Orphans of Paradise

by Laekan Zea Kemp

  “They didn’t say he didn’t do it. They only corroborated his alibi.”

  “Yes but by corroborating his alibi weren’t they also corroborating his innocence?”

  “No. Not necessarily.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean it was very suspicious and the officers who interviewed them expressed some concerns about the validity of their claims. It would have been very possible that Mr. Rodriguez could have been threatening them.”

  “Why is that Detective? Was he in the room at the time?”

  “No.”

  “Was he on the premises at all while they were being questioned?”

  “No, he was not.”

  “So if he wasn’t standing there with a gun to their heads why didn’t they just tell the truth? Or is it that they did tell the truth, Detective, but your administration has been so hell bent on getting any conviction for my client that you were willing to call Melissa’s poor grieving parents liars and inconvenience them with how many interviews?”

  “Objection.”

  “Counselor.” The judge raised an eyebrow.

  “Excuse me, your honor. I will rephrase the question.”

  “How many times did you interview the Cavarón’s over the course of the investigation?”

  “They were interviewed, I believe, five times.”

  “And about how long did each interview last?”

  “Approximately an hour. Sometimes they were brief, sometimes they were longer.”

  “And in all of that time they never once made an effort to retract any of their former statements or give the police any reason to suspect that Pascual was guilty or that he was somehow threatening them?”

  “They never—”

  “Thank you,” the defense attorney said as he made his way back to his seat.

  “I wasn’t finished,” Julian said, his hands gripping the side of the witness box.

  “I am Detective.”

  There was a surge, a hot current rising and settling over the room. Jax felt it, tugging him to his feet. He rose, stepping past Julian, bristling as he made his way to the witness stand. He couldn’t stop thinking about Medina in that chair, about those sounds cutting sharp through the speakers. Pascual brought a hand to his face, fingers cupping his jaw. Jax felt the moment he saw him. The heat climbing his neck. But Jax didn’t look at him. He didn’t need to.

  He danced with the prosecution, everything fluid.

  “He came to the house before he left,” Jax said.

  “Did you see him?”

  “No my mother told me he’d been there. That he would be gone for a while.”

  “Did she tell you why he left?”

  “No. But when I heard about Melissa on the news I knew why.”

  Jax felt Pascual shifting in his seat.

  “Were you aware if he’d been working with the police?”

  “Police, judges, city officials,” Jax added. “They were all in his pocket.”

  “Did you ever see him speak with them? Did you ever see him ask them to do things for him?”

  “No. But if someone starting sniffing around he’d just make a phone call and the next day they’d be gone.”

  “Did you ever hear him on the phone ordering a hit, threatening someone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  Jax scoured for a name, raking through every memory. “A lot of people,” he strung the words out, trying to buy himself some time.

  “Specific names?”

  He thought about all of the times he’d sat in the passenger seat, Pascual driving, cell phone pressed to his ear. All of the times he’d excused himself from the dinner table, phone buzzing in the back pocket of his jeans. He’d heard him talking to Marcum, to Chavo.

  “The mules,” Jax finally said. He thought about standing in Alana’s living room, Pascual saying he needed him to do him a favor and then he was standing in that basement in the industrial district. “The runners. He had them taken care of.”

  “Taken care of?”

  “Killed. Tortured.”

  “You saw them?”

  “Yes,” Jax said.

  “Were there other girls? Besides the mules?”

  “Yes. He kept them in a large attic space at the hideout.”

  “What do you mean he kept them?”

  “Trapped. They were in wooden crates lining the walls.”

  “How long were they being held captive?”

  “Weeks. Sometimes days. Until he could sell them.”

  “He sold them? As in sex trafficking?”

  “Yes.”

  The prosecutor eased down into his chair, the defense attorney rising to his feet—the entire exchange silent. Jax could hear each step, ricocheting off the linoleum floor and swelling in his ears, the sound muffled as if he were underwater. He swallowed, tried to take a deep breath. The defense attorney pursed his lips, feigned confusion, and Jax wondered how much he knew. Not just about the things Pascual had done but about the things Jax had helped him do.

  “Were you able to work out a deal with Medina? What did he offer you?”

  “Nothing,” Jax said. It was the truth. But suddenly it felt empty. Whatever had been holding him intact springing loose.

  “You said you heard Pascual order hits, making threats. But you couldn’t remember any specific names. Is that correct?”

  “Not of individuals. But I heard him talk about the mules.”

  “What exactly did he say about the mules? Who for the record can be considered international fugitives.”

  “I asked him about the runners and he said he got them.”

  “He got them. Meaning…”

  “He’d taken care of them. He’d killed them.”

  “But did he ever say the words, ‘I killed them?’”

  “No. It was implied.”

  “Implied.” The word slithered out. “His conversations with various city officials and police officers. You said if someone was sniffing too close, he’d just make a phone call or buy someone lunch and the problem would be gone?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you never actually heard these exchanges either. Is that correct?”

  “If he was on the phone, obviously I would only hear his side of the conversation.”

  “So the rest would just be implied,” he retorted.

  “No. It was—”

  “And when Pascual disappeared, that too somehow implied his involvement in Melissa’s murder, despite the fact that after almost three years of conducting a thorough investigation into the matter, the police were never able to come up with even an ounce of evidence to prosecute him.”

  “I told you. I saw him put his hands on her. He—”

  “And again, you saw her in a disheveled state and assumed Pascual had been the cause.”

  “I didn’t assume. I saw it with my own fucking eyes.”

  “You’ve seen a lot, haven’t you, Jax?”

  “Objection.”

  “When was the last time you saw Pascual?” the defense attorney asked.

  “About a month ago,” Jax said, his words slow and wary.

  “Very recently,” the defense attorney clarified. “And when was the last time you saw Detective Franco Medina?”

  Jax felt a tremor climbing his throat. He bit down hard.

  “Please answer the question,” the Judge said.

  “That depends,” Jax said. “In person three days ago. But it was just last night that I was watching him being mauled to death by a pack of dogs on the video tape Pascual sent to the police.”

  “Objection, your honor. My team has no knowledge of this tape. I would ask that the jury be required to ignore all—”

  “Mr. Rodriguez, I would ask that you—”

  Jax faced the jury. “I know what you’re going to do,” he said. “You’ve already made up your minds. And I hope it fucking...”

  “Mr. Rodriguez, that’s enough.”

  “I hope it m
akes you sick.” The last dry word stumbled out as the guard wrenched him out of the chair by the arm.

  But he didn’t struggle. He followed him past Pascual, his face twisted and wild, past Julian, who was already running after him, and past Nadia, Camilla, Veronica, and Rani—her eyes fixed on him, a fierce bloom rising there that made him feel free.

  Chapter 59

  Nadia

  The water rose, freeing Nadia from the marble base of the tub. His things were still stacked on a chair by the window, his scent wafting from them like a ghost. She reached for the jacket, catching it by the sleeve and sending the buttoned shirt and fresh roll of socks tumbling to the floor. The dark navy fabric turned black as she pulled it to her chest, letting it cling to her wet skin, fabric fluttering as the water continued to rise.

  “Stay,” she’d said. “It’s late. Send someone else who’s already in the city.”

  But he just shook his head. “I’ll be back.” Then he kissed her forehead, trying not to linger there, though they were alone in the room they’d been sharing for almost three months.

  Nadia remembered that first night when the mattress was covered in just a sheet and she’d found Medina downstairs sleeping on his back on the floor. When she’d reached the top of the stairs his eyes flicked open and he’d rolled to his feet.

  “What’s wrong?” he’d said.

  Nadia didn’t say anything, just waited for him meet her on the second floor and then led him to her bed. It was the only night she could remember that they’d fallen asleep together, their bodies intertwined and relenting at the exact same moment. All of the days before and every day after that he’d been working, going to bed only after Nadia had already fallen asleep and no one else was awake to see him slip into the master bedroom. Then he’d wake in darkness, watching the sunrise in the midst of his morning debriefings with his team over the phone or from behind the windshield of his cruiser on his way to the city.

  They found the car first. It was parked at a hotel in East village across the street from his brother’s old apartment building. Medina hadn’t said anything about heading to that part of town and as soon as Julian stepped foot in the parking lot he said something hadn’t felt right. Like it was all a set up.

  She wondered what it had been like as Julian, Medina’s closest friend, came upon that silhouette in the cemetery. How long was it before his eyes could make out the nuances of Medina’s shape? When he saw the tangled position of his hands, the tail of his coat fluttering in the wind, his body splayed across his brother’s tomb. Did he run to him? Did he know?

  Nadia strung the sleeves of the coat through her arms, pulling them tight around her fists until she thought the seams would give way. She tasted tears, swirling in the ripple of the current as water trickled onto the floor. But she didn’t shut it off. Instead she let herself sink, hands gripping the sleeves of Medina’s coat and leading them to the soft swelling rising just below her navel.

  Chapter 60

  Jax

  During the verdict no one moved, everyone’s eyes on Pascual’s limp shoulders and low hanging head, the physical manifestation of his mock remorse. But as the initial charges were read, the juror starting with the lesser offenses first, Jax could feel the bodies around him buzzing, as if juror number nine had suddenly lit a fuse and they were all just watching the small red flame, waiting as it tore toward the end. But then he started ticking off the girl’s names, each followed by not guilty, and the weak exclamation Jax had felt rumbling behind him disappeared.

  The room turned to a pale, putrid yellow, the buzz of the florescent lights setting Jax’s jaw, his teeth grinding as the juror ticked off one not guilty after another—for kidnappings, rapes, and murders. Things Jax knew for certain that Pascual had done.

  But Jax had felt it as he was sitting there in the witness box giving his testimony. Even as he was saying the words out loud he knew they wouldn’t be enough. He hadn’t realized until that moment how good his brother really was at delegating the crimes without actually committing them.

  But as he turned his mind end over end, reaching into every dark space and revisiting every trapped and suffocating memory for an image, a moment, something physical like Pascual landing the final blow on some narco who was late making a drop, or his hands around some girl’s throat, her legs falling limp against his chest, there was nothing. Even in front of Jax, in front of his own brother, he’d never made that mistake. Always bringing people to the very edge, but never being the one that sent them tumbling over it. Including Jax.

  He’d felt Rani shuddering, her fingers barely able to grip his own. He felt the terror rising from her skin, the betrayal, and there was nothing he could do to fix it. All he could do was stand there with her, with all of them—every one of Pascual’s henchmen committing their faces to memory.

  Pascual was escorted through those double doors, refusing to give any of them a second glance. Veronica leaned against the pew, Elda’s hand pressed against her back—all of them hollowed and trembling. Rani’d gripped Nadia’s arm, her other hand still clutching Jax’s wrist and then the doors closed, Pascual disappearing behind the barrage of reporters and city officials, his lips tight with feigned regret.

  ***

  Jax could feel Rani lingering in the doorway, wary of being exposed outside those walls. There would be repercussions for what they’d done and said. They all knew that. They could try to hide, to run. But Pascual and his narcos were everywhere. It wouldn’t be long before he found out where they were.

  Julian had been making good on all of Medina’s promises, helping Rani and her family receive asylum to ensure that they didn’t have to go back to Colombia, as well as getting their paperwork underway to becoming full-fledged citizens. But even with all of the things the trial had set in motion, it still felt like they were standing still, trapped at the house on the beach until they could figure out what was next.

  But Jax knew none of it really mattered, not his brother’s sentencing or Rani’s citizenship. They would be coming for them soon. He didn’t know who or how many or when but he knew they were coming. He knew Pascual would send them. And he knew that if the price was right, it wouldn’t take long for a cop or a detective or someone on Medina’s team to slip up and reveal where the witnesses in Pascual’s trial were being held.

  “Rani?”

  She finally stepped onto the porch. “What is it?”

  He reached for her waist, his fist gripping the hem of her shirt. “We can’t stay here,” he said.

  She looked at him. “I know. Julian is trying to find somewhere for us to go.”

  Jax shook his head. It wouldn’t matter where they went if someone on Julian’s team slipped up or got bought off.

  Rani swallowed. “What do…?” But then her voice trailed off.

  Jax stared at her hands, at the soft slope of her mouth, his gaze wafting just below her eyes. And then he said, “I want you to come with me.”

  Chapter 61

  Rani

  It was Rani who saw the steam billowing out from beneath the door, who saw the water bleeding dark across the carpet. When she opened the door Nadia was holding her knees, the water lapping against her chin in a wild current.

  Rani ran to the faucet, shutting it off, the water soaking her to her calves. She reached for Nadia’s arm, lifting her out of the tub as Medina’s jacket clung to her hips. She led her sister over the marble floor and the shallow rivers running toward the door, carrying her to the bed, the sheets adhering themselves to her skin.

  But she didn’t blink, she didn’t move. She didn’t’ say a word as Rani stood over her, eyes flitting from Nadia’s face to the hand over her stomach.

  “No one can know,” Rani said.

  Nadia closed her eyes, clutching her waist.

  “We’re not safe here anymore,” Rani said. “Especially not you, not like this.”

  “No,” Nadia whispered.

  “No, what? Look at me Nadia. We have to leave.”
>
  “But what if he comes back? What if we’re not here and he’s looking for me?”

  “Who?”

  “Medina. I have to wait for him.”

  “Nadia…” But Rani couldn’t bring herself to say the rest.

  Instead she curled up next to her sister on the bed, tracing invisible lines along her shoulders until she finally fell asleep. And then she made her way to that small second-story bedroom overlooking the ocean and started packing their things.

  Chapter 62

  Jax

  Jax held the cold plastic receiver to his ear. He wiped a hand across his mouth and wrapped his fingers in the tail of his shirt, twisting the fabric around his fist as his ears swelled with each shrill ring. Then he heard a click, the soft intake of breath, and then his mother’s voice materialized in a soft buzz against his left cheek.

  ***

  Jax led Rani up the porch steps as his mother ushered them inside. Steam billowed near an open window, the smell of sweat tea and citrus filling the house. The room felt small as Rani’s family filed in, the twins clutching Nadia’s leg while Max dragged in their suitcases.

  Jax’s mother eyed each face, her own expression soft, pained. She looked at Rani, following the scars still rising from her skin as if trying to reconcile them with her son’s hands. She blinked, looked away, and then she led them to a pair of rooms that she never used, her sister replacing the beds with fresh sheets.

  They settled in, every movement hushed and foreign. Even Jax felt like he didn’t belong. His mother’s house was small, everything pale and bright like the inside of a seashell. There was a quaint fragility that made him hyperaware of his body, of every step, every inhale.

  He wanted to disappear into the walls like the cream colored blinds, the white hand towels and porcelain figurines collecting dust along the windowsill. He didn’t want her to acknowledge him, to notice him at all. Not because he didn’t want her to see him. But because he wanted her to see that he could exist there, that among her own monochromatic existence he could find a place to fit in. That it would be effortless. That Pascual’s shadow didn’t linger there.