Cabo

by Davis MacDonald

  The Judge groaned to himself all the way to the bathroom. At least his head was kind of working today.

  They drove along the main drag to the mall, parked in its expansive parking lot, then walked through the mall’s soaring corridors, air-conditioned, lined with every possible shop and store imaginable, and back out into the blistering sun, facing the harbor.

  The sea was a deep blue, quiet, with a multitude of boats rocking quietly in their slips, few people around this early. The air should have been wet from the moisture of the sea, but instead it was dry, hot, all the moisture sucked out by the surrounding desert that was Cabo.

  They walked along the harbor to the Ruth’s Chris Steak House. Garcia insisted on sitting outside for breakfast under an umbrella, expounding on the scenic picture of the boats and harbor. As they finished ordering breakfast (steak and eggs for the Judge; eggs, refried beans and tortillas for Garcia), the door to the air-conditioned inner dining room opened, a place the Judge now wished Garcia had chosen instead of the patio, and Miguel Cervantes strolled out. He wore khaki pants, brown loafers, and a lightweight khaki safari jacket without arms worn over a soft green silk shirt with a large collar and patch pockets, eyes hidden behind aviator glasses with silver rims. It was irritable how cool he looked; the lucky bastard had probably been hovering next to the air conditioner in there, waiting for the Judge and Garcia to melt. The Judge felt immediate dislike for the man, but couldn’t say why.

  Miguel whipped his aviators off with a flourish, surveyed the patio, pretending to just see them, and marched over to their table.

  “So, Miguel, I think you met the Judge,” said Garcia, standing to greet him.

  The Judge remained seated, mostly out of petulance, reaching up with his hand to shake. Miguel had a firm handshake, matched with the obligatory direct look from dark oval eyes overshadowed by dark bushy eyebrows in a tan face. Miguel’s smile was punctual, not friendly.

  “Okay. So? What do you want from me?”

  “Just answers to a few questions,” said Garcia.

  “Shoot. But let’s keep it short. I have things to do.”

  “How’d you get along with María and Ana?”

  “Great. I was the baby brother. They always took good care of me.”

  “Weren’t you only half siblings?” asked the Judge.

  “That’s true. My father married my mother late in life, after María and Ana’s mother had died.”

  “And are you fairly compensated for what you do for the company?”

  “I am. They, María and Ana, took care of me. Of course, they needed my vote, and old Pablo’s, to lock in control of the board once Luis, Roberto and Rosa came on board.”

  “Did you vote them onto the board?”

  “No. They each got their shares from their grandfather’s estate at twenty-five. That gave them each over ten percent of the outstanding shares, enough to vote themselves onto the board under the bylaws”

  “How did you come onto the board, Miguel?” asked Garcia.

  “My dad never changed his will when he married my mother. But his original will gave shares in ASAM to ‘all’ his children by blood in equal shares, without naming them. Each bloc was held in trust and then delivered to the offspring when they turned twenty-five. So, I was entitled to one-third of one-third of the outstanding shares on the day I turned twenty-five, the same as María and Ana. One day while I’m working in Mexico City in a bank, an abogado turned up at my window and said, ‘Surprise, you’re now the owner of 11.1 percent of ASAM’. I immediately quit my job, relocated to Cabo, and voted myself onto the board of directors.”

  The Judge said, “I understand the younger board members didn’t have much say about running the business.”

  “No.”

  “And you were close to your half-sisters?”

  “Yes. It’s a great tragedy they’re gone.” Miguel shifted his gaze. “I hold you personally responsible, Chief Inspector.”

  “Me?” Garcia’s face lit up in a deep pink.

  “Yes, you. At least as to Ana. She should never have been on that roof alone. You sent her out there by herself, and she jumped, or got pushed, or whatever happened. It was stupidity on your part.”

  “But I instructed my officer to accompany her and stay with her on the roof.”

  “Yes, but he didn’t, did he?”

  “Well… no.”

  “The company is considering filing a lawsuit for criminal negligence because of the way you handled your little morality play. And your chief is very unhappy too.”

  Garcia seemed to melt smaller in his chair, hunching over, his eyes dark, angry.

  “This is all off the point,” said the Judge. “We’re trying to find out what happened on that roof and who was involved. Perhaps someone sitting in the board meeting was manipulating María and Ana to jump off that building.”

  “Like an invisible hand?” said Miguel. “That’s crazy, señor.”

  “Even so, did any of the people in the board meeting have reason to kill either of your sisters?

  “No.”

  “No one was antagonistic toward them?” asked the Judge.

  “Well, of course Luis. He was always yelling about how the junior board members were not fairly compensated. It got to be a drag listening to him rant.”

  “What about you, Miguel?” asked Garcia. “We heard there may have been some ill will between you and your sisters.”

  “That sounds like idle gossip. We got along great. I sat quietly in their board meetings and cast my vote as they suggested. And they paid me off handsomely each month; like a slot machine.”

  “Are you married, Miguel?” asked the Judge.

  “No.”

  “Ever?”

  “No.”

  “A girlfriend?”

  “Several. I’m not gay if that’s what you’re getting at. How’s that relevant to anything? That’s really none of your business.” Miguel glared at Garcia, presumably for permitting the Judge’s question.

  “Just wondered what your social life was like. Whether you had a domestic arrangement.”

  “Women are like fireflies. They twinkle for a brief time. Then they change, get old, fat, wrinkled, unattractive and clingy. But there’s a new set of fireflies along every thirty seconds. And so it is with females. I spend my time with young women not over twenty-five, hot slender bodies, tight, not stretched by kids, lots of energy, barely broken in. I enjoy the sport of attracting them, sparking a romance, and getting into a relationship for a short ride. I even enjoy dumping them. Women are for trading, not keeping. No. I’m not gay.’’

  “Explain what do you do at the company,” said Garcia.

  “I manage the consumer products division. Clothes, small appliances, tools, household items of all sorts, some manufactured in Mexico, some imported here for distribution. I also help with Luis’ management of our high-tech parts operations, aircraft and space parts, self-driving car parts that are starting to be tooled. We have a great company; we don’t need to chase some silly marijuana pipe dream.”

  “Miguel is something of a sportsman, Judge,” said Garcia.

  “I am. I race go-fast boats, I fly stunt-planes, I ride motorcycles, and I chase woman. I like ‘fast’. How’s that relevant?”

  “Thank you, Miguel. Most helpful,” said Garcia, quickly terminating the conversation before the Judge could ask anything further.

  Miguel got up from the table and strode back through the door he’d come out of, back into the air-conditioned inner sanctum of the restaurant. No doubt heading for the air-conditioned mall.

  “What are you thinking, Judge? No one snuck out of that board meeting and up to the roof. And at least for Ana, we’re part of their alibi. There’s no way any one of them could be directly involved, unless they had an accomplice.”

  “It’s a puzzle, Garcia. What about your man, Gonzales? Do you trust him?”

  “Mostly, yes. He’s been with me six months. The Chief hired him because his fath
er and the Chief are third cousins, or something. But he wasn’t there when María fell. He and I were still at the station. And he wasn’t on the roof when Ana fell. I was yelling at him through the glass into the corridor beside the stairwell. We’re also his alibi.”

  “I think when we figure out the ‘how’ of these twin deaths, it will point us to the ‘who’. When do you expect the autopsy report?”

  “They’re backed up, Judge. Perhaps next week. I may get preliminary information sooner.”

  “You’ve sealed off the nineteenth and twentieth floors, and the roof?”

  “No one in or out.”

  “Good.”

  The Judge suffered through Garcia finishing his eggs and beans, hardly visible under the pool of salsa verde he’d ladled on. The Judge felt himself melting more and more into the chair, perspiration breaking out under his arms and in the constricted crotch of his puke shorts.

  Finally, Garcia was finished, the bill was split and paid, and they trudged off the patio, out into more heat, which wrapped the town and harbor like a blanket, holding close the scent of burning charcoal, cooking bacon, lard-layered tortillas and drying fish.

  “Can I go back to my hotel now, Inspector?”

  “One more quick meeting, Judge, and then we’re done for this morning.”

  The Judge groaned, took his slightly-used handkerchief out of the back pocket of his puke shorts, wiped his forehead, and wished he’d brought a hat.

  CHAPTER 17

  Garcia led the Judge south past the boats along the back end of the small Cabo Harbor and out onto Boulevard Paseo de la Marina, crossing over and down a block to a cantina and boutique claiming itself to be The Happy Ending. It was not quite eleven a.m., but a party was going on, the place half filled with mostly young people, including a bachelorette covey in skimpy bikinis, up and dancing on the bar to a raucous rendition of ‘Toes in the Water’ by a swarthy guitar player with a solid voice. Four young women, in tight two-piece outfits revealing more than necessary in the Judge’s opinion, were slinging drinks behind the bar and to the occupied tables. One was sitting on an inebriated young man’s lap, swaying to the music.

  There appeared to be air-conditioning. Unfortunately, it was mostly absorbed by the crowd, twisting, dancing, clinking glasses, and chugging drinks. It was noisy, and it was hot. At least the Judge’s shorts blended in here.

  Juan Moreno, ASAM’s corporate attorney, sitting at a table in a far corner with a coffee cup in hand, waved them over, remnants of a chocolate donut on a plate in front of him. A few dark crumbs appeared to have attached themselves to his narrow tie, bright red with clashing blue mini-triangles, fastened to his white shirt with an inordinately large tie clip, gold. He wore a grey polyester suit, the pants rumpled, perhaps slept in, the coat thrown over the back of his chair. His thick glasses sat on his beak-like nose, partially shrouding sharp eyes.

  As they approached, Juan smiled, all thin lips and crooked teeth. He looked the caricature of an attorney, slippery, crafty, vulture-like, making the Judge want to check his wallet.

  “I didn’t know you were bringing counsel, Garcia. All lawyered up, are we?” His eyes seemed to dart here and there behind the glasses, never looking directly at either of them.

  “The Judge is helping me on this murder investigation,” Garcia said.

  “Oh, murder now, is it? I thought they both just jumped. You shouldn’t complicate things, Garcia. It only makes the world more difficult. You think they were pushed?”

  “Something like that,” said the Judge.

  Moreno’s thin nose shifted a degree or two to point at the Judge, assessing.

  “How can I help?”

  “We’d like a rundown on the board, who had disagreements with María or Ana, who was opposed to their interests, who had a motive to see them disappear,” said the Judge.

  The thin lips twisted into a tight smile. “Almost everybody else on the board, gentlemen. Of course, I can’t divulge confidential information, but there’s a lot of dysfunction on ASAM’s board.”

  “Who do you represent?” asked the Judge.

  “The corporation.”

  “Do you represent any of the directors individually?”

  “No. I mean yes. Well… I mean I’ve represented Old Pablo for some time now. He’s the one that brought me in as corporate counsel.”

  “So, you should have no conflict talking about the interests and attitudes of the other directors, excluding Pablo, so long as it doesn’t pertain to privileged corporate matters.”

  “I suppose that’s right.” Moreno sounded doubtful.

  Garcia said, “Señor, you’ll tell us what you know over this friendly coffee, or I’ll sweat it out of you at the police station.”

  Moreno paled.

  “Okay. Okay…. There’s a natural divide between the older members, Pablo, María, Ana and Miguel, and the younger members, Rosa, Roberto and Luis. This is accentuated by the way the shares are split. Pablo, María, Ana and Miguel control two-thirds of the stock, and as a bloc control the company. The millennials are a minority, and are treated as such. María was the leader of the senior group. Luis often speaks for the millennials.”

  Moreno’s words were tumbling out over themselves now. He didn’t want to be interviewed at the police station. The Judge was beginning to appreciate how different the Mexican justice system was from California’s rules of supposedly fair play.

  “Go on,” the Judge prompted.

  “The minority draw fees and salaries half or less of what the majority take, have more junior positions in running the company, and believe they are discriminated against. They are angry. There are also various family rivalries, slights and frictions that go back years, but still play a part in the interactions on the board. Everybody seems to have a grudge against somebody.”

  “Explain.”

  “Roberto’s been stealing money and was caught by María. Pablo believes Ana cheated him out of a larger share in the company. Miguel holds a grudge for the way his mother was treated. Luis hated María for the way she’s treated the millennials, and because he has a different vision for the company. Rosa is a tramp and was an embarrassment to María and Ana. There is bad blood between Miguel and Roberto, but I’m not sure why. Rosa has a strong dislike of Miguel; again, I don’t know why. And so on.”

  “That must make your job tricky.”

  “It’s like herding cats.”

  “How much does the company pay you in fees each year?” asked the Judge.

  Juan glanced at Garcia. “I have to answer that?”

  Garcia nodded.

  “The equivalent of about two hundred thousand a year. They’re my major client.”

  “So, you must have been upset when you heard they were considering other counsel?” The Judge was bluffing but he thought it worth a shot.

  “Oh that,” said Moreno smoothly. “That wasn’t going to happen. Pablo wouldn’t provide his vote to the bloc anymore if they fired me.”

  “I heard there was a new bloc forming,” the Judge said, bluffing again. “Of course, now it’s all changed.”

  “What? What new bloc? What did you hear? Tell me.”

  “I took it as idle speculation. Where do María and Ana’s shares go now they’re gone?”

  “I have to tell the board that first. You’re coming to the emergency board meeting in about an hour, I assume. I’ll announce it there.”

  “We’ll be there,” said Garcia, before the Judge could get a word in about other commitments, on vacation, and so on.

  The Judge asked, “Was there anything unusual about the board meeting, prior to María’s death?”

  “No. Luis and María were arguing quite aggressively, from either end of the conference table. Nothing unusual about that. The rest of us were just sitting there. Like watching a ping pong match. This consultant, Alan something, was there. A waste of money on him. The controlling interests weren’t going to let the company go into the marijuana trade.”


  “But that may change now.”

  “We’ll see. Come to the board meeting. It’s not going to be all as smooth as Luis anticipates.”

  “Was anyone angry enough to kill María, and then Ana?” asked the Judge.

  “I don’t know. Any of them could be, I suppose. But none of them were on the roof. We are all in the boardroom.”

  “Suppose there was an accomplice?” asked the Judge.

  “That’s possible. But I thought, Inspector, you found no one on the roof each time? Are you sure they didn’t just jump, each of them, bound in some silly suicide pack?”

  “I doubt it, but our investigation is in an early stage. We’ll get to the bottom of it,” said Garcia.

  “Do you know the police officer Gonzales?” asked the Judge.

  Moreno looked startled, then guarded, then bland, in the space of two seconds.

  “Ah, yes. He was the one that went up on the roof with Ana, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes. Do you know him personally?”

  “I do corporate law, not criminal, Judge, so I don’t know many policemen.”

  “That wasn’t my question. Do you know Gonzales personally?”

  Moreno paused, then responded. “Yes.” In a muffled voice.

  “How well do you know Gonzales, Senor Moreno?” asked Garcia, catching the scent.

  “He’s my nephew.”

  CHAPTER 18

  The ASAM emergency Board of Directors meeting was held in a conference room in the second story of The Mall, Cabo’s only mall, a structure so large and so windy the Judge found himself quickly lost in its maze. No one wanted to go meet in the resort where bodies flew off roofs. Besides, the two upper floors of the timeshare building were locked up tight and surrounded by wide yellow tape.

  The Judge and Garcia ran into Alan Clark in the maze of small shops, and the three puzzled their way to the correct elevator, and then the correct corridor, and finally to the doors which opened into the conference room. The opposite side of the room was all glass, looking over Cabo’s harbor, a potpourri of colors and shapes lit by the hot sun, some bright, some dusty: boats, masts, sails, carts, water taxis, and people wandering the harbor causeways in the heat. Three stories up, the view from the conference room extended beyond the harbor to the carpet of blue sea stretching to the horizon past the Arch.