Crimetime

by Maria L. M. Fres-Felix

  The old woman stopped herself from gasping. The effort seemed to have etched more lines on her forehead. Her shoulders had become round. “Yes, my granddaughter had an abortion. I found out only when she called me from the hospital. When they left her to deal with everything on her own, my poor grandchild, she had a breakdown.” The last few words seemed to have been wrung out of her throat one by one. Then she steeled her voice. “Those heartless hampaslupa. Remember the saying, you can’t buy class? Apparently neither could you buy a conscience.”

  “What can you tell us about Justin, Ma’am?”

  “He ruined her. I could kill him.” The old woman clutched her cane till the veins throbbed on her fists.

  “He died Tuesday night. Anyone else knows how you feel about him?” Tuason searched the old woman’s face for a sign of guilt or remorse.

  The grandmother straightened up. Chin jutting, she said, “Is that some sort of code for where were you last Tuesday and did you hire someone to kill him?”

  Tuason kept silent, as she peered more intently at the old woman.

  “Very well,” the old woman said, “I was here at home, hosting a dinner after the image of the Blessed Virgin Mary was transferred here.” She motioned to a flower-festooned statue dressed in a flowing cape of blue. “And no, I didn’t hire anyone to kill him. I believe in divine retribution.” She pursed her lips. “I pray for it every day, like I pray for Amanda’s soul and that of her baby.”

  As the maid escorted the detectives to the door, the old woman said, “You must talk to their agent. She must know something.”

  “Is it just me, or do you feel like we’ve stepped into the set of a tragic romance movie?” Rios asked as he maneuvered out of their curbside parking.

  “I told you, I don’t watch those things.” Tuason puffed out her cheeks then exhaled. “But just imagine being young and in love, and being faced with those two creatures. Didn’t those women realize they were driving Justin and Amanda closer together?”

  “Yeah, those kids must have felt that all they had was each other. That you and me against the world thing. Haay. Anyway, my money is on the old Donya. I can’t shake the feeling that she hired someone. She has lost everything. Her daughter, her husband, her granddaughter. She’s alone in that huge house. Maybe she thought someone had to pay. She has nothing to lose. She’s old.”

  “I don’t know. She doesn’t seem the type. I think she feels that she doesn’t have much time and is making peace with her creator in her own way.” Tuason frowned. “Anyway, let’s go see Amanda.”

  “But how? The old woman didn’t give us anything.”

  “I know where Amanda is.”

  The traffic going farther north moved with the speed of molasses. Joshua kept his eyes on the road, slightly frowning, as though wondering why Tuason hadn’t wanted to see the agent first. A truck had crashed into a jeepney and held traffic to a standstill until traffic aides untangled the mess. They reached the sanatorium at dusk, and by then, it was locked up. A stern old security guard stood behind the grill gates, unfazed by their badges. Visiting hours are over, he kept saying, no matter what Tuason and Rios told him. It was like talking to a robot.

  That night in her tiny apartment, Tuason decided to listen to the Beatles instead of Bon Jovi. Humming to the strains of “The Long and Winding Road,” she tried to work on her latest elephant. The Baccarat style one with the rounded body and elongated legs. She carved off tiny pieces of teakwood from the hump, but was not satisfied. She simply could not get the correct shape. She tapped her cellphone to refer to the picture she had snapped from a magazine at the parlor. She had grudgingly gone to the parlor because Zaldy had given her a discount coupon for the start-up place owned by his sister. Forensic expert Zaldy Bernal, her fellow chocoholic, was among the few people she would never say no to. She imagined him closing up at the lab, taking off his stained lab coat, pinching the bridge of his nose to relieve strain, doing a head roll, then straightening his The Grateful Dead T-shirt. She often wondered how many of those he owned. She could still catch him there, call him, but she decided not to. She already owed him enough favors for all those autopsies.

  Turning her attention to the wooden elephant, she murmured, “Not good enough.” She wanted so much to copy the graceful lines of the stylized pachyderm. But no matter what she did, she just couldn’t copy it. Her shoulders slumped, she ran her hands over the elephant. She felt like the blind men in the Indian folktale unable to grasp the whole picture. Unbidden, the image of the pockmarked face popped into her consciousness.

  I’m gonna get you, she said, her hand tightening on the elephant.

  As she took another look at the elephant picture on her cellphone, it rang.

  “No luck with Boy Anay,” Joshua sounded tired. “Our informants have nothing.”

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky tomorrow. Get some rest.” Tuason was surprised that Joshua worked this late, without being asked to. He must still feel guilty about losing Boy Anay, and wanted to close this case as much as she did. Wasn’t he the one carping about the kind of cases they handled? Solving Justin’s case fast could mean bigger cases in the future for both of them. She almost smiled.

  The following day, Tuason’s foot felt better. It was as if she never fell. She drove when she and Joshua again set off to the sanatorium. They arrived early in the morning, but were still blocked from seeing the patient.

  “Only relatives are allowed, I’m sorry,” said the receptionist, a bedimpled twenty-something. “The doctor-in-charge sometimes makes exceptions, but he’s out.”

  “So that makes you in charge now,” Rios smiled at the receptionist, who seemed to melt under his gaze. With his police hat on, and with his uniform skimming his well-built body, Joshua looked dashing.

  “Well, I umm, I guess so.” She tucked stray hair behind her ear and sat up straighter.

  “We won’t keep her long. We just want to ask her some questions.” Tuason’s smile was reassuring.

  “Oh, okay, but fifteen minutes, tops, and a nurse has to supervise.”

  “Make it thirty, and you can supervise,” Joshua said.

  “I’m afraid fifteen minutes is all I can give you, and the nurse will supervise.” She sounded firmer this time, as though convinced that she really was in charge of the place.

  The sanatorium smelled of antiseptic. Its walls were clean and bright, occasional potted plants dotted the hallway, but it carried an air of desolation. The nurse took them to the common room, which had big windows overlooking a garden. Amanda May sat near a window. At twenty, she looked like a high school freshman. Her long straight hair was held back by a cloth headband. She was heart-breakingly thin, with delicate fingers whose cuticles were raw. Her long-lashed eyes looked like dead pools. She was like a rose plucked from the bush too soon. Tuason unconsciously shook her head at a life wasting at such a young age.

  “Amanda, you have visitors,” the nurse said with practiced cheerfulness.

  She glanced at them, then focused once again on the window from where a mature garden was baking under the sun. “I thought it was Ricky,” she mumbled.

  “Hi, Amanda, I’m Inspector Tuason, and my partner PO2 Rios,” Tuason’s voice had an uncharacteristic hint of warmth.

  Amanda gave no indication of hearing her.

  “We came about Justin.”

  Amanda whipped her head toward the visitors. “Justin?” She said, savoring each syllable. The mere mention of his name colored her lips and tinted her cheeks with a pink blush. Her eyes now suddenly bright, searched Tuason’s face. “Is Justin coming?” The anticipation heightened her coloring and the morning sunlight glossed her hair. Hers was a face of innocence, of love’s first bloom. Tuason could see how the young girl had captivated her legion of fans.

  “Where is he? Ricky promised to bring Justin here. I miss him.” Her voice was like a crystal bell.

  “I’m sure he misses you too,” Tuason said so smoothly, she almost believed herself. She looked at the nu
rse pointedly as though willing her not to say anything about the new loveteam, Julyen.

  “Is Justin coming?”

  Reluctantly, Tuason shrugged. “Sorry, Amanda, I have no idea.”

  Disappointment drained Amanda of color and sucked the air out of her. She slumped deeper into the wheelchair like a crumpled ragdoll with dead pools for eyes. “Tell me about the two of you.”

  She hugged herself, thin shoulders twitching.

  “It’s okay, you can tell us,” Tuason sounded sympathetic.

  Amanda swallowed, then took a deep breath. “There should have been three of us.” She bit her lip. “We would have been happy. But his mom, she forced me to… she forced me.” Tears, round and plump, spilled from the dead pools. “Please tell Justin I didn’t mean to do it. He forced me.”

  “I thought you said it was Justin’s mom,” Joshua knitted his brows.

  “I’m sorry, but the interview is over,” the nurse wheeled Amanda out of the room. Like a mother hen shielding her chick. Tuason took it as reassurance that she will not mention Julyen to Amanda.

  Tuason and Joshua looked at each other. “You think there’s a love triangle here?” Joshua asked.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time. Let’s go see their agent.”

  The agent’s office was in a condominium in Cubao near the newly built Gateway Mall. It was decorated with Arturo Luz prints of bicycles. Tuason was expecting headshots of the agent’s talents and movie posters. Celine Guzman remained seated as she appraised Tuason and Joshua, not bothering to ask them to sit. She checked her watch. “This will have to be brief. I have several appointments.

  “We’ll just take a few minutes and I’m sure your appointments wouldn’t mind waiting for the pleasure of your company,” Joshua flashed his usual bright smile.

  Celine clucked her tongue, impervious to Rios’ charm attack. “What’s this about?” She looked at Tuason, then again at her watch.

  Tuason’s fists clenched, but she kept her voice neutral. “We’re here about Justin Sievert.”

  Sadness softened the agent’s face. “Poor Justin,” she said. Then she shook her head as though banishing a thought. She looked almost human. “I’m coordinating his funeral services, but the network is still putting a lid on his death till they figure out how to spin it.” And just like that, the calculating look was back.

  “Is there anything you can tell us about him?”

  “He was a nice enough young man. Generous, thoughtful, loved his mom,” she rolled her eyes. “For that last one alone, he deserves a medal. Didn’t do drugs like the others. He was intent on rebuilding his career and becoming a serious actor.” She fumbled with a silver cigarette case. Then she lit up with a matching lighter. “He was getting ready for a primetime teleserye.” She emphasized primetime.

  “Care to elaborate?” Tuason kept her voice neutral.

  “He lived in a squatter colony to get the feel of the character. And he became invisible on social media, to cultivate mystery.”

  So Ricky was telling the truth, Tuason thought. “Who else knows about this?”

  “Just Ricky, and me, and the network Vice President in charge of teleseryes. We couldn’t trust Bianca with the details. That woman will do anything for publicity.”

  Yeah, just you, Ricky, the VP, and others like Grace Vega know about this, Tuason thought.

  “Where were you last Tuesday night?” Rios asked.

  “I was at the launch of Fantasia,” the agent pouted, as though grieved that she was a suspect. “It was in the news. Here, I was just watching some clips that my assistant put together for me.” She clicked the remote control. “You don’t think I had anything to do with his death, do you?” Her pout deepened.

  “We’ll have to verify that,” Joshua said.

  “You think I killed him?” She ground her cigarette on an ashtray. “That would be the stupidest thing for me to do.”

  Tuason suspected that Rios was making her pay for rebuffing him. She said, “You know of any enemies?”

  “Justin was a sweet boy. Never developed any of the big star complex that popular stars get afflicted with. But he was a hothead. He doesn’t like being cheated on. Sometimes when they were shooting on location, the cast would play cards. A few times, Justin exploded when he suspected cheating. Thank God, Ricky was always there to cool things. But you know, showbiz is like politics. There are no permanent enemies, just permanent interests.”

  “Who would benefit from his death?”

  “Offhand, I can’t think of anyone who could be cast right away to take his place. Of course, the Network could cash in on his death if they spin everything correctly. They can have exclusive coverage of his wake, funeral, and even reissue on DVD some of the films of Jusanda. They used to be insanely popular, you know. But Justin was worth more to them alive,” she said as though talking to addled children.

  “In case you think of anything, please call me,” Tuason said, keeping her annoyance in check.

  “Inspector,” the agent said as the police were leaving. “When can Justin’s body be released? I was told it’s still in the crime lab. I have to plan his wake and funeral.”

  “We’ll let you know,” Tuason said, “We wouldn’t want to keep you from your commissions on the coverage.”

  In the car, Rios said, “What a sleaze. I bet she couldn’t wait to stage manage the wake and funeral so she can get a commission from the network.”

  “Yeah. A class ‘A’ opportunist who’s impervious to your charms,” Tuason chuckled. Turning serious, she said, “Remember what Amanda said? She asked us to tell Justin she’s sorry for something a man forced her to do.”

  “Wasn’t she still talking about Justin’s mom forcing her to get an abortion?”

  “No. She said ‘he’. Do we have the name of the network Vice President?” Tuason’s frown deepened and her heart beat faster. Boy Anay was still at large, and her suspect pool was growing. There was Ricky, the landlady, and now there was the VP. Worse, Big Mac’s deadline was fast approaching. The afternoon traffic was heavier than the one in the morning. When it managed to move sluggishly, jeepneys would arbitrarily stop in the middle of the street to let off passengers or to pick up new ones, halting the movement and contributing to the mess. Tuason wondered how many crimes were left unsolved because the police were stuck in traffic. It was dusk when they reached Lakeview Station.

  Tuason went to the Kamuning dojang to clear her head, which was so full of contradicting thoughts and frustration at how the investigation was proceeding. The dojang was just one end of a small gym in Kamuning. She eyed the banner with the yin and yang circle, a universal symbol of balance, then walked to the kickbag. Her foot was feeling much better, but she decided not to push it. She took a deep breath, then slipped on her gloves. This will have to do for now, she told herself as she attacked the kickbag with her fists. She kept on with the barrage of punches till her shoulders and hands ached. But she still felt full of rage. At Boy Anay, at his escape and the thought that she had lost the chance for retribution. She sank to the mat and after a few moments, assumed the lotus position. She started breathing slowly and deeply, to clear her mind. But all she could see was Boy Anay’s pockmarked face. As she rose to leave for home, her cellphone rang. It was one of her informants. “Boss, Boy Anay is in Batasan Hills.”

  There was a squatter colony in Batasan Hills, just within easy reach of where the country’s laws were crafted. Yet, the laws never seem to pull up the squatters from their misery.

  As a courtesy, Tuason coordinated with the Batasan Hills Police Station. Since it was late at night, the police chief had gone for the day, and Tuason spoke to the officer-in-charge. She avoided telling him that the victim was Justin Sievert, suspecting that the Batasan Hills police might want to handle the case themselves if they knew. To his credit, the OIC was able to send two policemen as back up, despite the late hour.

  Boy Anay was passed out drunk in a shanty. There was no sign of his minions. Rios winced
at the barely controlled violence with which Tuason herself slapped the cuffs on him. He shook his head. She usually asked him to cuff suspects. “Take him to Lakeview. Let him sleep off his alcohol stupor there.”

  Tuason chose the crappiest interrogation room in Lakeview. It was stifling hot even in the morning and reeked of stale sweat. The man with the pockmarked face sat slumped on the chair, his long legs splayed carelessly. He took a cigarette from a pack.

  Tuason slowly shook her head and he put the cigarette stick back.

  “Tell us what you did to Justin.” Her voice was low and menacing.

  “Who?”

  “Justin Sievert. You and your goons beat him up and his personal assistant,” Joshua said.

  “Oh, those sissies pretending to be tough guys?” A note of derision lay thick on his voice. “We just gave them some friendly smacks. They were acting like ‘sigas’, threatening to report me to the police.”

  “He’s dead. And you killed him.” Tuason fixed Boy Anay with her eyes.

  “He was alive when he left us. Ask his alalay. They were both alive. They lost money, but not their lives.”

  “We’ll see about that. People die from beatings, hours after the blows had been inflicted.”

  “I want a lawyer.”

  “Not new at this game, huh?” Tuason said.

  “Law-yer,” Boy Anay repeated, as though Tuason was hard of hearing.

  Tuason started to cough. Turning to Rios, she said, “Would you mind getting me a glass of water?”

  Rios looked doubtful. But Tuason’s hacking cough started again, and sounded worse. Once Rios was out, Tuason took a picture from her pocket. “Did you also lawyer up when you killed him?” She shoved a picture of her father in Boy Anay’s pitted face.

  “I don’t know him.”

  She felt a warm tingle behind her ears.

  “Yeah? Maybe you remember him this way.” She slapped on the table a picture she had filched from an old file, showing her father dead on an eskinita.