Criminal Justice

by Parker, Barbara

  She poured soap into the dispenser. “So that’s where this sudden streak of parental involvement came from.”

  “Don’t say that. I’ve been involved.”

  “Involved is not a phone call, Dan. Involved is coming when you say you will. Spending time with him.”

  “Am I not here? I believe this is his father sitting here, isn’t it?”

  Her eyes went past him at the same moment Dan heard the clatter of soccer cleats on the floor. Josh sped around the corner and into the kitchen. “Dad!”

  The cocker spaniel leaped up off the rug beside the back door and ran in circles, barking.

  “Hey, bud.” Dan swung Josh up and kissed him, then held him on his arm. “How’s my boy?”

  “I have a game tonight!”

  “That’s why I’m here. You gonna be on the starting lineup?”

  “Probably not, but you know what happened last time?”

  “What?” Dan straightened Josh’s glasses on his nose.

  “I got an assist for a goal. I set it up and we scored. It was stupendous.”

  “Wow. I’m sorry I had to miss it.”

  “It’s okay. We lost that game.”

  “Oh, well,” Dan said.

  “Oh, well.” Josh repeated Dan’s shrug. His uniform was a little too big. His white shorts were baggy and his red socks were turned down over heavy shin pads.

  Dan ruffled Josh’s hair. “Guess what? We’re going on a fishing trip.”

  “Really? Where?”

  “To the Bahamas.”

  “Way, way cool!” He bounced up and down on Dan’s arm.

  “If it’s okay with your mom,” Dan said.

  “Mom! Say yes!”

  Lisa shot Dan a look across the kitchen. Then she smiled at Josh. “What fun. But Daddy isn’t sure yet. We’ll talk about it.”

  At the soccer field the sun had set, leaving stripes of purple and orange in the west. Parents stood along the sides or sat on the small set of bleachers. The other team gathered across the field. Josh and his teammates huddled near the coach for a pre-game pep talk.

  Lisa arrived a moment later, carrying a folding chair. Dan caught up to her. “Lisa, you know I wouldn’t take Josh on a trip without your approval.”

  She kept walking. “Are you taking your little friend along?”

  “What friend?”

  “The one with the nose ring. Rick told me about her.”

  “No. This trip is for Josh and me.”

  She arched her brows. “Well, don’t assume he’s going.”

  “I’d like to take my son fishing, Lisa. A normal request for a father to make.”

  Putting down her lawn chair, she said, “It’s so easy, isn’t it? You make promises to him—which you may or may not follow through on. But if I don’t say he can go, I’m the meanie.”

  “Fine. I’ll tell Josh I have to find a bigger boat first. That should give you some time to think about it.”

  She sighed. “Dan. You are so screwed up.” She picked up the chair and went to sit with her friends.

  After a moment he zipped his jacket and wandered off. The evening was chilly, in the mid-fifties. He watched the game for a while and talked to some of the other men, fathers of kids on the team. He knew a few of them. Two were talking about investing in emerging growth funds. He got into a conversation with another about the Miami Heat, heading for the basement this year. When Lakewood drove the ball into the net, everyone cheered. Dan scanned the field for Josh, then found him among the kids still on the bench. They were giving each other high-fives. Josh turned around and Dan made a thumbs-up.

  At halftime Dan paid a dollar for a cup of soda, then walked over to talk to Lisa. The other women in the group looked at him out of the corners of their eyes. They knew who he was. He sat on his heels beside Lisa’s chair. “I had dinner with Rick yesterday. He wants me to take a case for him, a girl in a band he’s managing. Her boyfriend lives out here, and Rick says you know the guy. Miguel Salazar.”

  Lisa crossed her legs and slowly bounced one sneakered foot. “I’ve met him. His niece plays soccer with Josh.”

  “Right. That’s what Rick said. What do you know about him?”

  “Well, he bought a house recently in the Estates section, an incredible piece of property. He has a business in Miami, something with videos and CD’s. I think he’s starting a chain of music stores in South America.”

  “He’s … legitimate? As far as you know?”

  “Of course he is. Stop being so suspicious of people. He’s a widower. His son is in boarding school. His sister and her family live with him, and I believe a few other relatives. He comes to parent-teacher meetings at the school. He plays tennis at the club. If he’s here tonight, I’ll point him out. He likes to watch Anita play.” She leaned a little closer. “I’ve met Martha Cruz. What was she arrested for?”

  “She hit a cop.” Dan shrugged.

  “Really.”

  “Keep it to yourself, though. Where did you meet her?”

  “At Miguel Salazar’s house on Sunday. Joshua went to a birthday party for Anita.” Lisa pointed. “There, the one with the red ribbon on her ponytail. Miguel’s niece.”

  The teams lined up for the kickoff, and all the parents moved closer to the sidelines. Standing beside Lisa, Dan asked, “Is Martha Cruz living with Salazar too?”

  Lisa crossed her arms to keep warm. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure what’s going on between them. He introduced her as the daughter of a friend of his. She doesn’t seem his type. I hardly got a word out of her at the party. She reminds me of a cat—very quiet, just sits around watching what’s going on. I guess she’s pretty—if you can overlook the tattoos.”

  She had her eyes on the soccer field, where the coach had called a time-out. “Look, Joshua’s going in.” She cupped her hands and yelled, “Go, Joshua! Tornadoes, yaaay!”

  Dan whistled through his teeth. Josh looked back and waved. He ran downfield, his hair flopping on his forehead. He kicked the ball a couple of times. The kids thundered by, a jostling herd of red and blue. The other team tied the score, and a subdued groan rose up from the parents on the Tornado side, then polite applause for a good play.

  Lisa touched Dan’s arm. “There’s Miguel. Do you want me to introduce you?”

  He hesitated. A dark-haired man about forty stood a little off to one side watching the game. Dan had an appointment to meet Martha Cruz at Rick’s office tomorrow, but Rick hadn’t said whether Salazar would be present.

  “All right. Don’t mention Martha’s case. This is supposed to be confidential.”

  Lisa ambled over to speak to him, and Dan followed. “Miguel, hi!”

  Miguel Salazar looked around, then held out his hands. “Lisa!” He pulled her closer and gave her a quick Latin kiss on the cheek. “I missed the first half. What’s the score?”

  “It’s tied, three all. The Tornadoes are kickin’ up a storm tonight.” She had her Miss America smile on. “Dan, this is Miguel Salazar. His niece plays on Josh’s team. Miguel, this is Josh’s father, Dan Galindo.”

  “Of course.” Salazar’s eyebrows arched. “The lawyer from Miami.”

  “That’s right.” Dan shook his hand—the man had skin as soft as a woman’s and a surprisingly strong grip. One strand of Salazar’s hair had come out of his short ponytail and curled down his temple. Indian blood showed in the high cheekbones and dark, slightly pockmarked skin. Not a handsome face, but with the full lips, good build, and monogrammed white cashmere sweater, the whole package was pretty compelling.

  “I understand you live in Lakewood, Miguel.”

  “Yes, Lisa’s brother—you know Rick—he recommended it to me. A beautiful place. I lived in Miami before, so much noise! And traffic!”

  Lisa said, “Miguel was born in Potopaxi, a small town in the mountains in Ecuador. Elevation four thousand, two hundred meters.”

  He laughed. “You remember!” Lisa beamed when he put a hand on her shoulder. Gold flas
hed on his wrist—a heavy link bracelet.

  Dan felt a stirring of jealousy, a reaction that occurred too fast for him to slam the door on it. Habit, he thought. Lisa had been his wife for nine years.

  The upward-tilting eyes turned back in his direction. “My friend Rick says to me, Miguel, I have a good lawyer for you, to help Martha.” Salazar said to Lisa, “You remember Martha? A Miami Beach policeman pushed her out of the way after a concert, and she pushed him back. I said, oh, my God, Martica, you have to show respect to the police! Maybe Dan told you about this? Yes? That’s all right.”

  Lisa said, “Dan is an excellent lawyer.”

  “I hope so.” Salazar smiled at both of them. “Please, come to my house after the game. Martha will be there. Have a drink with us. And bring Josh, of course. Anita loves to have her friends visit.”

  “Tonight?” Lisa seemed a little surprised.

  “Yes, why not?”

  “Well—” She glanced sideways at Dan.

  Dan said, “You can take Josh home if it’s too late for him. I’ll go. I’d like to meet my client.” He gave her a subtle look that used to mean only one thing between them: Stay out of this.

  Lisa smiled at him, then turned to Salazar. “We’d love to come—but only one drink. It’s a school night.”

  “Marvelous.” Again the eyes were on Dan. “I think we will have a lot to talk about.”

  Across the soccer field, in an unmarked van parked along the street, Vincent Hooper asked Carlos Herrera if he had gotten a shot of Salazar shaking hands with Galindo.

  “I have it,” Carlos said. He was still looking through the telephoto. The camera clicked and whirred through half a dozen more frames. “I didn’t know Galindo and Salazar were friends.”

  Vincent trained his binoculars on the three figures. “This could be a problem, Carlos.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Lisa had taken Dan aside and said it was just too weird for them to go in the same car. Josh would only be confused. Her minivan followed Salazar’s black Lexus, and Dan came last with Josh.

  At the gated entrance to Lakewood Estates, Salazar’s window slid down, then the guard waved all three cars through. Dan had never been in this area. The road curved past the golf course and around lakes, silver in the moonlight. Sprinklers fanned out on the greens like vaporous ghosts. After a mile or so, Salazar’s blinker came on, a right turn onto a narrow road leading to the Isles of Lakewood. Another guard shack, another gate.

  Josh talked about the game, which the Tornadoes had won by two points. He had spent most of the game on the bench. Dan reached over from time to time and patted his shoulder.

  That a public elementary school soccer team had brand-new equipment and a professional coach was due to the generosity of parents and local businesses. The schools here were the best in the county because the Village residents supplemented the measly budget with books, computers, teachers’ aides, and tutors. The kids were multicultural—mostly white or Hispanic, with some Asians and a smattering of black kids. Anybody could live in Lakewood who had the money to afford the real estate. Dan had never thought of seeking custody or asking Lisa to sell the house. If Josh lived in Miami, he would be thrown into a dusty, overcrowded public school with a metal detector at the door, where too many of the kids could hardly speak English, and Josh would get his little butt kicked.

  “Are we really going fishing?”

  “Yes, we’re going. I don’t know when, exactly, but I promise, we’ll go.”

  “The Atlantic Ocean is really, really deep, right?” Over his glasses, Josh’s brow furrowed.

  “Yes, son, but we’re going to a shallow lagoon. You can touch the bottom.” Dan took his hand. “Would I let anything happen to you, bud? We’ll have a great time. You might have to skip school, though. Could you stand that?”

  “Skip school?” Josh stared up at him. And then laughed. “Okay.”

  On Alamanda Way the houses were spaced out on huge lots. Each seemed more imposing than the one before, with two-story porticos and chandeliers glowing through high windows. He turned into the Salazar driveway, paved in fake cobblestones. The construction was no different from the houses in Heron Hills, only there was about ten times more of it.

  A short-legged woman with braided hair opened the door. Salazar spoke to her in fast, idiomatic Spanish. Tell Martha to come downstairs and bring the papers. The lawyer is here. Josh went with the woman to find Anita, who was waiting in the playroom.

  Salazar led Dan and Lisa through a massive marble-floored living room with ceiling fans and indoor trees and white furniture, then into a room done up in wood and leather. Salazar asked them what they wanted. Lisa took a glass of dessert sherry and Dan a single malt scotch on the rocks.

  Black leather sofas faced each other across a glass table mounted on curved animal horns. Beneath it lay a rug woven in what Dan guessed was an Ecuadoran Indian design. Lighted shelves featured a collection of pottery. Lisa explained, with the authority of one who had been here before, that the pieces were from tombs in the Andes. Dan noticed a squat male figure with overdone private parts and a necklace of hammered gold.

  A stereo system and video screen took up the wall opposite the French doors. Salazar opened a set of them. Beyond the terrace Dan saw the long rectangle of swimming pool, an acre or so of grass, then a lake. Lights from houses on the other side shone on the black water.

  Dan declined a Cohiba cigar from Havana. Salazar lit up with a gold lighter, and the aroma of expensive tobacco drifted across the room. Sipping his scotch, Dan decided a comment on the house was in order. “Impressive place you’ve got.”

  “Thank you. For many, many years, in Ecuador as a young boy, I dreamed of the U.S., to come here and start a profitable company, and to have a house like this one. God listened to my prayers.” He laughed modestly, then his attention shifted across the room. “Martha, come in.”

  She was young and slender, wearing a jersey wool dress to mid-calf and a pair of flat-heeled boots. A long sweater had been pushed to her elbows. Black hair curled around her face and strained to escape the tight braid that hung heavily down her back. Her only jewelry was a pair of silver earrings and a narrow black bracelet on her right wrist. Her lips were lush and full. Her dark eyes settled on Dan.

  “Mr. Galindo? Hi. I’m Martha Cruz.” Her voice was low, and the words were clearly enunciated. She stepped forward with an extended hand. The fingers were delicate and cool. Dan noticed that what he’d thought was a bracelet was a tattoo of tiny leaves. Salazar asked Martha if she remembered Lisa Galindo, and she said she did. “Hi.”

  Lisa smiled at her. “Nice to see you again.”

  Salazar asked if she’d brought the police report with her. He held out his hand, and she gave him some folded sheets of paper from her pocket. “We’ll discuss this in a moment,” he said, and put them on the bar. “Would you like a drink?”

  With a small shake of her head, she sat on one of the leather couches, one leg underneath her, the other foot swinging.

  Lisa sat beside her. “We didn’t get a chance to talk at the party on Sunday. Are you from Ecuador too?”

  “I was born in Miami. So were my parents.”

  Lisa’s smile didn’t waver. “My brother says you’re very talented. How did you get your start in music?”

  She shrugged. “I learned piano when I was little.”

  Salazar squeezed her shoulder. “This woman learned music before she could talk. It’s in her blood. Martha will be very big in the U.S. and Latin America, even Europe. But I think she should change the name of the band. Mayhem. I don’t like it.”

  While Lisa gave her opinion, Dan wandered to the bar and set down his empty glass. He was reaching for the police report on Martha’s arrest when he noticed something he’d missed before—a big color photo on the wall. Several framed photographs hung there, but this one showed a silvery blue sailfish hanging by its gills from a gaff hook, and beside the fish, a bare-chested Miguel Salazar in shorts and
sunglasses. At the dock was a Bertram sportfisher, the name Basilón—Spanish for good time—painted on the stern. Forty-two, maybe forty-six feet of gleaming white fiberglass and chrome. Ladder to the flying bridge, tower above that. The salon was just visible through the open door. No shag carpeting or plastic flowers. This baby was made to run.

  “A big fish, no?” Miguel Salazar walked over, drink in hand.

  “I was looking at the boat, but yes, a very nice fish.”

  “He weighed ninety-five pounds.” Salazar gestured with his cigar.

  Lisa walked over to see. “He’s huge.”

  Dan came in closer. “Ninety-five? Did you weigh him? I doubt he’d clear ninety.”

  “He was ninety-five.”

  “You caught him off the back of the Bertram there?”

  “He fought for over two hours. He was very tough.” Salazar laughed. “A macho fish.”

  “Yeah, ninety-five’s pretty common, fishing with a hook and line,” Dan said. “I got a fifty-eight-pounder once, but I was free-diving with a speargun.”

  “A speargun,” Salazar repeated.

  Lisa gave Dan a warning look.

  “Two pounds off the world record,” he added. He noticed that on the sofa Martha Cruz was smiling, biting her lower lip. He said, “That’s a great boat, though. Is it yours?”

  “Yes. I keep it in Coconut Grove.”

  “I’m going to take my son fishing in the Bahamas. A boat like that would be ideal.”

  “Oh, you don’t have a boat?”

  “Only a twenty-foot runabout.”

  Martha said, “Why don’t you lend him your boat, Miguel? If he wins my case, let him borrow it.”

  “You want the boat?” Salazar asked.

  Lisa said, “Wait a second.”

  Dan looked at Lisa, then at Salazar. “No. I couldn’t do that.” Nor wanted to. Accepting Salazar’s offer would be indebting himself to this man.

  “Yes, I insist. If you win Martha’s case, you can borrow my boat.”

  He felt his resolve slipping. “Thanks, Miguel, but Rick’s already paying my fees.”

  From the sofa he heard Martha Cruz say, “Take the boat while you can, Mr. Galindo. Miguel hardly ever uses it.”