Steve Martini - Guardian of Lies

“What’s that got to do with anything?” says Rhytag.

“We have a name-John Waters. According to information, Mr. Waters received a cash payment in the amount of a hundred thousand dollars for the sale of one of the gold coins belonging to the victim, Emerson Pike. It may be a long shot, but it’s possible this Mr. Waters may have deposited that sum in a bank account in this country. You could check your computers for the name John Waters and see what you find. I mean, he’d have to use a social security number or taxpayer ID number to open an account, right?”

Rhytag thinks about it for a moment, then makes a note. “I don’t suppose you have a date of birth?” he says.

“It’s an alias.” Templeton says it with scorn.

“So what?” says Harry. “If someone opened an account under that name, we should find out. In the interests of national security.” He looks at Rhytag.

“Mr. Madriani and I agree on one thing, Your Honor,” says Temple ton. “Find Emerson Pike’s computer and you’ll find one of the killers. Because the other one’s already locked up in the county jail. Convey the offer to your client.” He turns to look at me. “Tell her she has a chance to live. It’s the last one she’s going to get. Let’s see what she says.”

He gives me a sinister smile.

Yesterday afternoon after she hung up the receiver in the telephone booth at the jail, Katia realized she had forgotten to thank Paul. It was clear that either he or Harry had talked to the authorities at the jail, because things had become much better.

Paul called to tell her about what had happened at the courthouse, the argument over the motion and the missing photographs. He told her they would meet at the courthouse in a few days. He had many important things to discuss with her, none of which could be talked about over the telephone. Katia was to be taken to the courthouse, where some of this was to be discussed in the presence of the judge, in the judge’s office, and with the prosecutor available outside in the courtroom. Katia asked him what was happening. Paul told her he could not talk about the details over the phone and the conversation ended. She would have to remember to thank him when they met at the courthouse.

It was amazing how quickly things had improved. For the last several days, ever since the fight in the shower, all of her problems at the jail had vanished. The Mexican Chicas who had been badgering Katia since the day she arrived, particularly the big one with the pockmarked face and the scar on her cheek, were now leaving her alone and licking their wounds.

Katia thought about this and smiled as she strode across the yard, back toward the unit where her cell was located.

The big Mexican still glanced at her occasionally with angry eyes. But the moment Katia looked back at her, the Mexican would look away. And her nose still did not look quite right. She and her friends now kept their distance. Even in the dayroom, which Katia had avoided for so long, she was now free to roam and watch television and no longer had to hide.

She knew that either Paul or Harry had made this possible. They had talked to someone at the jail, because one of Katia’s three cell mates, the Chica who ran with the big Mexican and was causing her problems, had suddenly been transferred to another cell. In her place a new Latina, Daniela Perez, was moved to the top bunk, above Katia.

Daniela was not Mexican. She was Colombiana, originally from Bogotá, and like Katia, she was alone, without friends in the jail. Ordinarily Ticas would be leery of Colombianas. People from Costa Rica have long feared the drug violence of Colombia. But somehow Daniela seemed different.

She was quiet. She kept to herself. But she would smile and say hello whenever they passed. This was not done in the jail. To smile or to say anything that might be seen as courteous was a sign of weakness. It would make you a victim, someone to push around.

She wondered how long Daniela would last if she was acting in this friendly way with others. Sooner or later she would smile and say hello to the big Mexican and the Chica gang would start in on her.

For two days Katia watched Daniela from a distance. The Colombiana was older and taller than Katia and seemed quite fit. She lifted weights every day in the exercise area. And while Daniela was pretty, Katia could tell she had lived a hard life. It was difficult to guess her age. Katia estimated maybe mid-thirties.

She had a large tattoo on her back that ran almost to the elbow on her left arm, a web like Spiderman’s that bulged and flexed whenever she lifted weights. Katia was amazed by how much Daniela could lift. She did not look that strong. It was in the technique, how she moved her body. Even some of the other women, the regulars who seemed to own the weights, were impressed. Katia saw two of them talking to Daniela, who said a few words, shook the hand of one of the other women, and then left to walk out to the yard.

It was that afternoon that everything changed. Katia had gone to take a shower. She often did this earlier in the day to avoid the other women. With the water running and facing the spray, she didn’t see or hear them. The big Mexican and two of her friends came into the large communal shower bay behind her. They were wearing sweats and running shoes. Even though the Mexican was large and outweighed Katia by at least fifty pounds, she always traveled with at least two others.

One of them groped Katia from behind. When she turned around, startled, and tried to cover herself with her hands, they all laughed.

“Relax, we’re not going to hurt you. We’re just going to have a little fun,” said the big one. When she reached out and tried to touch her, Katia pulled away. Then they started with the insults. They told her how worthless Ticas were, how the Costa Rican women preened like peacocks, showing their bodies in order to kowtow to the gringos. Katia turned and tried to finish her shower.

“Don’t you turn your back on me, bitch.” The big Mexican grabbed Katia, spun her around, pulled her out of the spray, and pushed her against the tiled wall where the Mexicans could get at her without getting wet. The big Mexican’s two friends grabbed Katia’s arms and held them to the wall. The big Mexican pumped some soap into her hand from the dispenser on the wall and rubbed it on Katia’s face and into her eyes.

“Leave her alone!”

Katia’s eyes burned. She couldn’t see a thing, but she heard the voice. It came from somewhere outside the shower bay.

Suddenly the two women released Katia’s arms. She slid along the wall, away from them, toward the running shower. While they had their backs turned, Katia was able to quickly rinse some of the stinging soap from her eyes. In the yellow haze she saw Daniela standing in the entrance to the shower bay. She was wearing shorts, a jail top, and running shoes. There was a sheen of sweat on her body, as if she might have been out in the yard running.

“Why don’t you just leave her alone?” said Daniela.

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” said the big Mexican. “Unless maybe you would like some of this too.”

“I don’t think there’s enough of you to go around,” said Daniela.

“Oh, you think so?”

“I know so.”

It happened so quickly that Katia wasn’t even sure what she saw. Through the lingering sting and blur of soap she remembered a flash of slick, muscled body as Daniela closed the distance. She came at them so fast and with so much aggression that the first instinct of the Mexican’s was to back up. This forced one of them, the one closest to Katia, into the spray of the shower.

They braced themselves with their hands out, ready to take her. But Daniela was no longer there. She had dipped down onto her hands on the tile floor and spun her body. With a single powerful sweep of her muscled leg, she reached out and swept the feet from under all three of them.