Deadly Intersections

by Ann Roberts

  “What do we know about the family?” she asked.

  He scanned the information clipped inside the brown folder. “Mother is Juanita Perez. Father unknown. Two younger siblings… Whoa. Mol, her older brother is Franco Perez, the leader of Westside Knights.”

  “Isn’t that the gang involved in the big rivalry?”

  “Oh, yeah. The Knights are in a turf war with Mayhem Locos, the gang led by Hector Cervantes. These are bad guys, and they’ll be happy to die for this little bit of area.”

  Andre closed the file and reached for the door handle. “That’s just great. We’re probably in the middle of a gang shooting. Ready to meet the press?”

  Molly snorted and kept her eyes focused on the front door, ignoring the microphones and bellowing voices of the reporters. They approached the solid security screen door that kept the Perez’s safely between their home and the street. Wrought iron bars covered all of the windows and three gold deadbolts shone against the worn wooden door.

  “These people are serious about protecting themselves,” he said as he pressed the old buzzer.

  “If you lived in this neighborhood, wouldn’t you be?”

  He shrugged. “There’s crime everywhere, not just where poor people live.”

  She remained silent. She knew he’d grown up in the Philadelphia projects while she’d spent her whole life in the suburbs of predominantly white Phoenix. She kept quiet about racial issues and poverty, and he knew not to expound upon gay rights. They each respected the other’s area of expertise.

  The door swung open and Molly found herself staring at a silhouette, unable to discern any physical features of the person inside. She held out her shield and hoped she was staring into the woman’s eyes.

  “Mrs. Perez? I’m Detective Nelson and this is Detective Williams. We’re here to talk to you about Maria.”

  “I’ve already talked to the police.”

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry to ask you these questions again, but we’re the lead detectives on the case,” Andre explained. “We’ll try to be fast. We really want to hear all of the details from you.”

  “It’s very important that we get to know Maria,” Molly added.

  “Come in,” she said wearily.

  She opened the door and stepped aside. No toys were strewn around the carpet and although the sofa and matching chair were quite worn, they were free of stains and holes. A few family photos dotted the walls but it was evident their money didn’t go toward home décor. Yet there was not a speck of obvious dust anywhere.

  “We’re so sorry about what happened,” Molly said.

  Mrs. Perez nodded, her lips pursed, as if she was trying not to cry. She motioned to the sofa. She was a large woman who looked much older than her listed age of thirty-seven. This could be me, Molly thought, as her thirty-seventh birthday loomed around the corner. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be so tired, and she certainly couldn’t fathom how anyone could deal with the death of a child.

  The sofa faced an old television console. Perched on top were two pictures, a framed school photo of Maria and a candid shot of a teenage boy holding a pre-school aged Maria in his arms and tickling her. The picture conveyed the love of a brother and a sister, the protectiveness of an older sibling toward a younger one. Molly’s gaze drifted back to the school photo. Maria wore a blue polo knit shirt and hair in pigtails, but Molly’s attention was drawn to the girl’s eyes, full of fire and strength. Her broad smile minus a few teeth suggested a mischievous nature. No doubt she was a handful.

  As if reading her mind, Andre pointed at the photo. “Is that recent, Ma’am?”

  Mrs. Perez rose as if it were the greatest of chores and retrieved the picture. She sat back down and lovingly stroked the sides of the frame. “This was taken last spring at the end of fourth grade. She hated that school uniform. Said that people shouldn’t have to dress alike if they didn’t want to.” Her hands tightened around the cheap wooden border, and she began to sob. “She was only ten years old! How could anyone shoot a child in cold blood?”

  Molly waited for her to compose herself before she said, “Let’s start with where she was found, the playground at Washington School. Did she go there often?”

  “All the kids went there. I don’t know what this ridiculous city was thinking. They leave an old empty school standing, but they don’t take away the swings and the monkey bars? That’s just an invitation to children. And once the neighborhood junkies cut a hole in the fence anyone could get inside.”

  “So a lot of people come and go?” Andre asked.

  Mrs. Perez huffed, “That place is like a motel. It’s always open. The cops can’t keep the junkies from hiding in the classrooms and doing their drugs while the kids play outside. What’s worse is that nobody can tear it down because it’s historic.”

  Molly noted the sarcasm in her voice. “Have the police ever intervened?”

  She found it hard to believe that the beat cops would tolerate such blatant disregard for the law.

  “Oh, they’re always driving by, but it’s not like anyone’s standing outside holding up their crack cocaine for inspection.”

  Molly made a note to contact the nearby precinct. “Did you worry about Maria going over there?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I know what you’re thinking. What kind of mother would let her child hang out with druggies? Believe it or not there was never a problem. It’s the only place that’s close, and the playground was in the far field away from the main building. No one ever bothered the kids, at least not until now.” She started to sob quietly while they waited patiently. Finally she raised her blurry eyes and nodded. “Go on.”

  “Why don’t you tell us about that day,” Molly suggested. “Start with when you last saw your daughter.”

  “She left about eleven. Since it was Sunday she didn’t have many chores after church so when she asked if she could go to the playground, I let her.”

  “And that was around eleven?” Andre confirmed.

  “Yes.” Her eyes flooded with tears that she willed away. “I never saw her again. All I remember was that little voice saying, ‘Adios, Mama, see you in an hour.’”

  Molly touched her arm. “I only have a few more questions. I just need to know if you can think of anyone who might want to harm Maria or if she’d talked about having problems with anybody.”

  She shook her head, a slight smile on her lips. “She was stubborn, always questioning authority. If she didn’t like the explanation then she’d do what she pleased. I’ve got two other children, but Maria gave me all of my gray hair.”

  She sighed deeply and melted into the sofa. Molly was looking at a broken woman.

  Andre coughed. “Ma’am, you mentioned two other children but don’t you have three?”

  Color rose in her cheeks and she sat straight up on the couch. “That boy, Franco, I don’t claim him. He’s muerto! Selling drugs, hurting people. I threw him out two years ago, and I haven’t seen him since. He’s not welcomed here.”

  “Did Maria still have contact with him?” Molly asked.

  She shook her head adamantly. “Not at all. She knows she would be in trouble.” She paused and winced at her choice of words. “She knew how I felt about gangs and drugs. She was a great girl. The leader of her class. She was the one who stopped the fights on the playground. She was always organizing the students to do charity things like bring pennies to school to help the homeless. Imagine that! The girl had hardly nothing herself, but she never thought she was poor.”

  “That’s because of you,” Molly said. “You gave her love and that’s all she needed.”

  Mrs. Perez processed the comment, squared her jaw and faced her. Molly saw the fierce determination in her eyes. They were the eyes Maria had inherited.

  “I want you to find her killer. Promise me you’ll do that.”

  “We’ll do our best,” Molly assured her.

  They returned to the playground and noticed the crime scene tape had been
ripped apart. Molly gazed at the bloodstain on the ground and thought she might throw up. She craved a scotch so much that she could taste it in her mouth.

  Andre flipped open the file and his notebook. “Well, from what Mom added we know she left home in the late morning. Her best friend Selena Diaz, who was supposed to meet her here, never left her house, so it’s likely Maria was playing alone. According to the coroner she was killed between eleven and one but I’m guessing it was before noon.”

  “Why do you think that?” Molly quizzed, already knowing the answer but well aware that Andre continued to hone his thinking skills. The last big mistake he’d made almost cost them an investigation and Ari’s life.

  “Mom wanted her to go home in an hour, and I’m sure she was going to listen to Mama.”

  Molly shrugged her shoulders. “That little girl was willful, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she ignored rules. I’m also willing to bet she still had contact with her older brother. They looked very close in that family photo.”

  “Possible,” Andre conceded.

  Molly glanced at the school, noticing that the sun was quite bright. She said nothing but started toward the building.

  “Did you get the key?”

  Andre chuckled. “Check this out.” He withdrew an old skeleton key from his pocket.

  It took a few tries before they could open the creaky door. A slant of light showered the decrepit hallway. A junkie’s paradise. She pulled a flashlight from her pocket and veered left. The air was thick with dust particles swirling in front of her face as they caught the sunlight. From above they heard a noise—the quick movement of feet. Andre withdrew his gun and flew back down the hallway, passing the entry and flying up the stairs. She stayed on his heels, their loafers pounding the ancient linoleum.

  At the top of the steps they looked left and right but saw no one. Suddenly the clank of metal echoed from the first story. She darted into a classroom and stared out the window. A figure in an Army jacket, jeans and a black baseball cap bolted across the field and through the hole in the fence.

  “Can’t even tell if it’s a man or a woman,” Andre said.

  “Nope,” she agreed. “But we know that people spend time here during the day. It’s very possible someone, maybe even that person, saw something.”

  “Or did something,” he added. “I can’t imagine anyone coming after that little girl intentionally. Who’d want to kill a kid?”

  She shook her head and they headed toward the west corner of the building.

  “Are we gonna search all of these rooms?” Andre asked, and Molly could already hear the whine in his voice again.

  “No,” she said, gesturing to the doors that faced the playground. “Just these. The first floor windows are too low.”

  They surveyed the five rooms, automatically eliminating the last two where the floor was rotted out. They were uninhabitable unless someone wanted a quick exit to the first floor. They found nothing in the next two rooms and she began to worry they wouldn’t find a clue.

  The end room was the biggest and contained the most trash. She peered through the dirty windows. “This is the best view of the swing set. If anyone saw anything, or if the killer was watching, he was doing it from this window.”

  “How do you know it was a man? Aren’t you being a little chauvinistic?”

  Molly scowled. “Do you really want me to cite the statistics on female killers to you?”

  Andre waved his hand. “Only if you do it after we leave.”

  They stepped carefully, avoiding the trash and broken glass that littered the floor. A shabby mattress lay in the corner, the cracks of the hardwood planks littered with hundreds of hypodermic needles. She pulled on a pair of heavy gloves and paced the room, sometimes carefully picking up pieces of debris for examination or pushing them aside with an old yardstick she found in the corner.

  Andre remained by the door trying to stay out of the way, clearly hesitant to soil his expensive suit. “Why do we care what they eat?” he complained when she emptied an old McDonald’s bag.

  “It’s not what they eat that matters,” she replied, ignoring his impatience. She’d vowed not to let him get on her nerves, but sometimes it was all she could do not to turn around and bark at him. She knew he hated dirty places because he always wore tailored suits. Ironically he had no problem tackling a suspect in his good clothes even if it meant a rip in his expensive pants, but standing in a dusty room made him nervous.

  Eventually she wound up underneath the window where she meticulously sorted the trash, spreading it out, separating all of the wrappers from each other. Amid the mess she found what she was looking for.

  “Check it out,” she said with a smile. “I think we just got really lucky.”

  He stared at the white strip of paper in her hand, a receipt from the Jack in the Box down the street. The customer had purchased three plain hamburgers and a chocolate shake. It took him a second to realize why she cared—the date and the time of the purchase. Someone had purchased the food on Sunday at ten-thirty, not long before Maria Perez arrived at the playground.

  “So the killer buys the food and comes here to eat it, probably getting his jollies watching Maria the whole time. Then he goes down and kills her.”

  “Hmm. Possibly,” she said hesitantly. “And if he’s not the killer then he’s most likely a witness.”

  Chapter Eight

  After ten minutes of debating whether or not they should comb the side streets of the Roosevelt neighborhood in search of the figure in the Army jacket, Molly and Andre decided to spend their time pursuing more tangible leads. They stopped by the Jack in the Box but were told the teenager who took the order had the day off. She scribbled the employee’s home address in her notebook, unwilling to wait for any leads to break on the case. A quick drive to the boy’s house proved fruitless since he wasn’t home. Andre agreed to come back later.

  Maria’s school seemed the next logical stop. It was quiet as they pulled up to Phoenix Elementary Number One. The name was self-explanatory. They were sitting in front of the oldest grade school in the city. Although it had undergone at least a dozen restorations and remodeling jobs during its 160 years of existence, the framework of the original structure remained intact, with tall stone pillars rising from the foundation, sentinels for the modernized steel double doors that served as the school’s front entrance. The chiseled name emblazoned across the stone front left no doubt about the importance of the edifice to the community, a symbol of the stature of education at a different time in history.

  All of the children were in classes and the central corridor was empty. They found the office, which was bustling with late students and irate parents waiting to speak with an administrator. Once they flashed their badges they were quickly escorted to the conference room. The appearance of police officers superseded other business and the school principal appeared.

  “Hello, I’m Cynthia Preston,” she said, holding out her hand for what Molly imagined was the customary greeting that she bestowed on a multitude of people each day.

  Molly met the firm handshake and was immediately impressed by Principal Preston, whose face was earnest. “I’m Detective Nelson and this is Detective Williams. We need to speak with you about Maria Perez.”

  Ms. Preston shook her head. She motioned for them to sit and took the chair at the head of the table. “Such a horrible tragedy. You have no idea how much this has affected our school today. The TV trucks left right before you came. All those media mongers trying to interview our parents, watching the children crying. It was ridiculous.” She started to say something else and closed her mouth. She folded her hands on the table, a gesture of restraint.

  Molly guessed the principal to be in her late fifties, a handsome African-American woman with a fine figure. Her makeup was meticulous yet her eyes betrayed her fatigue—and it wasn’t even noon.

  “Tell us about Maria,” Molly said.

  Ms. Preston laughed slightly as a tear rolled
down her cheek. “She was one of those students who teachers loved, but it wasn’t always easy. Maria challenged everyone, and she expected good answers to her questions. You earned respect from her, but once you had it, well, that child would do anything for you then.” She reached for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes.

  “So she was very strong willed,” Andre concluded.

  She nodded in agreement then added, “Not in a bad way. Maria expected fairness and justice. Although she was only a fifth-grader, she understood that a decision could be just even if she didn’t agree with it.”

  “Did anyone at the school have a problem with her?” Molly asked.

  “Well, it seems she and her friend Selena observed one of our toughest fifth-grade boys attempting to extort lunch money from a second grader.”

  “What did she do about it?” Molly probed, already fearing the answer.

  “Just what you would expect. She confronted the boy and got in his face. A teacher saw them arguing and came over to intervene. We have these kinds of problems all the time, but the reason I mention it is because the bully was Raul Cervantes, brother of Hector Cervantes. And I’m assuming you know that Maria was Franco Perez’s younger sister.”

  Molly scribbled several notes furiously. “So you’re concerned because you think it’s possible that Hector may have killed her because she tattled?”

  “Detective, you need to understand something about Hector Cervantes and Franco Perez. Everything you read in the news about these young men is true. They epitomize what all the songs and movies exploit about gang members. They have killed people over nothing, and they will look for any opportunity to express their hatred. Would it surprise me if this whole incident is about the problem between Maria and Raul? Not at all. And Hector Cervantes is an extremely stubborn man. His mother is dead, and his father abandoned him and his brother when they were young. Hector is Raul’s father and there’s no way he would ever let anyone disrespect Raul. He was suspended over the incident and Hector knows that he’s very close to being expelled from the school district. I don’t know if that’s enough reason for Hector to kill Maria, but I can assure you that there was certainly some type of retaliation that occurred. There always is.”