The Broken Saint: A Detectives Seagate and Miner Mystery

by Mike Markel

  “Seagate.”

  “Detective Seagate. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He paused. “I’m a little surprised to see you here. When you get back to headquarters, please pass along my regards to Detective Martinez.”

  “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

  “Did he not tell you that I prefer to receive notification when you wish to talk to me?”

  “Come on, stop wasting my time,” I said. “Yeah, he told me you like cops to kiss your ass, but we got other things we need to do.” The two goons on the couches shifted around, like they were waiting for a signal from The One to jump us, but he held up a few fingers to tell them to sit still.

  “I’m just asking you a few questions,” I said. “You give me answers, my partner and I are out of here in a couple minutes and you go back to whatever illegal shit you were doing. You don’t have to make this a big thing.”

  He smiled, just a little. “What was the question?”

  “Maricel Salizar. Was she in the Latins?”

  He tapped the ash off his cigarette in the heavy glass ashtray on his desk and then took a long pull. He exhaled slowly. “I don’t discuss membership in any gang.”

  “You understand, if you don’t talk to me, I gotta report that to my chief, and he’s gotta do something about it. We have to bring you in, take a statement, you gotta call your guy, Samosa. This doesn’t have to be a whole thing.”

  “I’d like you to show me some respect,” he said, his face set.

  “All right. You call yourself The One, right? Okay, The One. Let me explain to you how I am showing you respect,” I said. “I’m asking you a question. I’m hoping you’ll give me a truthful answer. And I’m willing to take your answer at face value. Why is that? Because I understand you’re a professional, just like me. You’re the general in the Latins. You got a business. You got people. You got a payroll. We’re in different fields. Okay, I get that. But I need you to help me with this investigation. If the Salizar killing was a Latins hit, I gotta report that, and we bring in the Anti-Gang Unit, the feds if we can convince them it was a RICO violation. It’s gonna be a real shitstorm.

  “But if Salizar wasn’t a Latins hit, we just walk away. I’m not here to humiliate you. I’m not here to be a pain in the ass. Why don’t you make this easy on both of us? Give me a reason to tell my boss I don’t think it was a gang hit.”

  “I don’t read the newspaper. Never heard of Salizar.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Thank you. I appreciate that. Next question: is Hector Cruz an active or a wanna-be?”

  “I have no way to control who puts ink on their chest.”

  “All right. I understand that answer, too. Thank you. So, just to make sure I got this right, you’re saying that there was no initiation Sunday night? Nobody putting in work?

  The One held my gaze and shook his head.

  “One more question. Any one of your boys do a drive-by on my house early this morning?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I hope nobody was hurt.”

  “Nobody was hurt.”

  “Did it scare you?” he said.

  “It woke me up. I gotta repair a couple of holes in my house.”

  “I know it can be very disturbing.”

  “Did one of your guys do it?”

  “Any reason one of my guys would do it?”

  Apparently he was done answering my questions. “Ah, shit, are we back to this nonsense? We were communicating so well there for a second. Just answer my question. I know you’ve got your guy Samosa stirring things up. Did he ask you to throw a few shots my way to scare me?”

  “Are you scared?”

  I just stood there. I heard a chuckle from one of the goons on the couch, who was nodding his head in admiration of the boss’ ability to work his mouth.

  “You should be scared,” The One said. “Fear is a good thing. It helps you live longer.”

  “You’re not gonna give me a straight answer?”

  He smiled, then turned to one of his bodyguards. “The detectives are leaving now.”

  I shook my head. “We’ll talk some more.” Ryan and I turned and left.

  The pudgy kid was standing outside the door. He escorted us to the parts counter, then out the steel door to the parking lot.

  Back in the car, I said, “What do you make of that?”

  Ryan said, “I think part of it was the truth.”

  “Which part?”

  “I believed him that Maricel wasn’t in the Latins. Or Hector, either.”

  “And about him doing the drive-by?”

  “That one I’m not sure,” Ryan said. “What about you?”

  “Yeah, I couldn’t tell. I assume he’s in touch with Samosa, so he knows he’s supposed to pretend to be pissed at me. And I imagine The One doesn’t roll around town doing the shooting himself. But he might have had one of his junior assholes do it.”

  “Or maybe Hector Cruz.”

  “Sure. Or one of the wanna-be’s did it to impress the boss.”

  Ryan said, “Even if the Latins had nothing to do with it, The One isn’t going to admit that.”

  “Certainly not in front of his thugs.”

  “So where does that leave us?”

  “Well, it doesn’t get us any closer to figuring out who killed Maricel,” I said.

  “One other thing you should consider, Karen. Even if he wasn’t behind the drive-by this morning, you might have given him a good idea about how to get to you.”

  “For not showing him the appropriate respect?” I said.

  Ryan spread his palms. “I’m just saying.”

  Chapter 23

  The light was flashing on my desk phone. The screen said Gerson, Albert left a message a half-hour ago. I hit Play and put it on Speaker. “Um, Detective Seagate, this is Andrea Gerson.” There was a pause. “Dr. Gerson’s wife, from the university? I’m sorry to bother you, I’m sure you’re very busy. I just wanted to say thank you for your assistance with Mark the other day. Mark, our son. He’s home now, and it’s just such a relief to us. My husband and I both want you to know how much we appreciate … what you did.” The message ended.

  Ryan said, “You know, we never did get a chance to interview her. And with her husband at the university, she won’t be able to run into another room.”

  I picked up the phone and called her. Yes, she would be happy to talk with us.

  We drove over, parked in front of her house, walked up, and rang the bell.

  The door opened. She was dressed in a blouse and slacks, and she held her chin high. She looked like she was trying real hard to keep it together this time.

  “Detective Seagate,” she said to me, forcing a smile. “Detective Miner. So good of you both to come.” She took our coats, hung them in the closet, and led us to the living room. “Won’t you please take a seat?” The sun had broken through the clouds and was hitting the black wood of the piano and the red and blue designs on the Persian carpet beneath it. “I have tea and coffee—both regular and decaf,” she said, nodding to Ryan.

  “Coffee would be great, if you don’t mind,” I said.

  “Decaf,” Ryan said, smiling.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said and walked back toward the kitchen.

  “Decaf’s okay with your church?”

  “That’s a point of contention.” He smiled. “Some LDS think it’s impossible to remove all the caffeine. But I’m okay with it.”

  “You live on the edge, right?”

  “I’m gangsta Mormon.”

  She came back in, carrying a tray with three china cups on saucers plus sugar and cream. “There we are,” she said. “Won’t you please help yourself to cream and sugar?”

  Ryan and I got up and fixed our coffees, then returned to our seats.

  “Again,” Andrea Gerson said, “we want to express our appreciation for how you treated Mark.”

  “No problem,” I said. “He’s home now?”

  “Well,” she said, her gaze pulled do
wn to her hands, “not home this minute, but he is sleeping at home, which, unfortunately, is the best we can hope for.”

  Ryan said, “I know it’s difficult for people with schizophrenia to stay on their meds. One of my sisters has it.”

  Andrea Gerson’s face clouded. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Detective. Believe me, I know what a heartache it can be.” She paused a long moment. “I feel I owe you an explanation.”

  I shook my head, indicating she didn’t have to tell us. But I was hoping she would.

  “Mark and Mitch … looked like identical twins, but they had always been a little different in their personalities. Mark was more introspective, a little bit withdrawn. And he could be moody. But he seemed reasonably successful.” She stopped, her hand nervously touching the corner of her eye. “His twin, Mitch, died in a snowboarding accident.” She looked down at the coffee service and touched the handle of the sugar jar for no apparent reason.

  “Yes,” I said, “your husband mentioned that.”

  “I see,” she said, like she was apologizing for wasting our time. “That was when the symptoms of schizophrenia began. Right then. That day. I had been hoping that my children would be spared this terrible disease.”

  “It’s in your family?” Ryan said.

  Andrea Gerson nodded. “We were so lucky with Judy. She is … she is so well-adjusted.” Andrea smiled slightly. “Our daughter.” Then the smile slipped from her face, and I could see a tear in her eye. “She chose a college in Connecticut. We understood why she would want to put some miles between us. She had done her time here, with me and Mark. Al and I tried to show her we understood her feelings, that it was for the best.”

  She took a deep breath. “I don’t believe Mark has told his father this. Mark believes that he is responsible for his brother’s death.” She closed her eyes and kept them closed for a few beats. I could see her face was shaking, like she had a tremor or was having some kind of psychological reaction to what she was saying.

  Ryan and I sat there, not knowing whether to say anything.

  “They had been playing,” she said as she opened her eyes. “You know how kids are. Apparently, Mark was teasing his brother, daring him to go off the trail. Mitch did. He fell, hit his head on a rock.”

  She began to cry openly, her hands coming up to cover her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she said in a soft voice. “I was hoping—this time—not to make a scene.”

  “It’s quite all right, Ms. Gerson,” Ryan said, standing and walking over to her. He knelt beside her, putting his hand on her shoulder tenderly. She reached up and covered his hand, moving toward him. She reached her other arm around his shoulder, and they hugged. After a few seconds, they ended the hug, but Ryan stayed next to her, on one knee, his hand on her shoulder.

  “That must be a terrible burden for Mark to carry,” I said.

  “I cannot tell you how many times, how many ways I’ve tried to convince him that it wasn’t his fault. He’s not a bad boy, and the loss of his brother hurt him more than it hurt anyone else. When a twin loses his sibling, I think it’s like losing a part of himself.”

  “It’s a heavy weight for everyone in the family,” Ryan said. He raised himself off his knee and sat next to her on the couch. “Can you tell us how your husband dealt with it?”

  She sighed and turned to him. “The Church. Definitely, the Church has been a big part of it.”

  I said, “You mean, he grew closer to people in the church who experienced loss?”

  She turned to me. “Well, yes, there was one couple who were very kind to us.” She wiped a tear with her finger. “But I meant that he stepped up his contributions to the Church. He’s the bishop of our ward, which, as I’m sure you know, is extremely time-consuming. I think … I don’t want this to sound negative, but I think he has responded in a way that males do, more than women. I don’t know, I really have no idea what I’m saying …”

  “Not at all, Ms. Gerson,” Ryan said. “I think I understand exactly what you’re saying. When men face a tremendous personal loss, they tend to throw themselves into activities that help distract them from their loss. They work harder at the office, they do more at their Church.”

  “Whereas women tend to sink deeper into their memories,” Andrea Gerson said. She started to cry again, covering her face in her hands.

  “I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been—must be—for you,” Ryan said.

  “Ms. Gerson,” I said, “you mentioned that Mark confided in you about Mitch’s death—told you something you didn’t think he even told his father.”

  “Yes,” she said, her finger coming up to wipe at her eye. “Al is a wonderful father. Mark is extremely fortunate in that way. He’s sensitive, patient—just excellent in every way …”

  I waited for the “but,” but she seemed to be unable to say it.

  “Is there some kind of tension between them?”

  “Al thinks it is very important—and I agree with him completely—that Mark take as much responsibility as he can in managing the schizophrenia. As I’m sure you know, Detective Miner, with your sister, many people with schizophrenia find it difficult to stay on their medications because of the way it makes them feel.”

  “Yes, I do know that, Ms. Gerson,” Ryan said.

  “And so that’s become a source of conflict between Mark and his father,” I said.

  “Mark … I think Mark has grown a little closer to me as a result. You know how men can be.” She tried to smile as she looked at me. “They have this reason.” She clenched her fists in front of her. “And they keep repeating it, as if everyone will start to act appropriately if they just keep saying it often enough.”

  “Ms. Gerson,” I said, “we’re having a real hard time understanding why anyone would want to hurt Maricel. Has Mark told you anything that might help us with what was going on in her life recently?”

  She looked up, almost startled. My guess is that she had been running on fumes psychologically for some years now. Not that she was indifferent to the death of Maricel. It was more that the murder was one more thing added to the mix, a mix that was already killing her. “I’m afraid I can’t give you any details,” she said. “Mark was particularly agitated the last few weeks. I’m sure that contributed to his decision to go off his meds—and then the psychotic episode. I shouldn’t use the word decision.” She turned to Ryan. “I’m not sure how much control a person with schizophrenia has over their actions.”

  Ryan nodded his agreement.

  I wanted to get back to Maricel. “Did Mark mention Maricel in anything he said to you?”

  “Well, yes, of course, he mentioned her all the time. He still does. She must have had some kind of fight with Hector—I don’t know what it was about. But the last month, she wasn’t seeing Hector as much as she did around Christmas and New Year. I do remember that Mark mentioned that Maricel said something to him about how you should be careful about choosing your friends. She said she learned an important lesson. I don’t know what Hector did—or what she thought he did.”

  “Ms. Gerson, you’ve been very generous with your time.” I stood. “We appreciate it very much.” I walked over to her and handed her my card. “If you can think of anything else that might be useful to us, please get in touch with me.”

  “Of course, Detective Seagate. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to be of more assistance.” She walked us out to the entryway and got our coats from the closet.

  Ryan and I got back in the cruiser, which, thankfully, was relatively warm in the sun.

  I said, “So Dad spends more time at the university, more time with the church.”

  “Plausible but not particularly helpful. The guy’s in his early forties, the provost at a university. He’s putting in the hours anyway.”

  “And doing more with the church?”

  “You could do a hundred hours a week at the Church,” Ryan said, “and we’d appreciate it. Being a bishop is a big deal, like another full-time job.”
/>   “And what do you make of what she said about Maricel cooling off toward Hector?”

  Ryan just shook his head. “The time frame fits with Maricel’s abortion, which Hector didn’t want. Not helpful.”

  “What did Maricel say: you should be careful about choosing your friends?”

  “Yep, according to Mom.”

  “There’s something here we’re missing,” I said. “Girls don’t refer to their boyfriends as ‘friends.’”

  “Amber?” Ryan said.

  “Yeah. And her idiot boyfriend with the big earring.”

  Chapter 24

  “Hair Sample 1 is the boyfriend, Hector Cruz. We got that off his felony in California.” It was Robin, our evidence tech, phoning to say she had the results on the DNA of the two hair samples from different males on Maricel’s body. The message was waiting for me when I got in this morning.

  Not particularly helpful having a hair sample from her boyfriend. “And Hair Sample 2?”

  “That one’s not in any system we have access to.”

  “Shit.”

  “Oh, no, please, Karen. No need to thank me. These little chats are reward enough.”

  “So that’s all the forensics you’ve got?”

  “Unless you bring me more evidence. Get me some more DNA and I can match it to our mystery man. And get me some polyester fibers and I can tell you if it was his trunk Maricel took her last ride in.”

  “If we got you more DNA, that would take another thirty-six hours, right?”

  “Can’t rush it. We have to ferment the stuff.”

  “All right, Robin, thanks.” I hung up the phone and turned to Ryan. “Any point in asking the chief again if we can search Hector on his hair DNA being on Maricel?”

  Ryan sighed. “He’s already made it clear he doesn’t see that as probable cause. Hector’s admitted he was with her that night. We need a witness who puts Hector where he says he wasn’t.”

  “Or someone who says Hector said he stabbed her.”

  “Yes.” Ryan smiled. “That would also work.”

  “So that leaves us with Andrea Gerson’s statement how Maricel said you have to choose your friends carefully. We were going to interview Amber and Jared again.”