Murder With A Splash Of Rum: A Puerto Rican Thriller Page 3

  As she cut the tight string binding the topmost bundle of papers, she glanced at the remaining dozen or so bundles underneath. The tightly bound reams of police reports had been unceremoniously dumped beside her makeshift desk by the same young male officer who had pointed her to her new office several days before. He hadn’t met her eyes or addressed her since. She didn’t even know his name. The entire precinct new that Alexandra Vargas was poison. Association with her meant a quick exit from the police force. This young man obviously had hopes for promotion.

  It hadn't dawned immediately on Alexandra that the volumes of paperwork being dumped on her weren't just crime reports from the previous month. They dated back four years. It had been at least that long since anyone had pissed off Garcia enough to be relegated to tiresome task of compiling the monthly report. After the third day of reviewing four-year old cases, Alexandra resigned herself to her new reality.

  Alexandra Vargas could have easily written a few words about the various cases, signed her name at the end of the log form, and no one would have been the wiser. Garcia would never review the logs. When Garcia was ready to get rid of her, he would invent a far better reason, like planting drugs on her. Garcia was that vindictive.

  However, Alexandra had been raised with a strong work ethic. Alexandra shared the values of her hardworking parents who had grown up in rural Puerto Rico. That Puerto Rico didn’t know about Hollywood or fast food restaurants. Her parents had known hardship. They had worked sunup to sundown, often late into the night, to feed their eight children. Alexandra could not shirk her duties. Each document that bore her signature bore her personal stamp of approval. Whether the logs were ever actually reviewed or not, it bore her name and would be accurate to the letter.

  She removed the string and attacked the next bundle. She had made headway, and gone through a dozen reams already in six days. There was no rhyme or reason to them. Some were four years old, some were months old. The bundle she had just opened contained cases from the current year.

  She had developed a system early on to expedite the process. The first pass involved separating the cases between homicide and run of the mill crimes. She had developed a third interim pile for cases where the cause of death was indeterminate: suicide, suspected homicide, or accident.

  As she began to separate the layers of loose paper, she briefly glanced at the top document. The word “banyan” sprang from the page. Alexandra's sharp eyes caused her to pause and examine the document closer.

  Location: Luquillo

  Sex: male

  Age: late 50's

  Scene Description: corpse partially naked Cause of Death: strangulation by white polyester cord. White cloth over face stuffed in mouth/Corpse partially decomposed; found oddly propped against roots of banyan tree, cannot rule out possibility victim was moved and staged.

  Alexandra read and re-read the report. This report was more complete than most of the other reports she had reviewed. The officer who wrote the report had actually made an effort to describe the crime scene in detail.

  A corpse caught in a banyan tree at Luquillo, a strangulation by white cord, and a white handkerchief. She read the report a third time. The presence of the white cloth handkerchief over the face troubled her. The two cases were eerily similar, except for the location of the white handkerchief. Even an incompetent fool like Garcia should have appreciated the similarities. Obviously, Garcia didn’t read the police logs either.

  She attacked the piles of paper with renewed zeal. If these two cases had a connection, there might be a pattern. The victims may have shared a common link. Perhaps the murders were drug related and the manner of death was meant to send a message to someone. If so, tracking down the buyers or suppliers would be a lead.

  Alexandra laid the papers on her desk. “Two nearly identical murders,” she mumbled to herself. “Multiple related homicides. If committed by the same perp, I just have to find their common link.”

  If she could actually link these murders, she had a chance at saving her job. Housecleaning suddenly seemed very unappealing.

  ‹6›

  The placid waters of Luquillo Beach are always a toasty 85 degrees fahrenheit. The natural lagoon is three miles wide with waters so calm that the surface is an unbroken mirror of turquoise. The nearly level lagoon bottom slides lazily towards the Caribbean until it meets a mighty coral reef a mile offshore. That reef extends along the entire northern coast of Puerto Rico, and has always protected the island from hurricanes, tsunamis, sharks, and pirates.

  The coastal parts of the island stays within a five or ten-degree range throughout the year. That constant steady climate has allowed mother nature to expend a little more energy on creations which would be too delicate for any other climate. These are nature’s crown jewels; bioluminescent bays, tree orchids, brightly colored birds, and flowering trees which fill the night air with fragrant exotic perfumes.

  Against a backdrop of this natural beauty, Fernando was gently roused him from his afternoon lethargy by the spray of sand whipping across his face. Fernando’s cousin Guillermo was waking from his midday nap on the beach towel next to Fernando. He was shaking off sleepiness and sand in Fernando’s direction. Fernando dusted off his face and strolled towards the sea. The bracing water revived him as he dove forward and rolled onto his back. He reveled in the cool water as it lapped against his suntanned torso. The sky above and the horizon beyond was a vast stretch of blue, interrupted only by the outline of El Yunque. El Yunque was the giant mountain home of the god who protects Puerto Rico from the its arch-enemy, the god Juracán. But Juracán was nowhere to be found today. It was the perfect day under the perfect sun.

  Fernando was at Luquillo with his family enjoying beach day. He had invited Phillip along as a new friend from Condado. His mother seemed pleased that her son had made an American friend. His family had adopted Phillip like one of their own over the course of the morning, showering him with food and compliments. Phillip had seemed very uneasy with the affection he was being shown, and retreated to a chair a little distance away from the rest of the family. Fernando excused his behavior by explaining that Phillip spoke only English and his family spoke almost none. That seemed to appease everyone.

  Fernando rolled over in the water again and stood up. He could smell his grandfather's pinchos, Puerto Rico’s version of shish kabobs, sizzling on the makeshift barbeque. His mother laughed and chatted nearby with his cousins while his favorite grandmother sat under a palm tree fanning herself. Tonight, he and Phillip would trek back to Patio de Lila and end up at Phillip’s house. This was the first time he and Phillip had been together since they met.

  Fernando grew tired of swimming and returned to the beach. He grabbed two beers and placed them in a small carry bag with ice. He winked at Phillip, who understood the message and joined Fernando at the giant towel spread on the ground in the center of all of the family activity. He told his mother that they going to take a walk down the beach.

  They headed east along the beach, wandering a bit until they reached a deserted area a half mile away. Winding footpaths lead into dense tropical underbrush. Seeing an opportunity to relieve himself, Fernando entered the undergrowth and pulled out his massive cock. The fresh ocean breeze tickled his penis, which had been cramped into the damp swimsuit for hours. The sensation of coolness around his penis brought Fernando's attention down from the trees. It took less than a second to decide that this would be a good place to jerk off, away from his family and other beach-goers.

  As Fernando slowly tugged at his engorging manhood, the crackling sound of a footstep to his right startled him. Phillip had followed him into the underbrush and was standing there, dick in hand tugging it downwards in determined strokes.

  Fernando's face flushed with excitement. Blood coursed downward into his groin, further exciting his already hardened cock. His swimsuit had barely contained his oversized cock before. It would be impossible now for the flimsy fabric to contain his manhood. Phillip nodde
d to Fernando, pursed lips and descended to his knees.

  Phillip began stroking his own dick with Fernando's in unison as he placed his hot moist mouth over Fernando's shaft. Fernando groaned with pleasure. His hips involuntarily plunged forward, pushing his can-sized shaft deeper into Phillip’s throat. The forceful thrusts caused Phillip to gag. He backed off and approached Fernando's dick again, cautiously this time, licking the tip of Fernando's penis. As he licked, his cold steel blue eyes gazed up at Fernando. Fernando smiled with delight.

  Slowly, Phillip took Fernando's shaft deeper into his throat, accommodating the size and admitting it slowly. The force of a powerful tongue and suction on Fernando’s dick created an irresistible sensation. Excited by the inviting mouth, Fernando grabbed the back of Phillip’s head and forced him to take the entire length. Then, with both hands, Fernando seized the back of the head that was giving him so much pleasure and plunged his dick deeper and deeper, fighting any attempt by his partner to back away and gasp for breath. The thrusting grew more intense and forceful. With a crescendo, Fernando grunted and plunged deeply into Phillip’s throat. He felt cum surge through his shaft. Phillip eagerly drank Fernando's gift. He licked Fernado's shaft clean of the remaining liquid. Fernando heard him moan, and saw him jerking out his load onto the ground at Fernando's feed.

  Fernando leaned down and kissed Phillip’s cum covered lips.

  “Gracious, papi” Fernando said as he patted the back of Phillip’s head. Phillip rose and pulled his pants over his cock, which was slowing becoming flaccid. “You’re welcome”, he replied with a smirk.

  Fernando flipped his dick into his pants, adjusting it sideways so that it fit back into his form fitting bikini, and grabbed his carry bag. He clicked his tongue at Phillip, and the two headed back towards the beach.

  -----О-----

  Twenty-five miles away, the bearded muscular man with the pock-marked face was wrapping another white cord tightly into a bundle. He tossed this bundle into the bed of his rusty jeep flatbed. He paused for a moment to take a white handkerchief from his pants pocket and wipe the perspiration from his forehead. He slipped the handkerchief haphazardly back into his shirt pocket, and then shut the jeep wagon gate with a loud thud.

  He had just finished. He turned around to review his work with a curved smile. His work always gave him a great deal of satisfaction.

  ‹7›

  Alexandra Vargas nervously dusted the cuff of her left sleeve, then glanced over her right cuff and pant legs. She was stiffly seated on uncomfortable wooden bench in full dress uniform. The stiff polyester collar held her head upright and forward. The echo of police boots stomping down the tile hallway to her left echoed the thumping of her heartbeat. The heavy sounds made her even more conscious of the tight uncomfortable collar. Alexandra shivered. The sensation could have been the result of constricted blood supply, or could have been her nerves. She was about to attend the most important meeting of her entire career.

  As seconds became minutes, the clicking sound of an overhead florescent bulb clattered erratically to the steady tic-tocks of a wall-mounted clock. Alexandra leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She mentally ticked off points she wanted to make in the upcoming meeting.

  Colonel Reynaldo Garcia had been negligent in his duties. Alexandra had correctly identified the body beneath the banyan tree as a tourist. It had cost her dearly to point Garcia’s mistake out to him. Nevertheless, Garcia seized the opportunity to take credit for finding the tourist’s body. Alexandra’s reward for pointing out Garcia’s incompetence was her new ‘desk’ job, the iron wastebasket ‘stool’, and ostracism from the entire precinct.

  It turned out that the tourist had not been an ordinary weekend vacationer to Puerto Rico. His name was Alfred Van Dusen. Van Dusen had made a great deal of money in New York City as a hedge fund manager. He was a socially prominent scion of a prominent East Side family and his disappearance had even been noted in the New York Times.

  Nothing had been mentioned about the circumstances surrounding his death in the Times article. The article had only mentioned that Van Dusen was visiting St. Bart’s, and had last been seen departing Miami. Alexandra wasn't sure if the press or even the family had been informed about Garcia's suspicions of homosexual behavior. All that mattered was that a prominent American had been murdered in Puerto Rico, and that Garcia had nearly dropped the ball.

  The cacophony of media interest was more intense than anything the Puerto Police Department had experienced in at least a decade. The media had linked Van Dusen’s itinerary to San Juan Airport before the scheduled departure to St. Bart’s. There was no indication he had ever arrived in St. Bart’s. Not even the Dupont fire in Condado had taken hold of the American media like Van Dusen's disappearance, which played out the developing investigation over several days.

  During this firestorm of media interest, the corpse had gone missing. The coroner’s office had released the body to the public morgue as a “John Doe”. The body had lain undiscovered in the public morgue for two weeks while a panicked Police Department conducted an internal search for the missing victim.

  When it was reported that Van Dusen’s body had lain undiscovered for nearly two weeks, the media storm was deafening.

  Even the Governor had been forced to respond to mounting international criticism about the incompetence of the Puerto Rican Police Department and the island’s anemic homicide closure rate. It did not make him happy to have to answer to charges of incompetence while struggling to present a good face in the midst of mounting bad press about Puerto Rico’s bankruptcy.

  The resulting fallout was predictable, and given Puerto Rico's highly politicized bureaucracy, almost fated. The Commissioner, Arnaldo Padilla, was called to answer to the Governor, who in turn assembled his Colonels and Lieutenant Colonels for a stern rebuke. His final meeting was with Lt. Colonel Walberto “Wally” Rolon, Alexandra and Garcia’s supervisor.

  “What happened, Wally?”

  Padilla and Rolon had been working colleagues for fifteen years. They had socialized at political party gatherings for nearly a decade, often grabbing beers after the rallies. To succeed in Puerto Rico, a bureaucrat must be a loyal member of one of the two main parties. It doesn’t matter which, the two change places every four years. Padilla and Rolon were both members of the Governor’s party, the NPP.

  “A fag got killed,” replied Rolon.

  “Yeah, but we have to do something. Send a message out to the force, you know. Got to watch out for one of our own, too. Garcia’s a good cop.” Padilla was not about to take out his anger at being excoriated by the Governor on his former drinking buddy. He and Reynaldo Garcia had known each other for years. They had often pulled each other out of the firing line when one or the other stepped out of bounds. That was in the early days before Padilla leapfrogged to the position of Police Commissioner.

  “Well, let's go after that bitch that thinks she's a man. It's about time we did something about her anyway, you let one in and then the whole goddamn kitchen is going to show up wanting a badge and maternity leave,” responded Rolon.

  So, a day later, Alexandra Vargas was summoned to the Commissioner’s office. Alexandra assumed that she was being interviewed as a follow-up so that the police force could cook up a cover story and bury the implications of homosexuality after the media storm died down. Usually, the gay side story became the family’s biggest concern in these types of situations. Most Puerto Rican families could live with a murderer, a rapist, and even a drug dealer in their ranks; a good Catholic family, though, would never countenance a ‘practicing’ homosexual. That was the granddaddy of sins, and it would be concealed at all costs.

  For Catholics latinos, it’s always been okay to do the deed, everyone has. Just don’t confess to it. Or get caught. Alexandra wondered if the Protestant Van Dusen family would share in this same perverted reasoning.

  As Alexandra seated herself at Commissioner Padilla’s desk, she was not expecting the stern, f
ormal language the Commissioner used as his opening statement. She had secretly hoped that her unceremonious assignment to desk duty without a desk would mollify Garcia, Rolon, and Padilla.

  “Officer Vargas. You are here pursuant to a formal review of your job performance for the period…”

  These were clearly memorized lines from a human resources playbook. Sensing the impending danger, Alexandra made the snap decision to lay it all on the table. If she was being terminated, she had nothing to lose.

  “Commissioner, before you continue, I'd like you to look at something I uncovered while assembling the open case file list.” Alexandra reached into the small square leather-bound briefcase she was holding and pulled out a crisp manila folder containing documents neatly paper-clipped together. Alexandra conducted her entire life with military-like precision. Everything was perfectly organized, documented, and streamlined. Her police work followed the same pattern.

  She handed the Commissioner the small ream of documents. He scowled at having his speech interrupted. He was less than three minutes away from ridding himself of the whole Van Dusen affair, and was getting rid of a feminist pain in the ass to boot. He just needed a scapegoat.

  “What is this?” inquired the Commissioner in an accusatory tone.

  Alexandra launched into the presentation she had been preparing for two days, silently ticking off the points with her concealed fingers.