by Kim Knight
Ruiz paused a moment to measure Mr. Lee’s cool stance through the glass.
“Ya had to put a stop to what, Mr. Lee?” Ruiz pushed him, applying a bit more pressure—hoping he’d open up more.
“It’s not important. Just take my word for it. She was one of my victims that I never confessed to. That’s all, Detective.”
“Why come forward now?” Ruiz questioned with suspicion. “Twenty years later?”
“I swear it’s true, all of it.”
“Okay, but you never answered my question. Why now, Mr. Lee?” Ruiz noted the agitation in his voice, he didn’t have time to play twenty questions.
Mr. Lee studied the shackles around his wrist, finally he looked directly at Ruiz and grinned. “It’s the anniversary request for information on her unsolved case. It came out this week, ya know? It’s been exactly twenty years to date she went missing on Valentine’s Day. And that’s today.”
“Is that all? You’re on death row Mr. Lee. This confession won’t exactly help your case.”
“I know, I just wanted to come clean. That’s all.”
Ruiz cast a sceptical eye over Mr. Lee, then pulled out his note pad and pen from an inside pocket.
“Fine.” He’d bite and see what information he could catch. “What time did you meet her? Tell me what happened that day.”
“It was so long ago, I can’t remember.” Mr. Lee paused and glanced around the room. “Maybe sometime during the afternoon, you know, after she clocked-out of her shift. Like I said, I begged her to talk to me. And she did.”
“She did what?”
“Came back to my place.” The shit-eating grin reemerged. “We had coffee. We went to the beach. We walked. We talked. Then—then we—well, that’s all I wanna say right now.”
“Why her?” Ruiz asked.
“Why not? We’d been talkin’ for a while. We’d become good friends.” Mr. Lee laughed.
Ruiz slid his gaze slowly over the man in front of him. He wasn’t sure why a man on death row would confess to an additional crime, especially after getting away with it for twenty years.
What’s this guy’s game? He thought to himself. Is he seeking credit for the murder?
He pushed aside his doubts and focused on the here and now. “How? How’d you become friends? She was married.”
“Met her along the beach one day, and we just got to talkin’. We exchanged stories and kept in contact. But she never seemed to want more from me, but I knew she was upset about life—her life.”
“What about it upset her?”
“She wouldn’t say. And I tried ever so hard to get it out of her. I, well…” Mr. Lee’s expression moved to one of confusion as if he were trying to recall a past memory with great difficulty.
Ruiz decided to change his questioning tactics. “How long did you know her?”
“In all honesty, it was a long time ago.” Mr. Lee stroked his beard.
Ruiz zoned in on his body language. A faraway look misted over the man’s face and his brows met in the middle.
“A few months, maybe.”
“What did you do to her?” Ruiz forced his body to remain relaxed. “Where’s her body?”
“I don’t wanna get into all that—”
“Mr. Lee, come on, now. You just confessed to a kidnapping and possible murder. You need to let me know what happened to Mariya Crosby. You know you want to—you want the world to know, don’t you?”
“No comment. I’ve already told ya all ya need to know. I don’t wanna talk anymore.”
“Mr. Lee can you—”
“No. I wanna go back to my cell.”
Mr. Lee rose from his chair, but he was fully restricted by his chains. The guards rushed in by his sides.
Ruiz rose to his feet and watched each guard take hold of one of Mr. Lee’s elbows. For an older man, one even in shackles, he was stronger than he looked.
“We’re done here,” Mr. Lee called over his shoulder.
With laughter spewing from his lips, he allowed the guards to escort him out of the interview cell.
“Unbelievable,” Ruiz mumbled under his breath.
He flipped his notepad closed, then walked over to the heavy, steel door. As soon as he swung it open, he was greeted by the same female guard who had escorted him prior.
“Thanks. We’re done here.” Ruiz said impatiently.
The guard nodded, and turned on her heel in the other direction. Trailing behind her, watching her ponytail dance, he retraced his prior steps through the maximum-security prison to the entrance.
Once there, the guard checked Ruiz out, and with an uneasy feeling about Mr. Lee, he stepped out into the sun.
Instinctively, he tugged at his tie to remove it, then loosened the top button of his shirt. Taking long strides, he made his way to the car, slid inside, started the engine, and then allowed the cool air conditioning to glide over him.
For a moment, Ruiz stared at the grim looking prison, then he reached into an inside pocket of his suit jacket, and pulled out his phone.
He scrolled through a call list, selected a number, then pressed the call button.
“Yo, sup’ Ruiz,” the gruff voice of Detective Cian Welsh answered.
“He confessed,” Ruiz blurted out without some much as a greeting to his fellow Detective, and new mentor, since he had joined the Miami police department.
“What?”
“He confessed,” Ruiz confirmed. “That’s what he wanted to talk to me about.”
“What else you got?”
“He never said much, but it seems he surprised her after work. They went for a walk, then boom—he ended her, according to him. Not even anything on where he left her, or what he did.”
“Just a confession?” Welsh’s heavy sigh reached his ear.
Ruiz could sense the frustration in the more experienced detective’s voice.
“That’s it, yeah,” he said. “You in or out of the office?”
“In.” Ruiz heard Welsh moving around, no doubt, in his office.
The familiar squelch of the filing cabinet opening whined in his ear.
“All right, I’ll see you when you get back, you and Detective Davina Jones. I’ve pulled the file,” Welsh told him. “Twenty years, he’s been silent. This mutha-fucker wants to come out of the woodwork, now?”
“Aye, you did release a news announcement out for people to phone in any information to the tip line, remember,” Ruiz reminded him.
Welsh chuckled on the other end of the line. “Funny Ruiz,” Welsh snapped. “I just didn’t expect it’d be so easy to put this one to bed.”
“I’ll see you when I get back to base. I’ll swing by and grab the file.” Ruiz lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out the window.
“Cool, see ya.” Welsh ended the call.
2
Unanswered Questions
Zoe Canceller
The face of her sister, Mariya, smiled, exposing perfectly straightened teeth—post braces. Holding the newspaper article, Zoe Canceller studied it a bit longer, then placed it down on the table. She’d held on to for the past two days.
It was the same photograph she had picked out and handed to the police twenty years ago. The one used to identify her missing sister. And now, it graced the front page of The Miami New Times.
Zoe took in the soft features of her sister’s face. She wasn’t her blood sister, but nonetheless, she had loved her just as a big sister should—blood relative or not.
Mariya was just two years younger than her. Sadly, her mother, Juanita, had been dealt a harsh hand in life and struggled with addition. And as a result, she couldn’t raise Mariya on her own.
Zoe’s mother and father had been neighbours with Juanita back in the 60s. And they took pity on Juanita and helped her as best they could.
One summer’s day in 1965, back when Zoe was five-years-old and Mariya was just three, Juanita dumped Mariya on Zoe’s door step. She had promised she’d be back as soon as she could, then too
k off. But she never returned.
Instead, she called long distance from Mexico and told Zoe’s parents she wouldn’t be back. From that day on, Zoe and Mariya had become sisters. Her parents had taken Mariya in and made no fuss over her being African-American at a time when race relations in the south were high.
In her parents’ eyes, Zoe’s blonde hair and blue eyes were no different then Mariya’s dark hair and mocha skin—they were both their daughters, and loved equally.
Zoe shifted her weight to one foot, and recalled how her mother used to walk around town, holding both their hands, her head held high.
The thought brought a smile to Zoe’s face.
God rest your soul, she thought to herself.
As she traced Mariya’s face with her fingertip, a tear fell onto the newspaper, turning the image into more of an inkblot of black, white, and grayscale colors.
Her mind moved back over the decades and stopped on the fond memories of her childhood school days. Once the kids got used to it, they all thought it was ‘cool’ that the two different girls considered themselves sisters, regardless of the racial difference.
She breathed in and out, deeply, as if to calm the feelings of confusion, frustration, and desperation.
Not knowing’s the hardest part. She stared off into the distance. What happened to you that day, twenty years ago, little sister?
According to Mariya’s husband, Jarrad, she never made it home on that Valentine’s Day.
“Honey, are you ready?” Malcom, Zoe’s husband, called out.
“Yes, I’m coming. Give me a second,” she replied over a shoulder, then gulped down the last of her coffee.
Behind her, she heard Malcom’s footsteps making their way down the hallway. She felt him move closer to her, and then his soft breath floated across her neck.
“I’m so sorry, Zoe.” He kissed the top of her head. “Sorry they never found a body. Hopefully, with the anniversary appeal to the public, someone will come forward, so you can set her to rest.”
Zoe felt the palm of his hands gently rub her shoulders. She turned to him and buried her face in his chest.
The scent of his woody aftershave invaded her senses and offered her a familiar comfort, but even that did little to ease the longing for her long-lost sister.
“It’s been twenty years, Malcom,” Zoe mumbled into his chest “I’ve not seen her since we got married. I was in my forties. She never even made it to the wedding,” she sobbed. It was impossible to keep her composure.
“Shhh, I know honey.” He tipped her chin until their eyes met. “I know. Keep hopeful, okay. There’s no body, so there’s still hope.”
Zoe glanced away, then resisted when Malcom cradled her face in his hands. After several seconds ticked by, she gazed at him through tear-filled eyes.
His large green eyes stared back at her, and she nodded, mute of any response.
“Let’s go, Detective Jones will be waiting for us.” Malcom took her by the hand.
Zoe glanced back to the kitchen counter at the newspaper’s headline with a request for the general public to contact the tip line for any information on the twenty-year anniversary of Mariya’s disappearance.
“I’m so sorry to spoil Valentine’s Day with all this Malcom, it’s just—”
“Please, don’t apologise, Zoe. It’s not a problem. Let’s just go and speak to Detective Jones and see what she has to say.”
Zoe nodded again, and wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve.
“Here.” Malcom chuckled and pulled out a tissue from his pocket.
“Thanks.” Zoe took it and smiled up at him. “Okay, let’s go.” She took her husband of twenty years by the hand, allowing him to lead her to the door.
A feeling of dread pooled in her stomach. Everyone had told her to ‘remain hopeful’ over the years because a body never surfaced. But that was easier said than done.
Mariya’s life had started off rough due to her mother, and at times, Zoe wasn’t convinced about the happy facade her sister tried to paint over the years. She knew better than anyone that Mariya suffered from depression. She had a number of triggers that would send her over the edge. And in all honesty, she wasn’t convinced that Jarrad, Mariya’s husband, helped her manage her emotions and well-being well enough.
In fact, she despised the man.
He was too cocky, far too entitled, and way too unworthy of Mariya’s devoted love.
But she didn’t want to come across as the disapproving older sister, who, at the time, was single and childless. Not when her baby sister so desired to be happy.
3
Run Away Wife?
Detective Ruiz
Twenty minutes later, Ruiz cruised through the centre of Miami.
The palm trees and scantily dressed woman caught his eye.
He turned down 62nd Avenue and rolled to a stop by the West Miami Police Department’s parking garage entrance. Flashing his fob key over the scanner, he pulled inside, then swung into the first empty space he saw.
Grabbing his tie off the passenger’s seat, he stepped out of the car, locked it, and then headed into the building. As he entered, he adjusted his tie and braced himself for Detective Welsh’s grilling over why he couldn’t get more information from Mr. Lee’s confession.
His mind was pre-occupied with the case he had just been assigned. It was his first ‘big break’ as a new detective for the Miami police department. Ascending the corridor, he took a left, and as he did, he collided head one with one of the secretaries.
“Oh, damn.” He caught the female by the arms, so she didn’t topple over on the heels she had on. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. No worries, Detective.” A smile bloomed on April’s lips. “How are you today?”
Ruiz blushed as April, one of the administration secretaries, adjusted the pearls around her neck, then swept a lustful gaze over him from head to toe.
“I’m fine,” he coolly responded. “How are you, April?”
April opened up the collar of her shirt wider. She smiled at Ruiz and fanned her neck. “Oh, ya know, just hot as hell in this place. But I’m okay.”
She batted her lashes at him, moved in closer, then bit the corner of her lip.
“It’s Valentine’s Day,” she purred at him. “What’s your plan for tonight, Detective?” Her smile widened. “Got any?”
“Ahh, well…I err—” Ruiz stammered as he inhaled April’s floral-scented perfume.
“What’s the matter?” April stepped closer to him, pressing her body against his lean frame. “No girlfriend to keep you company?”
Ruiz paused, not sure how to respond. It wasn’t the first time April tried to find out his personal relationship status, or tried to make an advance.
Generally, not one to mix business with pleasure, he found April’s allure hard to resist. Conjuring up all the willpower he had, he broke the intense gaze and looked over her shoulder, toward the photocopier.
“I just, well, uhm…Valentine’s really isn’t my thing. Plus, I’ve got a lot going on with this case on Mariya Crosby.” He stepped back to widen the gap between them.
“Oh, yeah, the request for information on the old case. I saw the tip hotline request last night on the news. It’s sad. Huh?” April cooed then lowered her lashes with a sad face.
“Yeah, it is. I better go April. Anything important I need to know about?”
“No, nothing urgent.” April smiled up at him again.
Ruiz looked into her ice blue eyes, then peeked at her cleavage one last time.
God, keep it together, man. He imagined what kind of bra was holding April’s perfect pair of breasts in place, then blushed.
“See ya.” He regained his composure and tried to make a quick exit before April ate him alive. “I’ll catch you later.”
“Okay, Dominic,” April responded.
The emphasis on his first name did not go unnoticed by Ruiz. Turning on her four-inch stilettos, she winked over a shoulder
at him.
Ruiz chuckled and shook his head. What a tease…
He turned in the other direction and made his way down the corridor, past his co-workers’ offices. The hum of phones as they rang, melded together, and papers shuffling across desks comforted him. Stopping outside of Welsh’s office, he rapped on the door with his knuckles.
“Sup, yeah it’s open.” Welsh called out.
“It’s me. Is the file ready?” Ruiz entered the office.
“Yep, here it is.” Welsh nudged a thick file on his desk.
“I wasn’t part of the Miami Department when Mariya’s case first come up.” Ruiz took a seat opposite Welsh, then pulled the file toward him. “What do you remember?”
Welsh dropped his fountain pen and looked at Ruiz.
“At the time, I was a young detective—wet behind the ear—just like you.” He leaned back in the chair and clasped his hands together over his slightly pop beer-belly.
“Yeah, that’s it.” Welsh glanced around his office, then back at Ruiz. “Twenty years back, I had just gotten to Miami. I moved over from London with my wife.”
Detective Welsh pointed to the picture on his desk of his wife and three daughters. Ruiz smiled as the older detective swelled with pride.
“This case, it was one of the first ones I ever took on. Wasn’t much older than you, Son.”
A dark cloud came over Welsh’s face. He ran a hand through his chocolate-coloured hair, slightly grey at the sides. Taking a deep breath, he leaned across his desk toward Ruiz with a serious face.
“I tell ya, something just didn’t sit right with me about this one. She totally disappeared on Valentine’s Day. Never made it home, according to the husband.”
Ruiz cocked his head to one side, taking in his mentor’s words. “What didn’t sit right?”
Welsh glanced at his wife’s smiling face—pretty as a picture in the photo frame.
“It was just off.” Welsh met Ruiz’s eye with an equally serious face. “she went to work, clocked off, then disappeared.”
“No one was able to verify her whereabouts once she clocked out. The CCTV showed her walking out of the hospital.”
