Murder With A Splash Of Rum: A Puerto Rican Thriller Page 6

  “I am sure the taxpayers are interested in solving these murders”, she stated as she indicated for the rookie officer to target a line of trees where the wind would have carried any lightweight items such as a handkerchief.

  “I am in charge here”, intoned Garcia in a forceful voice, emphasizing the “I”.

  “Yes, you are, and we are all grateful for your careful attention to budgetary constraints. Nevertheless, no area search has been conducted and protocol dictates a sweep of the area” stated Vargas flatly.

  “Officer…”, began Garcia.

  “Got it”, shouted the rookie, obviously very happy to interject before the situation escalated.

  Vargas left Garcia to fume and approached the rookie, who was bent over and pointing at a fluttering white handkerchief snagged in a nearby chain link fence. Another rookie broke ranks with Garcia and followed.

  Garcia glared at both of them.

  With carefully practiced precision she had learned at the academy, she put on latex gloves and removed an evidence bag from a satchel under her arm.

  As she carefully marked the evidence bag and placed the handkerchief inside, the two rookies stared at each other wide-eyed. Not only had they never seen an evidence bag being used in actual practice, they were astonished that the female officer had correctly predicted they would find a white men’s handkerchief.

  All pretense evaporated as the two rookies chose sides and began a sweep of the area in earnest. By this time a few other officers who had not been part of the Garcia clutch had begun to leave the sidelines and secure the crime scene, sweep the area, and take notes. It seemed that with one simple act of protest Alexandra had ignited passion in some of the youngest police officers.

  Garcia and his cohorts marched angrily to their vehicles, slammed the doors, and drove off in a cloud of dust and squealing tires. Alexandra and her newly acquired sycophants were left behind to comb through the sand and trees surrounding the crime scene.

  “Ma’am”, a young man queried from the far side of the banyan tree, “what else should we be looking for?”

  Alexandra paused, took in the inquiring faces of the remaining officers, and then glanced at the area around the body. The body was caught in a tree inside the perimeter of the campground entrance. The campground entrance was separated from the main road by a large chain link fence against which the ocean breezes blew anything loose, including the white handkerchief the rookie had just discovered.

  Alexandra began to tick off lines from the operational manual. “First, maintain the crime scene. Look for anything out of the ordinary. Sweep from the crime scene outward...”

  Alexandra spent a few more minutes finalizing instructions and then released the small group to perform their assigned functions. It was the first time many of the officers had ever been given specific instructions, allowed hands on experience at a crime scene, or even been treated as a legitimate police officer. Within the hour the entire crime scene had been processed and an amazing eight reports had been filed with Alexandra including notations on everything from climatic conditions to vegetation and debris surrounding the banyan tree.

  Unlike the last crime scene, this location had a relatively small amount of debris in the immediate area. As Alexandra scanned through the evidence bags which had been collected, she made a mental note of the items. Most of the items had obviously been on the beach for weeks, months, or even years. She didn’t criticize the young recruits for including these obviously inconsequential items. Their thoroughness indicated that if any relevant evidence were left on the beach, it would be found.

  Which is exactly what happened as she neared the bottom of the evidence pile. One bag contained a club flier with photo of a muscled shirtless man. Underneath the picture was a banner which read “Christmas Ballz: Free Drink With Toys For Tots Drive”. Listed below that was the name of a nearby establishment. “Ely’s Place – Kiosk 10”.

  A wave of relief flooded through Alexandra. The flier would not have survived a full year on this beach. Christmas was two weeks away. It was her first concrete lead. The shiny club flyer had fingerprints, she could already see smudges with her naked eye. If a Christmas miracle were possible, then the fingerprints on the flyer might match her victim’s. If so, she finally would have an address to begin asking questions.

  She peered over for a last glance at the victim under the banyan tree. The morning sun had passed around to the front of the tree and its rays were now bouncing off the cradled victim.

  There was a logo on the front of young corpse’s bright pink T-shirt. It was silver metallic lettering. The letters glinted brightly under the Caribbean sun, spelling the name “Ibiza”.

  ‹11›

  The afternoon after his meeting with Esteban, Fernando left work at six and went straight to Lila’s. Although not a heavy drinker, he spent the next hour downing several beers. As the crowd grew his mood grew darker. By now the exterior of Lila’s had become laden with smoke from the cigar shop next door. The sickening sweet smell of the cigars caused Fernando’s stomach to churn. Two heavy cigarette smokers occupied the table next to the open door, and a haze of the toxins wafted in his direction. He sputtered and coughed. He decided he had finally had enough. Fernando rose to walk into open night air and seek respite from the incessant assault on his lungs.

  As Fernando drifted past the outdoor ATM machine he gratefully sucked in a lungful of fresh tropical late evening air.

  He enjoyed the bit of quiet that the street offered as well. Fernando was well-liked at Lila’s, and could scarcely walk a step without being greeted by a handshake or embrace. His amiable personality and undeniable good looks made him an object of admiration. His gentle open nature always attracted a crowd when arrived. He needed to take a break from the deluge of constant conversation and introductions. He had tried to beg off from engaging in small talk. He had wanted to be in a crowd, but he wanted to be hidden as well. Being the center of attention was not where he wanted to be tonight of all nights, and after an hour he couldn’t take any more of the cigarettes, cigars, noise, and interruptions. He wanted to be alone.

  He hadn’t spoken with Phillip since Phillip’s abrupt departure. After Esteban’s suggestion about drugs, he was doubting everything. The days after he had first met Phillip had been the happiest in his life. He had lived an entire lifetime in his mind, repeating images of the two moving to a home together in San Juan, and cooking meals for each other, sharing each other’s clothes and jokes.

  Leaving the sounds of salsa and the boisterous laughter of La Placita behind him, he wandered towards his car. Then, as if an afterthought, he mindlessly passed by the parking lot entrance and aimlessly walked up Calle Duffaut towards Avenida Ponce de Leon. He spotted a concrete retaining wall that looked like a comfortable spot to sit. He seated himself on it and casually took a sip from the opened can of beer he had brought from Lila’s. He wrapped a napkin around it to keep the condensation from dripping, and took another gulp. As he did, he heard a small cry, from behind him just below the wall. He peered behind the wall, and there lay a black and white form, almost completely hidden in the darkness. From below a heap of matted fur, two brown eyes glistened under the street lights.

  “Hey buddy, what are you doing here?” asked Fernando as he stretched out his hand. A tongue licked Fernando’s hand gently as a weak whine rose from the figure, a muddied emaciated dog.

  The dog responded to his strokes, whimpering and licking Fernando’s wrist in gratitude for the small kindness Fernando was showing him. Fernando paused stroking the dog for a moment, and the dog rested its head against Fernando’s hand. The animal was trembling slightly, expending its last energy to keep his head raised and meet Fernando’s gentle caresses.

  Fernando petted the dog for a few minutes, finished his beer, and started to leave. The dog whined in protest, and attempted to rise to its feet. In its weakened condition it could barely lift itself onto two legs. It fell feebly back to the ground, its longing eyes pee
ring upwards at Fernando. Fernando could see in the animal’s eyes that it knew this was its last night on earth without some type of miracle.

  “Buddy, I can’t take you home.” Fernando rose again to leave the ledge, and again a feeble whine rose from behind it.

  “Ok, what if I buy you some food?” Fernando could live with his conscience if he at least tried to do something for the helpless creature. He was already emotionally vulnerable. He couldn’t handle a guilty conscience of top of that.

  It is most often when people are at their lowest point that their true colors display themselves. Some people become angry and fill their minds with hate. Others turn to addiction. A few, a very few, open their hearts. They meet slights with smiles, turn calamities into kindness, and extend the last reserve of their energy to embrace those have already succumbed to hopelessness. Fernando was one those people.

  “I’ll be right back”.

  The dog seemed to understand, and rested his head on a limp paw, watching Fernando until he had disappeared around the corner.

  Fifteen minutes later Fernando returned with a bagload of cooked and semi-cooked meat he had purchased at a nearby restaurant. He had told a waiter about the stray dog, and the manager had returned and sold him five dollars in unseasoned raw chicken and pork. He had made Fernando promise that it was meant for a dog, and not for human consumption.

  Fernando placed the meat in front of the dog. Rather than immediately gobble up the food, the dog looked up at Fernando as if asking permission. Fernando signaled it was okay to eat, and the dog began nibbling and eating. Even starved and nearly dead, the animal was respectful and well-behaved. It had obviously been domesticated and then dumped to fend for itself, a recipe for death on San Juan’s harsh impoverished streets.

  A little while later, after having eaten every scrap of meat and licking the leaves and grass clean of any residue, the dog remembered to try to circle the retaining wall and thank his benefactor. Still unable to walk steadily, the animal brushed up against Fernando’s leg and leaned again him. It placed its chin into Fernando’s cupped hand, sensing that Fernando needed more affection than he did.

  Fernando could hold his tears back no longer. With a deep gulp and cry, he let his pain loose in a torrent of tears. He bent down and hugged the dirty animal’s neck, burying his face into the black and white matted hair. The dog gently turned its head to lick Fernando’s face, nuzzling against Fernando’s shoulder to give Fernando a pillow on which to rest his head.

  Fernando cried for several minutes, his heart ripped apart and still raw from the wounds Phillip had inflicted upon him. He cried for Phillip, for himself, and for everything that was causing him pain. He cried about the artificial world he was living in and about the lies he had to tell his family. He cried about the unbearable fear he faced each day at work wondering if his secret had been discovered. He even cried for the stray dog.

  After a bit, Fernando composed himself. Without a second thought, he patted the dog, stood, and started to walk back to his car.

  He turned around and looked down in the big brown eyes of his new friend.

  “You coming?”

  ‹12›

  Alexandra found the owner of Ely’s Place in the rear of the store, sweeping up Ficus leaves. Ely’s Place was located at Kiosk #10. The Kiosks are a series of sixty bars and restaurants that line Playa Fortuna in Luquillo, Puerto Rico. Some bear names, but most are identified by the number they occupy along the long line of concrete storefronts.

  They were originally wooden shacks that lined the ocean and served local food and beer to vacationing islanders. However, Hurricane Hugo ripped through the flimsy structures in 1989. Through government loans and assistance, the Kiosks were rebuilt as solid concrete structures with a paved road and parking running parallel to Route 3.

  Lydia had purchased her Kiosk two years earlier and was enjoying a brisk business as the only lesbian and gay bar on the eastern side of Puerto Rico. Ely’s Place was a long restaurant with a bar and barstools on the left, restaurant in the rear, and an outdoor patio. The bar featured heating lamps for food and an assortment of liquor bottles. The restaurant’s most prominent features were a jukebox and an artificial Christmas tree. Under the tree lay assorted gifts, all obviously intended for children, wrapped in playful wrapping paper and bound by bows and ribbons. The rear courtyard was separated from the beach by five-foot cement wall painted in pale pastel colors.

  “Good morning. I’m Officer Alexandra Vargas, Puerto Rico Police Department,” she stated, extending her card.

  “On, I am Lydia Ortiz. Welcome to Ely’s Place!” the owner replied as she tucked the broom and dust bucket into a nearby supply closet. “How can I help the police?”

  Alexandra followed Lydia to a cement table where the two seated themselves. She untied her growing accordion folder holding notes on the Van Dusen murders and took out her spiral notebook containing her handwritten notes. The folder was no longer crisp and new. Long hours of reviewing the evidence contained inside them and accompanying her on her numerous visits to the crime scenes had taken their toll. Nevertheless, the contents inside the folder remained perfectly organized, paper clipped, and neatly updated with any minutia of evidence that crossed Alexandra’s path.

  Lydia noted Alexandra’s poised appearance. Alexandra’s short cropped haircut, starched shirt and sensible low-heeled shoes marked Alexandra Vargas as a no-nonsense, no-frills female officer.

  Alexandra pulled her cell phone out and selected a photograph. She handed the phone with the picture to Lydia. “This flyer was found at a crime scene. The prints on the flyer match those of the victim’s. As you can see, it is from this bar. I am hoping can you help me identify the victim and maybe provide some information regarding the incident.”

  “That’s our flyer. What crime, did someone get hurt?” Lydia intoned, suddenly concerned.

  “I’m afraid it relates to a homicide. There was a murder which occurred over the weekend just down the beach there.” Alexandra signaled in the direction where the young man in the Ibiza shirt had been discovered.

  “I heard about that. My friend owns the T-shirt shop over there and was telling me. Horrible! Who was he?”

  Alexandra took her phone back, swiped to another photograph, and handed it back to Lydia. This time it was a picture of the deceased young man. “This is a photograph of the victim, do you recognize him?”

  Lydia looked at the photo and her eyes widened. “I’ve seen him, here. I don’t know if he was here this weekend, but I have seen him here.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  Lydia Ortiz sucked in a breath of air and paused. “He is from Fajardo, I believe. He stops by here every once in a while. He goes out to the bars in San Juan.”

  Lydia paused a for a second. Lydia Ortiz was a Nuyorican. She had grown up in the Bronx and worked for the city for twenty years where she had accumulated a tidy pension. That retirement money, combined with her years of frugal living, had resulted in a tidy nest egg. At 52, she converted her nest egg into a lucrative business catering to gays and lesbians in her homeland of Puerto Rico. Ely’s Place was both her dream and her retirement. Its patrons were her livelihood. Lydia didn’t give two hoots what the Puerto Rican police department thought of gays and lesbians. The streets of New York had made her immune to intimidation. She would be truthful, even forceful if necessary. No one messed with her customers.

  “You know that he was gay, right?” Lydia demanded. Her tone made it clear that this was not a question.

  “I assumed as much from the flyer,” Alexandra laid her phone on the table and continued. “What else can you tell me about him?” She grabbed her pen and pad and prepared to take notes. Alexandra was secretly ecstatic. This was the first witness she had located in any of the Van Dusen murders, and the young man in the Ibiza shirt was the only other victim for whom she had located witnesses except for Van Dusen. The young man was from Fajardo. It would be much easier now to get a name. />
  “I don’t know a lot. This is horrible. Why would someone want to kill him? Was it a gay bashing?” Lydia was obviously concerned about the implications of one of her patrons being murdered just steps away from her bar. She rose to offer Alexandra a drink. “This is very distressing, you understand. I really didn’t know him at all, I just have seen him at the bar. He never eats here, gets here too late.”

  Alexandra declined the offer of a drink, and scribbled some notes in her pad. “I do not know the motive yet. Which is why I need your help. Is there anyone who might know more about him, say your bartender?”

  Lydia pulled out her cell and dialed a number. “Cookie. Get down to the bar immediately. It’s important. How soon can you get here?” She hung up and looked up at the officer. “She will be here in a few minutes, she just lives over by the Outlets.”

  Alexandra nodded, and chatted with Lydia for a few minutes. A bit later a new customer arrived, which required the proprietress’ attention.

  Alexandra made use of the time by walking around the restaurant, making note of flyers sprinkled around the bar like the one she had found near the body. There were no security cameras inside or outside the bar. All evidence would have to come from eyewitness accounts

  Cookie arrived a few minutes later. She was a waiflike attractive black girl in her mid-twenties. The three took a seat, and after introductions were made, Alexandra began to question her.

  “What can tell me about this individual?”

  Cookie examined the photograph and gasped. “That’s what his name…Tony. From Fajardo!” Cookie looked up at Alexandra in horror. “Oh my god, I can’t believe it. I just saw him Friday night.”

  Alexandra was already fully awake from the three cups of coffee she had downed earlier that morning. However, when she heard that the victim had been seen the night before his body had been discovered, she immediately focused her attention. “What can you tell me about Friday night. Was he with anyone, did he leave or arrive with anyone, did he speak to anybody?”