The Mamacita Murders Page 13

  I rush back towards the side gate, following Kiki back to the pathway leading past Cruz’s front door to get back to my car. Suddenly, the front door opens from behind us.

  We stop in our tracks.

  Should I run?

  Stay calm. Breathe. Walk steady.

  I turn to face the front door. Cruz looks right through me, not even recognizing who I am. He balances his unsteady body with his hand against his door jamb.

  “Can I help you with something?” Cruz says, slurring his words. I stare at Cruz, seeing my stepfather’s face in his. So many times I tried to speak to my stepfather, but I could never have a decent conversation with him. He was always so drunk, so belligerent, and so mean. I always wanted to ask him why he treated my mom the way he did and why he ruined every opportunity I had to spend time with her. But anytime I’d get the courage to, he’d look at me with those same glassy eyes, that smell on his breath, those unsteady feet, and I would walk away.

  “I’m sorry, sir, we have the wrong house,” I say, turning to leave and exhaling as I hear the front door slam shut.

  16

  RUSH REQUEST

  Within twenty minutes of leaving Cruz’s home, Kiki and I stand in the lobby at the Crime Lab with criminalist Miranda Jules.

  “Miss Jules,” I begin. “I know that you’re not supposed to talk about these things until they’re reviewed, but my office is going to be making a filing decision Monday. I came here to ask if you could share the results of your DNA analysis with me.”

  “Well, I do understand the time constraints you have for your filing decision,” Miranda says. “However, it has always been my practice to wait until my work has been reviewed before I disclose it.”

  “How long is that going to take?”

  “At least thirty-six hours.”

  “Does that include the weekend?”

  “We’re talking about business hours. I already rushed all the analysis for you. I’m not going to ask my supervisor to work the weekend to accommodate your office. We are, as you know, understaffed and in a major budget crisis right now,” Miranda says.

  “I understand that and I don’t want to rush anyone,” I say. “But our office needs to make a filing decision on whether or not the person we have in custody is actually the person who committed the crime.”

  “Well, Dylan seems to be sure you guys have the right guy,” Miranda says. “In fact, when I spoke to him a little while ago, he didn’t seem to care about knowing the results at all. He told me not to rush anything.”

  “I’m not speaking about Dylan,” I say impatiently. “And Dylan’s not making the filing decision in this case. I am, or at least I’m going to present the case in a staffing on Monday. And I’m trying to get prepared. I’m just asking you to let me know preliminarily what the results are. I’m not gonna hold you to it or even mention it, but I just personally want to know if we have the right person. I can’t file a case until I believe I can prove it beyond a reasonable doubt.”

  I stare at Jules, wanting to rip off her glasses or grab her by the throat. It takes all of me to stay calm while I listen to her. She lowers her voice.

  “Look,” Miranda says curtly, “I know you’re probably thinking there are other criminalists here in this laboratory that have no problem sharing this information with you. But like I said when we first met, that is not my procedure.

  “There’s a reason that I’m well respected in the community, by the laboratory, by the state licensing committee, criminal defense attorneys, and prosecutors. It’s because I hold myself to higher standards. And what that means is that I follow the rules. I don’t cut corners. Or do favors. I do my work.”

  Just twenty-four hours ago, this same woman seemed so much more helpful. I decide to remind her, since I can’t keep my mouth shut.

  “You were willing to do us a favor and rush the DNA in this case when Dylan was here. Did that have anything to do with it?” I ask.

  “This has nothing to do with Dylan. I don’t know what your problem is with me,” Miranda says. “I did you a favor by rushing this case because you told me how important it was to you. I’ve been working on this case non-stop since yesterday. You showed me a picture of your victim and I did everything I could to help. But I’m not going to rush my supervisors and ask them to work through the weekend just to accommodate you.”

  “Of course you won’t. Let’s pretend I tell you it’s important to Dylan. Now how do you feel about rushing it?” I ask in a sarcastic tone.

  “Ms. Ruiz, this has nothing to do with Dylan,” Miranda says.

  “Don’t tell me he asked you to delay this?”

  “No, he hasn’t.”

  “Which supervisor is going to be doing the administrative review?” I ask.

  “I don’t know because it hasn’t been assigned yet,” she replies.

  I decide to raise my voice to get my point across.

  “What do you mean it hasn’t been assigned?” I ask. “I specifically asked this case be given priority. We have to make a filing decision by Monday. And I’m only asking you for some preliminary results.”

  Lloyd Stanley, the crime lab supervisor, opens the door, which leads to the main area of the Crime Lab. He peeks his head into the lobby.

  “Is everything okay out there?” asks Lloyd.

  “No, it’s not,” I say. “I’m trying to get some preliminary information on DNA results and Ms. Jules can’t help me because they still need to be reviewed.”

  “Well, I’m the person who’s going to be doing the review, so maybe I can answer some questions for you. Why don’t we go down to the conference room?” says Lloyd.

  “Thank you,” I say, walking past and ignoring Miranda as I follow Lloyd into the Crime Lab with Kiki.

  Kiki and I sit near each other at the same conference table I sat with Dylan yesterday. Lloyd sits down next to Miranda.

  “What do you want to know?” Lloyd asks.

  “Anything you can tell me. Let’s start with the belt that was tied around her wrists. How many profiles were found on that?” I ask.

  “I can answer that,” Miranda says. “I’ve created a report based on how many different profiles there were. Other than Laura’s DNA, there was one other person found on the actual belt. But the results need to go through administrative review. It’s especially important in this case, which I’m sure Lloyd will agree with, because it needs to get uploaded into the DNA database.”

  Any unknown DNA profiles found on crime scene evidence are uploaded into the DNA database. This means that the DNA Miranda found on the belt is not Clown’s. If it was his, she would know since we gave her his DNA sample.

  “Something you need to understand from my standpoint is the importance of the technical review, especially in this case, because it’s getting uploaded in the database. My findings need to be one hundred percent correct. Because uploading an inaccurate profile can subject some innocent person to prosecution if there was a match. This is why we need to stick to the rules,” Miranda explains.

  I think for a second how I’ve been subjected to all kinds of inaccurate matches lately, at least with online dating. This morning, I was matched with Bo, a five-foot-six man with a few extra pounds; he has three kids, completed up to high school, and owns a car. The database thought we were a good match because we both like dogs. If online dating websites had the same quality assurance as DNA, maybe I wouldn’t be subjected to so much persecution. After all, I’m an innocent single female, too.

  I look back at Miranda.

  “There are strict regulations set by the state that require this lab to follow rules before the profile is uploaded,” she says.

  “I fully understand, Ms. Jules,” I say. “I understand how the integrity of your laboratory is important. I know that you hold state regulations and your license with high regard. This lab and your work is your livelihood. I get it. And I want to respect that. So in order for you to upload that profile into the database and search it against oth
er DNA profiles, that means one thing. You don’t know whose DNA is on the belt. That means it’s not Clown’s.”

  Miranda stays silent. Kiki looks at me with big eyes.

  “You’re one smart prosecutor,” says Lloyd, winking at me.

  “What about the swabs that were taken from Laura’s vagina? Do you know how many people she had sex with?”

  “I produced a report on that, too. It appears the DNA of two separate men were found inside her vagina; one being a major profile and the other being a minor profile.”

  A major profile is a simple way of saying there’s more DNA there. It probably means it’s from someone who ejaculated a lot, recently. A minor profile is someone who was there further back in time, or ejaculated less than the major guy. Basically, Laura had sex with two guys recently. But for my purposes, all I care about is who last had sex with her at the motel and left her for dead. I got the hang of how Miranda would be willing to answer these questions where she would not be violating her ethical obligations. So I asked her questions in her own language, the scientific psychobabble that she wanted.

  “Let me ask you this. Will either of the DNA profiles that you found inside Laura’s vagina be uploaded into the DNA database, too?”

  “Yes, one of them will be. The other one does not need to be.”

  Bingo. What Miranda just told me was that one of the vagina profiles belongs to Clown. The other one was unknown and that’s why it needs to be uploaded into the database.

  “Let me ask you one more question. Which profile will be uploaded into the database? The major or the minor one?”

  Miranda stays quiet and glares at me. She doesn’t want to answer my question.

  “The major DNA profile will be uploaded into the database. We know who the minor belongs to,” says Lloyd.

  What Lloyd just told me was that whoever last had sex with Laura is not Clown; it’s someone else.

  “When will these profiles be uploaded into the database?” I ask.

  “By the end of the day,” says Lloyd.

  “One last thing,” I say. “Was there anything found on the flamingo vase?”

  “Oh, that’s what that thing is. I could tell by the body it was a bird. But I couldn’t tell what kind with the head broken off,” says Miranda laughing, finally lightening up. “There’s nothing significant about the blood on the vase. It was Laura’s along with traces of other people,” Miranda says.

  “What do you mean traces?” I ask.

  “I wouldn’t be concerned with the trace DNA. That could be people that just touched the vase at some point in the past. It could belong to the cleaning lady or another motel guest. Plus, that vase was lying on the floor, where people walk and shed skin cells or drip semen on the way to the bathroom. The trace DNA can be from any of those sources. Laura got assaulted in a dirty motel room and you’re going to have a lot of DNA in there. But it’s not all going to be forensically relevant.

  “You should be focusing on the fingerprint on the vase Dylan told me you guys had. And I’m assuming that belongs to her boyfriend,” says Miranda.

  “You’re right, that would be assuming,” I say.

  “Excuse me?” asks Miranda.

  “Dylan didn’t tell you?” I ask sarcastically.

  “Tell me what?” Miranda asks.

  “It’s not his print,” I say.

  Silence fills the room and Miranda looks like I just told her she had cancer.

  17

  WHAT DO YOU KNOW

  Later in the evening after leaving the Crime Lab, I groove to the rhythm sounds and Reggae music at the Island Bar. I dance close to Bill, my dating website match whom I met three hours ago for the first time after three weeks of exchanging boring emails and phone conversations. This is the part I hate about being single. Every Friday night, I force myself to go out on random dates, usually with men I meet online. I started doing this a year ago after coming to terms with the fact Dylan and I were probably over.

  I reach down to make sure my pager is still on my hip attached to my low-cut jeans. I’m not supposed to drink alcohol or let anything get in the way of me and a dead body within one hour when I’m on the homicide pager. I feel the pager vibrating against my hip as Bill is grinding up on my leg.

  “What was that?” he asks.

  “I’m sorry. Remember, I told you I’m on call,” I say.

  “Oh, yeah. Do you gotta go?” asks Bill.

  I wonder if it’s Kiki, whom I had asked to page me while I’m on my date. She’s my escape route if the date wasn’t going well.

  “Let me see who’s calling. I’ll be back.”

  I make my way through the bar, sliding through the Paris Hilton and Jersey Shore lookalikes in their tan wedge sandals and short skirts, and onto the sidewalk of the main highway. I instantly smell the salt in the air and hear the waves crashing over the loud voices of the drunken patrons.

  I get a closer look at the pager and recognize Dylan’s number. A part of me wants to turn around and go back into the bar and grind on Bill the rest of the night. Dylan still hadn’t returned my calls since I left the Crime Lab. I feel as though he’s blowing me off. Another part of me wants to walk down to the Cove and just zone out and ask for answers.

  Just as my eyes start tearing up, I remember that I’m paid to answer the homicide pager, and this could be about an entirely different death having nothing to do with my relationship with Dylan. I pick up my cell phone and start dialing Dylan’s number.

  “This is Gaby Ruiz, I’m returning a call to the homicide pager,” I say.

  “So professional. You didn’t recognize my number?” says Dylan playfully.

  I stay silent.

  “Gaby, it’s Dylan.”

  “Hi, Dylan, what’s up?” I say.

  “Well, we have another homicide,” he says. “Officer Cruz was found dead in his car parked in his garage that was torched. We’re investigating it as an arson homicide. Some ground samples taken from the garage came back positive for igniter fluid.”

  “Are you serious?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I am. This investigation just keeps getting better and better,” says Dylan.

  “Cruz was placed on administrative leave. We asked him to come in for a mandatory interview Monday afternoon regarding Laura’s case. Then I got this call a few hours ago,” he says.

  “Dylan, why didn’t you tell me about Cruz sooner?” I ask. “We have a staffing in three days. And why didn’t you return my calls today? Laura’s in a coma, Javier’s case was dismissed, and now Cruz is dead? I mean, is this for real? Is it just me or is something strange going on?”

  “What are you talking about?” Dylan says, exasperated. “Don’t talk to me like I’m supposed to have all the answers. You know how this works. I can’t work miracles. Why don’t you go and ask your angels what the heck is going on if you think it’s that easy? We found Cruz’s card in Laura’s pocket and I told you I was looking into it. The Leafwood Police Department forced him to go on administrative leave while we were investigating his connection to Laura.

  “We asked him to come in and give a statement about why his card was found in Laura’s pocket. Then he turns up dead. Now you’re telling me things are strange. I don’t know what the heck is going on. But what I do know is that I’m calling you because you’re the on-call prosecutor and I have to,” says Dylan angrily.

  I hear a dial tone.

  He hung up on me. Just as I’m fantasizing about calling him every cuss word I can think of, I see him calling me back.

  “I’m sorry. I just needed to cool down,” says Dylan.

  “Dylan, why are you just calling me now and why didn’t you call me earlier to let me know you had an interview set up with Cruz?” I ask. “I told you from the start I wanted to be involved in every part of this investigation. But instead, I’m finding out hours later that you were planning this interview. And now, you’re calling to tell me that Cruz is dead.

  “I don’t know if you think I’m a
joke or because I’m just a female prosecutor that you don’t have to keep me in the loop. I’m sick of this. I’ve given you a lot of leeway. Do you realize that my job depends on this, my supervisor asks for updates, and Tanner sometimes calls her out on the carpet if she’s not being kept in the loop?” I say frustrated.

  “Gaby,” says Dylan, trying to calm me.

  “You might think it’s just a fun game, but I don’t. I don’t want to get in trouble. And people are getting demoted left and right these days with the economy tanking. Tanner already told me I’m off the case as soon as we staff this thing. The least you can do is help me save face.

  “I’m going to be asked questions on Monday like why should we file on Clown, was there anyone else involved, why shouldn’t we be looking at Cruz. Now I have to get up to speed on all of this because you didn’t have the professional courtesy to keep me in the loop,” I say.

  “You know what? If I friggin’ knew what Cruz had to do with this, I’d be more motivated to invite you down to the station,” Dylan says. “But his interview had to do with an internal investigation by the Police Administration. They were going to interview Cruz as an employee, not a suspect. You wouldn’t be able to use his interview because it’s forced and not voluntary.

  “I’m confident Clown is our guy. Cruz’s card being found in her pocket is a red herring. He was either in there sleeping with Laura or she had his card from some past investigation. I’m confident he didn’t assault Laura in that room. I’m one hundred percent sure it’s Clown.”

  “When were you going to talk to me about all the DNA findings?” I ask.

  “Why don’t you ask Ford? The Leafwood Police Department is still leading the investigation, both Laura’s case and now Cruz’s internal investigation. I’m working alongside these officers and don’t really know who’s in charge.

  “Look, I’m trying,” Dylan says. “I’m keeping you in the loop as much as I can. I’m now in charge of Cruz’s homicide, because he’s actually dead and possibly connected to a sex case. So it’s the Special Homicide Team’s jurisdiction. I can do more with this case now and direct what’s investigated.”