CRIME OF RETRIBUTION: A Gripping Crime Mystery Full of Twists

by Rayna Morgan

  “Si, señora. We started picking crops at six in the morning and our workday wasn’t over until twelve to fourteen hours later. They gave us only thirty minutes to eat lunch. We had to work in the heat and were not given water breaks. The grower watched us work with his binoculars from the top of a building.” She dropped her head shyly, twisting the napkin in her hands. “Forgive me. I’m complaining more than my nephew.”

  Barbara reached across the table to touch the other woman’s arm. “The working conditions you describe are deplorable. You have every right to complain.”

  The woman gained the courage to continue. “I put up with those conditions for my children. I needed to send them money so they could go to school.”

  “But you no longer work in the fields.”

  “I was lucky. My sister came to the states before me and found a job in Buena Viaje. She and her husband eventually returned to Mexico to eke out a living on the meager farm he inherited. Before she left, she gave me her job cleaning houses so I wouldn’t have to work in the fields any longer. In return, I agreed to look after her son who refused to return to his homeland.”

  “Your nephew, Pedro?”

  Her eyes lit up. “He’s a handsome boy. The spitting image of my own son who lives near Oaxaca with his grandparents.”

  “It must be hard being separated from your children.”

  She responded in the voice of a proud and stubborn woman. “My husband and I endure the separation because we want them to finish their education. If they decide someday to come to this country, it should be on their terms. Not sneaking across the border the way we were forced to do.”

  “Does your nephew work at a local farm?”

  “He and my husband are both employed at Rancho Hidalgo, the big place out past San Verde.” She smoothed the napkin and placed it on the table. “The difference between them is that Roberto knows not to make waves. Pedro is young. We teach our children to stand up for what is fair and just. But I warned my nephew that complaining about conditions in the fields creates a risk of being fired.”

  “Young people rarely understand the importance of the right time and place to do things.”

  Rosa nodded. “He’s of an age to want change, but doesn’t have the patience to do things correctly. He gets upset with workers who refuse to report mistreatment. Pedro fails to realize they won't speak up if they have relatives working in the fields. If one person speaks out, everyone in the family may lose their job.”

  “You sound as though you don’t believe improvements can be made.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Roberto and I have seen too many promises broken by a system that barely works.”

  “You mustn’t give up, nor should your nephew. We need young people like him to keep trying. They’re the ones who can bring about improvements, but they must go about it the right way.”

  “That’s what worries me. The last time I talked with Pedro, he said he found a way to force the owners to listen to his demands.”

  “How does he plan to do that?”

  “He saw evidence of wrongdoing at the ranch. He's going to guarantee his silence in exchange for improvements for the workers.” She wrung her hands. “I warned him he’ll get in trouble.”

  “What did he see?”

  “He refused to say, but I’m afraid he will be hurt if he goes against those people.”

  “Let’s find Pedro and talk some sense into him.”

  Rosa shook her head to negate the suggestion. “He’s a headstrong young man, not inclined to listen to reason. At this moment, he’s probably hiding to keep from being deported.”

  “We must find him,” Barbara insisted. “Does he live with you?”

  “He bunks in the dormitory-style building where they put single men,” the other woman said scornfully. “They are housed six to a room. It’s crowded and restroom facilities are limited.”

  “Could we find him there?”

  “Not there or anywhere. If Pedro doesn’t want to be found, he will elude everyone.”

  Barbara reached across and took the woman’s hand. “Don’t worry. I know people who can find him.”

  The other women raised her eyes hopefully. “Who, señora?”

  Barbara smiled mischievously. “I have close ties to a first-rate detective agency.”

  “Would they be willing to help? I have no money to pay.”

  “Leave that to me.”

  Rosa wrung her hands. “I hope what you say is true. My sister left him in my care. If anything happens to Pedro, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Upon his arrival at the agency, Warren received a call from Barbara who talked him into taking the case of Rosa’s missing nephew.

  After receiving the dogs’ slobbered greeting, he went to his daughter’s office where he found her in deep conversation with their new associate.

  “Looks as though you two are off to a flying start.”

  Dan stood up and offered his chair. “Would you care to join us, sir? Lea’s bringing me up to speed on assignments for the insurance company.”

  “For the umpteenth time, drop the sir and call me Warren. I appreciate the fact your mother raised you right, but you make me feel old.”

  “That's not my intent, sir. I mean, Warren.”

  “That’s better. Give me a minute to get coffee and then both of you come to the conference room. I have a more interesting case for you to sink your teeth into.”

  Lea came to the meeting equipped with her laptop, writing tablets, and a mini recorder. Dan showed up with a legal pad and a pen.

  When Warren appeared, he was carrying a plate of pastries.

  “Who’s the new client, Dad?” Lea asked excitedly.

  “I didn’t say I had a client. I said I had a case.”

  She looked puzzled. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

  “The word client assumes services provided in exchange for fees.”

  “Oh, oh,” she mumbled. “This sounds like pro bono work.”

  “I don’t know how things will turn out. The client is your mother’s house cleaner. For now, our compensation is the plate of cinnamon rolls you see before you.”

  Dan bit into a bun hungrily. “Works for me.”

  “Your mother wants us to locate Rosa’s nephew, Pedro, who is missing from work today.”

  “What’s the worry?” Lea asked. “Everyone takes an occasional day off.”

  “The aunt’s concern stems from the fact her nephew has been threatening to report substandard working conditions at the farm where he's employed.”

  “Why doesn’t he go to the United Farm Workers union?” Dan asked.

  “Employment laws are intended to protect unauthorized immigrant workers who make legitimate complaints. In practice, those people don't complain for fear employers will retaliate by taking action that leads to their removal by federal immigration authorities.

  “Even though there are hefty fines for violations of housing or health provisions under seasonal work contracts, enforcement requires workers willing to lodge a complaint and officials willing to enforce the laws. Both sides are too often prone to turn a blind eye.”

  “That’s unfair,” Lea complained.

  Dan nodded. “Since Texas is one of the states with the highest number of farm workers, I had experience with those situations. We saw numerous instances of substandard working conditions for migrants who crossed the border to work on the farms in south Texas. The worst instances amounted to enforced labor tantamount to slavery.”

  “I hope you brought the offenders to justice,” Lea said.

  Dan shrugged. “Even when the culprits are caught, those cases are hard to prosecute. We were involved in one case where three people were arrested and charged with conspiring to commit forced labor. After persuading a busload of Mexicans to travel to Texas with the promise of well-paying jobs, the suspects took the victims’ passports and threatened them with deportation. The indictment included claims the labor
ers lived in substandard housing, were malnourished, and denied access to medical care. Despite evidence and testimony given by the employees, the prosecutors dropped the charges claiming they could not prove culpability beyond a reasonable doubt.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Because I wore a badge, workers didn’t trust me. Lacking their confidence, there wasn't much I could do to help. We tried to convince local authorities to enforce the employees’ rights, but rich ranchers and farmers in Texas carry a lot of weight. Most law enforcement personnel walk away when it comes to enforcing laws which prove costly or undesirable to landowners.”

  Lea sighed with resignation. “Then I don’t see how we can help. We’re bound to encounter similar roadblocks here in California.”

  “Normally, I would agree,” Warren said. “However, Pedro let slip that he observed illegal activities being conducted at the ranch. If that’s true, criminal activity brings the matter under the sphere of local law enforcement.”

  Lea brightened. “Tom will have a different view than those officials protecting Texas landowners.”

  “Our foremost job is to find Pedro to keep him out of danger or from being deported,” Warren reminded her. “But it will be interesting to hear what he has to say about operations at Rancho Hidalgo.” He rubbed his hands with anticipation. “What do you say, shall we take the case?”

  “Count me in, Dad. Farm laborers do the hard work that other people aren't willing to do. They deserve our respect. If we have an opportunity to help, it will undoubtedly prove more rewarding than divorce cases.”

  Warren looked at Dan. “What about you? Are you in?”

  “I don’t share Lea’s perspective. She looks at things from the victims’ point of view. My fight is against their oppressors. Arrogant, condescending people with no consideration for the hard-working average Joe. Show me a wealthy power monger controlling people’s lives and I welcome the chance to be that person’s undoing.”

  Warren beamed. “I’m glad we’re all on board.”

  “How should we proceed?” Lea asked.

  “You two go to Rancho Hidalgo. Talk to Rosa’s husband, Roberto. She’s arranged for you to meet during his lunch break.”

  “Hold on, Dad. I have prior engagements.”

  Her father frowned at her. “Would you prefer Dan handle it alone?”

  Her hesitation lasted less than a minute. “Never mind. I’ll reschedule things on my calendar.”

  “Good. Roberto will be in a grove of trees at the back of the visitors’ area. Ask him to show you where Pedro lives. Maybe the young man returned. If not, his roommates may know where he is.”

  “Do you think the ranch allows access to the living quarters?” Dan asked.

  “Probably not. But the farm features a pick-your-own-produce section open to the public which you can use to gain entrance.”

  Lea looked pleased. “While we’re there, I’ll fill a basket with vegetables to take home for dinner.”

  Dan shook his head. “There you go, multi-tasking again.”

  “Tour the facilities to find out what you can,” Warren continued. “Tell them you’re interested in seeing where workers live. You may get turned away, but it’s worth a try.”

  “What if they shut us out?” Lea asked.

  Her father looked at the new associate. “No such thing in my book. How do you see things?”

  “Don’t worry,” Dan assured him. “One way or another, we’ll get in. We can always—”

  “Spare me the details. The less I know the better.” He stood to leave. “In the meantime, I’ll talk with someone at the UFW to get the rundown on workers’ rights. If my hunch is correct, Pedro is being intimidated with baseless threats. Let’s see if we can’t do something about that.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  When Dan and Lea left the office, Dan found a scrap of paper under the windshield wiper of his car. After reading the message, he looked around.

  “What’s that?” Lea asked.

  He crumpled the note and threw it on the back seat. “Advertising for a store down the street.”

  They got on a highway east of Buena Viaje which followed the river through miles of flat fields and rolling hills covered with rows of vegetables and fruit trees.

  After passing the small town of San Verde, Lea warned Dan to slow down. “The stretch between here and the county line is called Blood Alley for its high number of traffic fatalities. Head-on collisions are frequent on the curvy two-lane sections of the road. At the top of the ridge is Dead Man’s Curve. Though the highway has been improved in recent years, accidents are still common.”

  Dan eased his foot on the gas and peered out over endless rows of lemon and avocado trees. “Is our destination a farm or a ranch?”

  “The terms are used interchangeably with reference to this property. Rancho Hidalgo is the result of the owners combining their land to create a profitable livestock business in tandem with the largest produce farm in the county. It includes a store where they sell direct to the public and the field my father mentioned where people pick their own fruit.”

  Several miles later, she indicated a billboard on the side of the road. “There it is.”

  Dan read the sign. ‘Welcome to Rancho Hidalgo. From our fields to your table.’

  The arrow pointed toward a dirt road which stretched straight as a ruler to the horizon.

  After driving another mile, they parked in the visitors’ lot and followed hand-painted signs to the designated area. Walking toward multi-colored rows of lettuce, tomatoes, and peppers, Lea reached for a basket from the pile stacked at the entrance to the field.

  Dan pushed her forward. “That’s not what we came for.”

  After taking the public tour of the property riding in a hay wagon, they hurried to the grove where they spotted a stooped man with leathery skin.

  He looked in their direction with eyes lined from squinting into too many suns.

  “Roberto!” Lea called.

  As she made introductions, he reached to shake. He had broken fingernails, an open cut on his thumb, and calluses as hard as bricks. Rather than appearing self-conscious, he raised his gnarled hands for them to see.

  “These are hands which feed the country,” he said with pride. His luminous smile dispelled the harsh realities of life. “Come. We will go to my house to get out of the sun.”

  “It is hot today with the Santa Ana winds,” Lea noted.

  Roberto nodded. “Sometimes it’s so hot and dry, I feel dizzy. When you try to find coolness in the shade under the vines, the little flies swarm over you. They get on your skin and hair. Even fly into your nose and mouth.”

  Lea unconsciously brushed a hand in front of her face. As they continued walking, she pinched her nose.

  “What’s that terrible odor, Roberto?” she asked. “It smells like rotten eggs.”

  He waved toward the west. “They were crop dusting at the neighboring farm this morning. It drifts over to the fields where we’re working.”

  “You should inform your employer,” Dan told him. “There are laws against requiring people to work in conditions which expose them to pesticides.”

  Roberto shook his head. “Sadly, the laws on the books are not always the laws in the fields. Workers are scared to report pesticide exposure because we’re afraid of being blacklisted or reprimanded. Even in rare instances when someone complains to the manager, he only moves the laborers to a different section. By then, we’ve already been sprayed with chemicals.”

  They came to a plot of land filled with dozens of small, tired-looking houses, most with faded paint and some with plywood nailed over the windows. Yards consisted of hard-packed dirt with little grass. Toddlers played in the weeds under clotheslines filled with garments blowing in the wind.

  Roberto led the way to a house with a rusted lawn chair on a sagging porch. He ushered them in and quickly opened a window to air the stuffy interior. A narrow hall led to a kitchen on one side and bedrooms and a b
athroom on the other. One-half of the main living area was filled with a table and six folding chairs suggesting Rosa and Roberto shared their house with another family. In the other portion of the room was an old recliner, a sofa with the stuffing coming out, and an outdated television.

  He pointed to the couch. “Take a seat. I hope my wife explained I have little time.”

  “We appreciate you seeing us during your lunch break.”

  “I know Rosa is concerned about her nephew, but I told her she shouldn’t worry. Pedro knows better than to get in trouble.”

  “Your wife fears Pedro will be fired. Will that happen if he doesn’t show up for work?”

  “I completed the paperwork years ago and became a citizen. My wife is also a legal resident. But Pedro is here on a seasonal work permit. So yes, he can easily be fired.” He rubbed his knobby hands. “What the manager hates more than absence from work is a troublemaker who threatens to report working conditions. I’ve warned my nephew about being deported. It happened to me the first time I came to this country. It nearly discouraged me from ever coming back.”

  “If you were treated poorly, what was your reason for returning to California?” Dan asked.

  “When Rosa and I started our life together, I had a small farm in Veracruz where the climate is conducive to growing maize. I grew the native white corn used in tortillas and other staples of Mexican cuisine. Enough to feed my family and earn what money we needed by selling to the local markets and restaurants. We were not wealthy, but we had sufficient income to survive.” His eyes grew moist. “More importantly, our family was together.”

  “What happened that caused you to immigrate to this country?”

  “We were victims of NAFTA. Before 1994, Mexico only imported corn when its own production fell short of domestic needs. But the North American Free Trade Agreement allowed corn from the United States to enter Mexico free of tariffs and quotas while preserving subsidies to American producers. It had a devastating impact on our small farmers.”

  “How, Roberto?” Lea asked.

  “Farms in our native country are small and have lower yields than those in the States. American agriculture took advantage of the changes in the law to dump tons of corn on the Mexican market at below production costs. It forced me and countless others to flee our lands to avoid starvation.” Roberto’s voice filled with bitterness as he continued. “During the first decade of the agreement, imports to Mexico quadrupled while the price of domestic corn crashed by seventy percent. No longer able to support our families, millions of farm workers abandoned the countryside for the cities looking for work. Unable to find jobs in our country, Mexicans migrated to the States creating a significant increase in illegal immigration.”