“Loss? You mean disaster. Both my nieces gone. Gone because of the incompetence of this Inspector Garcia fellow. Putting Ana up on that roof alone after what happened was the worst of poor judgment. Señor Garcia isn’t going to be the Chief Inspector very long if I have my way… and I usually do.” Pablo ground what was left of his teeth.
“I understand there was some disagreement in the board meeting earlier on the direction the company should take.”
“We built this company by hand, Judge, my brothers and me. We didn’t take any short cuts. We didn’t sell poisonous drugs. We made honest products. We manufactured items with integrity. We produced things people wanted and needed. And we stood behind everything we made. Not like this younger generation. Their only interest is to swan around and spend money.
They think I’m too old. That I don’t understand. But I understand fine. There are no short cuts. We wade into this marijuana trade, we throw away sixty years of what our company’s about. We become no better than the scum that run drugs now. Running marijuana that we know is Federally illegal in the United States. And for what? So, our erstwhile next generation can get a little more money out, a little earlier, that they haven’t earned.”
Pablo settled back into his chair, exhausted, bitter, angry.
Miguel Cervantes came over then, settling in on the sofa next to his uncle. His face was rigid, hiding swirling emotions difficult to read.
“I’m so sorry, Pablo. How could this happen? I just don’t know what to think.”
Pablo nodded, a small tear escaping down one cheek, brushed aside with a swollen, age-spotted hand.
Miguel looked up at the Judge. There was anger in his eyes now.
Alan pulled the Judge away and walked him across the room to meet Rosa Cervantes, sprawled in the corner of another sofa, her long stockinged legs tucked under her now, her hiked skirt barely covering her bottom. She seemed to have recovered her composure and now was idly playing with her nails.
She watched them approach, disinterested, but uncurled herself, displaying a flash of aqua panties, and stood, extending a small hand as an introduction was made.
“I had nothing to do with this,” she blurted, not asked. “I didn’t get along too well with my aunts. They were foolish out of date old women, but they meant well, treated me well. I had no hand in this… this awful mess. Jesus, when are they going to let us go?”
She plopped back onto the sofa.
“Do you think they were both suicides, Rosa?” asked the Judge.
Rosa looked up into the Judge’s eyes.
“I’m not stupid, Judge. Two women, both jumping off the same building, an hour apart, leaving no note, no indication they were depressed. Aunt María was a tough old bat, no way she’d take her own life. And Aunt Ana was the same. This was something else and everyone knows it.”
The Judge nodded. Alan look worried again.
“Do you think someone will come after you next, Rosa, or even perhaps company advisers?” whispered Alan.
Rosa and the Judge just looked at him. Then Rosa studied her nails some more. They were detailed with small sparkly bits, colored an aqua that didn’t go with her tan skin but matched the underwear.
“Nobody wants Rosa dead, Alan,” she said. “Everybody likes Rosa. But you. You might be next, flouncing around this company like Luis’s pet toad, pontificating about this and that like you know something. Collecting a handsome consulting fee, I’ll bet. Yes. I think perhaps you should be worried.”
Alan paled.
“Is that a threat?” asked the Judge.
Rosa’s eyes flashed at the Judge, seething anger there, well beyond that warranted by the Judge’s provocation. Then she fell back further into her sofa, laughing, relaxed again, like a disturbed cat plucked back down.
“Luis said you’re a fancy Yankee lawyer. Very good, Señor Judge, very provocative, for an old guy. You might have a little fun left in you.”
Alan pulled the Judge away, still pale, guiding him onto the balcony to meet Rosa’s brother, Roberto. Roberto was leaning on the balcony, staring out at the view, motionless. As they approached he turned, a small hand-wrapped cigarette hanging from his mouth. The Judge smelt marijuana.
He looked at the Judge, his dark narrow eyes sizing up the Judge immediately.
“You going to solve this case for Chief Inspector Garcia? Good luck on that.” He gave the Judge a tight smile.
“It looks like the position of you and the younger generation has suddenly improved,” said the Judge.
Roberto smiled again.
“The king is dead, long live the king.”
Roberto’s voice was loud, perhaps because of the weed, carrying inside and across the room. Heads turned.
Luis Cervantes swung around, focusing on the tableau of the three on the balcony, shaking his head at Roberto, making a cutting motion with his hand.
“Bossy over there doesn’t want me to talk. But as far as I’m concerned, fuck him. He’s a dominating asshole. We should be having a party here. A wake. Celebrating the release of this company to its new generation. The old generation had rusted out. No cojones anymore. Actually, my aunts never had cojones in the first place.”
Roberto swung back to look at the view, dismissing the Judge and Alan with his back, nothing else to say.
The Judge led the way over to Luis Cervantes, who was inside leaning again against the wall, hands in his pockets now.
“This is the Judge, Luis. A retired California judge, an old friend of mine, and something of an amateur detective around L.A. He’s a real gentleman.”
“Nice to meet you. Do I call you the Judge?” Luis, smiling, gave a small nod with his head as he shook hands, as one might do when introduced to a senior. Christ, mused the Judge, he wasn’t that old. Luis looked about Katy’s age.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Luis. Call me Judge if you wish.”
“This is tragic. Both my aunts, well technically my cousins. And it’s hard to believe this was a double suicide. They weren’t depressed. They were of sound mind. They were solid adversaries on this board.”
The Judge turned to find the company attorney, Juan Moreno, at his elbow, business card in hand as though produced from a card changer on his belt. He smiled through thin lips and crooked teeth. The light reflecting off his thick glasses made it difficult to read his eyes.
“You can refer all questions of board members to me first, Judge. I’m their legal counsel.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said the Judge, taking the card and turning away.
Garcia strode in, two gendarmes as his attendants, and motioned the Judge over.
“Nothing, Judge. No one on the roof, no one in the stairwell. No one came up to the roof or down again through either the stairwell or the elevator while Ana was on that roof. No window washer apparatus, no rappel down the side of the building, no helicopter off the roof, no place to land and we would have heard it. Nobody on the other tower roofs, no suspicious or even unknown people around the project.”
“Yet Ana fell over the edge, practically in the same spot as her sister.”
“Yes. It has to be homicide, but how? How?”
“Do you trust all your men? Could one be complicit in murder?”
“Impossible. I know my men, their families. None of them would do this.”
“Was Ana so overwrought, that she had to join her sister?”
“Hardly, señor, you saw her as I did. If anything, she was combative.”
“Yes. She certainly was that.”
From across the room, Alan waved his hand to get the Judge’s attention, and then dramatically pointed to his watch.
The Judge said, “Chief Inspector Garcia, can’t we let everyone go now?”
Garcia looked up, pleased to hear the formality of his title again.
Luis stepped around Alan, marching over, taking the Chief Inspector by the arm and directing him out to the hall for a side-bar. The Judge saw a wad of paper money discreetly
leaving Luis’ hand, Garcia’s hand folding around it with a caress. Garcia nodded, marched back in, barked an order at his men, then made an announcement to the room.
“Everyone can now leave. We have your names and contact information. The entire floor and the roof is being sealed off and will be unavailable, so take your belongings. Be sure it has been searched first, and tagged, like this.” He held up Katy’s purse. “I’ll be around tomorrow or the next day to talk separately to each of you.”
There was a herd movement for the door, Alan cutting his away across the flow to the Judge.
“Thank you, Judge. I’ll just make my appointment. Where are you having dinner tonight?
“We were thinking the hotel.”
“Oh no. The buffet at the hotel will be so… so… tired. And the desserts, forty-five diverse ways to disguise flan. Ugh. Come join me for dinner. We’ll go to Edith’s, and then do a little clubbing, perhaps look in on Cabo Wabo. I’ll be pleased to show you around. Why don’t I pick you up, say, at eight p.m.?”
A gracious decline was still forming in the Judge’s mind when Katy’s voice popped past his ear and into the conversation, her arm snaking in to entwine with his.
“We’d love to, Mr. Clark.”
Damn! The Judge was hoping for a light dinner and an early night. He was tired. He probably had heat exhaustion. But his young wife was determined to extract every ounce of nightlife and excitement out of their trip. And out of him. She would probably expect him to dance. Good God!
Katy and the Judge headed for the door behind the crowd, only to come up short, blocked by Chief Inspector Garcia.
“Leaving so soon Mr. Judge? Surely a famous amateur detective like you would want to stick around and see how we conduct our investigation in Mexico.”
“He’s leaving with me, Mr. Inspector,” said Katy, standing straighter, her chin thrust out, ready for trouble. “This is our vacation. He’s not going to squander it on some stupid case.”
“Oh, come now Señorita, I’m asking for just a bit of help, as a professional courtesy from your learned husband. Perhaps he could just sit in as I interrogate each of the board members tomorrow. It won’t take long. After all, he was the last one to see María Cervantes alive, and the first one to see her dead. Quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”
Katy was getting mad. She was tapping her foot, a clear sign.
“It’s okay, Katy,” the Judge said, reaching over to put his arm around her small shoulders, smoothing her feathers. It’ll be just a couple of hours. We can send you off to the spa, and when you come back to the room we’ll start our vacation.”
Katy signed. “We’re starting our vacation tonight, Judge. You’re taking me to dinner and then to Cabo Wabo with Alan Clark. I’m going to dance the joint into the ground.” She tucked her arm in his again and marched him around the Chief Inspector and down the hall to the elevator.
CHAPTER 11
They headed down to the lobby a little before eight and had drinks. Katy dressed in a powder blue summer dress that displayed her ivory shoulders and neck, with espadrilles on her feet, her hair worn up. She was excited. Alan showed up promptly at eight in a rented SUV with a driver, ready to whisk them off to dinner. Edith’s proved to be a patio set under an expanded grass hut, popular with tourists and locals alike. Katy was in a festive mood, taking Alan’s arm and swinging into the restaurant, leaving her curmudgeon Judge to grudgingly follow behind. Where he belonged, he supposed. He wasn’t near as dapper as Alan, nor as young.
Edith’s entrance was flanked by a large tank of lobsters, crawling around actively, but looking despondent. The Judge supposed he’d look despondent too if he were in their predicament. There was something primitive about staring at the watery insects you were about to eat, while they stared back at you with mean white pin eyes. Were their situations reversed, he was sure they’d eat him.
The evening moved along with great spirit, helped by lots of the liquid kind, multiple waiters swarming around them like bees. A large platter of porterhouse, lobster tails, and fresh fish of the day covered in saranwrap was shoved under their collective nose at one point, while 64 ways to order more food than one could eat in a week were rattled off at various extravagant prices, Gatling gun style.
Four mariachis appeared from nowhere and surrounded the table, singing Amapola, La Cucaracha, and then, at the Judge’s request, an amazing performance of Granada, high notes, flourishes and all… or so it seemed from his vantage point on the empty side of three double blended margaritas.
They settled in for flaming Mexican coffee afterward, created by a young waiter who must have been a fire thrower in his former life, the liquid ablaze and streaming in a fiery four-foot drop into their cups from a pan held high above. The preparation was a wonderful performance.
Katy asked how the Judge had met Alan, and together the three compared notes about their escapades on Silicon Beach the year before, and the series of murders that had interrupted the Judge’s life. This naturally led to a discussion of the disastrous afternoon and the two deaths which may have been sequential suicides, or maybe something more.
“So, Judge, what do you think?”
“About what, Alan?”
“About today, the board meeting, the deaths?”
“I wasn’t at the board meeting.”
“But you think it was murder, Judge?” asked Katy.
“Indeed, I do. Two in a row. Same spot, practically the same time. No note, no indication of depression, what else could it be?”
“Who did it?” Alan asked.
“Well, Alan, I don’t know. What do you think?”
“No one on the board could have killed them, Judge, since we were all in the same room when bodies were dropping off the roof.”
“Maybe you were all in collusion.”
“Judge!”
“The more interesting question for me, Alan, is how? No one on the roof, no one escaping from the roof, nowhere to hide on the roof.”
“It is a puzzle.”
“Tell me Alan, do you have any qualms about helping the company go into this marijuana business?”
“Why no. It’s legal now in California. There’s tremendous money in it. It will take organized crime out of it. It’s a perfect business, and there’s a land rush now across our country to stake out ground in the new industry.”
“What do you think about smoking tobacco, Alan?”
“A good analogy Judge. A legalized habit and very profitable.”
“But from a society point of view, look at the enormous cost in health care, and the premature destruction of life from cigarettes. And consider all the families who’ve lost love ones from lung cancer because of tobacco.”
“Well, they use it at their own risk. Everyone knows it’s harmful.”
“But that doesn’t stop the use, does it? Young people try it for a variety of reasons, and some proportion make it a habit, and then can’t quit. But like you say, there’s tremendous money in it.”
“Surely, you’re not comparing weed to tobacco, Judge?”
“No. Marijuana is worse, Alan.”
“How so?”
“Joints are smoked. The same or similar carcinogens go into your lungs. And for many it’s addictive. Once addicted to marijuana, they just check out, don’t they? It’s a way to escape life with all its pressures and responsibilities, sort of a permanent la la land where there’s no pain.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Is it? I think it’s the saddest sort of escape from having a real life.”
“You’re wrong about marijuana being worse, Judge. Marijuana doesn’t make the top ten list of the most addictive drugs. Besides, the average tobacco smoker smokes ten to twenty cigarettes a day, and the average marijuana user smokes two or three times a month. A recent UCLA med school study found that moderate marijuana use did not increase the risk for lung cancer.”
“I’ve read that, Alan. But suppose people smoke marijuana a lo
t more if it’s fully legalized? Are we adding another harmful and addictive drug that’s going to ruin our health if we legalize marijuana?”
“I think legalization is a good thing, Judge, and will provide certain classes of people with a lot of relief. But I respect your position. Its good friends like us who can agree to disagree.”
“You mean money relief.” Huffed the Judge as he settled into an after-dinner port. “Let me ask you something else, Alan.” Shifting subjects now. “Did you see Luis slip the good Inspector a wad of money? What was with that, Alan? We might still be there if Luis hadn’t paid the Chief Inspector off.”
Oh, you mean the mordidas,” said Katy.
“The What?”
“Translated as ‘small bites’, Judge. I traveled a lot in Mexico with my dad when I was growing up. He’s done petroleum engineering here and there along the gulf. It’s the way the system works in Mexico. Small bribes everywhere.”
“But that’s corruption.”
“You’re not in the United States now, my dear. There is a different sense of what is right and proper here.”
“But… but… he’s the police.”
“She’s right, Judge. It’s their custom. It’s the way business is done in Mexico.” Said Alan.
“But… But…”
Katy said, “Look at it this way, Judge. In colonial times, the Spanish conquerors assigned offices of power to certain favored individuals in Mexico. They were expected to collect revenues, maintain order, and maintain the government and civic authority in their region, but Spain didn’t give them money to accomplish those tasks, or even to sustain themselves. They were expected to live off the land.”
“Okay, but this is the twenty-first century, Katy.”
“It was more complicated than that, Judge. Church corruption was widespread back then. People of money or connections could outright purchase important positions inside the church to gain social status and power, and then they were allowed to usurp land and wealth from the local populace. Local people were in the middle, caught between the politicians and the church, so they learned to play the regional political leaders and local religious leaders against one another. They would hold fiestas in honor of church officials, currying favor. But at the same time, they’d seek support and protection from the political officials, primarily through bribes, to prevent encroachments onto their land or into their businesses by the church.”
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