No, no, no, no. She would never have done such a thing. She was definitely a witch, but the Wiccan religion forbids anything like that.”

  Sure, and the Christian religion says you shouldn’t kill or commit adultery, but people did it all the time. Besides, a witch, really? She expected him to believe that nonsense?

  He tried to remain calm, but the tight grip he kept on his temper was slipping. “We’ve spoken with you several times and you never saw fit to mention that she’s a witch? You don’t think that some people might take offense at that?”

  Her voice rose and her eyes flared. “Of course I know there is bias against witches. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I wanted you to investigate her death like you would anyone else’s.”

  Heat started in his gut and spread across his body. His voice rose to match hers. “Ms. Reyna. I assure you, I investigate every death the same way. I don’t care if the victim is a policeman or a prostitute, a businessman or a drug dealer, Catholic, Jewish, or Wiccan. I give every case my best effort. No one gets away with murder in my city if I can help it.”

  Did he? He certainly tried to. But he had to admit, there were times when politics got in the way.

  Adam chose that moment to return. Concern coated his words. “Have you had a break in? One bedroom has holes torn in the sheetrock and the sink in the guest bath is ripped out of the wall.”

  She swiveled her head his direction. “What? Oh, no
. I bought this house as a foreclosure. It was like that when I got it. I suspect the previous owners weren’t too happy about losing their home.”

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “Six months. I don’t think they murdered my mother because I picked up this house at auction.”

  “No, but you shouldn’t leave it like that. The damage will get worse. It’s not that hard to fix, if you know how.”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t know how. And I don’t have the money to hire anyone right now.”

  Ruben watched the conversation in amazement. Sure, Adam had redone his entire house himself and seeing damage like that probably galled him, but this wasn’t the time to discuss it.

  Adam ignored his dirty look. “You certainly have some lovely paintings, especially that mural in the dining room.” He nodded toward an antique cabinet in the corner. “What do you call that type of painting? It looks almost 3-D with the cat peeking out from behind the books.”

  “It’s trompe l’oiel.” Ruben spoke without thinking and then flushed. Shit. Adam’s going to ride me about knowing that.

  “What?” Adam asked.

  If Adam noticed, he didn’t let on.

  Tessa glanced at him, surprise in her eyes, before twisting back toward Adam. “Trompe l’oeil. It means ‘deceive the eye.’”

  “Well, it certainly does that. It’s beautiful.”

  Enough of this malarkey. Adam was right to try to smooth things over by buttering her up, but it was too late. She was already too angry. And it was his fault. He should have chosen his words more carefully. Now he’d never learn anything of use. He could talk to murderers and perverts without letting them get under his skin. Why did he always let this woman get the best of him?

  “Come on, partner. We’ve got an hour’s drive across town to our next interview.” He twisted back to face her. “Please remember what I said and keep your doors and windows locked. If you think of anything to add, call me at any time. Or Adam, if that makes you more comfortable.”

  Half of him hoped she’d call Adam if she had anything to say, and half of him hoped she wouldn’t.

  “I’ll take your advice on one condition.”

  She had a condition on being safe?

  “What is that?”

  “When you get home, read up on the Wiccan religion. Then you’ll understand why I say Yolanda would never have done anything to hurt your mother.”

  Chapter 15

  RJ’s Gym and Bodybuilding was a throwback to the seventies, maybe later. No self-respecting preppy workout king, and certainly no woman, would consider setting foot inside.

  The gym contained a regulation-sized ring, punching bags, and other various boxing paraphernalia along with weightlifting equipment and an entire wall of mirrors. That was all. No elliptical machine, no stair stepper, no fancy treadmill or bikes with more computer equipment than most people knew how to work.

  Thirty years of spilled blood and body odor had seeped into the cement floor and walls and no amount of fresh paint would ever cover it. So the owners hadn’t tried.

  Ruben considered the entire scene disgusting. Men primping and watching themselves as they sculpted their bodies. Or working off their disappointment with life by beating the shit out of each other in the ring.

  On the other hand, as his frustration level built, he understood the need to punch somebody senseless.

  The manager’s office matched the rest of the building in taste, décor, and cleanliness. An unlit cigar with one end chewed to mush sat on the corner of a scarred desk.

  The man behind the desk was tall—not as tall as Ruben or Adam, but at least six foot—and cadaverously thin. Cancer flashed across Ruben’s mind immediately.

  He apparently mistook them for new recruits because his eyes lit up. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

  Ruben flashed his badge and he knew without looking that Adam had done the same thing. The man’s eyes fell and he sat back in his chair.

  “We’re interested in a couple of your members, Gordo Cordova and Vernon Shaw.” Ruben replaced his badge and straightened his jacket.

  “Triple D and the Lumberjack. What have those two deadwoods been up to now?”

  Ruben ignored the question. “Do they have any friends they hang around with here?”

  “Everyone here is cordial, pleasant. I don’t allow no trouble. Take it into the ring, I always say. Those two spot for each other, but I don’t recall nobody else they’re especially friendly with. They’re a good match. They don’t have half a brain between them.”

  “I’d like to look at their applications. See who they listed as references or emergency contacts.”

  The old man eased out of his chair and shuffled to a set of file cabinets. “Don’t expect too much. Not sure either one of them is especially literate.”

  He thumbed through first one file drawer, and then another with the speed of molasses on a winter day.

  Ruben forced himself to stand still while the urge to knock the man out of the way and do the job himself churned inside him.

  Adam began his slow route around the room, studying every newspaper clipping and yellowing photo hung on the walls.

  “Here ya go. I told ya not to expect much.” He handed Ruben the forms with a trembling hand.

  Gordo’s form listed his name, phone number, address, and emergency contact. Other lines were left blank. Shaw’s form contained his name and phone number in block printing. Nothing else.

  So the two murders didn’t read newspapers, but they were dead anyway. The guy who hired them was the one he had to worry about. And he didn’t have any idea who that was.

  “Do you remember when they joined? Did someone refer them?”

  “That’s been too long ago for me. But the Lumberjack’s been here the longest. So I don’t think they joined together. More a case of two likes finding the lowest common denominator.”

  Ruben glanced at the date stamped onto the forms. Gordo had joined two years after Shaw, so probably not friends beforehand.

  “I’m not surprised they got in trouble.” The old man shuffled back to his chair. “They were both followers. Likely to do anything for a pat on the back. The last few months, maybe a year, D turned mean. I had to ask him to leave a couple of times.”

  “’Roid rage,” Adam muttered, returning to his side.

  “I don’t allow those things in my gym.” The old man actually showed a spark of life.

  Ruben took the forms and started for the door. A chill hit him in the chest and he stopped to look behind it.

  “Adam.” He motioned with a jerk of his head.

  “What’d you find?” Adam sprinted to his side.

  A photo of several men at some type of competition hung in a cheap wooden frame. It hadn’t yellowed yet so Ruben guessed two, maybe three years old.

  Five of the men held trophies or ribbons. One of the men was Vernon Shaw. To the far left stood a man in a black suit. His face was a blur, but his hair was black and he had a distinctive shape. He was a perfect square.

  “Who’s this?” Ruben bit back the excitement in his voice.

  The man squinted through watery eyes. “The owner. He stops by once or twice a month to make sure I haven’t died and left the gym unlocked.”

  Ruben took a deep breath. He didn’t want to frighten the man and have him stop talking. “What’s his name?”

  “His name is Ruben Jacinto, but he makes everyone call him Boss. ‘Shall I bring the car around, Boss?’ ‘Do you want to see the books, Boss?’ ‘Want me to find you a sparring partner, Boss?’”

  Adam lifted the photo from the wall. “So he’s a boxer?”

  “Not so much anymore.” The old man rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t want to beat him. You might wake up in an alley with both arms broken. Maybe your legs, too. And losing is just as dangerous. He doesn’t know when to quit. Claims he didn’t hear the bell. Triple D and the Lumberjack were willing to spar, but I had to keep a close eye on the mat
ch.”

  Ruben set the photo in the back seat, on top of his suit jacket. The early fall air smelled crisp and clean, and he took a moment to enjoy it before sliding behind the wheel and buckling his seat belt. The click of Adam’s belt said he was ready, too.

  “That was fucking unbelievable,” Adam said. “What made you look behind the door?”

  “I don’t know. Just a gut feeling. Most of the stuff on the wall was old. If we wanted something a little newer, behind the door was the only place left.” It was weird. Like his hand moved of its own accord to pull the door back and look behind it. He’d had strong premonitions before, but nothing like this.

  “I’ve worked with plenty of cops, but none with your gut instinct. It’s never failed us yet. Remember that case, must have been a year ago, when the kid went bonkers and shot his family? SWAT cleared the house and told us it was safe to go inside. You stood in the middle of the room, turned in a full circle, and made everybody get out. The kid was hiding in the attic, armed for bear.”

  “The attic door looked crooked. That’s what alerted me.” The attic door had been fine. It was the hairs on the back of his neck that screamed at him.

  “I still say, if we could bottle it, we’d be rich. Maybe predict the stock market. Or the Super Bowl.” Adam rubbed his hands together.

  Time to put an end to this subject. It was making him uncomfortable. “I’d settle for being able to read your face during poker games. If I didn’t supply the cards, I’d swear you had them marked.”

  Traffic was heavy but still lighter than it would be by the time he left the office and started home.

  Home? Where was home, Mamacita’s or his apartment? He had to show the photo to the Watson family. If Bobby or his parents could positively identify Ruben Jacinto as El Jefe, their case was made.

  If not, he wasn’t sure what the next step would be. He glanced at Adam, just finishing a call to the office. “When you ran the background check on RJ’s Gym you said it came up clean. Did you check Ruben Jacinto’s name?”

  “Ownership was a corporation and the address was a bank. Nothing showed up, but I didn’t find his name. I’ve got Remy Steinberg running a check on him now. Should know something by the time we reach the office.”