Look the Other Way

by Leigh Jones

  For the next five minutes, Lugar spun his carefully crafted lie. Johnson sighed. Kate was right to be angry about the way this went down. And he understood her frustration at not being able to lay the blame at the mayor’s feet. But maybe it wasn’t as big a lost cause as she thought. Neither the chief nor the mayor wanted something like this to happen again. They might not reactivate the task force, but Lugar surely would increase patrols around the island’s hotels. Officers would keep a much closer eye on known hot spots and potential retreats for other prostitution rings. Johnson doubted this pimp would make another appearance any time soon. But if he did, he wouldn’t go unnoticed for long.

  And Johnson had one more hand to play before this case folded. Ricardo Peña sat in a holding cell back at the police station. He already had a lawyer with him, but maybe Johnson could persuade him to give up the pimp. If the district attorney took a hard line and threatened some serious charges, Johnson would have something to bargain with.

  Would Peña take the bait?

  Chapter 23

  Several hours after the press conference, Johnson leaned against a wall at the front of the county jail, his arms folded across his chest. The bright daylight that had scorched the island with another day of record-breaking heat had softened into a heavy twilight. The thick humidity, unbroken by the usually steady sea breeze, made it hard to breathe. Or maybe he was just too tired to inhale deeply enough. If he closed his eyes, he had no doubt he would fall asleep where he stood. His 1 a.m. summons to The Clipper had a lot to do with it. But the crush of another investigative disappointment didn’t help.

  Through the jail’s bullet-proof glass doors, Johnson watched two men stride purposely toward freedom. Ricardo Peña, the hotel manager, kept his eyes on the ground in front of him. Xavier Sepulveda, one of the island’s mid-level defense attorneys, looked triumphantly ahead. Peña had refused to talk from the moment of his arrest, although he never asked for his phone call. He hadn’t been at the police station for much more than an hour when Sepulveda arrived. Johnson guessed they must have had an agreement that if anything happened at the hotel, the lawyer would come to the police station right away. That only confirmed Peña’s complicity in the operation. But the district attorney said the case would be hard to make on the evidence they had, which was all circumstantial.

  Johnson wanted to hold Peña for the full 72 hours allowed before they had to charge him. Even Lt. Jarrell backed him up on that. But Lugar told them to cut the manager loose. There was no reason to keep asking Peña questions his lawyer wouldn’t let him answer. Now Johnson had to watch his best chance of getting information about the prostitution ring walk out the door.

  “Have a good evening, detective,” Sepulveda said, flashing a self-satisfied smirk as he and Peña walked by. The hotel manager glanced up furtively and picked up his pace, as though making eye contact for too long might land him back behind bars.

  After the two men climbed into Sepulveda’s shiny black Lexus and drove out of the parking lot, Johnson pushed himself off the wall and trudged back into the building. The hallways leading back to the police station, housed on the other side of the massive justice complex, blurred into a mix of passing faces and hollow footsteps. All Johnson could think about was going home and falling into bed. But when he got back to his office, he found a note from the receptionist waiting on his desk: The chief wants to see you before you leave. Johnson groaned. His head started to throb.

  Johnson dragged himself down the hall and knocked on the chief’s open door.

  “Have a seat, detective,” Lugar said. “And go ahead and shut that.”

  Johnson’s chest constricted as he swung the heavy door shut and heard the latch click.

  “It’s been a long day,” Lugar said, picking up a pen and twirling it in his fingers as he sat hunched over his desk, fixing Johnson with a weary stare. “Long summer, really. And you’ve had it worse than the rest of us.”

  Johnson had no idea what to say or where the chief’s monologue was headed, so he just nodded.

  “I know these cases weigh heavily on you, perhaps more than the other detectives. You’re one of those rare officers who never seems to lose that wide-eyed devotion to pure justice.”

  Lugar sighed heavily and looked down.

  “I’ll admit, I envy you that.”

  Still lost for words, Johnson searched the deep lines around Lugar’s eyes and across his forehead for clues about whether this was a long windup to a sharp rebuke or a rare pep talk.

  “Unfortunately, few cases are as black and white as we would like. Take this prostitution ring, for example. The pimp got off scott free, and the hotel manager almost certainly will too. I have no doubt he knew exactly what was going on in those upstairs rooms. And I’m sure he was getting his piece of the pie. But that will be almost impossible to prove, and the DA will never try a case he can’t win this close to an election.”

  Johnson felt like a boxer pummeled into a corner by a dominant opponent. He knew the chief’s analysis was right but his heart struggled to accept it. Lugar stared at him as though demanding an answer before continuing. Johnson swallowed.

  “I know,” he finally said, his voice croaking as though he hadn’t had anything to drink all day.

  “Further complicating things is the latest detail your friend at the Gazette dug up,” Lugar continued. “Did you see the latest version of the story they posted online after the news conference?”

  Johnson shook his head, his mouth suddenly so dry he feared any words would catch in his throat.

  “Turns out Eduardo Reyes owns The Clipper. He denies even knowing the hotel manager personally, which I guess isn’t that hard to believe. But I’ve already gotten a call from the mayor. He said if we don’t have the evidence to press charges against Peña, or anyone else, he wants us to drop the case.”

  Johnson’s heart started to pound, sending blood surging into his cheeks. Lugar held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

  “I know, I know. It’s not the mayor’s call to make. But I understand where he’s coming from. If we keep chasing this, the newspaper will keep writing stories about it, and that’s not going to make any of us look good.”

  “Since when was anyone’s image our top priority?” Johnson demanded.

  “That’s just the political reality, I’m afraid.” Lugar leaned back in his chair. His hard stare now came through narrowed lids. “And I know you know that. What good does it do us to piss off the mayor and his biggest supporter by pursuing something we know we can’t ever make stick anyway? That’s just a complete waste of aggravation all the way around.”

  Johnson held the chief’s gaze for several seconds. Lugar sighed heavily.

  “For what it’s worth, I don’t like it any more than you do,” the chief said. “I still remember how it felt the day I graduated from the Academy. All I wanted to do was put bad guys behind bars. But it didn’t take long for me to realize law enforcement is a little more complicated than that.”

  Lugar sat forward again, leaning over his elbows on the desk. His eyes never left Johnson’s face. Suddenly Johnson realized he was about to get a direct order that would be very hard to obey.

  “You need to let this one go,” Lugar said. “We win some and we lose some. Put this one in the loss column and move on. Sometimes that’s all we can do.”

  Johnson searched for an argument that would change the chief’s mind. Lugar was right about the lack of hard evidence. Without that, the investigation was closed. But if he could find a new thread to follow… Johnson’s thought trailed off. He was about to plunge headlong into an abyss he had vowed never to even look into again.

  But what if he was careful? Only looked for evidence, presented what he found, and let the chief decide whether it was worth pursuing? Maybe he could keep himself from falling over the edge.

  He thought of Kate sitting on the ground, blood dripping down her face. His heart constricted. He knew he had to try, no matter where it led him.
>
  Lugar was still staring at him. Waiting for a response. Johnson cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter in his chair. He wouldn’t give up without a fight. But the chief didn’t have to know that until he had something more concrete to share.

  “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “Good. Now go home and get some rest. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

  Yes, Johnson thought. It certainly was.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  A week later, Kate sat at a table in Abuela’s, one of the island’s most popular Mexican restaurants. Gaudy paintings of Catholic icons covered the bright orange, blue, and yellow stucco walls. Tall glass candle holders adorned with saints and scripture sat in the middle of each table. An ornate black and gold cross hung on the wall next to the counter. Behind its wide glass top, a large, elderly woman greeted arriving customers and took their money on their way out. The plaintive whine of Mexican ballads floated over the comforting aroma of lard-infused refried beans, simmering cheese and tangy chili peppers.

  Kate self-consciously brushed her fingers over the bandaid on her forehead. The scrape had almost healed and the violet bruise had faded into a sickening yellow. But it was still obvious enough to draw quizzical glances from people who didn’t know what had happened. She’d spent most of the last week hiding in her apartment.

  The first several days passed in a haze of pain medication and sleeping pills. She hoped the forced rest would help cure the aches in her body, if not her soul. On the third day, Brian brought her a carton of soup and a bouquet of roses. He’d stood awkwardly in her kitchen while she told him she needed some space. She knew he loved her, and she couldn’t love him back. It was just too risky. But that didn’t make telling him goodbye any easier. That night, an oppressive loneliness settled over her like a blanket of ash from the bonfire of frustration and disappointment suddenly burning through her life.

  The next day, she’d gone back to work. No more wallowing in self-pity. The prostitution ring story might be yesterday’s news, as far as Mattingly was concerned, but Kate knew there was more to it than what they’d been able to publish so far. Today, she would get a start on finding out how much more.

  Kate sipped a Topo Chico while she waited for her lunch date. Benito Muñoz worked in the County Clerk’s office and headed the local chapter of the League of United Latin American Citizens. Nothing happened in the island’s Hispanic community that he didn’t know about.

  “Sorry I’m late, mi amiga!” Muñoz cried as he bounded from the door to her table. “I know better than to leave a beautiful woman waiting. I’m just lucky someone didn’t snap you up before I got here.”

  Kate couldn’t help but laugh. Muñoz tempered his almost stereotypical machismo with a cartoonish flirtation. No woman could be seriously offended by his overtures.

  “It’s busy in here today, no? I’m starved. Let’s order.” Muñoz raised his hand and waved at a passing waitress, who smiled broadly as she hurried over. “Hola, señorita linda! Que es les especiales de la casa?”

  Kate listened absently as Muñoz made small talk with the waitress, whose family he obviously knew. He’d probably been present at her baptism, would be an honored guest at her wedding, and would be among the first to kiss her babies after she brought them home from the hospital. Benito Muñoz was almost as important to the island’s Hispanic families as Eduardo Reyes, but on a much more personal level. Whereas everyone knew of Reyes, Muñoz knew everyone, probably by name. Kate had seen the two men together at various events and knew they had a cordial relationship. But she didn’t think they were close friends. She longed to ask Muñoz what he thought of Reyes’ possible connection to the prostitution ring but feared he might clam up if she hit him with such a delicate topic before their lunch even arrived.

  Over enchiladas and tamales they talked about a planned community center, fights between rival groups of teens at the local skate park and the likely redistricting of council seats after the next census. When Muñoz pushed his empty plate away with a satisfied sigh and leaned back in his chair, Kate decided she’d taken long enough to ease into what she really wanted to talk about.

  “So, what are people saying about last week’s prostitution bust?”

  A slow smile spread across Muñoz’s face. “I was wondering how long it would take you to ask me that. It’s the one thing you’re really curious about, no?”

  “I have a personal stake in that story, after all,” Kate said, her fingers flitting again to her forehead. “It shouldn’t be a surprise that I want to know what other people think. Right?”

  “Si si, amiga. Si,” Muñoz said, lacing his fingers together over his stomach and looking at her under knitted brows. He seemed to be figuring out how much to say. “Well, everyone’s still talking about it.”

  “Still?”

  “Still.” Muñoz sat up and leaned over the table so that his face was just a few feet from Kate’s. She could smell his cloying aftershave. “It’s not every day the island’s patron saint is caught up in a scandal, no?”

  “So what’s the verdict?” Kate asked, lowering her voice. “Did Reyes know what was going on or not?”

  Muñoz gave a big, exaggerated shrug. “No se. Some say yes, others say no. The old women shake their heads disapprovingly. The young men say, ‘What’s the big deal?’”

  “Safe to say it hasn’t hurt his image any.”

  “Amiga,” Muñoz said, shaking his head and clicking his tongue as if to say she should know better. “Eduardo Reyes, he is untouchable.”

  Kate gritted her teeth. How could anyone hold such sway over an entire city?

  “What about the hotel manager, Ricardo Peña? What are people saying about him? I mean, even though the DA’s not going to press charges, surely no one believes he’s innocent.”

  “No, no. Innocent? No,” Muñoz said, shaking his head as he smiled again. “He was always trouble, from the time he was in middle school. Drinking, drugs, skipping school. His papa ran off when he was young, and his mama just couldn’t control him. He’s lucky Reyes took pity on him and offered him a job. I think Peña knew it too. He would have done anything for Reyes, everybody knows it.”

  “So what’s he going to do now?” Kate asked, her heart starting to beat faster as she thought about the possibilities. “Do you think Reyes will risk putting him to work somewhere else?”

  “Ha!” Muñoz said, loud enough to make Kate jump and draw a few surprised looks from nearby tables. “I don’t think so. Not for a while anyway. Peña is visiting his mama’s family in Mexico...indefinitely.”

  “He left town?” Kate asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The question seemed too important to risk anyone overhearing, although she quickly realized everyone around her in the restaurant probably knew the answer already.

  “His mama didn’t want to see him get into any more trouble, although it broke her heart to send him away. Once things quiet down, I’m sure he’ll be back.”

  Kate chewed on her bottom lip as she thought through the implications. Peña was certainly free to leave the country if he wanted to. And it guaranteed he couldn’t be hauled in for questioning again, although that seemed unlikely to happen at this point.

  “I feel the most for his mama,” Muñoz said, tugging his wallet out of his back pocket in a signal the interview was almost over. “He was her only child, and now she’s all alone. At least she has someone to talk to who knows what it’s like to lose a child.”

  “What do you mean?” Kate asked absently, snatching up the check before Muñoz could pick it up. The newspaper still paid for lunches with sources, at least for now.

  “She and Rafaela Costa have been best friends for years. Their boys were inseparable growing up. Now that both of them are gone, so to speak, their mothers can mourn together.”

  “Wait,” Kate said, looking hard at Muñoz as she tried to process the connections. “Rafaela Costa. Julian Costa’s mom?”

  “Si, the man who was killed earlier this year. Such a tragedy
. And they still don’t know who killed him.”

  Kate suddenly had a hard time taking a deep breath.

  “Were the two men still friends?”

  “Si, si. Julian refused to drop him, even though he never got into trouble like Ricardo did. They lived different lives, but they were still like brothers.”

  Kate fumbled with her wallet and a handful of dollar bills fluttered to the floor. Muñoz laughed as he stooped to pick them up.

  “You should be more careful, amiga. You don’t want to go losing all this money.” When he handed the bills back to her, he leaned in and kissed her quickly on both cheeks. “Thank you for lunch. It was a pleasure, always a pleasure.”

  Kate smiled weakly and waved as he bounded back to the door.

  If Ricardo Peña and Julian Costa were like brothers, what were the chances one didn’t know what the other was involved in? When Costa died, everyone described him as a clean, family man who had never been caught up in any illegal activity. But Johnson suspected he was doing something he shouldn’t have been, even though he never would go on the record about it. Kate remembered his frustration about not being able to get Costa’s widow to talk. At the time she’d commiserated with the frustrated detective but hadn’t given it much thought after the case went cold. She’d attributed the widow’s reticence to her shock, grief, and a general mistrust of the police. Kate was convinced Costa’s death had been a surprise to his wife. She’d been at the scene when Muriel found out her husband had been murdered. No one could fake that much grief and despair.

  But what if Julian had been mixed up in something with Peña? Or what if he was trying to keep Peña out of trouble? It couldn’t have involved the latest prostitution ring because the pimp didn’t set up shop at The Clipper until well after Costa died. But based on Miss Kitty’s comments, the new girls weren’t the first ones to work out of the hotel. And Peña had to have known about it. It seemed likely Costa did too. Was he part of the operation, or was he trying to keep his friend out of trouble? Either possibility offered opportunities for him to get himself killed.