“Your nephew was Antony Arshov.”
“Yes.”
“How often did you see him?”
“Every day. He brought me groceries, fixed things around the apartment.”
“The apartment that was in his name.”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever meet the people he worked for? Did he ever talk about them?”
“No. Never to me.”
“Were you aware of his reputation, of the things he’d done?”
“No. He was always a good boy.”
“So when you found him in your apartment did you have any idea who could have been responsible?”
“I didn’t.” The last word stumbled out, her breath hitching.
“Approximately how long after finding him did you call 911?”
“I tried to wake him. When he wouldn’t open his eyes I ran to the kitchen and called the police.”
“What time do you think that was?”
“I got home around 7:30. I think I called the police five minutes later.”
“And how quickly did they arrive?”
Her eyes drifted to the corner of the room, unfolding the memory. “Immediately,” she said. “They were there in five minutes.”
“And what was the officer’s name? Do you remember?”
“Detective Medina,” she said.
The defense attorney approached the jury.
“Detective Medina has been on a witch hunt for my client for almost a decade. Relentlessly fueled by an ancient vendetta based on absolutely no proof. He’s groomed the witnesses. Fed them falsehoods. Put their own lives at risk on his behalf. But not only has he perpetuated this narrative, he’s also manipulated it through elaborate staging, tampering with evidence.” He looked at Elda. “Did you ever wonder how the police got there so quickly?”
She didn’t speak.
“My client is not responsible for what happened to your nephew, Mrs. Arshov. But someone is. Someone whose brother was also the victim of a murder. Someone who, despite a plethora of evidence to the contrary, believes my client was responsible. Someone who conveniently chose to avoid today’s proceedings.” He faced the judge. “Those are all of the questions I have. Thank you.”
Chapter 55
Jax
Jax saw her standing on the beach wearing the black pencil skirt Nadia had picked for her, hair trying desperately to spring loose from a tight bun, the wind catching wisps of it as she stood directly in its current.
“Are you cold?” Jax said.
She watched the ground, avoiding his eyes.
“Are you ok?” He moved closer.
Her sling backs were dangling from her pointer finger and he could see that Nadia had painted her toenails a soft blush color that almost disappeared against her skin.
“Rani.” He reached for her thumb, trying to make some kind of contact.
“I feel sick,” she finally said.
“Do you want to go inside? Do you need something?”
“No,” she stopped him.
Her face was pallid, the transparent skin beneath her eyes as grey as the clouds clustering overhead. They stood there, ankle deep in the waves, the sand relentless in its attempt to devour them until Rani finally spoke again.
“I’m scared,” she said.
“Of testifying?” he asked her.
She nodded.
“It’s ok,” Jax said, his fingers climbing to her wrist. “You’ve practiced and they’ll have a translator there to help you.”
“It’s not that. I’m not afraid of speaking.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
She looked right at him. “What if it doesn’t work?”
Jax felt the appropriate response hovering there on his lips. It will. Don’t worry. But he knew she wouldn’t believe him because he didn’t believe it himself. If he had, he might have been testifying with the rest of them. He’d seen how erratic the justice system could be, the rules always swaying this way and that, bending and sometimes even breaking under the weight of the cartel.
“Could we run from him forever?” Rani said.
“I promise, if he gets out, I’ll never let him find you.”
Rani leaned into him, face buried in his shirt. “I don’t think I can do this,” she said.
Jax felt a jolt in his lungs, her words stirring fear in him. What would it mean if Rani didn’t testify? What would happen to her family and to Pascual? It was either face him in court or someday in the future, the days in between plagued by the restless fear of being found.
“You can do this.” Jax pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’ll go with you,” he said, letting himself ignore, just for a second, that it was his brother she was so afraid of, that he was who she would be testifying against.
“You will?”
He nodded.
“But not to—”
“I can’t,” he stopped her. He felt his face flush and he let go of her. “Rani, I—”
“Your mother,” she said. “I understand.”
“No, you don’t.” He shook his head. “It’s not my mother. It’s me. I’m just like him.”
He stared at the ground and she reached for him.
“No.”
But she was wrong. Jax knew. Rani, Medina—they weren’t there. They hadn’t seen the things he’d done, the things he didn’t do. And more than facing Pascual, more than disappointing his mother, he was afraid of finally being exposed. If he testified against his brother that’s exactly what would happen and then he would lose everything. He would lose Rani. But what if she found out anyway? What if the thread strung between them was already growing taught, ready to break?
Jax took a deep breath. “Rani, I’ve…I hurt someone. I did something terrible.”
“No,” she said again, her voice firm.
“I’m sorry.” He stared at the ground. “I’m…”
Rani took a step toward him. “You are nothing like him.”
She looked up at him, her eyes wide, and all he wanted was to pretend. In that moment, he wanted to pretend that she was right. So he kissed her. He found her lips, gripped her hard, and then he sunk.
Chapter 56
Jax
The room was washed in a pale glow, the overhead lights casting putrid shadows that clung to the walls. It felt transitory, like the sort of generic staging your mind would manufacture in a dream. Jax hung in the back, keeping his head low until the room was buzzing and every seat had been filled. He watched the jury file in, every one of them adopting the same slope to their features—a placid grey knowing that made Jax's stomach turn. He knew what they were thinking—of the subtext of a threatening phone call, of a note left on the front seat of their car. Pascual had gotten to each and every one of them.
Jax spotted Rani at the front of the room. She was sitting next to Nadia, her eyes on her hands, fingers clutching the stiff hem of her blazer. He wanted her to turn around. He wanted to tell her not to do it. But she was still, absorbed by every shuffling body and stray voice and he was afraid to blink, afraid that if he did she might disappear completely. She finally turned, her face pale as she watched Nadia rise from her seat, and then her sister was on the stand.
Nadia’s introduction was brief, monotone. Just like he'd heard them rehearsing downstairs. The prosecutor led Nadia through the past nine months—from the moment she first slid into the passenger seat of Medina's car to the night she’d fled—every name, number, and nuance of Pascual's operation escaping in one long exhale. Jax could see the slight tremor in her hands as she spoke, her eyes never straying past the center aisle to where Pascual sat, still and stone-faced.
Jax tried not to watch him either, as if his gaze was something tangible, his presence something you could feel. But there was a part of him that needed to see his face, not because he thought he could read his reaction—he'd never been able to tell what his brother was thinking—but because he needed to see that he was real. That he was really there. That they'd really caught him. For now
he was just a shadow, a dark centerpiece among a slew of soft faces—women and young girls he would no doubt claim he'd never seen before. And yet there they were, filing past him like ghosts.
That's when it hit him. They were already dead.
Jax traced the harsh slope of Rani's shoulders, her neck tight as she watched her sister give her testimony. Did she know? Could she feel it? The room settled in a hush, the soft click of keys the only sound bouncing along the bare walls and then Jax heard Rani's name, saw her rise from her seat and ascend to the front of the room.
He held his breath, their sharp inhales synchronized, and then she was looking at him. She found him from across the room, over stiff bodies and slumped shoulders, twelve rows of reporters and law enforcement, city officials and members of the cartel—a barrage of suits and harsh faces. And she found him. A pale vacancy flashed across her face and suddenly he was too far away.
"Three days," she said.
"Where were you being held?"
"In an empty storeroom—the attic."
"Were you alone?"
"Yes." She bit her lip, paused. "Sometimes."
"And when you weren't..." The prosecutor brought a hand to his face, fingers gripping his jaw. And then he didn't flinch, he didn't hesitate. "What happened when you weren't alone on March 8th?"
Jax watched Rani’s face. She blinked, inhaled, exhaled, wrestling each breath down to her lungs. She swallowed. She parted her lips. And then she told him everything.
Jax pressed flat against the wall. He'd found her, had carried her through that empty park. But that was after. To him there was only after. But now as she spiraled back there, their hands on her, the darkness swallowing her whole, Jax was there. Every sensation cutting him into pieces, his pulse drowning out every sound.
"Three of them."
Her voice slipped in and out, falling into the ebb of his pulse.
“I couldn't breathe."
Jax blinked, the shadow of his lashes blurring his vision.
"He told me to scream.”
“Who?”
Rani looked down. “Him,” she said.
“Him,” the prosecutor repeated. “Pascual?”
“Objection,” another voice cut in. “Leading question.”
“Overruled.”
“Rani, can you point him out to me? Is he in this room?”
She nodded and then she pointed at Pascual.
“You said he held you down.” The prosecutor faced the jury. “That you couldn’t breathe, and then he…”
Jax felt the wall give way.
“I closed my eyes,” she said, voice cracking.
And then Jax stopped listening. He stopped breathing. And everything was dark.
Chapter 57
Jax
Jax gripped the edge of his seat. He’d been sitting there all afternoon, waiting for the shadows to leave his vision, waiting for Rani. He’d left her there. In that room. Alone with Pascual. And he wanted her to yell at him, to be angry. But she wasn’t. She’d come inside, slipped off her shoes and slid down next to him at the kitchen table.
She told him about the seat sticking to her bare legs, about stumbling over her words, and catching glimpses of Pascual in the corner of her eye. And then she told Jax about watching him fall, his eyes closed as Julian pulled him through the double doors of the courtroom.
“I was afraid,” she’d said, “and then I wasn’t.”
Then she’d leaned in close and kissed him.
After everyone went to bed, Julian sat across from Jax, his fingers gripping the kitchen table.
“I have to show you something,” he said, staring at his hands.
“What is it?”
“Someone sent this to my apartment.”
Julian pulled out his cell phone and handed it to Jax. Light shuddered across the screen, a line of static pulsing down the middle. It flashed dark and then Jax saw Medina.
He was sitting in a chair, legs flung wide, head slumped onto his shoulder. A hand slipped into view, jostling him, and he blinked.
The camera zoomed in, his face wide, and Jax could see every line. They were deep, the skin torn, swollen. He almost couldn’t tell that it was him or that it was even a man at all. But then he blinked. Medina’s eyes peered out from beneath the swelling, irises bleeding out into a sallow grey.
Jax inched forward, his hands still gripping the seat. Voices sifted in, grainy, the words muffled behind a hand or the collar of someone’s shirt. Jax tried to hold onto them, his brain sifting through every one of Pascual’s narcs. But then he heard that dark lilt, manic—his brother’s voice.
There was a loud shudder, a door being thrown open, and then something else buzzed just below Pascual’s voice. It was low, and long, and grating. And beneath the growl Jax heard the soft padding of feet, a sharp click on the concrete floor. Medina’s legs curled beneath the chair.
“You hunted me like a fucking dog.”
The lens panned out like a mouth opening wide. Four men in masks cinching Medina in, dark shadows writhing between their legs. They each held tight to the scruff, the dogs writhing on their back legs, paws raised, teeth barred. A howl swelled deep in their bellies, the crack of their bay sending a harsh whistle through the speakers. And then they let them go.
Chapter 58
Jax
Jax gripped the same seat Rani had been sitting in the day before. His palms were slick against the wood and he wiped them on the tapered leg of his slacks, fingerprints sticking to the fabric. He felt the doors pull open, Pascual’s side of the room a shuddering carousel in the corner of his eye.
He waited for his brother to look at him but when he glanced to his left Pascual was slumped down in his seat, defense team leaning over him, blocking him from view. The room grew quiet and then they called Julian to take the stand.
“You were not originally on Melissa Cavarón’s murder case is that correct?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“Was Detective Medina?”
“No.”
“How did your involvement come about?”
“When Pascual became a suspect. He’d been on our radar before. The DEA wanted to keep an eye on him.”
“The DEA or Medina?”
“Everyone in the department.”
“But Detective Medina had a special interest in this case didn’t he?”
“After receiving Pascual’s file, Detective Medina recognized his name from a past investigation. He had prior knowledge of some of the charges against Pascual and he noticed that the police records didn’t accurately reflect this information. There were very small deviations in the police record and some information seemed to have been left out altogether.”
“How did Detective Medina come to the conclusion that Pascual’s police record had been tampered with?”
“Objection,” someone on the defense team yelled. “Leading question.”
“I’ll rephrase. Detective Baxa, did Medina believe these inaccuracies were intentional?”
“He did.”
“Why is that?”
“The DEA had its own file on Pascual Rodriguez and our records didn’t match the police records.”
“How so?”
“According to our information he’d been named a suspect in a previous murder, un-related to the murder of Melissa Cavarón. There wasn’t enough evidence at the time to charge Pascual with the murder and the case went cold. This information wasn’t included in police reports.”
“When did you and Medina decide to get involved in the investigation into Pascual?”
“We were superficially involved in the investigation of Melissa’s murder but when that case didn’t turn up any new suspects we turned our focus to the inconsistencies in Pascual’s paperwork. Something about it just didn’t sit well with Medina but we weren’t able to gather any substantial evidence against anyone in the police force or in their administration. But then a year later, Viktor Arshun was arrested for the murder of three Ru
ssian expats. He was one of the largest traffickers of heroine on the east coast and when the case went to trial, the federal prosecutor became aware of some blatant inconsistencies and omissions of Arshun’s criminal history in local police reports. At that point we knew it couldn’t be a coincidence and we decided to start looking into Pascual’s relationship with the police.”
“And what did you find?”
“Exactly what we were looking for. Reports, evidence—a lot of information missing with no explanation as to what happened to it.”
“With the evidence that was still intact, were you able to make any arrests?”
“It wasn’t enough. Not to get the judge to grant us a warrant.”
“During this investigation, was the suspect still in the area?”
“No. He disappeared for almost six months. The last time anyone had seen him was the night before Melissa’s murder. Then he was gone.”
“You say approximately six months later that he reappeared. Who was it that informed the police of Pascual’s whereabouts?”
“The defendant’s mother.”
Jax felt the air go and then he couldn’t help it. He turned to Pascual. His eyes, drawn into slits since the moment he sat down, seemed to quaver. One of his attorneys whispered something into his ear. He nodded and then the man rose to his feet.
“Counselor, you may begin your cross-examination of the witness,” the judge said.
“Thank you, your honor. Detective Baxa, did Mr. Rodriguez have an alibi for the night of Melissa’s murder?”
“Yes, he did.”
“And who was it that corroborated that alibi, Detective?”
“The victim’s parents.”
“Melissa’s parents.”
“Yes.”
“What exactly did they say, according to your report, about Pascual’s whereabouts that day?”
“They said he was with their son.”
“So the people who would be most interested in bringing the person responsible for their only daughter’s murder to justice said Pascual didn’t do it.”
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