Pretty City Murder

by Robert E. Dunn

“He loved me, like a son. I swear. It’s the truth.”

  Hieu returned.

  “Smith just admitted to being in MacKenzie’s room. Is Leahy getting that subpoena?”

  Gerald saw the stern look on Varton’s face.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Smith, get up. No, just sit there. I’m disgusted with you. You lied about being in his room. If you lied once, you could be lying again. You needed the money. You didn’t kill him in cold blood. You wouldn’t have gone to his room, except for the money. You’re not an axe murderer. It just happened...in the heat of the moment.”

  Gerald looked at Hieu. “Haven’t you ever been short of money?” He placed both hands on the desk and decided not to say any more, fearful that the truth would come out. A spot of blood appeared on the gray desk.

  Hieu didn’t speak.

  “Do you own a gun?” Varton asked.

  “No. Leahy already asked me that.”

  “Have you ever fired a gun?”

  “Sure. I’m from Texas.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Everyone from Texas has shot a gun. Cornelius had a lot of guns at Topaz Lake, but I never used them. He hunted small game with his other friends up there, not with me.”

  “Don’t be flippant. Who did you see in the hall?” Varton pressed.

  “The person I heard could have come out of one of the other rooms or around the corner.”

  Varton interrupted again, “You killed MacKenzie, and the rest is a made-up story to protect yourself.”

  Gerald’s hands came off the desk and he sat back. “I told you the truth. I went to his room to borrow money, saw he was dead, and left. I heard someone in the hall and ran down the stairs. I have nothing more to say. I want a lawyer.”

  He didn’t know why he said that but thought it was right.

  “Why didn’t you report the death?”

  Gerald thought he was done for and couldn’t think of what to say.

  “I’m not arresting you, yet. Let’s get back to your bank account.” Varton lifted the potted desk daisy and walked around the room with it in his hand, his head down.

  Gerald blurted, “I was scared. I was in his room for God’s sake.”

  “Fine,” Varton said as calmly as a psychiatrist. “I can arrest you for not reporting a dead body.”

  Varton and Gerald’s eyes met. Gerald tried to figure out what was in his mind.

  The prey is found when the hound dogs are on it.

  He decided not to say another word.

  Varton carefully placed the potted plant on the desk and said, “You’re my number one suspect. We will be looking at your bank account. So, you better be telling the truth. I’ve given you the chance to tell your side of the story. Do you want to change anything?”

  Gerald was silent.

  “You’ll be back in here if you’re not telling the truth. Is that understood, Smith?” Varton asked, a little less calmly than before.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re free to go.”

  Hieu ushered Smith out. In the hall, Hieu put his hand on Gerald’s shoulder and said, “Telling the truth is the best thing to do in these circumstances.”

  “I have, Inspector, I have. Have a nice day.”

  Joe bit into his pencil and looked at the calendar.

  At half past two, he said, “It looks like Morales is a no show. Have him picked up.”

  “I think I have a plan, Joe,” Hieu said.

  “What is it?”

  “Go to Morales’s house and catch him off-guard by doing the interview on the spot.”

  “Okay. I’m confident you can get all the information needed, Hieu.”

  “Do you want me to get Larry?”

  “If you do, don’t let him direct the interview. You take charge.”

  •••

  Larry looked up as Hieu entered the room. “How did it go?” he asked.

  “Fine. Morales didn’t show up. Joe gave his approval for an interview at Morales’ home. Do you want to come?”

  “I know what you’re thinking. Morales is closer to your age. I can hit him with questions and...”

  “I can be his friend.”

  “Sounds like you don’t need my help anymore.”

  “Naw. You still have a sharp eye.”

  “My car, Larry?”

  “Up to you.”

  The black Toyota Forerunner turned right on Quesada Street.

  On the stairs Larry said, “I know the floorplan – it’s a typical stucco, Junior Five house.”

  Hieu stepped over dark brown paint chips and tried peering through the window, but drab lace curtains obscured the view. He smelled wood-rot and heard a baby crying.

  “Smell that? It hasn’t rained since April,” Larry said. He rang the doorbell when no one answered his knock. Hieu waited one step below and looked at his cell phone: five minutes to three.

  Pablo opened the door. He wore a red, oversized shirt and a bright green t-shirt showing underneath at the collar line. His head was tilted back.

  “Mr. Morales? I’m Inspector Leahy, and this is Inspector Trang. May we come in?”

  “Man, what do you want?” Pablo stood his ground. Hieu watched Larry side-step Pablo.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Morales,” Hieu said. He trailed Larry, who was moving toward an archway. On the right, a girl painted her nails at a table in a kitchen with pale pink walls, and next to her, a baby rocked back and forth in a yellow and blue swinging chair.

  “Let’s get down to the questions. May we sit here?” Larry asked.

  Pablo shrugged and slouched into the couch. Larry set aside baby toys and clothes, a cell phone, and a pair of Adidas, and made a space for himself.

  Hieu asked for a chair.

  “There’s one in the kitchen.” Pablo glanced in its direction.

  Hieu walked into the kitchen. “May I take this one?”

  “Yes, sir, of course,” the girl answered.

  “I’m Inspector Trang.”

  She stood. “I’m Larissa Rey.”

  “Very nice to meet you. How old is your baby?”

  “Joaquin is eleven months.”

  “I hope my first one is as handsome as Joaquin.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Please sit down. We’re here to talk to Pablo.”

  Hieu lifted the chair and accidentally hit the swing set. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said.

  Larissa got up and knocked over her nail polish bottle. Drops of sparkle-filled, banana yellow polish dotted the flowered vinyl table cloth.

  Her sloe eyes drew out Hieu’s sympathies.

  “I’ll clean it up,” he said.

  She offered a nervous smile and answered, “This is a special nail polish from the manicurist at the Greenwich. It’s called Lemon Drops.”

  “That’s nice.” Hieu walked over to the sink, clean but rusted, and picked up a sponge. He wiped up the polish and rinsed the sponge back at the sink. A milky concoction in a glass bottle marked by a frothy line half-way up brightened a dark corner of the counter.

  He turned and faced her long hair, streaked with shiny, marigold highlights.

  “Thank you for cleaning up the mess,” she said with one eye on the baby, who started crying. She stroked the top of his head.

  Hieu brought the chair into the living room and sat next to Larry.

  Larry started the questioning. “You had an appointment with Inspector Varton at Central Station. Why weren’t you there?”

  I guess I will let Larry lead.

  “No way to get there.”

  “You work as a bellhop at the Greenwich Hotel. For how long?”

  “Year and a half.”

  Larissa spoke up, “No, almost two years.”

  “Shut up.” Pablo stood up and stared in her direction. The baby started crying again. He lifted a box of Marlboros and shook one out.

  Hieu wondered how far they would get in their interrogation if Pablo’s interruptions continued, reminding everyone pre
sent that he was the man of the house. Pablo took hold of the arm rest and eased himself back into a slouch.

  “Can you just ask your questions...do what you’re here for?”

  “You worked the night of July 4. What time was your shift that night?” Larry asked.

  “5:00 p.m. to 1:30 a.m.”

  “Where were you from midnight to the end of your shift?”

  “Yeah, I was there, wherever.” Pablo shrugged, looked at his cell phone, and punched some numbers with his right hand. The cigarette was balanced on a small glass ashtray. His dimples materialized when he smiled at his phone.

  Hieu recognized the La Raza-type colors of his shirt, undershirt, and pants and wondered if the phone was a Boost.

  “Are you a member of a gang, Mr. Morales?”

  Larry got that right.

  “No,” he said, without looking up from the phone.

  Hieu took out his notepad.

  “Don’t lie to me. I know about Carlos Ortiz and the other fella, Vega. All three of you have had some run-ins with the police lately. Tell me about it,” Larry said.

  With hands in the air and the cell phone still in his right hand, he said, “So what! What you got against Latinos, dude?”

  “You have any brothers or sisters?” Larry asked.

  Pablo let out a sigh, dropped his hands, and punched in some numbers. It looked as if he were playing a game on the cell phone.

  “When do you take your breaks: dinner break, coffee break, et cetera?” Hieu asked.

  Pablo looked at Hieu for the first time and appeared, for a moment, to be assessing him. “We got assigned times. My dinner break was at ten, and I took a coffee break after that.”

  “Can you be more precise, Pablo?” Hieu asked with pen in hand.

  “What? You take breaks as a cop, don’t you? Do you remember every break you take? When’s this gonna end?” He looked down at his cell phone. “You can check the records, man.”

  Larry said, “I will do that. So, you took a second coffee break around midnight.”

  “Where did you go?” Hieu asked.

  “See a friend.”

  “Who was that?”

  “Guy from housekeeping.”

  “What did you and your friend do?”

  “Smoke a cigarette.”

  Larry interrupted Hieu’s questioning. “I have spoken to other employees, and they tell me you have resumed your marijuana habit. Is that true?” Neither he, nor Larry, nor Varton had heard anything about Pablo’s marijuana use.

  “Nope.”

  “What else do you smoke besides cigarettes?”

  “My old lady can hear.”

  His blasé look spoke loudly. When the doorbell rang, Hieu looked in the direction of a commotion. It could have been a parade of Las Vegas chorus girls for all the attention he gave, until he heard the voice. He jumped up.

  Larry continued. “Now, you were on your second break. How long were you gone?”

  “Check your records.” Pablo looked forward and backward as if he were trying to decide to clean up the mess.

  Hieu heard Larissa say, “Gloria, this way. Let’s give these guys some space.”

  A woman of medium height, fortyish, olive skin, and jet-black hair peeked into the living room. She had a small nose like Pablo. A long, walnut-colored scarf covered her neck and a white blouse. She pulled her black jacket forward and smiled.

  “Joaquin is here in the kitchen,” Larissa said.

  “Mom, what are you doing here?”

  “Vengo a ver al bebe,” she answered.

  In that moment, it seemed to Hieu that Pablo had become the person he really was. He wondered if the presence of his mother coming to see the baby would change the dynamics of the interview and was hoping it would when he heard her speaking baby-talk.

  “But you were on your coffee break and kept time,” Larry said.

  Pablo paused and sat down. “About twenty minutes, something like that.” He dropped the phone on the couch, picked up his cigarette, and stared at Larry.

  Hieu said, “You left for approximately twenty minutes to smoke a cigarette. Where did you go after that?”

  “The can.”

  Pablo leaned forward and placed one hand on his crotch and the other under his chin, the tip of cigarette filter just beyond his lips. Then he sat back and dropped both feet on the coffee table.

  Larry resumed the questioning. “You returned to the front desk. Was Ms. Chase there when you returned?”

  Pablo shifted slightly and said, “Yep.”

  “Can anyone verify that you were in the bathroom the entire time?”

  Pablo bristled. “Hey, bro, I’m not gay.” He dragged both feet off the coffee table, tossed the cigarette in the ashtray, and jumped up, waving his hands and pacing around the room. Hieu sat up straight. Larry didn’t blink. “Shit, dude, just leave it alone.” Pablo stopped in front of the arch, looked toward the kitchen, and swung around.

  Larry spoke firmly, “Sit down, behave like a normal human being, and answer the questions.”

  Pablo sat on the couch. The cigarette in the ashtray continued its slow burn.

  “During your absence, Mr. MacKenzie was killed, and Mr. Ready, your friend from housekeeping, says you told him you knew where to get some money. What do you have to say about that?” Larry asked.

  Larry’s leading him.

  “What the shit? Ready don’t know what he’s talking about.”

  “Clean it up. Your mother’s here. Did you plan on getting money from Mr. MacKenzie and when he refused, you killed him?”

  The cigarette continued to burn.

  “No way, no way.” Pablo’s voice trailed off after the first denial. “I ain’t killed nobody. I’m not crazy, man.”

  “Do you own a gun?”

  “No.”

  Hieu addressed Pablo directly. “Pablo, I know this is a lot to be going through, but a man was killed. We’re trying to find out what happened. I don’t think you’re the type of person to kill anyone.” The baby started crying. “I’m married. You have a baby, and I know it’s important for you to be a good example, like I want to be for children I bring into the world. So, all you have to do is tell the truth.”

  “Shut up!” Pablo yelled over the baby’s wails. “Hey man, I’m telling the truth. Larissa doesn’t know about me smoking weed, and I don’t want her to know. I don’t own no gun.”

  “We have information that you bought a gun recently, then pawned it. What’s the name of the guy who sold you the gun?”

  Pablo looked surprised. He swiped his clipped brow and looked out the window. Hieu’s chair tipped forward. “Just tell the truth, and we are done with the interview.”

  “Aight. I bought a gun,” he whispered.

  Hieu looked at Larry and said, “What kind of gun, Pablo?”

  Larry moved his chair closer.

  “Magnum 357. I got it from another dude. All I did was make the buy and sell it two days later.”

  “What were you going to do with it?”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Where did you get the Magnum?”

  “Some dealer.”

  “Drug dealer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where is he located?” Hieu asked.

  “Don’t know. We hooked up at Burton High School. I don’t even know his name.”

  “Come on, Pablo, give me his name and this is at an end,” Hieu said, his eyes never leaving Pablo, who looked back at him.

  “Will I be in some sort of trouble?”

  “We aren’t sure, yet, Pablo. It helps just to tell us everything you know. We appreciate good information.”

  Pablo whispered, “His name is Marco Pate. I don’t know where he lives, except it’s in the Bayview. Look, can you help me out...if it’s a stolen gun...or something? I need the help, man. I don’t want to be in trouble.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, Pablo.”

  Pablo nodded Hieu closer with a head gesture. “Man, I k
now some of you are okay, but I see racism everywhere. Just ‘cuz I’m Latino doesn’t mean what you think is true. I got things to do, and my mom’s here. So...”

  Larry interrupted, “Morales, I’m going to arrest you if you’re telling me a lie. You have a good job. Your new baby needs a future. Don’t plan on going anywhere.”

  Larry stood. Hieu placed the notepad back in his suit pocket, shook hands with Pablo, and noticed that his tattooed fingers were ice-cold. His mother stayed in the kitchen, and Larissa showed them out.

  On the way back to Central, Larry said, “Wasn’t it odd when I asked him about being in the bathroom and he said he isn’t gay. There’s conflict inside Pablo.”

  “Exactly. Say, Larry, what made you say Pablo told Ready where there was some money to be found?”

  “Just a hunch. You’ll get the knack.”

  Chapter 13

  Tuesday, July 9

  Varton stuck his head in Larry’s office and said, “I postponed the Fletcher interview until four thirty, just for you. I vetoed his request to do the interview tomorrow. I said, ‘I don’t care if you’re at work. Get yourself down here or I’ll send a very sociable officer to the Greenwich.’”

  “Thanks.”

  “Why are you in here, Trang?”

  “I’m writing the report on Morales. It should be done in a few minutes. Larry said he would review it.”

  “No, bring it to me when you’re finished. What about the trip to Ireland?”

  “What about it?” Larry asked.

  “Would be a nice trip.”

  “The case is unfinished. I’ll think about the trip after we find the murderer.”

  “Never been to Ireland,” Varton said.

  “Me neither.”

  “I can picture you with the family on a sweet little picnic beside a green stream, and joining the little group, a nice treat, family guest, lips smothered in glitter and wiggling her assets.”

  Hieu stifled a laugh.

  “When Fletcher shows up, Hieu, I’ll ring. Bring that report in before he gets here.”

  Hieu looked up. “Morales purchased a gun and pawned it two days later, the day after the murder.”

  “Is that all you got, Leahy?”

  “He smokes weed. We think he needs money to feed his habit,” Larry answered.

  “Well, does he use hard drugs? Did you at least find that out?”