Rag and Bone (32 page)

In Spanish, he said, “Señor Rios. I can only talk a few minutes before I have to go back to work.”

“I only need a few minutes, Reverend Ortega. I thought you were a full-time preacher.”

He smiled. “My people are poor. I work here to support my family.” He gestured toward the food court. “May I buy you lunch?”

“Thanks, but I’ve eaten. You go ahead.”

He lifted a grease-stained brown bag. “This is my lunch. Shall we sit down?”

I bought a cup of coffee and joined him at a table that looked down on six levels of stores that sold such essentials as German nose-hair clippers and two-thousand-dollar Italian suits made of wool so fine you could a read a paper through it. There were no children or old people among the hundreds of well-dressed shoppers; just sleek, well-groomed youngish white people whose eyes seemed to register nothing but the next purchase. The only conversations going on were into cell phones. I looked at Ortega’s face, the dark skin pitted with acne scars, the thick eyebrows wild as an Old Testament prophet, and thought that in his homeliness, humility and forbearance he must represent everything the mall mannequins were desperate to escape. He was not simply of a different ethnicity than most of them, he was of a different species. There were vast divides of education and experience between Ortega and me, but we were at least of the same genus.

“Vicky didn’t kill Pete,” I told him as he munched a homemade taco of chorizo fried with eggs and potatoes. “Pete’s cousin Butch is the murderer. Why is she protecting him?”

He chewed and swallowed deliberatively. “How do you know this?”

“Please, Reverend, there’s no time. Unless I get the whole story by Friday, she’ll go to prison and her husband’s murderer will go free.”

“Her sacrifice is not for him, it is for her son.”

“I don’t understand. What does Angel have to do with this?”

“This man, Butch. After he killed her husband, he told her if she went to the police he would come back and kill Angel, too. His own son.”

I don’t know which bit of information stunned me more. “Angel is Butch’s son?”

“Vicky told me that when Pete went to jail for some little crime, he asked Butch to take care of her for him. Butch tried to turn her into a prostitute and he made her sleep with him. She became pregnant with Angel.”

“So Pete must have known.”

He shook his head. “He only knew Angel was not his son. She told him that she had been raped, but would not tell him who did it.”

“Was she afraid he would go after Butch?”

“She was more afraid of Butch. He is an evil person, Señor Rios. A man who would threaten to kill his own son.”

“So she pled guilty to protect Angel from Butch.”

“To save his life.”

“Does Angel know who his father is?”

“She never told him,” he said. “But you know Angelito is a very intelligent boy who does not tell everything he knows.”

“I can’t let her go to prison to protect this thug. She’s innocent.”

He regarded me gravely. “I agree with you. I tried to convince her to tell you the truth, but she is afraid that you would make her tell the police Butch killed Peter, and Butch would hurt Angel.”

“You said yourself he is an evil man. He has to be stopped. I can protect Angel and Vicky.”

“She will not tell the police about Butch.”

“Then I’ll have a find a way so that she doesn’t have to.”

“You can do that?”

“I can try,” I said.

As I drove to the jail to confront Vicky, I began to formulate a plan. The young cop at reception was surprised to see me without Angel, and so was Vicky when they brought her into the interview room. We sat down. I launched into it, to catch her off guard.

“I know Butch killed Pete. I’m not going let you take the rap for him.”

“Butch? No, I did it.”

“Stop it, Vicky. Ortega told me and he told me why. You think you’re going to prison to protect Angel? No, you’re protecting Butch. Is that what you want? For the man who killed your husband to go free to kill again?”

“You don’t know what he’s like,” she said fearfully.

“I do know what he’s like,” I said. “He came to Pete’s funeral.”

I described how Butch had desecrated Pete’s body and then showed up at the burial. She lowered her head as if to ward off blows.

“Animal,” she said with quiet fury.

“That’s what your Aunt Mary said,” I replied. “I think she and Socorro knew that Butch was behind it. I also think they knew he’s the person who attacked Jesusita. You know that, too, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “When you told me about Jesusita, I knew it was Butch.”

“That’s how he found out where you and Pete and Angel were staying.”

“She only told him because he beat her up.”

“He put her in a coma. Don’t you see, Vicky? He’s psycho. You can’t protect Angel from him by going to prison, because sooner or later Butch will figure out what I figured out—you told Angel that Butch killed Pete.”

“How did you know?”

“Because you love him too much to let him grow up thinking that his mother killed the man he believes is his father.”

“I know it was wrong to tell him,” she said, her eyes filling. “He’s already been through so much.”

“Butch will come looking for him. You won’t be able to help me protect him if you’re in prison, but you and I and Elena can make sure nothing happens to Angelito.”

She wiped away the tears and nodded. “Tell me what to do.”

“What really happened that night?”

“It’s a long story, Uncle.”

“I’ve been waiting a long time to hear it.”

“I was in San Francisco waiting for Pete to get out of jail. Jesusita called me and told me that Butch had come back from Mexico and found out that Pete was still alive. They tried to kill him in prison.”

“I know. His P.D. told me they shanked him in the yard.”

“Jesusita called to warn me that Butch knew where I was living, but it was too late. He found me and beat me.”

“Why?”

“It was a warning, to Pete,” she said. “I went to the shelter, but when they told me to leave, I knew I had to go somewhere where Butch couldn’t find me. I never told anyone that I had my mom’s address, so I went there.”

“Until Pete was released,” I guessed. “Then you rejoined him.”

She nodded. “Miss Yee, she got him in witness protection and they sent him to this town. Turlock. He called his mom and told her where he was and she told me.”

I remembered the bus tickets I had found at the motel. “Why did you come back to L.A.?”

“We didn’t know no one in Turlock. Pete got depressed and started using again. He lost the job they got him and we ran out of money. I was afraid he would start stealing again to support his habit, and go back to jail. I didn’t want to come back to L.A. because of Butch, but we didn’t have nowhere else to go. To be safe, we split up. Pete went to his mom’s. I took Angel and we found you.”

“Then what happened?”

“Jesusita told Pete she would borrow some money on her house and give it to us to go away. That’s what we were waiting for when Butch came.” She bit her lip. “Jesusita was the only one who knew where we were. It’s my fault Butch hurt her.”

“What happened when he came to the motel?”

“Pete was spending all our money on drugs. They were going to evict us. We were fighting all day. He hit me. He never hit me before. But Pete was different than before. He was so scared all the time that he bought a gun. I was afraid of what was happening to him. That night, after he hit me, I told Angel to go wait in the car and I started to pack. This time I was going to leave him for real and go back to my mom. Pete started crying and begging me to give him another chance.” She shook her head. “I told him I had had it, that when we got the money from his mom, he’d just shoot it up. Someone knocked at the door. I thought it was the manager because we were so loud, but it was Butch. The next I knew, Pete grabbed his gun and started shooting. Butch started shooting back. I got down on the floor and covered my ears. Butch jumped Pete and knocked the gun out of his hand. Then he made him get on his knees. Pete was begging for his life. Butch shot him. It happened so fast I didn’t even have time to scream.”

“Where was Angel?”

“I don’t know. Butch dragged me around the floor by my hair.” She winced at the memory. “He was calling me names and slapping me around. He dragged me over to Pete and said, ‘Bitch, this is what happens to snitches.’ He told me if I went to the cops, he would come back and make me watch him kill Angel before he killed me. I swore I wouldn’t tell anyone if he would leave us alone. He said he would be watching me. Then he raped me.”

“God.”

“He came on my face, to humiliate me. Then he left. I wiped him off, and then the next thing I remember is the police and the ambulance.”

“What did you wipe your face with?”

She looked at me as if I were crazy. “What?”

“This could be important.”

“A T-shirt or something. I don’t remember exactly.”

“Ortega told me something else. He told me that Angel is Butch’s son. Is that true?”

“Yes,” she said. “I met him and Pete at a party when I was seventeen. They were close, like brothers. Pete got picked up on some warrant and had to go to jail. Butch said he would take care of me.”

“Ortega said he pimped you.”

“That’s when I learned what he was really like.”

“Did he rape you back then, too?”

She shook her head. “I thought he loved me. I was only nineteen. I was stupid. I was stupid about Butch and Pete. The only good thing I ever got out of either of them was my Angel.” She looked at me, alarmed. “You have to swear you won’t tell Angel who his dad is.”

“That’s between you and him.”

“You think I’m a bad mother.”

“I think you’ve done everything you can to protect him,” I said. “Now I’m asking you to let me help.”

She was silent a moment. “Remember when you said I didn’t like you?”

“That doesn’t matter as long as you can trust me.”

“Pete was a
joto.”

I stared at her. “Pete was a homosexual?”

She nodded. “His mom knew. She tried to tell me when Pete and me moved in with her, but I was young, I didn’t understand. One night, he came home late. I heard his car in the driveway, but he didn’t come inside for a long time. I went to see if he was okay. There was another man in the car and Pete’s head was in his lap doing—you know. Pete swore that was the first time and begged me not to tell anyone. I never did, but I know there was other times, other guys. I thought you must be like Pete because you’re gay, too.”

“Like Pete how?”

“Weak. But you’re not. You’re a man.”

I accepted the oblique apology. What she had told me explained much of her antagonism toward me, but I knew there were other things that divided us, basic differences in temperament. Maybe we could work them out over time. Maybe not.

“I’m going to try to do something in court on Friday to get the charge against you dismissed without you having to roll on Butch, but someday you may have to testify against him. Are you willing to do that?”

“I’ll do whatever you tell me to,” she said simply.

“All right, Mr. Rios,” Judge Ryan said. “You convened this little meeting. What do you want to talk about?”

She spoke lightly, but with an undertone of judicial annoyance. She had expected to be on the bench conducting Vicky’s sentencing hearing. Instead, I had corralled Kim Pearsall as soon as he had entered the courtroom and asked Ryan’s clerk if we could speak to the judge in chambers. As she gazed at me over her half-glasses, I could hear the ticking of her patience.

“Your Honor, I want to make a motion to withdraw the plea.”

Pearsall exclaimed, “What!”

She lifted a restraining hand toward him and said to me, “Henry, this had better be good.”

“If I can just explain.”

“You do that.”

For the next half-hour, I laid it all out for them, from Pete’s decision to roll on Butch and his gang to the shooting in the motel and Butch’s threat. I told them that Morgan Yee was in her office in San Francisco ready to corroborate my account of Pete’s plea and its consequences. I showed them an incident report from San Quentin about the prison stabbing, provided them with the name of the agent in witness protection who had arranged to move Pete to the central valley. I told them that I had gone through the suitcase from the motel and found a sweater with blood and semen stains that I had sent out for preliminary DNA analysis and that I expected the semen sample would yield Narciso Trujillo’s DNA. I showed an affidavit from Socorro Cerda recounting the events at the cemetery and the attack on her mother.

“So let me understand,” Judge Ryan said when I finished. “You want to withdraw the plea and go to trial with this new evidence.” She glanced at Pearsall. “Based on his offer of proof, counsel, you’re going to have a hard time convicting.”

“I can’t present this evidence at trial,” I said.

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “You have evidence exonerating your client, but you won’t put it on?”

“Judge, this evidence is not sufficient by itself to prove that Butch killed Pete. My niece would have to testify, and I can’t let her do that while Butch remains at large.”

“She fears retaliation?”

“Exactly.”

The judge tapped a manicured finger on her desk. “Then what do you propose to do, Mr. Rios?”

“Your Honor, I’d like you to grant the defendant’s motion to withdraw her plea and then suppress her confession.” I turned to Pearsall. “You don’t have a case without the confession. You announce that you’re unable to proceed for lack of evidence, and then Judge Ryan dismisses the charges.”

“Dude, that’s crazy,” he said, forgetting in his excitement where he was.

“Whatever that means,” Ryan said. “I think I agree. A dismissal under those circumstances is not an acquittal. Why would you want that?”

“It’s the only way to get her out of jail and to get the cops to reopen the investigation and catch Butch.” I pushed the pile of documents at Pearsall. “I’m practically making your case for you.”

“What if it turns out you’re just feeding me a line? Your client gets a walk.”