by Carmen Amato
“All of the Las Palomas candidates, you mean?” Emilia questioned. “Is this about the training program? It’s not complete yet―.”
“No, no.” Claudia blinked in surprise. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sure you have the training program well in hand.”
She smoothed her hair, today pulled into a glossy side ponytail draped over one shoulder. A crystal and emerald brooch decorated the opposite lapel of her sage green skirt suit. Emilia knew that her own outfit of skinny black skirt, white tee, and cotton jacket with flat sandals was far too casual for this place.
“When I said team,” Claudia went on. “I meant those I supervise.”
As far as Emilia could tell, that was about three people. The rest of the staff didn’t belong to Las Palomas but were either on loan from the mayor’s office or public relations consultants from a marketing company.
“What did you have in mind?” Emilia asked. She thought about team building events she could contrive to miss. “Group lunch? Drinks somewhere after work?”
Claudia beamed at her. “Not exactly.” She handed Emilia a magazine sized booklet. “It’s a strengths finder questionnaire. You fill it out and all your personal strengths and weaknesses are revealed in a way that tells us how to build an action plan to maximize your good habits and address the bad ones.”
“You want to talk about my bad habits?” Emilia demanded incredulously.
“I mean identify areas for improvement. We all have them.” Claudia looked away from Emilia’s unblinking stare and gave a self-deprecating little laugh. “Fill it out right away so we can get started on an action plan to help you make positive changes.”
“Positive changes?” Emilia echoed. “This sounds like a witch hunt.”
Claudia gave a nervous trill. “Of course not. I told you. It’s a strengths finder instrument. All the big companies use them. It’s our team’s prescription for success.” She smiled, pleased to have remembered the right slogan.
“You said this was team building,” Emilia said. “Will you be doing one of these questionnaires, too?”
“I did one long ago,” Claudia said. “With my mentor.”
“Who’s that?”
Claudia gave another trill of laughter. “No one you know.”
“No, I guess I don’t.” Emilia rolled the questionnaire booklet into a stick.
“Let’s review your answers on Monday.” Claudia’s voice followed Emilia out the door.
☼
Kurt roared with laughter when Emilia recounted the conversation. And again when she told him that she’d trashed the strengths finder booklet in the dumpster behind the building.
Chapter 14
Standing in the shade of the little church’s side entrance, Emilia could see that Silvio had lost weight and his gray crew cut had grown out. He wasn’t wearing his trademark white tee, jeans, and leather jacket, nor a police uniform. Emilia had never known him to wear anything else and was inexplicably shaken by the sight of him in a white button-down shirt and gray trousers.
“Rucker.” Silvio shook Kurt’s hand. “Thanks for coming.” He turned to Emilia and extended his hand. “You, too, Cruz.”
Emilia wanted to hug him, or at least greet him with the traditional kisses between friends. But Silvio’s bearing invited no familiarity.
The only family standing with Silvio was his cousin Antonio and his wife, both of whom Emilia had met the day she fetched the house key. Isabel must not have had any family; if she had they would be with Silvio, accepting condolences.
Emilia introduced Kurt to Antonio and his wife, and saw the shadow of surprise cross their faces. Once again, Kurt stuck out, tall and blonde and wholly noticeable in his expensive suit and tie. Emilia wore the simple and elegant black shift she’d bought when she and Kurt first started dating. Her black eye had faded away and she kept her makeup to a minimum.
Their reflections in the penthouse bedroom mirror had said sober and tasteful. But both she and Kurt were overdressed for El Roble. Emilia felt out of touch.
The queue waiting to go into the church wound around the block. All of El Roble was there, or so it seemed. The mourners at Isabel de Silvio’s funeral were working class people who lived close to death and violence and had little to show for it besides a tenuous grip on survival. Most of the women wept openly and the men looked grim.
None wore a hat with a circle logo.
There was no time to talk to Silvio in the receiving line and Emilia reluctantly walked into the church. Perhaps she’d get a chance to reason with him later. His badge was in her shoulder bag. Kurt had seen her put it there and raised his eyebrows. But she was still determined to try.
Inside the church, the coffin on the altar was closed and draped with a blanket of red roses. A framed picture of a very young Isabel faced the congregation. A guitarist sat on a folding chair and played softly.
Emilia guided Kurt to the line of people shuffling to pray in front of the coffin, wanting to say farewell to Isabel yet dreading it at the same time. When their turn came, Kurt knelt next to Emilia and took her hand. Emilia tried to say a silent Hail Mary but the words were pushed aside by indecision. If she was able to talk to Silvio, should she tell him about the ballistics report which had cost Hernandez his life? Would it convince him to rejoin the force or send Silvio headlong into danger?
They left the casket and found a pew as the church gradually filled with mourners. Emilia saw Macias and Sandor kneel briefly in front of the coffin. Numerous uniformed cops came in and she recognized several of the Ball Busters who’d gone door to door in the days after the shooting.
Finally, the church was full to bursting. Family, neighborhood friends, cops and the street kids who’d relied on Isabel for a few decent meals each week filled the pews and the aisles. Silvio and his cousin took their places in the front pew, the guitarist stopped playing, and the priest boomed out a prayer from the back of the church. All stood.
Emilia saw more familiar faces in the pews at the back of the church. Felipe Garcia was there, accompanied by a young woman, as well as an older couple. They were probably his parents.
The priest and his acolytes came down the aisle, chanting and swinging the censer and leaving a wispy trail of smoke. The acrid scent of incense filled Emilia’s nostrils. When the small procession reached the altar, the priest motioned for the congregation to sit. Emilia sank into her seat, not before recognizing someone who moved more slowly than the others, as if like Kurt he didn’t know Catholic rituals.
It was Victor Obregon Sosa, wearing yet another black suit with matching shirt.
“Fuck,” Emilia said under her breath and got a startled look from Kurt.
The thought of Obregon coming to the funeral gnawed at her throughout the sad ceremony. Obregon and Silvio were bitter enemies. Obregon had once tried to set up Silvio for a murder rap and had implied Silvio was to blame for Isabel’s death, too. As head of the police union for the state of Guerrero, it was a kind gesture to come in an official capacity, but Obregon didn’t strike Emilia as someone who did anything out of kindness.
As the funeral went on, the air grew hot and sticky. The congregation waved paper fans handed out by the undertaker and emblazoned with his name and address. People wept continuously. Children cried in the pews and the street kids crouching in the aisles shuffled restlessly.
Emilia kept having to find a clean tissue in her bag. She could see Silvio in front, looking carved from stone. He’d lost the woman with whom he’d spent half his life, the dream of being a father, his job, and probably his home. His wife’s killer was still on the loose. But he displayed no emotion, no grief. Even during the priest’s touching homily, the set of his shoulders never changed.
Finally the Mass was over, the censor swung a final time, and the pallbearers proceeded down the aisle with the casket. Silvio and his cousin followed. As if it had been choreographed, all the neighborhood children spilled into the center aisle and swarmed around the casket. Rio should have b
een among them, but of course he wasn’t.
There was no music, just continued weeping as the congregation left the church.
Outside, Emilia and Kurt found themselves swept up in the stream of mourners walking to the cemetery behind the casket. Someone handed out candles in little cups and they joined the procession as their candles twinkled against the hazy twilight. Emilia’s eyes kept watering and she would have stumbled more than once along the route if she hadn’t had her arm linked with Kurt’s.
By the time they got to the cemetery, dusk had fallen. Everyone surrounded the hole in the ground, creating a wreath of candlelight. The street kids ranged uncertainly on the fringes of the crowd. Emilia saw a few glue bottles.
The priest said a blessing and the casket, still covered in red roses, was lowered into its resting place. The priest shook holy water over the flowers and began a decade of the rosary. He was joined by the congregation. The words of the Hail Mary filled the cemetery with emotion.
Silvio stood stony-faced, with his arms crossed, as the familiar prayer was repeated over and over. Again, his cousin Antonio stood next to him, an arm around his wife. The couple’s children pressed against their parents.
Someone cried loudly.
Finally the priest intoned the painful words. “Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.”
Everyone waited for Silvio to throw a traditional handful of earth, a rose, or other memento on top of the coffin.
He slipped off his wedding ring and dropped it into the grave.
An audible gasp rippled through the crowd.
Someone began to sing Ave Maria. Others joined in.
Finally, it was over.
Like a cloud passing, the tension lifted. The aftermath became a social event, with people chatting in small groups and slowly making their way toward the gates of the cemetery.
Macias and Sandor joined Emilia and Kurt. Both wore slacks and jackets but no tie. Sandor had on sunglasses.
Emilia introduced them to Kurt, stumbling a little over first names; they never used them in the squadroom and it took her a moment to remember.
“You’re the guy who got the mayor out of the fire at the El Tigre restaurant,” Macias said.
“Hope I never do anything like it again,” Kurt said and shook hands with both detectives.
“How’s Loyola?” Emilia asked. “Last time I saw him he looked pretty rough.”
“Still in the hospital,” Macias said. “Broken jaw and nose.”
“Some argument,” Kurt marveled.
“Loyola is still trying to run the squadroom from the hospital,” Macias said.
“Even the investigation into Isabel’s murder?” Emilia asked.
“You’d think that with all the people here today,” Sandor said. “Somebody would have seen something. But we’ve got nothing.”
“What about the hot line?” Emilia pressed. “Or the circle man tip?”
“Nothing.” Sandor shook his head. “We actually printed out a bunch of circular sports logos and walked the neighborhood, asking about your circle man. Waste of time.”
“Silvio told me he tried to find the kid who gave me the tip,” Emilia said. “He found out that the boy died of a heroin overdose.”
“Rayos,” Macias swore. He pulled out a small notebook and scribbled in it. “We’ve heard that Silvio’s been all over El Roble, asking questions. Talking to everybody who’d ever placed a bet with him.”
“This is going to turn out to be all about his bookie business,” Sandor said. “That’s what Loyola thinks, anyway.”
“I think it’s relevant that the kid is dead,” Emilia said. “Strange timing, don’t you think?”
“You talked to an addict, Cruz,” Macias said. “Addicts die all the time.”
Emilia looked across the cemetery where Silvio was still with the priest. “What about the ballistics report?” she asked. Tell me you know the same gun was used to kill both Isabel and Vega.
“Dead end there, too.” Macias flipped his notebook closed.
“So no El Trio connection,” Emilia said leadingly.
Sandor shook his head. “Everyone is chasing their tails over the Hernandez murder, if you want to talk about El Trio. Shook up Ibarra, that’s for sure.”
Silvio was still by the graveside with his cousin, speaking to the priest. Mourners slowly passed through the gates of the cemetery, retracing the procession’s path back to the church. The street kids drifted along, begging for money.
“Did you see Obregon?” Emilia asked Macias and Sandor. “He was in the church but he didn’t come to the cemetery.”
“No kidding?” Macias raised his eyebrows in surprise. “He hates Silvio’s guts. But I guess that’s what we have the union for. Suck dues out of our pockets and show up when family is gunned down.”
The two detectives said goodbye and left the cemetery, falling in with other mourners still clutching lit candles.
“Detective Cruz?” It was Felipe Garcia. “It’s good to see you again.”
The long hair was just as distinctive as the day they’d met but today Felipe was dressed in a dark shirt and pants, a somber contrast to his cheerful store uniform. Emilia introduced Kurt. In return, Felipe introduced his wife and parents. They all murmured sympathetic things about Silvio. The elder Garcias looked tired and upset.
“Thank you for the socks,” Emilia said when Felipe said they had to be going. “They’re great.”
“Anytime you need more, let me know.” Felipe gave her a sad smile and moved on.
The crowds thinned. The priest gathered his acolytes and headed for the gate. Silvio and his cousin’s family left the graveside.
“Wait for me at the car, okay?” Emilia said to Kurt.
“You sure this is the right time to talk to him?” he asked.
“I’m sure.”
Kurt kissed Emilia’s forehead and passed through the cemetery gate.
Emilia fell into step with Silvio. “Franco, can we talk for a moment?”
Silvio nodded to his cousin Antonio to go ahead without him. A moment later, Emilia and Silvio were alone in the cemetery except for the gravediggers piling dirt on top of Isabel’s coffin. Their lantern threw a wide pool of light around the grave.
“A last goodbye, Cruz?” Silvio’s expression betrayed neither sadness nor friendship. Nor anything else.
“What are you going to do now?” Emilia asked.
“I’m out of business as a bookie,” he said. “Without the ledgers, settling up on the last match went all to shit. My reputation is gone. I’m going to get rid of the house. Maybe pick up some work as a trainer.”
“A trainer?” Emilia repeated. “You mean, a boxing trainer?”
“Yes,” he said. “My name still means something in certain circles.”
Emilia pulled his badge out of her purse. “This still means something to a lot of people, Franco,” she said. “Did you see all the cops here today? The department needs you.”
Silvio stared at her, his expression flinty. “Did you forget what happened? I’m done with being a cop.”
Emilia grabbed his arm. “You’re throwing away your career and your pension. You could walk in the squadroom tomorrow and do exactly what you wanted. Loyola owes you and he knows it. Go collect.”
“Peddle your advice somewhere else,” Silvio said and threw off her hand.
The rattle of dirt falling on the coffin made Emilia flinch. She shoved the shield at him but Silvio made no move to take it. “This badge is your key to finding out who killed Isabel,” she said. “Unless you’re on the inside, no one is going to tell you anything.”
“Spare me the lecture,” Silvio retorted. “I’ll find the bastard who did this myself.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Emilia exclaimed. “This isn’t as simple as finding some pendejo and taking him apart. The answers aren’t all here in El Roble. Things are going on, Franco. You need to be inside. You need access.”
“Fuck off,” Silvio snapped “Who are y
ou to tell me what to do?”
“Your partner,” Emilia said. “And partners―.”
“I never wanted to work with you,” Silvio interrupted nastily. “You were a shit partner. At least one good thing came out of this. I’ll never have to work with you again.”
His words were a savage blow out of the blue. Emilia gaped at him. “Rayos, Franco,” she swore. “I don’t deserve―.”
Silvio grabbed Emilia by both upper arms and shook her hard. The badge flew out of her hand. Her eyes watered and her teeth chattered.
“Did you hear me, Cruz?” he thundered into her face. “You’re a shit detective and you made a shit partner. Do your pretty job for Carlota in your fucking big office. Better yet, stay home with Hollywood and pump out a couple of babies. It’s the only way you’re going to hold on to somebody like him.”
Silvio thrust her aside and walked away.
Nauseous and dizzy, Emilia nearly fell over. She heard footsteps crunch on the gravel path as Silvio left the cemetery. The gravediggers continued to shovel dirt into the grave, oblivious to the exchange by the gate, as they argued over the Copa America standings. Honduras and Bolivia were still hanging on. Argentina couldn’t dominate forever. Mexico had won its bracket but how much farther could the team go?
New moonlight glinted on Silvio’s badge cradled in the grass a few feet away. It took a few minutes before Emilia felt steady enough to pick it up.
Chapter 15
“Your name is Natividad Leyva Roma.” Emilia scanned the application. The woman standing across from her was a 21-year-old high school graduate with a certificate from an accounting school. Her English was excellent.
Emilia looked up. “Why do you think you’re qualified to become a police officer?”
“I’m used to working long hours,” Natividad said. She had on jeans and a clean white cotton shirt with short sleeves that revealed heavily muscled arms. Like Emilia, she wore dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. “I can think fast. I’m honest. I’ll work hard. Do what I’m told.”
