Murder With A Splash Of Rum: A Puerto Rican Thriller Read online

  Manual sighed in relief, understanding the message his boss was sending him.

  “Time of death?” she continued.

  “The coroner hasn’t arrived yet, but judging by lividity and absence of extensive flesh damage from sand crabs, I’d say twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

  Manuel continued. “I also found this. It looks like a telephone number.” I found it in his right pocket, the small inner pocket. Killer must have missed it.”

  Alexandra examined the small slip of paper. On it was scribbled “Fernando Amado, Call me at the Warehouse”. A 787 telephone number was scribbled beneath the note.

  “Finally, a break” thought Alexandra. She had thus far been unable to track down any more information on the Ibiza victim. She had made two trips to Fajardo, but no one had made an identification.

  She scanned the body. He was Puerto Rican, groomed and well-dressed. She noticed a tan line on a ring finger. It was large and circular. He probably wasn’t married. He had probably worn a class ring or some other type of clunky men’s ring on his ring finger.

  “This is the Van Dusen murderer. The cord, white handkerchief, banyan tree,” she confirmed. “It’s further west than the others, though.” The body had been discovered just outside of Dorado, an hour and a half west of where most of the other bodies had been discovered. “The murderer isn’t limited to the east.” The murders had become more frequent. The young man in the Ibiza shirt from Fajardo had been killed only one week prior.

  Over the course of that week, Alexandra and her team had reviewed every murder in Puerto Rico for the last two years. They had uncovered two more murders fitting the pattern. One body had been found in Luquillo, and the other in Piñones. Because one of the bodies had been discovered in areas where drug-related homicides were common, no effort had been made to further investigate it. The other murder was still an open case with no leads. For the Police Commissioner, a twenty-two percent clearance rate for homicides was perfectly acceptable. The three team members had spent hours screening half-completed and illegibly written police reports to identify similar murders. All of the victims had been murdered within the last seven months. Seven murders in all. This victim made it eight. Fortunately, the news outlets hadn’t been picked up on the linkage. The Van Dusen murder was old news by now, and only Alexandra and her team members knew that she had uncovered other related murders. There would be panic if the public were informed that a serial killer was on the loose. She had scheduled a meeting to update the Commissioner with the discoveries on Friday.

  Alexandra and her team continued to process the scene. Later that day, after she made a call to the number found on the victim, she hopped into her car and headed towards Trujillo Alto. She turned on her favorite radio station playing salsa, and settled in for the short drive.

  An hour later she pulled into the Ferreteria Taino parking lot just as rush hour was starting to make driving difficult. When she had called the number she found at the crime scene, the person answering had described his location in detail. He sounded on the phone like an upstanding young man. His full name was Fernando Amado Miranda. After a few discrete inquiries Alexandra was less confident that he was a suspect, but could probably provide valuable information. The investigative techniques she had learned at the Academy were coming in very handy now. She knew that rule number one when locating a person of interest was to prevent them from knowing that they were under investigation. She had informed Mr. Amado that his name had come up in a routine matter, and she needed his assistance with some information. A female cop was non-threatening. Alexandra used her gender at every available opportunity to ease suspects into lowering their guard. In this instance, the suspect’s open attitude and willingness to answer questions regarding his whereabouts were not indicative of a guilty conscience. More importantly, a murderer would not give out their number and leave it to be found on a corpse.

  She approached a young female clerk, and asked for Fernando Amado. The clerk looked surprised, immediately asking what the officer wanted with Fernando. The tone and body language indicated a protective stance, signifying that she and Mr. Amado were more than just co-workers. Alexandra found out that the young lady’s name was Maria Suarez, and mentally filed her away as a probable girlfriend.

  Maria Suarez left and a few minutes later returned with an attractive twenty-something male. He approached her, shook her hand and smiled. “I am Fernando Amado, you needed my help?”

  “Is there somewhere private for us to chat?”

  Fernando led the way to room which doubled as an office and broom closet. Fernando closed the door, and drew out two chairs stacked in the corner of the small room and pushed a mop and bucket on rollers out of the way. Alexandra chose to sit beside Fernando. Standing was a position of power and intimidation. She needed information, and would start the interview in a more passive free-flowing approach.

  “We spoke earlier. Have you seen this piece of paper before?” She handed Fernando her cell phone displaying a picture of the note she had retrieved from the victim.

  Fernando eyed the paper and immediately recognized it. His eyes grew wide with recognition.

  “Is something wrong, Mr. Amado?” Alexandra immediately could see the change in his demeaner. “Mr. Amado, is there something you would like to tell me?” Alexandra knew a change in mood when she saw one. There was a secret here.

  “Yes, I gave that out a couple of nights ago to a guy I met...” Then Fernando’s face darkened further as he recalled the circumstances under which he had given out the slip of paper with his number. “Can I ask what this is about ma’am?” He was looking panicked and cornered. Alexandra knew she had him, it was simply a matter of convincing him to share the secret he was hiding.

  She rose and stood authoritatively. “Mr. Amado, this pertains to a murder investigation. This number was found on the body of a young man found strangled to death sometime in the last few days.” It was time be on the offensive. “Now is not a time to hide things from me, Mr. Amado. I need to know everything you do, and I need to know now.”

  Fernando gulped and his eyes started to tear up. The words came gushing out. “He’s dead? Oh my god.” He paused. “My mom and dad. They can’t know, this would kill them. It would kill them.” He started shaking and plunged his head into his hands, taking deep shattered gulps of air, trying to breathe between gasps.

  “Take it easy Fernando, one thing at a time. First of all, who did you give this number to?”

  “It is a guy named Ricardo something. He is a big shot at the Capitol, something in politics. He works for one of the Senators. I met him at a place called…well in La Placita in San Juan. I wasn’t there, well I was there, but only in La Placita. I was just meeting a friend there. A friend from work. We had decided to stop by there since we had heard music but it was my first time ever, I swear. Please don’t let my mom and dad find out about this, they would they think….they would think…” and he plunged into a set of gasping sobs.

  “When was this, Fernando?”

  “Saturday night.”

  Bingo. Fernando had placed the victim in La Placita shortly before his murder. This would have been one of the last, if not the last, places visited by the victim before his murder. Now she needed to find a link between the Van Dusen murders and this victim. La Placita might be the common link.

  Alexandra paused to consider how to continue. The victims she had identified so far had all been homosexual. The drop points for the bodies made no sense, however. They were miles apart. She needed to confirm both the location and sexual orientation of the victims. It would solidify her theory about the Van Dusen murders and provide her with the first piece of evidence outside of the crime scene. If the latest victim was identified as gay, her theory would be validated. The murderer was targeting gay men. The victims she had identified so far had not shared anything else in common, including the location of their murder. Perhaps the location where the victims and the murderer had met was the common link.


  “Fernando, I know about La Placita. Where exactly in La Placita? Please answer me truthfully.”

  “At Patio de Lila”.

  Bingo. Again. Were gay bars the common link?

  Alexandra responded. “I am familiar with Lila’s.” She sat down again. She needed Fernando’s complete and voluntary cooperation. Patio de Lila had been identified by Cookie at Ely’s Place as a gay and lesbian hangout inside of La Placita. If the victim was there, he could have at least have been perceived as homosexual by the murderer if he was not actually gay himself. Her theory had been verified.

  “I don’t think any the less of you because you were there. Look at me.” She wrapped her finger on the desk to force his eyes upward. She looked deeply into his eyes. “I am only here to find out who murdered this man named Ricardo, okay. That is all. I don’t care if you met him at a gay bar, Dominican bar, or any other type of bar. I just need the facts, anything that will help me with my investigation.” Alexandra eased herself back into the chair. It was obvious from his reaction that he was more concerned about his sexual orientation being known than being a suspect in a murder investigation. A guilty conscience would have focused on the murder charge first and manufactured a story immediately. Fernando had acknowledged knowing Ricardo. Fernando Amado didn’t strike Alexandra as crafty enough to create the dramatic scene she had just witnessed. Fernando may or may not be her guy, but at minimum he was one of the last people to see the victim alive. He certainly wouldn’t have left his telephone number on the victim if he were the murderer.

  Fernando calmed himself and looked up into her eyes, and after a few moments had collected himself enough to speak again. He then recalled Ricardo. He had just spoken with a man who had been murdered. His steeled his nerves and began to speak. “What happened to him?”

  “Let’s start at the beginning,” she prodded. The information from this point forward would only flow in one direction. She needed to preserve the integrity of the investigation. The only tool at her disposal was knowledge, and she had learned to parcel out knowledge only when absolutely necessary.

  “First, is this the individual you gave your number to?” She showed the victim’s photograph to him on her cell phone.

  Fernando looked at the photograph and lost control. He had seen corpses before, but seeing a photograph of Ricardo’s lifeless eyes staring back overwhelmed him. It took several moments for him to compose himself without his voice cracking. When he was ready, he nodded affirmatively.

  Fernando then began to relay the story to her. He told her about that night at Lila’s, naming Phillip, Danny, Esteban, and Ricardo by full name, but the rest of the patrons he had seen there on that night were on a first name basis only with him.

  “Let’s start with the individuals you do know. How do you know these individuals?” she inquired.

  “Well, Phillip is Phillip Winthrop, he is from a very wealthy Boston family. I met him there…” Fernando related all he knew of Phillip. He then told her about Danny, whom he’d known his entire life. Then he described what he knew about Ricardo. When it came to Esteban, he could only tell her about meeting him.

  “When and where did you meet this Esteban Arroyo?”

  “At Lila’s, last Saturday night.”

  Alexandra swiped to another picture, and showed Fernando a photo of the young man with the Ibiza shirt. “Do you recognize this man, Fernando?”

  Fernand looked at the photograph. It was the picture of another corpse. He pushed the phone away with revulsion, vomiting in the process. After a few heaves, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Sorry about that. I’ll clean this up.” He started to get up and grab the mop and bucket. Alexandra stopped him and pushed him back into his seat.

  “Please, Fernando, it is important. Do you recognize him?”

  Fernando looked at the picture again, grimacing at the sight. Something about the man was familiar. He couldn’t place his finger on it. “I think I have seen him before, but I can’t remember. I see so many people here at the warehouse, I probably see eighty or ninety people a day here. He looks familiar but I don’t know where I have seen him.”

  “So, you think you saw him here, not say at Lila’s?” pressed Alexandra.

  “I don’t know. I know I have seen him though. I might remember, it’s just that this is very sudden, and I feel really sick right now.” He pointed at the pile of vomit which was filling the small room with a nauseating smell.

  Alexandra was almost gagging as well. She folded her notebook, patted Fernando on his shoulders and said “Thank you Mr. Amado. Everything stays in this notebook. Thank you for your cooperation, and here is my number if you recall anything. Anything at all. I’m not here to look into your personal life unless it relates directly to my murder investigation. I want you to think about this photograph and tell me where you have seen him. I am going to text it to you now. Can we step outside?”

  Fernando was as eager to leave the small closet as she was. He would have to mop up the mess after she left.

  Outside the door, Alexandra plugged her number into Fernando’s cell phone, and after exchanging messages they saved the information to contacts. Alexandra then texted him the photographs of Ricardo and the Ibiza victim.

  “Fernando, a lot of people your age keep photos on their cell phone. Do you have any photographs of the night you met Ricardo at Lila’s?” It was a longshot, but she knew that evidence and leads could come from anywhere. Social media was a significant investigative tool for law enforcement. It was worth a shot.

  “Let me check.” Fernando flipped through his phone and found the Snapchat pictures he had taken that night. “I have several. We went crazy with Snapchat that night.”

  He texted Alexandra the twenty-five photographs he had taken that night, and after several questions from the detective identified the patrons he knew by name. Alexandra carefully noted their identities.

  As Fernando was closing his text messaging application, he pulled up the photographs Alexandra had just texted him. His eyes suddenly widened and his hand involuntarily covered his mouth.

  “Fernando, do you know something else?” Alexandra grabbed her notebook again.

  “Those clothes he is wearing in this picture,” he declared looking at the officer and pointing with his free hand to the photograph. “He had those on the last time I saw him. See, they are the same as in the ones I sent you!” He showed her the picture of Ricardo’s body and of Ricardo at Lila’s. The victim was wearing the same clothing.

  The implication of this fact struck the officer and Fernando at the same time. Fernando was almost certainly the last person to see Ricardo alive. Alexandra narrowed her eyes and stared at Fernando. He was either a murderer or the primary witness. Whichever he was, Fernando held the key to solving these murders.

  It was convenient, though, that he had photographs from the night of the murder implicating at least three other individuals. It was convenient that his number was on the victim’s body. It was convenient that Fernando was also gay. It was all a little too convenient.

  Perhaps her early dismissal of Fernando was wrong. Perhaps Fernando Amado was an extremely complex, highly intelligent, highly disturbed individual. Perhaps Fernando Amado was a murderer.

  ‹22›

  Alexandra waited patiently as Danny replaced the mop and bucket in the rear broom closet. Since there were no customers this early, Danny took the time to sit on a bar stool beside the prim and polished police detective. Alexandra Vargas was a consummate professional. Her words were crisp, direct, and emotionless. Her hair was tightly bound in a bun, her uniform starched, and even her fingernails were manicured and polished. It was the Wednesday after her meeting with Fernando Armado. Lila’s had been closed both Monday and Tuesday. She didn’t like having to wait for two days for the tiny bar to open, but she had little choice.

  Danny twirled his seat to greet her, extending his hand. “Good afternoon, Danny Prieto”. It was rare but not unheard of to have police of
ficers visiting Lila’s in La Placita. The frequent events at La Placita required interaction between both the San Juan and Puerto Rico police and the local establishments.

  “I’m Detective Alexandra Vargas, Puerto Rico Homicide. I’d like to talk to you about some customers of yours.”

  Danny shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His dealings with the police had been a mixed bag. The officers were generally respectful when inside the bar, but outside the bar there were well known incidents of gay bashings and abuse. Danny was straight, and wasn’t too concerned for his personal safety, but he was very protective of his customers. They were his source of income and his friends. Even though he doubted the female officer would endanger his customers, he was nevertheless concerned anytime a police officer got too inquisitive about Lila’s patrons.

  “Well, I don’t know them all that well, we get very busy here, you see…”

  Alexandra was expecting this recalcitrance. Bartenders are notoriously close mouthed about patrons, and she had discovered that bartenders in gay bars are even more secretive. Lila’s was the fourth gay bar in San Juan she had visited since Sunday. The other bars had been open both Monday and Tuesday. She had had no luck with the scattering bars on Condado Street Extension in Santurce where she had first been directed by Cookie at Ely’s Place. Her police instincts had picked up on the overt signs of prostitution and drug dealing outside of the Condado Extension bars. Those bars were located adjacent to San Juan’s most notorious drug point, Parada 18. It would not be a stretch to imagine that if the victims were patrons of these bars, they probably were involved with illegal narcotics. However, neither Ricardo Herger or ‘Tony’ had ever been seen in the area. And it certainly didn’t explain Van Dusen’s murder.