The Dead Women of Juarez

Sevilla’s direction, he never met his eyes.

Finally there was nothing else to inspect. Enrique stood with his hands awkwardly as his sides. Only then did he look Sevilla in the face. He was sweating. “I didn’t do that to him,” he said. “But I know who did.”

“I know who did,” Sevilla replied. “Oscar Garcia doesn’t believe anything he’s told if he hasn’t broken a bone to hear it.”

Enrique Palencia was silent.

“You were the one who called me,” Sevilla said.

“Yes.”

“You left the note.”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to tell me why?”

“I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

“You stood beside Garcia,” Sevilla said. “You didn’t tell him no. You didn’t tell him stop. How many times has it been?”

“You said yourself you’ve done the same,” Enrique returned.

“That was a long time ago.”

“Time doesn’t change anything.”

To this Sevilla could only nod.

Enrique was quiet a while. “It was too much.”

“It is too much,” Sevilla agreed. “Thank you. Now come and sit down.”

Sevilla waited while Enrique salvaged another half-shredded couch cushion. They sat at opposite ends of the little divan. Sevilla put another cigarette between his lips and offered Enrique one. Sevilla saw Enrique’s hands shake when he lit up.

They passed the time smoking without talking and after a while Enrique’s hands steadied. “It wasn’t enough to turn Esteban Salazar into a cripple, but he had to do the same to Kelly?” Sevilla asked then.

“No,” Enrique said. “He didn’t have any questions. That was why I couldn’t go with him. He made fun of me, but I wouldn’t do that.”

“He went to kill him,” Sevilla said. “Just like that? Of his own accord?”

“I don’t know. He went away for his dinner break and didn’t come back for a long time. I thought he’d gone home, but then he called and said he wanted me to stay late. He showed up after shift change. He told me what he was going to do. ‘If he won’t talk, he won’t talk,’ he said. ‘What does it matter when we know he did it?’”

Sevilla considered using his shoe to stub out his cigarette again. He ground the butt into the carpet instead. It would have to be replaced anyway. Enrique sat with his own butt cradled in two hands across his knees, slumped forward and staring into the rising smoke as if memory were there. He said nothing else.

“Why tell me these things?” Sevilla asked.

Enrique stirred. He dropped his butt on the floor reluctantly, crushed it with hesitation. He spoke to his empty hands. “Captain Garcia said the American was your friend.”

Sevilla didn’t correct him. He was unsure what Kelly was to him. Once he’d told Kelly he respected him and that was true. Now Kelly was…

“You think that makes a difference?” Sevilla said. “All cops have friends. We don’t tell tales on each other.”

“I’m not telling tales!” Enrique returned. He looked up sharply and his back went tense. Sevilla saw anger and hurt in the young cop’s eyes. “This is what happened!”

“I believe you. Calm down,” Sevilla said, and he put his hands up. “But people will wonder why you come to me, friend or no friend. Ask Garcia and he’ll tell you that I deal with narcos and junkies, not killers. Why not go to Senora Quintero? Take it to the Procuraduria. Someone might even give you a medal for your honesty. But I doubt it.”

“This is a waste of time.”

Enrique moved to rise. Sevilla stopped him with a hand. “I didn’t say it was a waste of time. I only want to know why you care. Why you came to me.”

The tension fled from Enrique and he slumped back into the ruined couch. He put his hand over his eyes and breathed deeply and for a moment Sevilla thought that now he cried, but when the hand came away the young cop’s eyes were dry.

“Why did you come to me?” Sevilla asked again.

“I thought… I don’t know. I thought you would understand.”

“About Garcia.”

“About all of it. I didn’t join the police force to beat confessions out of innocent people. Because I don’t believe they did it. The American and Salazar. I don’t believe it.”

Sevilla nodded slowly. “And you think you and I, we can find out the truth when everyone else can’t?”

“I don’t know. Do you think so?”

Sevilla spread his hands. “You aren’t the only one without answers.”

“The way Garcia talks about you, I know he is jealous of you. He says they let you do your work without interfering. He says we could do so much more if the higher-ups simply got out of our way.”

“And let you get on with torturing people?”

Enrique looked at his shoes. “Yes.”

“Nobody with a conscience should be forced to work with La Bestia. You should count yourself lucky you still have one. He could have torn it out of you and ground it up. Then you wouldn’t have come to me, except maybe as a tool. A spy.”

“I’m not a spy.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“I’ve already told you enough that there could be charges against Garcia. People turn a blind eye, but that’s only because no one speaks up. I could say something. Like you said, I was there.”

“Do you think anyone would believe you?”

“I wouldn’t know until I tried.”

“The mere fact that you would even think to put yourself through that says you’re either a fool or a romantic. Why should I burden myself with either?”

“You’ll need help.”

“What sort of help?” Sevilla asked.

“You are on the outside. I’m on the inside. You want a spy? I can be that for you.”

“To what benefit to yourself? There’s no glory here.”

“There’s no glory in beating a man’s head in, either.”

“It’s possible no one will even care,” Sevilla said. “You know how it is on the streets of Juarez these days. People are dying everywhere. Even the police aren’t safe. One more woman dies, this is nothing new.”

“What are you saying?”

“That is a very good question.”

“This is right,” Enrique said. “I want to do what’s right.”

“Now I know you’re a romantic. You might be useful, after all.”

FIVE

“KELLY KEPT A NOTEBOOK, A spiral cuaderno with a red cover. I’ve seen it here before, by the telephone,” Sevilla told Enrique. “It must have been collected. We’ll want to have a look at it.”

Enrique nosed around the shattered kitchenette, poking into cabinets with broken doors and occasionally lifting some ruined dinnerware with his toe to peer beneath. Sevilla felt the tension radiating from the young man, saw it in the way his shoulders hunched even when he played at being nonchalant. Enrique would have made a terrible boxer; he allowed too much of his mind to show in his body.

“You’ll need to get it,” Sevilla said.

“What’s in it?” Enrique asked.