An Inconsequential Murder (21 page)

Signed by__________________on______

Lombardo needed to go only halfway down the page before understanding what the directive meant.

“
When is this going to be issued?” he asked.

The Director shrugged his shoulders, “In a couple of days.”

There was a silence and then the Director spoke. His words were said in an unusually calm voice. “Look, just write up a simple, final report: a body was found, foul play is suspected, and it looks like the work of the drug cartels.” He made a pause and then added, “I have better things for you to do than this.”

“
Why are they so eager to get rid of this case?”

“
I don’t know and I don’t care; just do as I say.” It was obvious that the question bothered the Director. He was relatively young for a Director of Investigations. He was a graduate of the State’s Law School and had worked in the State Prosecutor’s office before joining the Judicial Police. He had risen quickly since graduating five years before from the Judicial Police Academy.

He had often said that as a policeman it
was not in the best interest to question authority; it was in his interest to obey.

He would have a great career if he survived. The citizens of Monterrey had lost track of the number of Directors that had been murdered in the last few years. Was it 5 or 6? Lombardo himself, if asked, could probably not remember. Although younger than Lombardo, the Director already had more gray hair. “The reason you have less gray hair than me, Lombardo,” he had once said, “is that you have a lot more Indian blood.” The man was a bundle of charm.

Lombardo slapped the paper and said,
“You know that there is no ‘evidence’ that this was the work of the cartels. In fact, there is no ‘evidence’ period. We don’t even have a complete autopsy report, or a report from the forensic lab people going over the car, and the body has already been released. What the hell are they talking about? How can they proclaim that they have ‘sufficient evidence’ to say this was the work of the cartels?”

“
Look, this is a direct order from the Prosecutor and he got it straight from the Governor. It is not our case anymore. It has been turned over to the federal people.”

“
Yeah, where it will be put under a stack of unsolved cartel murders or they’ll blame it on the Zetas and wait until they catch a couple of ’em alive so they can pin all the unsolved cases on them.”

“
If that is the way they want it, I don’t care.” He pointed to the paper and said, “That says it is no longer my problem and I say it is no longer your problem. If they want to pin it on one of those murdering bastards from the Zeta gang, what’s the difference? They are all hired killers so what does it matter who goes to jail?”

“
It is not who goes to jail but why he goes to jail.”

“
What the hell are you talking about?”

“
The Federal Prosecutor and the State Prosecutor are tossing this case back and forth like it was a live grenade ready to explode. One day it’s their case, the next it’s ours. Some little guy is tortured and killed and all of a sudden everybody’s acting like the JFK cover up. Nobody wants to find the real killers.”

“
JFK cover up? What the hell are you talking about? Who’s covering up anything?”

Lombardo got up. “You and your damned boss, the State Prosecutor, and that damned incompetent drunk who is the governor of this glorious state.”

The Director got up, too. His face was red with rage. “Get out. Get out before I have you arrested for insubordination. No wonder they kicked your ass out of Guadalajara; you didn’t obey orders then and you don’t obey them now.”

“
They didn’t kick me out for not obeying orders; they kicked me out because I wouldn’t volunteer to shovel bullshit like this,” said Lombardo flinging the paper to the floor.

“
You’re not only off the case, you’re suspended!”

“
OK, I’m suspended. Who gives a damn?” Lombardo knew that the suspension didn’t mean anything. The Director would have to present it in writing to the policemen’s union and then to the state civil servants review board, so by the time there was a ruling two or three months from now, the case would either be forgotten or in the hands of a judge. Times had changed since he had joined the force. In the old days, the Director could have asked for his badge and he’d be in the street in five minutes. Now the unions had control over the firing and hiring of all civil servants, which included cops. Most of the cops fired nowadays were fired on corruption charges, which only needed an executive order. But proving corruption in Lombardo’s case was tough; some of the other cops in the Department disliked him precisely because of the opposite!

Lombardo walked out of the Director
’s office leaving the door open. Everyone in the office could hear the Director yelling into the phone that an order of suspension should be immediately issued against.…

He didn’t hear the rest because he walked down the hallway to his desk and picked up the paperwork and file on which he had been working. He went downstairs to the filing desk and asked the policewoman to copy the paperwork in the file and give him the copy.

“
Will you be upstairs, Captain?”

“
No, I’ll be in the bar down the street. If you bring it over I’ll buy you a drink.”

Her chubby face twisted into a smirk as she said, “I’ll have one of the cops at the door take it over to you.”

“
Aw, but they’re not as cute. Oh, well it’s your loss, darling,” he said as he turned to leave.

Part 4
: Day 4

Chapter
24: The Cowboys Play Dominoes

The crew leader and his two crew members took a taxi
from the shabby motel where they had been hiding for the last two days and went into the city. The crew leader asked the cabbie to take Lazaro Cárdenas Avenue and once there he would tell him where he wanted to go.

“
Check our sixes,” he said to the black man who discreetly turned to see if they were being followed.

When they reached the avenue, he called the safe number at the consulate.

“
Yes, this is Russell. Is John Wayne around? No? OK, I’ll call him at that number.”

He called John Wayne’s house. After a few rings, a gruff voice said, “Yes?”

“
We’re here in the city,” he announced simply.

“
OK, come on over. Do you know the address?”

“
Yeah, I’ve got it on my cell phone.”

“
Right; take two cabs. If you’re in a cab now, tell him to take you to López Mateo Avenue. There’s a soft drink bottler there; lots of gringos go there, so it’ll look natural. Take another cab from there and come here—not to the house, just the street; get off a block or two away and then walk the rest of the way, ok?”

“
Got it,” said the crew leader.

He told the cab driver where to go and when he saw the software bottling company, he told him to stop; he paid him off and waited until he had gone before hailing another cab. He gave this one only the street name and told him he’d give him further directions once they got there.

He stopped the cab when they got to the street in the Bougainvilleas area. Again they got off and waited until the cab had gone, then the three men continued for a block and a half to another street, which was lined with trees and large houses that were set 20 meters from the curb.

“
Nice digs,” said one of the men.

“
Yeah, John Wayne always picks inconspicuous places to live,” he said derisively.

“
Is that his real name? John Wayne?” asked the black man.

“
No. Nobody knows his name. That’s what he calls himself.”

They walked up to a house with a fence made of brown bricks topped with wrought iron railing. The crew chief saw that the fence was discreetly wired to warn of intruders. He pushed the button marked
timbre
.

A half-minute later he saw the curtain in one of the large windows move slightly. John Wayne was home.

Inside the house, a tall, bald man with a gun strapped to his shirtless body looked out the window through the slight opening in the curtain.

“
Ah, my guests have arrived,” he said derisively and turned to the three men that were sitting at a poker table. “You guys go into the kitchen. Let me talk to these guys.”

Th
e bald man went to the door and spoke into the intercom as he pushed the buzzer button: “Come on in, fellas.”

He left the door ajar and went over to the poker table to put on his shirt.

The three arrivals walked into the house cautiously; the crew leader squinted into the cool, semi-darkness of the house, the black man instinctively put his hand under his coat, and the third man waited a couple of seconds before going into the house.

“
Come on in, come on in,” said John Wayne, “and shut the door. I’ve got the air conditioner on.”

The three men relaxed when they saw that John Wayne was alone in the house.

“
Sit down and take it easy,” he said. “Wanna drink? There’s whiskey on that table, and ice in the bucket.”

The three men made no move to get a drink.

“
You got a poker game goin’?” asked the crew leader.

“
Had one,” said John Wayne lighting a cigarette. “They boys just left.”

“
Mm,” said the crew chief and he took out a packet of Lambert & Butler cigarettes. No one spoke while the crew chief lit up. “I’m glad we finally got to see you, John, after sitting around on our ass for two days.”

“
Well, I’ve been busy, boys.”

“
Playin’ poker?” asked the black man.

John Wayne ignored the dig. “So, things didn’t go well for you in Monterrey? My inside man says you didn’t get what we wanted.”

The crew chief blew out a long plume of smoke before he answered, “No, things didn’t go
well
.”

“
So, you didn’t get what we wanted,” John Wayne repeated.

“
I told you over the phone we didn’t,” answered the crew chief irritated by John Wayne’s insistence on the subject.

“
Ah, that’s too bad. We’re going to have to find another way. Where’s the guy now?”

“
He’s dead,” said the crew chief.

There was a silence. John Wayne went to the poker table and poured whiskey into a glass. His informant in Monterrey had already told him what had happened, just as he knew that the files were now inaccessible and encrypted. But he said nothing. You have a great advantage if you know what cards the other guy is playing.

“
You didn’t tell me that when you called.”

“
I didn’t think it was something that should be discussed over the phone and since you didn’t get in touch the whole time we were in that roach motel you sent us to.…”

“
We’ll arrange better accommodations for you boys now. So, tell me, what happened?” he asked as he went back to his chair.

“
We were, uh, questioning him; he passed out, so we stuck his head in water. He must have swallowed something in the water ‘cause he choked and died, asphyxiated. I think something stuck in his throat, or something.”

“
You killed the guy?” asked John Wayne, as if surprised.

“
We didn’t kill him; he died while we.…”

“
I don’t care what the hell you call it; you killed the guy!”

The three men said nothing; they sat looking straight head.

John Wayne got up and paced in front of them like a father strutting before children who had misbehaved.

“
You didn’t get what we wanted and you killed the guy!” He stopped and spoke to the crew chief.

“
Whad’ you do with the body?”

“
We, uh, dumped it near some railroad tracks. We, uh, took his money and his watch, and, uh, sort of made it look like it was a mugging.” The crew chief lied. He wasn’t about to tell the angry John Wayne how badly they had botched up that part of the job.