Drexel laid down and pulled his cap over his face. Sleep was immediate.
“Hey sleepy head.” Lily’s voice. She lifted the cap.
He pulled it back on his head. He rubbed his eyes and let out a yawn. The crowd was immense. “I was out, huh?”
“You were sawing logs brother,”said Ryan.
Kids were running with glowing ribbons and sticks. Coolers and blankets and chairs seemed to fill every square inch of the park. He looked at his watch. A quarter after nine. The fireworks would begin soon.
“I don’t know how you slept through all that,” said Ryan. He had a clear plastic cup of beer in his hand.
Wayne stood up and stretched. “You take it where you can get it, am I right?”
Drexel nodded. He sat up “Thanks for waking me. I might’ve slept through the fireworks. What did I miss?”
Ryan laughed. “Our sister has—”
Lily slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t you dare.”
Ryan jerked back and smiled. “Our sister, get this, role-plays with Wayne. They have these identities they—”
“I get the picture,” said Drexel. “And I don’t think I want to know any more.”
“Thank you,” said Lily, blushing.
“Yes, thank you.” Wayne scowled.
“What I want to know is how that topic even came up?” asked Drexel.
Lily shook her head.
“I was talking about Renee and how she wanted to role-play—”
Lily slapped Ryan on the shoulder. “Let’s do talk about you.” She looked at Drexel. “So our brother claims he doesn’t have a girlfriend. Is that true?”
Drexel said, “A girlfriend. No, he doesn’t. Girlfriends, well, that’s a different story. Renee is only one of them.”
“Hey, I shared that in confidence,” said Ryan.
“This is family. Nothing’s private. Well, almost nothing.” Drexel looked at Lily. “He even took cooking classes for one of them.”
Lily leaned back and laughed. “You’re kidding me. You’ve got to be. He didn’t burn down the building.”
Drexel said, “He’s actually pretty good. I finally got him doing chores.”
They kidded Ryan for a few more minutes, which he, as always, took in good fun. As the youngest, he was long used to it.
The fireworks did not disappoint, lighting up the sky, the city behind it, and the lake before it. Each had their particular favorite. Drexel liked the ones that exploded small and sent out a set of additional fireworks that exploded again. Lily preferred the high rising ones tied to loud booms and long trails of colors. Ryan preferred the clusters of small, singularly colored ones. Wayne liked the small rockets that stayed low and punched an explosion you felt in your chest. When all was said and done, they joined the crowds abandoning Navy Pier for their cars or the L. The country was another year older. And the Pierce family was together and getting along. Yet, Drexel knew that Chicago was living through its deadliest few nights of the year. The city scarring itself with senseless murder.
Chapter 16
At Central, Drexel reviewed his notes about Ricardo’s background and reading more in depth the documentation around his three arrests since Ricardo left the Latin Cobras. The 2012 incident seemed to be a simple road rage incident that, fortunately for both Ricardo and the victim, Jesse Sebastian, the chef threw a single punch only. A witness, Ja’won Harding, to the accident from his truck, called 911 and then hovered around the screaming Ricardo. When Ricardo threw the punch, Harding stepped in and separated the two.
The second arrest Drexel agreed with Daniela, the victim—Scott Quibly—had called Ricardo a “tacohead.” Besides being a slur, it also must have touched the chef vein in Ricardo. The incident started with either Scott or Ricardo—contradictory accounts from the witnesses made determining the truth of that evening impossible—cutting in line to order drinks at the popular bar Neon Nights. Accusations flew. Quibly shouted the slur. Ricardo throws a punch and gets a few more in before bar security pulls them apart. Quibly insisted the police be called. The police convinced him to drop the matter once all were at the station.
The third one occurred at Ricardo’s restaurant, Tastes of the World. One of his cooks, Mike Staukus, had overcooked the mussels twice in a row. Ricardo screamed at Mike for several minutes, an explosion of invective heard in the dining room, before shoving Mike off the line. Mike pushed back, and Ricardo let fly a punch. Mike was fired despite dropping the charges but had since filed a lawsuit against Ricardo and Tastes of the World. The suit was still in pretrial discovery.
Drexel leaned back and rubbed his ear. Violent tendency. Accusations of plagiarism. Ricardo knew Vickie. Did it add up to murder? He looked up Tastes of the World on the computer and headed to its website. The restaurant was at the corner of 26th Street and Christian Avenue, in the heart of La Villita, and a few blocks west of David Hussain’s The Village Eatery. La Villita was part of South Lawndale and was currently the hub of the Mexican-American presence in Chicago.
From the pictures on the Tastes of the World’s website, the place seemed casual. Drexel clicked the About page, which opened with a picture of Ricardo in a black chef’s jacket and a Chicago Fire baseball cap. In a classic chef pose, he had his arms crossed against his chest. The angle was tilted about 20 degrees, giving it a modern flavor. The description read:
Inspired by his travels in Colombia, Turkey, Korea, Lebanon, and other magnificent places, Chef Ricardo Gonzalez brings tastes of the world to La Villita. Come in and try his spin on the street food of the world: kebabs, empanadas, hot dogs, gimbap, and many others. Menu changes daily.
Hours were daily from 11:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. A number of one-liners from customer reviews appeared below the description. “Amazing. I could eat here every day” by Daaaaave01 and “The empanadas are to die for” by fuze023. And several other reviews in the same vein.
Next, Drexel searched on Ricardo’s name and plagiarism. The first result was the recent interview that Daniela had watched. He rewatched it. Ricardo seemed to come out worse in a second viewing with his callousness toward Vickie’s death. The second result was an article appearing in the May 23, 2016 edition of the Sun-Times headlined, “Local Chefs Cook Up Accusations.” The short article started with noting Vickie’s announcement she was opening Fling. The next few paragraphs covered Ricardo’s accusations, which matched the most recent ones. Ricardo discussed the chutney recipe again but added recipes for two types of kebabs and potstickers. He claimed she plagiarized several others. The reporter for this article asked about the subjective nature of cooking as well, and Ricardo responded aggressively that Vickie had stolen his ideas. He then accused David Hussain of plagiarizing Ricardo’s recipes from the younger chef’s time at The Village Eatery. Vickie responded to the request for comment from the reporter with a short, “It’s not true” statement. Hussain, however, attacked Ricardo for ineptitude and plagiarizing from The Village Eatery. He dismissed Ricardo by saying, “He’s a has-been. No, he never was. He’s nothing.”
The Sun-Times did no further follow up, and Drexel could find no more articles related to the accusations. His desk phone rang. He picked it up. The watch officer told him Ricardo was downstairs waiting and that he looked “pissed.”
***
Drexel presumed that chefs smelled of food—garlic, onion, and caramelization. He remembered when Ryan worked at a fast food restaurant, and everyday he returned from work, he smelled that way. Ricardo defied that expectation. He smelled heavily of a cloying, floral cologne. The shock of the odor was so great in the small interrogation room, Drexel’s eyes started to water. He used the excuse of getting Ricardo a coffee to escape and dry his eyes. Daniela crossed her arms and smiled at him. “I smelled it coming onto this floor.”
“You think he’d burn out his sense of smell with it.”
“Maybe he has. You haven’t
eaten his food yet. It might be shit.”
Drexel nodded in agreement.
Doggett spun around in his chair. He liked his desk close to the interrogation room so he could watch its ongoings via the monitor sitting on the file shelves outside the room. “Which restaurant might have shit food?”
Drexel and Daniela attempted to answer at the same time and stopped. Doggett looked to Drexel, and in revenge for the slight, he nodded to Daniela. She said, “Tastes of the World.”
Doggett turned his head to face her. “In Little Village?”
She nodded.
“No. That’s good food. I’m damned happy it’s not convenient.” He patted his gut, which was larger than most doctors would recommend for a man in his fifties, and then turned back to his computer.
Drexel, followed by Daniela, walked into the kitchenette and filled a mug with coffee. He grabbed some cream and sugar packets. Daniela pulled out an orange Monster can. He said, “Want to join me.”
She nodded and both walked out into the squad room. Drexel grabbed his notebook and the folder that contained photocopies of the handwritten recipes he had found in Vickie’s home. Daniela and he entered the interview room. Drexel closed the door behind him. As Daniela took a seat across from Ricardo, Drexel set the mug and packets on the table. “Didn’t know how you took it.”
Ricardo looked up at the detective. He was dressed in jeans, gym shoes, and a T-shirt with a knife and circle logo Drexel did not recognize. Ricardo wore a silver-colored heavy watch on his left wrist. Tattoos covered both arms and his neck. Drexel recognized a cobra beginning at the right wrist, crawling up the arm, and its head and fanged tongue covering the jugular notch. His shirt hid the rest. He wore the same black plastic glasses he had for the TV interview. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded sheaf of papers and spread them out on the table in front of him. “This—”
The snap of the Monster can being opened interrupted Ricardo. He looked at Daniela who lifted the can to her mouth and took a drink.
“I was saying,” continued Ricardo, “these are the recipes she stole from me.”
Drexel said, “Really?” He pulled out the chair next to Daniela and sat down. “Really. You think I care about your accusations? The Chicago PD does not care one bit.”
“But she stole them.” Ricardo leaned forward.
“Look, plagiarism may be wrong. No, it is wrong. But it’s not a crime. You could sue her, of course. But you’re sitting in a chair talking to a Homicide detective and you want to prattle on about your recipes getting stolen.”
Ricardo grunted. “Look, I worked hard to get where I am. She won a damn contest. I’m still paying off my investors. So maybe it’s not important to you, but my recipes—my creations are important to me.”
“I’m not saying they aren’t. I’m saying your priorities are screwed up.” Drexel put his elbows on the desk. “But let’s talk about it.” Drexel opened the folder. He pulled out one of the recipes Drexel knew was in Vickie’s handwriting. “ Do you recognize this?” He slid the paper over to Ricardo.
Ricardo picked it up. He examined it. “Looks like a recipe for a pumpkin gnocchi.”
“Do you know who wrote it?”
“I’m guessing Vickie.”
“Guess?”
“Yeah, I can’t tell you what her handwriting looks like.”
Drexel pulled out another recipe—one written by a different person. “How about this?”
Ricardo looked at it. “Not a clue who wrote that. Though—”
“Though what?”
“It almost looks like David’s writing.”
“David Hussain?” asked Daniela.
“Yeah, maybe.”
Drexel pulled out a recipe with the third person’s writing. “And this?”
“That’s mine.” Ricardo pulled the sheet from his hands. “This is for a pepito—my take on it—I once had in Barquisimeto.” He tapped the recipe with his index finger. “I thought I’d lost it. I came up with a different one based on what I could remember.” He picked up the photocopy and studied it. “My memory was pretty good. But I’m guessing you found this in Vickie’s stuff, right?”
Drexel ignored the question. “Did you ever exchange recipes? Did you give her this?”
“No and no. This proves my claim. She stole from me.”
Daniela said, “All it proves is that she had some recipes. I don’t recall seeing a pepito on her menu.”
Drexel said, “Like I said. I don’t care about plagiarism, unless it provides a motive.”
“I was angry, sure, but I’m not a killer. Not over—”
“Should I be worried about David Hussain?”
“Why?”
“Well, you seem angry about Vickie stealing your recipes. You can say you aren’t a killer, but you’d be surprised how often we hear that from a killer. Perhaps you killed her and you’ll kill Hussain next. You did—”
“That’s stupid. I didn’t kill Vickie and that jackass of a chef doesn’t deserve anymore of my time.”
Daniela smiled. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Where were you from 12:30 to 2 in the morning on July 1st?”
“I didn’t kill her.”
“Well, we need to confirm that. You seem angry enough to have a motive.”
Ricardo waved his hand at her. “This is crazy.” He put both hands up, reached down, grabbed the recipes he brought, folded them up, and shoved them back into his pocket. “Look, yeah, I was pissed. I think you would be too if you were in my position. But I didn’t kill her. And I wouldn’t hurt David either. He’s an asshole, but I’m not a killer.”
Daniela asked, “So where were you the morning of July 1st?”
“In bed. Asleep. And no, it’s just me at the apartment. No one to vouch for me.” He leaned back against the chair and sighed. “But I wouldn’t hurt anyone over this. I was mad. I wanted people to know. I didn’t want her dead. You’ve got to believe me.”
“Belief isn’t something we rely on in this line of work,” said Drexel. “But fine, let’s say we do. Tell me about your time at The Village Eatery.”
Ricardo nodded three times. He looked up and away and then back. “Isn’t there some story that starts ‘It was the best of times. It was the worst of times’?”
“Yeah, a Tale of Two Cities by Dickens,” said Daniela.
“I don’t know it. But that’s what it was. I’ve never learned so much and had so much fun at the same time all while being miserable. Eventually the pressure and the hours get to you. Got to me. But David is a master chef. So seeing how he ran a kitchen and restaurant—really ran it—not just some theoretical discussion in a class. It was there where I knew I wanted to start my own. That’s where Tastes of the World was born.”
“What about Vickie?”
She was a couple of years older than me, but she seemed younger. But then she hadn’t had friends die. She was funny. She worked her ass off. In the kitchen, you don’t get much time for a lot of small talk—particularly Dave’s. He drives you hard. You have to deliver quick and with very high quality. Vickie and I both did a lot of prep work and then worked our way up to cooking. Meats first. Fish later. Assisted the pastry chef every so often. Washed the dishes and bussed the tables. Nothing was too low for wannabe chefs. I didn’t like it at the time, but it did help.”
Drexel said, “But Hussain was a—let’s see—you’ve called him—”
“Yeah. A prick. A jackass. An asshat. I’ve called him lots of names. And I don’t take them back. He was and is a total prick. You know I wasn’t a good kid, but my mom yelled at me less. And when she did, it didn’t reach the intensity that David’s did. And for the smallest shit. Cutting the vegetables wrong. Shit man, sometimes you get into a groove and you dice something too small. I’ve seen him do it a thousand times.” Ricardo leaned back. “I was glad
to leave that place and start my own. I love The Village Eatery. I learned a ton, but I was so damn happy to get out of there. Vickie took another path. She rose up in the ranks. I always thought she was blowing David.”
Daniela leaned forward. “What, a woman can’t earn her way up? She has to go down on the boss?”
Ricardo waved his hands in front of him. “No, that’s not what I meant. If she wanted to be his chef at another restaurant, fine by me, and she didn’t need to do anything extra to get it. But I thought the two of them had hooked up. You’d see them whisper in a corner. She would leave and then he would leave a little after. And they’d both return in the same spacing. Shit like that. Made me wonder. And others in the kitchen.”
Daniela leaned back, but she glared at Ricardo.
Drexel said, “You or Vickie ever use drugs there?”
Ricardo chuckled. “Yeah. We both did. She pretty much used Adderall. Sometimes a little harder on the speed scale, but always uppers. I used them too. Long hours. Exhausting work. But you had to stay sharp.”
“Hussain? He use any?”
“Not that I saw. But I’d be surprised if he didn’t.”
“Did you provide the drugs to Vickie?”
He rubbed his hand on the side of his neck and then to the back.
Justice in Slow Motion (Drexel Pierce Book 3) Page 13