by Shawn Wilson
Ranger nodded. “Think I’m allergic to these fucking cherry blossoms.”
“That could be,” Brick agreed. “Anyway, are you aware of anything unusual that happened here a couple of days ago?”
“Duh—I saw the whole thing.”
Brick exchanged a quick glance with Ron. “Go ahead; tell me where you were and what you saw.”
“Okay.” Ranger exhaled loudly. “Let me get my bearings.” He looked around before pointing to a spot facing the river. “There, that’s where I was standing. Sounded like it came right over my head, close enough I could reach up and touch it. I figured something was wrong, then BAM—it hit the water and—”
“Whoa, stop right there. What are you talking about?” Brick asked
“The crash—Air Florida.”
“Ranger, that happened over thirty years ago.”
“No way.” A look of shock crossed Ranger’s weathered face. “Seems like yesterday to me.”
“I’m sure it does,” Brick said. “I’m sure it does.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“THIS IS IT, my home away from home,” Brick said.
Ron swiveled on his barstool and looked around. “I’ve probably passed here a thousand times but never stopped in. Feels like a neighborhood bar, something you’re more apt to find in Baltimore than D.C.” Ron turned back around. “You know, sometimes I think Washington is a city without a soul.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Brick said. “Especially when I think about where we were tonight. With all the stuff I’ve seen over the years, it’s the homeless that get to me the most.”
“Really? More than the murdered?”
“When I figure out who killed someone, I’ve made a meaningful contribution. I’ve done everything I can.”
“You gave Ranger food; that counts for something.”
“But tomorrow, he’ll be hungry again.”
Ron seemed to think about that for a minute. “I hear ya, partner. There but for the grace of God …”
Brick looked past Ron toward the end of the bar. He hadn’t noticed it when he first sat down, but a small shrine honoring Jose and his sister had been set up. He got up to take a closer look. Ron joined him.
“Most of these pictures were taken right here at Boland’s.” Brick pointed out several regulars and recalled some of the occasions—Halloween, the customer appreciation Christmas party, watching sporting events like the Super Bowl and World Cup.
Ron stepped closer and studied the photos. “He looked like he was having a good time. No doubt living his American dream.”
“Come to think of it, I never heard him complain about anything.”
Brick glanced at the words on a jar next to a flickering votive candle. “Help send Jose and Maria home.” It was going to take a lot more than was in the jar, but every dollar would help. Brick pulled a ten from his wallet and dropped it in the jar. Ron did the same before they both headed back to their barstools.
“Hey, Brick. The usual?” Rory placed cardboard coasters in front of Brick and Ron.
Brick nodded. “Rory, this is my partner, Ron Hayes.”
The two men shook hands. “What can I get you?”
“What’s the usual?”
“Guinness.”
“Not much of a stout drinker, but I’ll give it a try.”
Rory set two pint glasses under the tap. “You’ll not be disappointed.”
“Did you put together the photos of Jose?” Brick asked.
Rory nodded as he picked up the two glasses of Guinness. He set one in front of Brick and the other in front of Ron. “You’ll want to let that settle for a minute or so.” He turned back toward Brick. “I figured it was the right thing to do. Everybody’s asking about his family and how they can contribute, that’s why the jar is there. We’ve already collected a couple of hundred.”
“That’s good.” Brick raised his glass and took a sip. “Has anyone been here to talk to you and Eamonn about Jose?”
“Yeah, yesterday. The same detective who talked to me at Jose’s apartment and his partner.” Rory pulled a business card out of his wallet. “Paul Adkins. He did most of the talking. Allen seemed more interested in checking out a couple of girls at the bar.”
Brick looked at his partner. “Why am I not surprised.”
“There’s not much I could tell him other than Jose was reliable and respectful, a hardworking kid. How he spent his time away from here, I can’t say other than he did some jobs with Declan and he took ESL classes. He had to eat and sleep sometime so there weren’t a whole lot of unaccountable hours.”
“Is Declan back from Ireland?”
“Not yet. I tried to get ahold of him, but no luck; seems he decided to go over to the Aran Islands. Cellphones are pretty much useless there. I know he’ll be shocked when he hears the news.”
Brick turned toward Ron. “Declan is an independent contractor who comes in here a lot. He renovates kitchens and bathrooms and was teaching Jose carpentry, hanging drywall, stuff like that. Isn’t that right, Rory?”
“Yeah. Jose would leave here and then go to a work site for several hours. I gave the detectives Declan’s number, but it’s probably not doing them any good. It was kind of weird—they asked me a couple of times if I thought Jose might have been into drugs or a gang. I never saw any indication of either one. Then I guess it was Allen—is he the pudgy one?”
Brick and Ron both nodded.
“Anyway, he asked if Jose was into the occult. The occult—what the feck?”
Brick realized this was one of the longest conversations he and Rory had ever had before Rory dropped an Irish-accented f-bomb. For a moment, he was distracted but then focused on what Rory had said. Why would the A-Team think Jose was dabbling in the occult?
“You got me—I don’t know what that’s about.” Brick took a sip of Guinness, then another. “How’s Elvis?”
“Good. She’s in the office with Eamonn. Why don’t you go back there—Himself’s taking this pretty hard.”
Brick and Ron picked up their glasses and headed down the narrow hallway past the kitchen and restrooms.
“Himself?” Ron asked.
“It’s kind of an Irish term of endearment. Eamonn is Rory’s uncle.”
The door to the office was closed. Brick knocked lightly. “Eamonn, its Brick.”
“Come in but don’t let the cat out.”
Brick eased the door open so he and Ron could enter. Elvis rubbed up against Brick’s leg, purring loudly. Brick bent down and stroked the cat. Elvis arched her back as if requesting more pats. Brick complied and was rewarded with a head butt.
“Eamonn, this is my partner, Ron Hayes.”
Eamonn attempted to stand but it was obvious he was struggling.
“Please, don’t get up.” Ron extended his hand across the desk.
“Seems my foot fell asleep.” Eamonn shook hands with Ron. “Nice to meet you, lad. I’ve heard lots of good things about you.”
“Careful, Eamonn,” Brick said. “Don’t want him to get a swelled head.”
“Don’t think that will happen,” Ron said. “With this job, when you think you’re on to something, it can turn out to be absolutely nothing.”
“Like tonight?” Brick asked.
“Exactly.” Ron looked at his watch. “I’d better get going. It was nice meeting you, Eamonn. Partner, I’ll see you in the morning.”
Eamonn had been counting a stack of money. He put a rubber band around it and slipped it inside his desk. “Did Rory tell you we’ve already collected a couple hundred dollars? A lot of generous people, shows they cared.” Eamonn took a sip of what looked to be an Irish coffee. “Any idea when the bodies will be released?”
“Should be soon. This case is complicated because there’s no designated next-of-kin. I know the liaison from the consulate has been contacted so hopefully the details can be worked out quickly.” Brick sat down and Elvis immediately leapt onto his lap. “It may be that the bodies will be re
leased to the Guatemalan Embassy and they will take responsibility for making the arrangements.”
“Can you find out?” Eamonn asked.
“I can try,” Brick said.
“Good. Those kids shouldn’t make that journey alone.”
Brick noticed tears threatening to spill from the old man’s eyes. “Eamonn, you’re not thinking about …”
“Never mind what I’m thinking.”
“Too late,” Brick said. “I already know.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING ROLL call, Brick and Ron headed to Lieutenant Blancato’s office. The A-Team were already there seated at the conference table across from Blancato. A box of Krispy Kreme donuts was within easy reach of Travis Allen.
Blancato acknowledged Brick and Ron with a nod. “Have a seat. I need to brief the chief so let’s get started.” Blancato looked around the table. “Travis?”
Allen had just stuffed half a donut into his mouth, but that didn’t stop him from responding. “Got the autopsy report from the ME.” He licked some jelly from his fingers before handing a copy to Blancato. “No surprise, Jose died from blunt force trauma to the head. Appears he had been dead at least thirty-six hours, which means he was killed before his sister. Right, Brick?”
“Yes. According to Maria’s autopsy, she had been dead for approximately twelve hours. That leaves twenty-four hours that she was alive after Jose was killed.”
“Did you do that math without a calculator?” Allen reached for another donut. “I’m impressed.”
“So it would seem Jose was the primary target,” Blancato said.
“That’s the way Paul and I see it. Can’t speak for anyone else.”
Blancato looked at Brick and Ron. “How about you guys, do you agree with that?”
Brick spoke up. “I think it’s equally possible Maria was the target.”
“How so?” Blancato asked.
“Jose may have walked in on a sexual assault in progress.”
“Aren’t you forgetting her autopsy showed she wasn’t raped?”
Brick picked up on Blancato’s dismissive tone. “No, it only proves there wasn’t penetration.”
“Oh, I love it when you talk dirty.” Allen leaned over to his partner. “Don’t you, Paul?”
Brick ignored Allen and continued. “As I was about to say, if Jose walked in to find his sister in any kind of danger, I’m sure he’d do everything he could to defend her.”
Blancato seemed to think about that possibility for a moment. “Suppose we can’t rule out a burglary gone bad. Some guy breaks in not expecting anyone to be there, but he encounters Maria. That presents an opportunity he hadn’t planned on, but then Jose comes home and messes up the whole thing.” Blancato seemed very pleased with himself as he looked around the table.
“It’s possible, but there was nothing to indicate forcible entry so the perp would have needed a key or been let in by Maria or Jose. Also, what little of value there was in the apartment, like the TV, was still there. If burglary was the motive, there’s more affluent buildings to hit nearby.”
“So you’re saying it couldn’t have happened the way I described?” Blancato asked.
Allen put down the donut he was eating and jumped in before Brick had a chance to respond. “Or he’s being contrary just to be contrary?”
Brick dug deep to be diplomatic. “I’m not saying it couldn’t happen that way, I’m just saying, given the evidence, it’s less likely. And, Travis, let’s get something straight right now.” Brick looked around the table. “Probably more than anyone in this room, I want the bastard who’s responsible. I’m not about to undermine the investigation by disagreeing with something just to disagree.”
“Okay,” Blancato said. “We need to move on. What do we know about Maria, other than the autopsy findings?”
Ron responded. “Not a whole lot. According to the apartment building manager, she had only been in D.C. for a couple of weeks. He claimed she was quiet, kind of shy. When he saw her, she was always with Jose. We spoke to the owner and manager of Boland’s Mill where Jose worked, and they indicated they had only met Maria once—on the day she arrived from Guatemala.”
“Any indication she was involved in any high-risk activity?” Blancato asked.
“No. From what we’ve been able to find, her only friend seemed to be her pregnant neighbor across the hall. Maria helped her with cooking and cleaning.” Ron turned toward his partner. “Brick interviewed the neighbor.”
“I figured if she was going to confide in anyone it would be her neighbor,” Brick said. “But when I spoke to Lourdes Morales, she couldn’t recall anything Maria said indicating she was unhappy or worried or afraid. There’s two other men she came in contact with that bear watching—Carlos Garcia, the building manager, is a registered sex offender. And her neighbor’s husband, Roberto Morales. According to Lourdes’s sister, Roberto is volatile and she suspects he’s been cheating on Lourdes. I don’t think she’s totally objective, but the black eye Lourdes was sporting confirmed her husband has anger management issues, to say the least.”
“Have you talked to this guy?” Blancato asked.
“We have. He was arrogant, somewhat defensive, and when Ron bore down on any connection he might have to the murders, he abruptly ended the interview.”
Blancato didn’t say anything, but he appeared to be processing what he had heard. He made a couple of notes on a yellow legal pad. “Anything else?”
Brick recapped viewing the Park Police tape and their unsuccessful mission to identify the person pushing the grocery cart.
Blancato glanced at his watch. “Travis, Paul, what have you got?”
It was the first time Paul Adkins had spoken. “We’ve been looking into Jose’s background and trying to establish a timeline from when he was last seen alive. At the scene, we spoke with Rory Boland and then again at Boland’s Mill. Eamonn Boland indicated he last saw Jose eating fish and chips the last night he was at work. It helped establish the ME’s finding as to time of death.”
Blancato nodded. “Yeah, stomach contents are pretty reliable.”
Allen piped up. “Gnawed-up fish and chips—probably looked as nasty as some of the stuff my wife cooks,” Travis said.
Blancato laughed. “Don’t believe him, guys. I’ve had dinner at their place plenty of times; Karen’s a good cook. Go ahead, Paul, what were you saying about Jose?”
“Just that no one we’ve talked to had anything derogatory to say about him. But we have to consider how well they really knew him. There was the gang graffiti scrawled on the side of the tub and Travis found something interesting.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure what to make of it, but I think Jose might have been into some kind of voodoo shit.”
That would account for the occult question posed to Eamonn, Brick thought. “What makes you think that?” he asked.
“There was this nightstand next to his bed, so I opened the drawer expecting to find condoms or drugs, maybe a gun, but instead, there’s a couple of miniature voodoo dolls. They were pretty crude, just made out of wire in the shape of a doll with some cloth and yarn wrapped around the frame. No pins or anything sticking out of them, but, c’mon, what’s up with that?”
“They’re called Guatemalan worry dolls.”
Allen leaned back in his chair. “Say what?”
“It goes back to a Mayan tradition. At night, a child tells the doll what he’s worried about and slips it under his pillow. Then he can sleep without worrying.”
“If you say so, but it still sounds like some weird voodoo shit to me.”
Brick saw no point trying to convince Allen otherwise. Instead, he wondered what Jose was worried about. Realizing he may never know would undoubtedly be his own source of worry.
* * *
“How did you know that?” Ron asked as he and Brick headed back to their cubicles in the Squad Room.
“Know what?”
“About the worry dolls.”
“Something I learned from an ex-girlfriend. She taught anthropology, and believe me, if the worry dolls had voodoo power, I’d have been dead years ago.”
“Didn’t end well?” Ron asked.
“Actually, it did. She moved to California and I never heard from her again.”
“And I’m guessing you won’t be friending her on Facebook.”
“Not her or anybody else. I’ll gladly admit it; I’m a dinosaur when it comes to social media.”
“Oh man, think of what you’re missing. Nothing makes my day like a friend request from some mope I locked up.” Ron laughed. “But seriously, what about Jose? Was he into social media?”
“I asked Rory about that. He said Jose was saving money to buy a computer, but it wasn’t a priority since his family back in Guatemala didn’t have internet access. Apparently, he had a cellphone, but it was outdated—none of the latest bells and whistles. So far, it hasn’t turned up.”
Ron shook his head. “It’s a shame. Sounds like the kid was doing everything right.”
“It does, but did he get involved in something he shouldn’t have? Even though that would surprise me, people don’t always reveal who they really are.”
“That’s for sure. And then there are the Travis Allens of the world who constantly reveal who they are,” Ron said. “I’m going to get some coffee. You want anything?”
“No, thanks.”
Brick checked his watch. The meeting had taken just over fifteen minutes, but it seemed much longer. He went back to his desk where he kept a box of Barry’s Tea. He dropped a teabag in his mug and headed to the break room for hot water.
“Whoa, where’s the fire?” Brick stepped aside as Blancato’s secretary nearly collided with him as she ran from the room. She didn’t respond. Brick filled his mug and returned to his desk. He let the tea steep for a couple of minutes. He wouldn’t have admitted it earlier in the meeting with Blancato and the A-Team, but he was frustrated. He attributed much of his success as a homicide detective to his in-depth study of the victim. Often what looked to be random or a crime of opportunity was anything but. A victim’s lifestyle, employment, friends, enemies were all elements that could hold the key to finding the perpetrator. By reputation, Brick was relentless in digging into the victim’s background, but to do so, he had to rely on people who knew the victim. Maria’s case was complicated by Jose’s death and the fact that so few people had had contact with her. Traveling to Guatemala to interview her family and friends would be out of the question. The department would never spring for it. Brick fished out the teabag and threw it in the trash. He guessed he and Ron would have to settle for a trip to the Guatemalan Embassy. Hopefully, the liaison would be cooperative and arrange for the local police to do some digging.
