“Do you think any of your family members were angry enough to kill María or Ana?”
“Hah. They probably all were. I don’t really know, Judge. I didn’t have anything to do with it. I’ve got my own life. I just attend these nasty board meetings to keep an eye on my stock interest. The only person I see outside these meetings is Roberto. He certainly didn’t kill anyone.”
“How can you be sure?”
“He’s my brother, for Christ sakes. He’s a softy. He made a mistake in his books. Tried to recapture the money he and Luis feel the senior members steal from us. But he’s paying that back. It was a wrong approach. We’ve just need to wait these bastards out. He’s not a killer.”
CHAPTER 14
The three rose together and walked out of Starbucks, the heat striking the Judge like a blowtorch. He realized he’d left his sunglasses in his room. Damn.
Rosa headed for her car while Garcia dragged the Judge across Boulevard Paseo de la Marina, one of Cabo’s main drags, in the hot morning sun, stepping over pot holes and dodging the traffic now picking up. Garcia seemed immune to the heat, and to the fumes and noise from cars whizzing down the dusty street at them.
“What do you think, Garcia?”
“About Rosa?”
“Yes. A candidate for murder?”
“I don’t know. Was it Don Quixote who wrote, ‘What man can pretend to know the riddle of a woman's mind?’”
Garcia led them down a block and across Lazaro Cardenas, Cabo’s other main street, to the front of a small restaurant serving breakfast which proclaimed itself as Pan di Bacco on a black sign between folding half-glassed doors closed to the street and its heat.
The Judge pushed his way through into the shade behind, bolting for an empty table close to an air-conditioning unit which seemed to work overtime with negligible effect. Just like the Judge. The place had the smell of frying chicken and lard, staples for Cabo’s denizens. They settled in, Garcia ordering a plate of fried eggs and tacos, the Judge politely passing on food, settling instead for an iced can of 7-Up which he pressed to his temple, ignoring decorum.
The door opened again with a blast of hot air, and Roberto Cervantes walked in, dressed in the same designer jeans of the day before, a little dirtier now, and a fresh Nautica sport shirt, light blue. His long hair was pulled back tightly on the sides of his head and wrapped in his man-bun. It seemed the only thing about his appearance he cared about. His small man-purse was slung over his shoulder.
His dark eyes focused on them with the same intensity and animosity the Judge had noted at the time-share, like a coiled spring, ready to unwind in an aggressive and unpleasant fashion at the least provocation.
“It’s the famous Sleuth, the Judge. And his sidekick… is it Robin? Oh no. It’s Garcia, Mr. Chief Inspector himself.”
He stuck his hand out and gave a limp handshake, no enthusiasm in his face.
“One of these days your mouth’s going to get you in trouble,” hissed Garcia, his dignity offended.
“But not today, old amigo, not today. Is he sick?” Focusing on the Judge. “He looks bad.”
“He closed Cabo Wabo last night. But I think he mostly just looks like that way.”
“Oh. Poor bastard.” He circled his arm in the air for the waitress and ordered a Dos Equis.
“The Judge is assisting in my investigation of the possible murder of your aunts.”
“Murder? They jumped, pure and simple. Couldn’t stand living with themselves any longer I suppose. Miserable old bats.”
“We suspect murder. We think they were pushed.”
“Oh, come on. No one was on the roof and you know it. You sealed it off as soon as María jumped, and your man was in the stairwell when Ana jumped. No place to hide. No place to run. You think the hand of God came down from on high and plucked them off that roof?”
“Something like that,” said the Judge. “We’re wondering if it might have been your hand.”
Roberto’s face colored. He wasn’t used to being talked to so bluntly.
“I may have chafed a bit under their iron rule, but that’s hardly a reason to kill them.”
“When you get caught embezzling large sums of money it can be,” said the Judge.
“Who told you that?” snapped Roberto, his face turning angry, clutching his Dos Equis as though he might pulverize the bottle.
“I thought it was common knowledge around the board.”
“I don’t know where you get your information, but it’s all lies. There is a personal loan is all, and I’m making payments.”
“You mean a theft of money, quickly converted to a loan and covered up, once your crime was discovered?”
“Fuck you, Judge.”
“You couldn’t have been happy when María discovered your embezzlement, confronted you, and put you in a box to pay it back.”
“So what if that’s the way it went down? It’s all settled now. No one gives a rat’s ass.”
“What about the reconciliation of inventory accounts for prior years? That work’s still going on. How much more will they find was embezzled since you headed the Division?”
The Judge was bluffing. It was a shot in the dark. But embezzlers often syphoned off money for years before they were caught.
Roberto’s face twisted into rage.
“Shut your mouth, asshole. You know nothing. Nothing about our company. Nothing about our family. Nothing about the two lying screwed up old wrecks that ran this company as their own private fiefdom, treating everybody like shit. Nothing.”
“So, they deserved to die?”
“Of course they deserved to die. But they chose to jump off the roof. No one pushed them. I was downstairs in the boardroom with everybody else, including you and the Chief Inspector. You two buffoons are my alibi.”
“That just means you hired someone to do it.”
“Sure, an invisible man. If I were going to kill someone, I’d just shoot them.”
Garcia said, “Roberto is a crack shot with the long rifle, Judge. A Colonel in the Army Reserve, he’s won many contests and keeps his hand in. Right Roberto?”
“Oh, you know about that do you, Garcia? Well, you should tell your partner here to show a little respect. Perhaps even a little fear, hey? The army in Mexico is different than in Norteamérica. We run this country.”
“Not everyone thinks that,” said Garcia.
“Did you kill your aunts, Roberto?” asked the Judge.
“Go fuck yourself. I’m saying nothing more.”
Roberto slammed his beer down, stood up, threw a twenty-dollar bill on the table, turned and stalked out, not looking back. The Judge sipped at his now warm 7-Up and looked at Garcia, wishing his head would clear.
“What do you think, Chief Inspector?”
“He certainly has motive. He was downstairs in the boardroom, but he could have arranged for someone to be up there. Everyone knew María would go up for a smoke. But where did his man hide? How did he remain undiscovered after María was pushed off the roof so he could kill again?”
“Maybe his man was invisible, like he said.”
“Sure. The invisible man. Not funny, Judge. And not helpful. You’re here because the Chief is breathing down my neck. I need help. I thought you’d have some constructive ideas. And all you can give me is Roberto’s Invisible Man.”
The Judge spread his hands in sympathy, acknowledging he had no better ideas. But something about the invisible man was appealing to him. What was it?
CHAPTER 15
The Judge was dropped off back at his hotel and made a dedicated run through the lobby, up the elevator and to his room, squeezing himself through the door, trying to keep the door mostly closed and the air-conditioning air in. Katy was there, strewn on the bed, peach bra and panties, reading an Elmore Leonard novel, looking fetchingly sexy. She spread her arms up, reaching for him, and he fell in beside her, burying his head in her breasts, wishing it would help his sore head.
�
�Oh, poor baby,” she whispered, stroking the hair across his patch of bald, as though he were some Great Dane that had collapsed onto her chest. She put one hand on each side of his head and said she was focusing her brainwaves through his skull, putting everything back into parallel order. It seemed to help.
One thing led to another and soon she was astride him and he was buried in her. She slid her torso forward and back across his loins, rocking him to an excitement that evaporated his sore head, ratcheting him ever higher until suddenly he was at the top, then over the edge, sliding down in a spasm of climax that left them both gasping and spent.
He slept then. For a long time. Around five she awoke him, suggesting an early dinner, and reminding him they were going out clubbing again later in the evening with Alan Clark. He groaned at the thought, wishing he could just stay at the hotel, vowing to Katy that no alcohol would pass his lips ever again.
“Yeah, Judge. That’ll be the day.”
They had a quiet dinner under the big palapa down by the beach, holding hands, sharing dreams, talking about little Ralphie, who was sorely missed, as was Annie the Dog. At ten p.m. they were in the lobby waiting, as Alan Clark pulled up in a limo taxi, dressed all in white.
“White on white on white on white.” He said, lifting a trouser leg to display a white leather shoe and white socks.
“You and Katy will match,” said the Judge. Katy was all in black cocktail attire, sporting five-inch heels and black fishnet stockings. The Judge never understood how females balanced on high heels, or why they’d want to. He supposed it was inferiority complex revolving around their shorter stature.
The Judge had brought nothing fancy to wear, and besides it was still hot, even at ten at night, so he’d slung on his puke green shorts again and added a blue golf shirt. Jesus, the shorts would walk by themselves by the time he returned to Los Angeles.
He wore his black dress shoes with leather soles and dark blue socks, neither of which he could see because of his damn protruding paunch. Katy gave him a funny look when he walked out of the bathroom dressed and ready to go, but said nothing. So, he guessed he looked reasonably okay, although a few impolite people seemed to stare at him as they’d crossed the lobby, Katy walking ahead, almost as though she weren’t attached to him.
Squid Roe had a small footprint along Lazaro Cardenas, the main drag of Cabo, distinguished only by the size of its overhead sign proclaiming its presence. But its narrow front opened into a more cavernous space in the rear, and sailed up two and a half stories, with surrounding balconies and platforms overlooking its main dance floor. The tables had rails rising from table height upward, allowing dancers to climb and dance on tabletop in pairs, trios, and even sixes and eights. Complemented by extraordinarily loud music and a continual and incoherent laser show of light beams, flashes, alternating black lights, and cloud vapor, it reminded the Judge of Dante’s vision of Hell.
But Katy and Alan didn’t seem to mind, cutting people off to snag a table being vacated by a couple likely deaf from sitting too close to the speakers. Somewhere in the middle of the second round of drinks Katy and Alan were dancing on the table, forcing the Judge on to alert to protect himself and his drink from flying feet. The patrons at the next table, four young men… well… men in their thirties… crap, everybody was young to the Judge… were enjoying Katy’s long legs as she and Alan cavorted atop the table like two crazed monkeys, moving to some sort of rhythm only they could make out amidst the din.
Two drinks in, the Judge could feel his headache coming back, mostly from the onslaught of the random noise considered music, at decibels above a jet engine. It was no use arguing about it. He was twenty years Katy’s senior. It represented a generation gap in the world of music impossible to bridge. Besides, no one could be heard over the racket anyway. He tried to be a good sport and pretend the raucous music was pleasing. Ugh.
After his third drink, he excused himself for the restroom, instead inconspicuously making a bolt for the front door, and outside into the comparative quiet of the street. He leaned against the exterior side of the building several feet from the entrance, ignoring the vibrations through the wall and the continuing heat stored in its brick, watching crowds of people milling about on the sidewalk, moving in both directions in a confused mass, jammed in lines trying to get into clubs, standing round watching the crowd, and the inevitable hawkers, trying to steer people to their club with smarmy charm. It was Saturday night in Cabo.
He glanced over at the security guard leaning nearby, his large stomach protruding against the brown uniform shirt, dressed up with epaulettes on its shoulders and reverse sergeant stripes on its sleeves. He was gulping toward the bottom of a Tecate. It didn’t look to be his first. A big guy, perhaps thirty, he looked vaguely familiar. He turned, sensing the Judge’s gaze, then smiled in recognition. The Judge looked into the friendly eyes of Officer Gonzales, Chief Inspector Garcia’s policeman told to stay with Ana on the roof. And now here he was, moonlighting as a security guard for Squid Roe.
“Señor Judge, how are you?” He raised his now empty bottle in a salute.
“Good. Muy bien,” said the Judge, shreds of his high school Spanish floating back to his tongue somehow. “How goes the homicide case, Officer Gonzales?”
“It’s confusing, Judge. There was no one on the roof. Or on any roof for that matter. I think the two old ladies… they just jumped.”
“But two of them in one afternoon? The same place. Practically the same time. How could that be?”
“I don’t know, señor.”
Gonzales drew himself up against the wall to his full height. “I got in a lot of trouble, Señor Judge. First the Chief Inspector tells me to do one thing, then he tells me to do another. And now he says I screwed up. It’s like he can’t make up his mind.”
“So, you’re saying you didn’t disobey any order?”
“Señor Judge. I swear I did exactly what I was told. The Chief Inspector told me to take Señorita Ana up the roof and then come back and stand in front of the stairwell door where he could see me, through the boardroom glass. In case he needed me, he said.”
“Okay,” said the Judge.
“Si. And then Garcia got all upset when I did what he asked. I’m a simple policeman, señor. I can only follow orders. It was all very stressful.”
“That’s interesting, officer, and definitely not what I was led to believe. If I wanted to reach you to talk some more, do you live in Cabo?”
“Just outside the main town, señor, in a small house in Jardínes del Sol. I have to go back to my post inside, but here, I’ll give you my phone number.”
The Judge thanked Gonzales for his card, steeled himself, and wished he had cotton in his ears, preparing to squirm his way back into the crowded Squid Roe.
His path was blocked by a young girl, looking directly at him with large eyes. She had black hair, done up in a sophisticated style, eyelashes too long to be real, thick racoon eyeliner, and bright cherry lips, complemented by rosy blush expertly blended along her cheek lines. She wore tight yellow shorts and a matching bandeau that outlined budding breasts not fully grown. She looked about fourteen.
“You’re very handsome, señor,” she said. “We could do some fun together, no?”
“No,” the Judge said.
Her liquid brown eyes probed the depths of his. He saw a mixture of hope and desperation there. Young eyes already old, having seen so much in her short life. The Judge felt other eyes on him. He looked to the left where a young man, early twenties, forty feet up the street, was watching them with hard eyes.
“Where are you from?” asked the Judge.
“Guatemala. I am working my way to the U.S.”
“Like this?”
“Romance is a very natural thing, señor. It’s how we’re built. Besides, I have a debt to pay off here before I can move closer north. This is my only way forward.”
“But you’re so young.”
“Not so young I can’t provi
de pleasure, señor.”
The young man up the street yelled and waved his hand. Fear flashed across the girl’s eyes. “I can’t chit-chat, señor. Can we have some fun? Or no?”
“No,” said the Judge, giving the girl a sad smile.
The girl turned and moved up the street toward the young man, spreading her hands open in front of her, indicating no transaction had been negotiated. He didn’t look happy. The Judge shuddered, and tried to regain his equilibrium.
He pressed his way back into the crowded Squid Roe, feeling like a rugby player at the center of a ‘maul’, and edged toward the bar. He ordered himself a Dos Equis, a piña colada for Katy, and a vodka martini for Alan, then precariously balanced the drinks through the multitude, slopping drinks only here and there, mostly on people’s feet.
As the Judge set the drinks down at their table, Katy was still whirling around its top, dancing up a storm. But Alan looked pooped. He’d collapsed into his seat, mopping his forehead with a now-wet handkerchief. He reached for the Judge’s cold Dos Equis like a drowning man, knocking off a third of the bottle in a long gulp, ignoring the martini. Against his better judgement, the Judge downed the martini he’d ordered for Alan, and wondered if he’d have another headache tomorrow. He thought it likely. But it beat listening to the racket accosting him from all sides stone cold sober.
CHAPTER 16
The room phone rang sharply at nine the next morning. The Judge had slyly taken the other side of the bed, but it didn’t help. Katy reached in her sleep to pick up the phone, and handed it across to the Judge without ever waking, apparently a skill picked up as a new mother.
“Good morning, Judge.”
Shit! It was Chief Inspector Garcia again. Back for more blood like the lonely vampire he was.
“Chief Inspector, we really should stop meeting like this. People will begin to talk.”
“We haven’t met yet today Judge, but I expect you outside the lobby in thirty minutes. We are meeting with Miguel Cervantes this morning.”
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