whispered. “Did you ever want something for someone else so badly that you were willing to risk your own future?”
She pointed to her throat and shrugged.
“Look,” said Ramirez, frustrated at their inability to communicate. “We take other things from the exhibit room already. Like rum. And money buys rum. What’s the difference?”
Flawed reasoning, Apiro would say. Faulty logic. Like the child who kills his parents and claims to be an orphan. Or the murderer who argues that he didn’t kill, it was his gun.
He waited for the old woman to wag a finger at him, to silently scold him for even considering it. Instead, she looked at him theway his mother used to when he was a small boy weighing the risks of misbehaviour.
“Yes, I know there may be consequences,” he acknowledged. “But surely moderation can be taken to extremes.”
Ramirez pocketed the money. He slipped the clear plastic envelope back in the file and returned the box to its original location. It wasn’t a large amount, but he felt like Judas; he’d sold his principles for a few pieces of silver.
He let himself and the dead woman back into the corridor and re-entered the usual late-afternoon bustle of the police station. He walked by the luscious Rita Martinez again without even noticing her new breasts.
No one had seen him slide down the ethical cliff except a ghost who might not be real. But Ramirez had crossed a moral line, and he knew it. The inspector and his apparition walked sadly into the light.
NINETEEN
Officer Fernando Espinoza—no, wait, that was Detective Espinoza now—was on his first week in the Major Crimes Unit. Espinoza was hardly able to believe his good fortune. Just by doing his job on foot patrol and helping to identify a murdered child, he had received a big promotion. And here he was, barely twenty-one years old, already a detective. Working at a much better-paying position—almost fifteen pesos a month.
As he walked to the front door of police headquarters, he saw Apiro deep in conversation with a woman on the sidewalk. And not just any woman. She was almost six feet in her high heels. Thick, streaked-blonde hair, a low-cut blue top, tight skirt. Her voice was husky, as deep and rich as molasses.
Was she Cuban or foreign? Espinoza wasn’t sure.
“ Hola , Dr. Apiro,” he called. “Excuse me for bothering you, but I wondered if I might have a minute of your time.”
“Of course, Detective. Maria, this is Detective Fernando Espinoza. He was recently promoted to Major Crimes. Detective Espinoza, this is Maria Vasquez.”
Maria, Espinoza guessed, despite her name, was no virgin.Besides, the surname Vasquez came from the Basque country, and everyone knew that Basque women were feminists.
Espinoza stood on the balls of his feet, trying to look a little taller. He liked strong women.
“I’ll leave you two men alone to talk business,” said Maria.
Espinoza was quite surprised when she leaned down and kissed the pathologist on the cheek before she walked languidly away. He wondered if she was the doctor’s cousin, or maybe a neighbour.
“Forgive me for interrupting your conversation, Dr. Apiro,” Espinoza said. “I wondered—do you have any idea yet what killed that old woman in the alley? I will be handling the investigation in Inspector Ramirez’s absence.”
“No, not yet,” said Apiro, as he pulled his thoughts from one woman to another. “It looks as if she died of a heart attack, but the damage from the knife wound and the degree of decomposition are making it difficult to know what might have caused it. I’m still running tests.”
“I know how busy you are,” said Espinoza. Both men watched Maria’s hips swivel as she moved fluidly away from them through the crowds of tourists. “Forgive me for asking, but is Maria married? She’s very beautiful.”
“That she is.” Apiro shook his head, smiling wistfully. “And no, she’s not.”
Apiro didn’t volunteer any other information
She pointed to her throat and shrugged.
“Look,” said Ramirez, frustrated at their inability to communicate. “We take other things from the exhibit room already. Like rum. And money buys rum. What’s the difference?”
Flawed reasoning, Apiro would say. Faulty logic. Like the child who kills his parents and claims to be an orphan. Or the murderer who argues that he didn’t kill, it was his gun.
He waited for the old woman to wag a finger at him, to silently scold him for even considering it. Instead, she looked at him theway his mother used to when he was a small boy weighing the risks of misbehaviour.
“Yes, I know there may be consequences,” he acknowledged. “But surely moderation can be taken to extremes.”
Ramirez pocketed the money. He slipped the clear plastic envelope back in the file and returned the box to its original location. It wasn’t a large amount, but he felt like Judas; he’d sold his principles for a few pieces of silver.
He let himself and the dead woman back into the corridor and re-entered the usual late-afternoon bustle of the police station. He walked by the luscious Rita Martinez again without even noticing her new breasts.
No one had seen him slide down the ethical cliff except a ghost who might not be real. But Ramirez had crossed a moral line, and he knew it. The inspector and his apparition walked sadly into the light.
NINETEEN
Officer Fernando Espinoza—no, wait, that was Detective Espinoza now—was on his first week in the Major Crimes Unit. Espinoza was hardly able to believe his good fortune. Just by doing his job on foot patrol and helping to identify a murdered child, he had received a big promotion. And here he was, barely twenty-one years old, already a detective. Working at a much better-paying position—almost fifteen pesos a month.
As he walked to the front door of police headquarters, he saw Apiro deep in conversation with a woman on the sidewalk. And not just any woman. She was almost six feet in her high heels. Thick, streaked-blonde hair, a low-cut blue top, tight skirt. Her voice was husky, as deep and rich as molasses.
Was she Cuban or foreign? Espinoza wasn’t sure.
“ Hola , Dr. Apiro,” he called. “Excuse me for bothering you, but I wondered if I might have a minute of your time.”
“Of course, Detective. Maria, this is Detective Fernando Espinoza. He was recently promoted to Major Crimes. Detective Espinoza, this is Maria Vasquez.”
Maria, Espinoza guessed, despite her name, was no virgin.Besides, the surname Vasquez came from the Basque country, and everyone knew that Basque women were feminists.
Espinoza stood on the balls of his feet, trying to look a little taller. He liked strong women.
“I’ll leave you two men alone to talk business,” said Maria.
Espinoza was quite surprised when she leaned down and kissed the pathologist on the cheek before she walked languidly away. He wondered if she was the doctor’s cousin, or maybe a neighbour.
“Forgive me for interrupting your conversation, Dr. Apiro,” Espinoza said. “I wondered—do you have any idea yet what killed that old woman in the alley? I will be handling the investigation in Inspector Ramirez’s absence.”
“No, not yet,” said Apiro, as he pulled his thoughts from one woman to another. “It looks as if she died of a heart attack, but the damage from the knife wound and the degree of decomposition are making it difficult to know what might have caused it. I’m still running tests.”
“I know how busy you are,” said Espinoza. Both men watched Maria’s hips swivel as she moved fluidly away from them through the crowds of tourists. “Forgive me for asking, but is Maria married? She’s very beautiful.”
“That she is.” Apiro shook his head, smiling wistfully. “And no, she’s not.”
Apiro didn’t volunteer any other information
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