The Broken Saint: A Detectives Seagate and Miner Mystery

by Mike Markel

  I went over to Andrea Gerson, who slowly rose to her feet, gripping the back of the chair. Ryan saw me and came over, too.

  “Can you give us a minute, Ms. Gerson?”

  She nodded. Her eyes were red-rimmed and underlined with gray shadows. She was shaking.

  “Can you tell us what happened with your husband yesterday afternoon?”

  “Just what he said: he told me and Mark everything about the affair with Esperanza. Then he phoned Judy at her college and told her.”

  “I noticed Mark is not here at the service.”

  “He was very upset when Al told him.”

  “Do you know where Mark is now?”

  She started to weep. “No, he left, and we haven’t seen him since. He isn’t taking our calls.”

  “Ms. Gerson, did you know about Maricel before your husband told you yesterday?”

  She looked at me. “My husband has always been an attractive man. From the moment I met him at BYU, I knew that it would be difficult for him to obey the teachings of the Church in that regard …”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Gerson, but I need you to answer my question: Did you know about Maricel before your husband told you yesterday?”

  “You’re asking a question for which I cannot give you a simple answer.”

  “Try.”

  “I knew that Al loved Maricel in a way I did not feel and did not understand.”

  “Could he have killed her?”

  “I do not believe that would be possible.”

  “Ms. Gerson, did you kill Maricel?”

  “How do you have the nerve to ask that … that question, at her memorial?”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Gerson, but we need to ask that question of all the people closest to Maricel. This is still an ongoing murder investigation.”

  “Detective, why in the world would I want to hurt that girl? No matter how Albert loved her …” She looked away.

  “Thank you, Ms. Gerson. I hope we don’t have to bother you again.”

  “Detective Seagate.” I recognized the voice coming from behind me. I turned around. It was Raul Samosa, the gang lawyer. He was wearing his uniform: black suit, gold jewelry. He looked good.

  I sighed. “What can I do for you, Mr. Samosa?”

  “I thought I made it clear to you you were not to harass my client, Mr. Cruz.”

  I paused. “I didn’t do that, Mr. Samosa.”

  “You did not ambush him at his job site and browbeat him into letting you search his car and trailer without a warrant?”

  “Way I see the situation, Hector has every right to let us search his things if he wants.”

  “Under the threat of arrest for assaulting an officer.”

  “It was him took a swing at a detective. Nobody made him do that. You’re unhappy with any of the choices Hector makes, maybe you should be talking to him.”

  “The one I will be talking to is Chief Murtaugh.”

  “Go right ahead. This investigation is clean, top to bottom.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Chapter 31

  “We wanna keep you up to date on the Salizar case.”

  “Good,” the chief said. “Anything interesting at the service?”

  Ryan said, “Kind of. Al Gerson admitted that Maricel was his daughter.”

  The sun was streaming through the partly closed blinds behind the chief’s head. This time of year, everyone’s so hungry for sunlight they give it a little more leeway than they do in the summer. The chief’s big frame was lit up from behind.

  “Hmm,” the chief said. “You called that one, right, Karen?”

  “Good thing about being totally cynical: you’re right a lot of the time. I thought either he was her father or her lover—or maybe both. But my money was on Gerson being the father, just like he said.”

  “What about you, Ryan? You buy what he said about being her father?”

  “I’m a little less sympathetic than Karen on this one.”

  The chief looked puzzled. “Meaning?”

  “I’m not saying I think he’s lying now. But saying she was his daughter could be a tactical retreat.”

  The chief shifted in his chair and extended his palm for Ryan to explain.

  “Let’s say Maricel was here to blackmail him—she could be his real daughter and have no feelings for him because he doesn’t deserve any, or she could be impersonating his daughter just to get him to pay up. Either way, Gerson could see killing her as a rational move. She doesn’t have any family or advocates here, whereas he’s the pillar of the community. The pillar of two communities, in fact: the LDS community and the university. He’s afraid we might dig up some forensics that will implicate him, either financial records or crime-scene. So he does this dramatic mea culpa at the memorial service. It’s obvious he’s going to face some serious consequences, in the Church or the university or both, but nobody’s going to think he killed her. It was his daughter. Now that he says he’s the father, if we don’t find any forensics, we’re not going to pursue him on the murder. If we do find forensics, it doesn’t matter if his career is ruined and he gets tossed out of the Church. He does life or gets the needle, anyway.”

  The chief was tapping an index finger against his chin. “So what do you want to do?”

  “If we want to figure out if Maricel was blackmailing him,” Ryan said, “we could get his financials. Check them against hers. It’s not foolproof, but it might show a pattern.”

  “I don’t like it,” I said. “A guy that smart, he’s gonna hide his tracks.”

  The chief cleared his throat. “How about this,” he said. “Look at Maricel’s financials, if she has any accounts. You see a red flag—a pattern of big deposits that isn’t a scholarship from the university or small gifts from the Gersons—and I’ll put in for Al Gerson’s financials. If either of the two of them is dumb enough to leave a trail, it’s her. That sound reasonable?”

  “You bet.” I looked at Ryan. He nodded.

  “Okay,” the chief said. “Where are we with—wait a second,” he said, looking at his screen. “The forensics on the drive-by at your house are in, Karen.”

  “Yeah?”

  The chief was looking at his screen. “The two rounds were .45s, full metal jackets. No matches.”

  “Nothing at all?” I said.

  “Sorry, nothing from Montana or any federal databases. It was a clean pistol.”

  “Shit,” I said. “I was really hoping we could tie the bullets to Hector Cruz or the Latin Vice Lords.” I let out a breath. “You were asking where are we with the investigation?”

  The chief nodded.

  I opened up a folder we had just gotten from the forensics from Hector Cruz’ car and his trailer. “On Hector Cruz, we searched his locker at the university, his trailer, and his car …”

  The chief picked up a phone message on a pink sheet. “I’m guessing that’s the urgent message from Raul Samosa?”

  “I think so,” I said. “We chatted at the service a little while ago. He said he was gonna report us to you.”

  He frowned. “What did you do to Samosa?”

  “To Samosa? Nothing. We did ask Hector if we could search his stuff.”

  “Without a warrant? He agreed?”

  “Ryan said something rude about Maricel to Hector’s face, so Hector took a swing at him.”

  The chief looked at Ryan and smiled. “Okay, so what are the forensics on Hector?”

  “Bad news is, we didn’t find a gun that he shot at me, or a knife that he stabbed Maricel with, and the black polyester rug from the trunk of his car doesn’t match a few strands on Maricel’s body. So we can’t tie him to the murder—yet.”

  “And we can’t tie him to transporting her to the river in his car,” the chief said.

  “That’s right,” I said.

  “So what’s the good news?”

  “The good news,” I said, “is we found almost three ounces of weed and a couple dozen off-brand oxycodone in baggies in his trai
ler.”

  “Each of those two would be up to five years, right?”

  “That’s right,” Ryan said. “So Hector’s going to continue to cooperate with us.”

  The chief shook his head. “But there’s nothing emerging that’s tying him to the murder.”

  “So far,” I said. “But keep in mind, he’s got a felony record, he’s in with the Latins. He got in a fight with Maricel about her abortion. And he was a little sensitive when Ryan asked him if he was okay with her sucking this other guy’s dick while he was screwing her.”

  The chief raised an eyebrow. “Anything else you want to do about Hector?”

  Ryan shrugged.

  I said, “We could pressure him into giving us some DNA. That might link him to the hair on Maricel’s body.”

  The chief shook his head. “We already decided that would be meaningless since he’s the boyfriend.”

  “I realize that,” I said. “But it would tighten the vise on him. Maybe make him do something stupid, or force Samosa to make another move.”

  “No, Karen, we’re not going to do that. I agree with you that it might make something happen. But it’s not proper. Samosa would call another press conference—and he’d be right to do it. We don’t have probable cause. When you searched his place and his car, a judge might have struck down anything you found—”

  “Those were clean searches. The drugs were right there in his trailer.”

  “They were clean in that he gave you permission,” the Chief said. “But Samosa would argue—and a judge might buy it—that he gave you permission to search because you entrapped him.”

  “We’re not allowed to ask him if he’s okay with his girlfriend giving another guy a blowjob?”

  “I’m saying that could be interpreted as entrapment in that it was a statement that might reasonably be expected to cause him to assault an officer. With his assault record, you’d probably be okay, but it’s borderline.”

  “So we’re in trouble because he’s stupid?”

  “Take a deep breath, Karen,” the chief said. “Nobody’s in trouble. I’m just explaining how his attorney could present this. He could make a reasonable argument that that statement was a form of entrapment, and therefore anything you found in a search is off limits because it’s the fruit of the poisonous tree.”

  “That’s bullshit,” I said.

  The chief smiled. “Perhaps. But it’s also the law.”

  I just shook my head.

  “So we’re clear, right?” the chief said. “You’re not to push Hector around anymore, okay, unless you get me probable cause?”

  “We’re this close to ruling him out,” I said, “or nailing him for it.”

  The chief held my gaze for a moment. “Any other questions?”

  “Can’t think of anything else at the moment,” I said.

  “What else have you got?”

  “Not that much,” I said. “There’s two more Gersons. Andrea, the wife. She’s so messed up, I don’t think she’d have the physical strength to stab Maricel. So, even if she hated the girl for bringing all this shit into her family, she would’ve had to get someone to stab the girl for her.”

  “You see a motive for her?” the chief said.

  “No,” I said. “I really don’t. It’s possible she saw Maricel as a threat to the family—Al’s the only source of income, so if he gets booted out of the university and the church, they’re screwed. But I don’t see her worried about the future. I think she’s all about the past—her dead son, Mitch, and how her son Mark inherited the schizophrenia from her side of the family. She’s just trying to get through each day without falling apart more often than necessary. That her husband fell in love with a woman twenty years ago? Given the stuff she thinks about all day long, that’s penny-ante shit.”

  The chief was nodding his head. “And the schizophrenic son, Mark. What’s his role?”

  “Mark’s a real possibility,” I said. “According to the parents, Al told her and Mark yesterday afternoon how he was Maricel’s dad. Mark took off, hasn’t checked in.”

  “That could be another psychotic episode?” the chief said.

  Ryan nodded. “Could be, or could become one. He has a habit of going off his meds when he really needs to be on them.”

  “So how do you read what happened when Dad told him Maricel was his half-sister?”

  My hands came up in a gesture of confusion. “Maybe a shrink could say. I have no idea. If Mark was screwing Maricel, even if he was a normal kid he might freak out when he heard that. If he had repressed sexual thoughts about her, no telling how bad that could mess him up.”

  “Keep in mind, too,” Ryan said, “he already thinks he killed his twin brother for daring him to go out of bounds with the snowboard. He’s pretty close to the edge. Realizing he was trying to sleep with his half-sister might just make him snap. In his head, that could mean that he should take out the half-sister to make it go away. Schizophrenic kids can get violent.”

  “I think it would be a good idea to try to track Mark down.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Any other players?”

  “There’s the other couple: Amber Cunningham and Jared Higley,” I said. “We don’t like Amber for the murder because she didn’t know Maricel had been killed. You agree, Ryan?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Jared. He’s the kind of shithead you’d automatically dislike. A felony DUI, and he hit Amber in the face hard enough to send her to the ER. Plus, he lied to her. So, he’s a real creep, but we don’t have anything on him.”

  Ryan said, “He wasn’t at the memorial service with Amber this morning.”

  “Which maybe says Amber’s decided to move on,” I said, “which is good for her, but it doesn’t tell us anything about the case.”

  The chief sat there at his desk, his fingers tented beneath his chin. “The only thing I can see now is try to find the schizophrenic son.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  He picked up the message slip from Raul Samosa. “Would one of you like to call the attorney back?”

  “I think he’d be insulted if he didn’t get to talk to the chief of police, sir,” I said, with a slight smile. “And didn’t you mention he said it was urgent?”

  Chapter 32

  “How did you find me?”

  “Your secretary told us you like this spot,” I said.

  Al Gerson was sitting on a bench on the Greenpath, looking out at the river. Ryan was standing a few feet away, a grim look on his face. We were a hundred yards upriver from where Maricel’s body was discovered. In the dirt, next to the bench, was a stone with a brass plaque on it about someone who died in 1996. Most of the benches on the Greenpath were paid for by people who bought a memorial for someone.

  I wondered if Al Gerson was going to buy a bench and a plaque for Maricel.

  Gerson’s long legs were out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, and his hands were buried in the pockets of his black wool overcoat, just like the one Ryan was wearing.

  “That took a lot of courage,” I said. “What you said at the service.”

  He looked at me, his eyes bloodshot. “I’m not sure a willingness to endure public humiliation and shame is the same as courage.”

  “You did put it on the line. There could be repercussions, at the university. In your church.”

  “That’s probably true.” He shrugged his shoulders inside his coat. “I’m not sure I will lose my job, but I think my days as acting provost are numbered. And it’s safe to conclude that I will no longer be permitted to serve in the Church as bishop of my ward.”

  “Are you okay with that?”

  He smiled sadly. “I feel better than I have in many years,” he said. “A terrible burden has been lifted from my shoulders.”

  “We want to talk to Mark,” I said.

  His eyes looked clouded. “Oh, Detective, please, do you have to?” His right eye started to twitch.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Ger
son. I know he’s been through a lot, but we think he’s the key.”

  Gerson sat up abruptly. “You’re not saying you think he hurt Maricel, are you? Please tell me you’re not thinking that.”

  “We think Maricel confided in him, more than in you or Andrea, and we think he can help us understand who would have wanted to hurt her. That’s all we want from him.”

  He shook his head. “I have … I have no idea where he is.”

  “Can you tell us about yesterday afternoon, when you told your wife and son about Maricel being your daughter?”

  “There’s very little to tell. I asked them to sit down, in our living room, and I told them there was something important I needed to say. It took three or four sentences. I had fallen in love with Esperanza when I was a very young man. Maricel was born. I made clear that it was a betrayal of my obligations to the Church, a betrayal of Andrea, and a betrayal of Esperanza and Maricel.”

  “Can you tell us how your wife and son reacted?”

  “Andrea began to wail. Long, horrible wailing sounds that I hadn’t heard since Mitch died. She was seated, on a couch. She doubled over, as if she had been kicked in the stomach, and she began to lose her balance. She tipped over on her side, on the couch. She began to … to have trouble breathing. I helped raise her feet onto the couch, and I got her her tranquilizers. She takes these pills. I finally got her to swallow one of them with some water. After a while, perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes, she was able to bring her breathing under control.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  “No, she did not say anything.”

  “How did Mark respond when he saw his mother like that?”

  Al Gerson paused. “He didn’t see it. When he heard what I had said, he got out of his chair. He started to cry. He said ‘Maricel was mine.’ He repeated that several times as he hurried out of the house.”

  Ryan said, “What do you think he meant when he said that?”

  Gerson shook his head. “I don’t know.” His big hands came up and covered his eyes. He sat there like that for a few moments. “I know only that I have hurt my family very badly.”

  Ryan said, “Do you think Mark meant that he was having a romantic relationship with Maricel?”