The Mamacita Murders

by Debra Mares

  “Your objection is overruled,” says Hoffman.

  Fox walks right up to me and places a photo face down in front of me.

  “I just placed People’s Exhibit One right next to you. I would like you to turn that photo over, take a look at it, and tell me whether you recognize what’s depicted in it,” says Fox.

  Before reaching for the photo, I stare at its blank backside, remembering the photo that Tanner showed me when I testified in my stepfather’s trial. And I start to freeze.

  “Ms. Ruiz, did you hear the instruction?” asks Judge Hoffman.

  I shake my head up and down in agreement.

  “I’m going to object again, to showing this witness the photograph,” says Tanner.

  “Overruled. I’m going to order you to follow Mr. Fox’s instruction and turn the photo over to look at it,” says Judge Hoffman.

  Just as I start to reach for the photo, I hear Tanner again.

  “Your Honor, I’m objecting again,” he says.

  “On what grounds this time?” asks Judge Hoffman frustratedly.

  “Beyond the scope. This photo belongs to the People. I intentionally did not use any photos with this witness. And defense should have brought their own photos if they wanted to use them during cross-examination,” says Tanner.

  “Counsel?” says Judge Hoffman inquisitively, looking at Fox.

  “I didn’t bring any. And would need about an hour to go print them. I only have them on a CD,” says Fox.

  “You should have prepared your own exhibits for trial, Mr. Fox. I’m going to sustain the People’s objection, but I’m also going to allow you some time to go print your photos,” says Judge Hoffman.

  I hear the jurors start to sigh and shift their bodies in the jury box. I look up at Tanner and smile at him, before mouthing the words, it’s okay. Then, I turn towards Judge Hoffman.

  “Your Honor, I’m fine. If it’s okay with the People, I’ll look at the photograph,” I say.

  “That’s fine with me,” says Tanner.

  “Very well, go ahead,” says Judge Hoffman.

  I turn over the picture and stare at Laura’s naked body on the motel bed, then turn it back down. I can’t help but remember my mom’s silk kimono in the photo I was ordered to look at during her trial. That picture will stay burned into my memory forever.

  Tears roll down my cheeks and I reach for a tissue sniffling and wiping my tears. I look down and cry as silently as I know how to, trying to remember if I’m supposed to answer a question.

  The jury starts to reach for the tissue boxes that are sitting on the railing of the jury box.

  I finally come up for air to answer more of Fox’s nonsense questions about the crime scene.

  “How long have you been running The Mamacita Club out of your motorhome?”

  “Since my first marriage ended.”

  “First? How many marriages have you had?”

  “The same number you can probably count up to.”

  “Answer the question, Ms. Ruiz,” directs Judge Hoffman.

  “One, so far. But I’m shooting for three like J-Lo, hoping it won’t turn into five like Rita Hayworth,” I say, receiving a smile from one of the divorced women on the jury panel.

  “Speaking of her, aren’t you also known as the Pin-Up Prosecutor?”

  “That’s one of my nicknames.”

  “How many do you have?”

  “It depends what day of the week you’re talking about. Or what pin-up costume I’m in. Or if I’m in court versus The Mamacita Club out at the Airstream. I’ve been called Latina, Carmen Miranda, J-Lo, Eight of Swords, Bruja, Trailer Hillbilly, Rockabilly, Grace Under Pressure, Gang Banger, Bulldog Stick-It-To-Em Lawyer, the Closer. I can go on and on.”

  “What’s your favorite?”

  “Mamacita,” I say.

  “And let the record reflect, the witness has a red flower in her hair that’s pulled back and she has red lipstick on. Let the record reflect all of that. Just out of curiosity, how would you say spicy in Spanish? Caliente?” says Judge Hoffman.

  “Picante. Caliente. It’s all the same as Mamacita,” I say, smiling at Judge Hoffman.

  “Hot, spicy, and Mamacita in what way, Assistant Prosecutor Mrs.... I mean Ms. Ruiz?” says Fox emphasizing the fact I’m not a Mrs.

  “My friends call me Mamacita. I like to salsa dance and I’m Latina. It’s a term of endearment. I’m different to them. We all need that unexpected friend in your close circle. Someone who’s just different. That’s who I am and what I like about being Mamacita,” I say, giggling inside wondering if Fox’s friends call him Hal for his halitosis.

  “I believe you were quoted in the Tuckford Press stating that you wear pinstripes by day and pin-ups by night. Can you explain exactly what that means?”

  “It speaks for itself. There’s nothing to explain.”

  “Do you also dress in garters, stockings, and other provocative things at night?”

  “That’s none of your business, but when I’m around the girls, of course not. We’re professionals. We just wanted to pick fun alter egos. The girls dress up, too. We encourage them to be creative; it’s all a sign that they’re in recovery.”

  “And let me get this right. You choose pin-up models as your alter ego?”

  “It works with the girls and helps to teach them things.”

  “Like what? How to become a prostitute and wind up blindfolded, tied up, and almost dead in a motel room?”

  Just as I’m about to stand up and personally walk up to Fox and kick him in the balls, I think twice. Taking a deep breath in and letting it out, I smile politely. I can be a lady when I need to. Plus, poor Fox has no clue how to serve his community, our youth, or even his bad breath. The only thing he knows how to serve is himself.

  “Mr. Fox. You and I both know that Laura should have joined The Mamacita Club. But your client didn’t let her,” I say sternly.

  “Isn’t the real truth that your office didn’t allow her into your club because it was a conflict of interest?”

  “Everyone in the criminal justice system could have dealt with that. A judge could have ordered her into my club or her stepfather Javier and my office could have waived any conflict; but we couldn’t even get to that point, because she was a minor. And your client said no thanks. Laura was trying to change. She wanted to join The Mamacita Club and even told Clown and Bess the night she was assaulted that she wanted to stop prostituting. Clown was actually going to let her go. Bess, on the other hand, had a different plan,” I say.

  “And you believe that Clown was going to let her go?”

  “I have seen some of the most selfish people motivate the people around them to make better choices than they did.”

  “Wow, that’s pretty liberal of you, Ms. Ruiz, wouldn’t you say?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Following that logic and assuming you believe my client is guilty, wouldn’t it be possible she acted in a heat of passion, upset at Laura wanting to stop?”

  “That’s up for the jury to decide, but my personal opinion is absolutely not. Hours before this happened, Laura told your client that she was going to testify against Javier and stop prostituting. Your client wasn’t trying to motivate Laura to make better choices. She was trying to control her and spent hours planning it.”

  “I’m showing you Defense Exhibit Number 20. Am I reading this article correctly that a certified angel reader works at The Mamacita Club?”

  “Yeah, that’s Angela. She’s amazing. She’s certified in Angel Therapy.”

  “So she’s like those fortune tellers with a crystal ball?”

  “No, she gets her messages from angels, not plastic balls.”

  “What’s her pin-up?”

  “Angel Gabriel.”

  “Gabriel? I thought your club was all women?”

  “It is. There’s some dispute whether Gabriel is a male or female. In Judaism, Gabriel may have been thought to be a female angel. Angels in gener
al don’t have a gender.”

  “Interesting. There’s an angel in the Airstream. But what’s more interesting is how seriously you take this. Do you have an angel?” says Fox laughing.

  “Angels are like buttholes, Mr. Fox; we all have them,” I say, causing the courtroom to erupt in laughter as Judge Hoffman glares at me pounding his gavel on his desk.

  “You didn’t answer my question. Do you have an angel?”

  “Objection, relevance,” says Tanner agressively.

  “Overruled,” says Tanner.

  “Yes,” I respond.

  “How does your angel communicate with you?” says Fox inquisitively.

  “Angels are like gut intuitions — everyone’s got them, just not everyone listens to them,” I say genuinely.

  “Did you get an intuition before that drive-by happened?” asks Fox.

  “Maybe so. I was dressed like a mob wife that night,” I say nervously, speaking before thinking.

  “Excuse me? The Mafia is in the Airstream now? Explain that to us, Ms. Ruiz,” says Fox dramatically.

  “We were learning about crimes and how sometimes the whole family enables it. Gang members in this county have their girlfriends and wives hold drugs and guns when police pull them over. It’s similar to mob wives. When they’re in jail, gang members have women bring drugs into the facilities. Through jail calls, they use women to arrange drug deals and murder hits. Look at your client and how she tried to kill her own daughter for Javier who was in jail facing serious charges,” I say firmly.

  “Is it possible your gang-banging mob outfit provoked the drive-by shooting that night?”

  “No, I was in a long red dress, not a jersey, knee high socks, and Nike Cortez,” I counter as Fox returns to the podium and flips through his notes.

  “Ma’am, isn’t it true that you were dressed the other night in a pin-up like Lady Justice?”

  “It wasn’t Lady Justice, it was Eight of Swords. I was at the Airstream talking to girls about domestic violence.”

  “You had a blindfold and a sword with you. Isn’t that what Lady Justice looks like?”

  “Yeah, and Eight of Swords.”

  “Call it what you want. Eight of Swords or Lady Justice. But that’s how Laura was found. You realize that don’t you?”

  “Yes, I found her.”

  “You didn’t blindfold her yourself, did you?”

  “Objection,” says Tanner.

  “Overruled,” says Judge Hoffman.

  I look at Judge Hoffman and squint my eyes so hard it almost gives me a headache.

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to insinuate, Mr. Fox. But whatever it is, it is completely inappropriate. I’m going to allow Ms. Ruiz to answer this question, but I want you move on,” says Judge Hoffman.

  I shift my glare to Fox.

  “Laura was blindfolded with a sock and tied up with a belt with rhinestones that had your client’s DNA all over it. She looked like Lady Eight of Swords, an image I didn’t even know existed until after I found Laura. And my blindfold is made of Japanese silk, not a dirty man’s sock.”

  “Did you find your silk blindfold in a sex store along with the rest of your pin-up costumes?”

  “No!” I scream, looking straight at Fox without flinching amidst the tears rolling down my face.

  “Is it something from your past that causes you to want to adopt an alter-ego?” Fox asks.

  Fox knows about my past from that one night I confided in him and as tempted as I am to bring up his attempt to make out with me and his halitosis breath, I stop and compose myself.

  “I think we all wish we could be something different,” I say.

  “And you encourage the girls you mentor to become pin-up models?”

  “No, I encourage them to learn from the models.”

  “What on earth could these girls learn from pin-up models?”

  “I don’t know what you’re suggesting. But I think we could all learn from them. Especially how to fix our pasts. I wish I could go back and help my mom the day she died. But the truth is that we’re all human, we’re not perfect, and we make mistakes. But we can learn from them. That’s what the girls learn from the pin-up models. How to fix our pasts. The same thing the girls have taught me,” I say, trying my best to keep my calm.

  “Have you thought of dressing up as a police pin-up or just being yourself, as a prosecutor pin-up to teach these girls how to obey the law?”

  “I’m trying to build a rapport with these girls, not a wall. And that doesn’t happen overnight. Or by throwing a police badge in their face. They’ve had negative experiences with police. Does that make any sense to you, Mr. Fox? Because if it doesn’t, maybe you should think about getting out there and serving your community. Especially before you criticize the way I’m doing it,” I say, before Fox shys away from asking his next question and tells Judge Hoffman he’s done.

  After a quick ten minute recess, Tanner doesn’t waste any time standing up to start his redirect examination on me, the part I like the most.

  “Ma’am, you mentioned earlier that one of your pin-up costumes is Trailer Hillbilly. Do you realize that some of our jurors live in mobile home parks?”

  “Yes, I grew up in one, too,” I say, thinking back to jury selection when I had to allieviate Tanner’s concerns about trailer park residents being appropriate jurors.

  “Just out of curiosity, what lesson are you trying to teach the girls with your Trailer Hillbilly pin-up?”

  “Trailer Hillbilly teaches us about stereotypes. There’s all kinds of jokes about trailer park trash that these girls are subjected to every day. We use the pin-up as a way to teach tolerance. Stereotyping and jokes lead to bullying. Most of these girls have been bullied or wind up bullying themselves. So Trailer Park Hillbilly is a big part of The Mamacita Club.”

  “What about Carmen Miranda?”

  “It’s a pin-up I use to identify with them, like my J-Lo one. Many of our girls are Latina and don’t have a positive role model in their lives. Plus, with economic times being hard, people blame lower class citizens or illegal immigrants for their problems, most of whom are Latinos in this county. It’s the same type of discrimination that led to things like the Holocaust and other race wars.”

  “What about Angel Gabriel?” Tanner asks.

  “Aside from being a certified angel reader, Angela uses that pin-up to teach the girls we all have angels. It gives them a sense of hope, something they have very little of. We also use Angel Gabriel to teach tolerance for homosexuality and the dangers of sex discrimination, like the discussion earlier about Angel Gabriel being female or male; it shouldn’t matter. Young people everywhere struggle with identity issues. Kids are bullied over this. We teach them to be comfortable in their own skin and accept everyone regardless of their sexual preference,” I say.

  “It seems like The Mamacita Club is like your family. Is that an accurate characterization?” Tanner asks.

  “It’s the closest thing I have to a family,” I reply.

  “And what about Eight of Swords that you were recently wearing? What were you trying to show the girls with that?”

  “Just that we women are blind when we’re subjected to violence. I teach the women that they just need to remove their own blindfold and find the key to the lives and the home they want to have. I encourage them to dig deep and listen to their guts and hearts, because they hold the answers,” I say.

  “Can you tell the jury a little more about what you mean when you say victims of violence are blind?” Tanner asks.

  “Objection, relevance,” says Fox, starting to stand up.

  “Overruled. You opened this door with your questioning,” says Judge Hoffman, smiling at Tanner.

  “The girls all know about my mom,” I say. “I’ve discussed with them how she had her own blindfold on, not realizing how dangerous the situation was that she stayed in. And the mistakes she made putting herself in harm’s way. So I use my mom as an example of a victim wh
o could have removed her own blindfold to find the key to free herself. She just didn’t do it soon enough.”

  I stay strong, being Grace Under Pressure, but hear a couple jurors grabbing tissues out of the box.

  “And just a couple more questions,” Tanner says. “Fox asked if you got your silk blindfold from a sex store. Can you please tell the jury where you got it from?”

  “Objection, relevance,” blurts out Fox.

  “Overruled; you opened the door on this,” says Judge Hoffman.

  “It was my mom’s. It came as part of a set I bought her with a silk Japanese kimono that she was found murdered in. That, her diary, and some photos are the only things I have left of her.”

  “Can you tell the jury what personally inspired your pinup theme.”

  “My mom loved pin-up models. Her favorites were the Vargas Girls. She loved old-time classic movies like It’s a Wonderful Life and actresses like Rita Hayworth and Betty Grable. Growing up, I loved to watch her put her powder and lipstick on when my stepfather wasn’t around. She was so beautiful and always wanted to put her hair in pin-curls, but my stepfather never let her.”

  “Did you bring a photo with you today?”

  “I did.”

  “Why’d you bring it?”

  “Objection, Your Honor. I haven’t seen this photo before,” says Fox.

  “He opened the door on cross-examination asking her questions about her pin-up costumes. The photo supports what she’s told this jury,” Tanner says.

  “Overruled. Go ahead and answer,” says Judge Hoffman.

  “I’ve always carried it with me. This is the last picture my mom took.”

  “Your Honor, may I publish the photo Ms. Ruiz has with her to to the jury?” asks Tanner.

  “It will need to be admitted into evidence as an exhibit,” says Fox.

  “No, it won’t, Mr. Fox. And yes, you may put it on the screen,” says Judge Hoffman.

  After I give Tanner the photo, he publishes the most beautiful picture of my mom, in pin-curls, dark hair, and glamorous. I smile at her as she projects life-size in the courtroom.

  “Where was this photo taken?” Tanner asks.

  “Here in Tuckford County,” I say.

  “Under what circumstances?” Tanner asks.