Chapter 8
We should have a music of our own - if possible, without any Sauerkraut.
Erik Satie
Miguel liked to imagine himself as ‘The Velvet Wirewalker’. Like Mr. Satie, he wore a special jacket on the wire so that people would associate him with that title. Now all he needed was to find a velvet umbrella. When Satie died they found two hundred umbrellas in his closet. Surely, Miguel thought, he was a secret wire walker, too.
Pablo Gonzales parked his car down a side street. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and combed through his dark, thick hair with his fingers. Slipping the piece of paper with the security code out of his front jeans pocket, he reached into the back seat for the can of gasoline. The smell reminded him of years of mowing lawns. Filling the gas reservoir on the top of the mower always left residue on his hands.
He walked the short distance to the Boys Club silently and pulled his black hood up over his head. He would need to walk with his back flat along the entrance wall to avoid the camera at the front door. It would capture his image for a few seconds while he entered the code and opened the door but he would keep only his back visible. With sleeves pulled over his hands to obscure the tattoo above his wrist, he slipped into the building.
In the main corridor the security lights glowed just enough to illuminate the offices and further the door to the gym. The smell of body oder and stale coffee reminded him of the years he had spent in these halls and especially in that gym. The Boys Club was a second home, maybe even the only home where he was valued for his special skills.
The order was to burn the club to the ground. But, he was not going to do that. He would destroy the evidence in the equipment room but he didn’t have the heart to burn the whole building.
He slipped into the gym and walked across the polished floor, hearing the sound of the tread as his shoes gripped the surface. Once inside the equipment room he looked around for the cable and ropes. He gathered them together and then made a pile of discarded towels. Pablo noticed the pile of umbrellas. Those were Miguel’s. A deep sadness gripped his throat. With an iron will he pushed the death of his brother out of his mind. He had a mission to fulfill and this was not the moment to grieve.
The parallel bars and balance beam looked liked skeletons in the dark with only the security lights in the gym filtering in from the door. The towels would burn well and the pile of mats in the corner, too. He doused the pile with gasoline and with a flick of his finger, lit the lighter and watched the glow snake around the white material.
Pablo closed the door securely and looked at the flames through the window. He doubted the security camera worked inside the gym. He stayed close to the edges of the room and let himself out the back.
As he went back to his car he took out his burner phone. He would wait just long enough for the whole room to be engulfed and then report the fire. There were other orders he would need to follow through on. One was making sure the Gonzales kid didn’t get released from the Juvenile Detention Center.
When Stevie and Reggie arrived the next morning at the Highland Park Police precinct the homicide detectives were abuzz with talk of the fire at the local Boy’s Club. Pictures of the fire were being passed around. Stevie took the pictures and studied the charred remains. The detectives were sure that the fire was arson and that it was set to destroy evidence concerning the Miguel Cervantes death. Stevie looked at everyone huddled together for the morning briefing. Who was asking questions? Why did everyone seem to agree? When Detective Mullins arrived things grew quiet. His demeanor was intense with a slight sense of desperation.
“Okay, people. I think we all feel this fire was set by the Gonzales gang in an attempt to cover up evidence that Jorge rigged the equipment in the death of his friend. What did you find at the scene this morning?” Mullins turned to his right to indicate that the two detectives should do the talking.
A short square policeman with an uniform slightly too small began a damage report on the Boy’s Club. Stevie didn’t remember his name but noted his diminutive demeanor.
“What looked to be an equipment room was burned to the ground. Someone reported the fire in the middle of the night and the fire department arrived in time to save the rest of the building.”
“Ok, Detective Symonds, what is the status of Jorge Gonzales?”
“An attorney arrived to take responsibility for him and he was released into the custody of his parents.” Detective Symonds spoke quietly but Stevie could tell that Mullins heard every word.
“What?” Mullins shouted across the room. “Why was he released?
“The evidence we have against him is circumstantial. The county district attorney pushed to have him released. She said we don’t have anything that proves he sabotaged the equipment. And, sir, we really don’t have enough.”
“Well, don’t stand around here, let’s find some evidence. Go over that video the kid made and read through the witness statements again.”
“Excuse me, Detective Mullins.” Stevie felt her heart rate elevate and she forced herself to stand up and face the rest of the detectives. “I think we may need to be looking farther afield than Jorge Gonzales. In interviewing Miguel’s mother, his piano teacher, and Jorge himself, my partner Detective Watts and I have found nothing to indicate that these two younger boys were part of the gang…..”
Mullins whirled around and stepped up into Stevie’s face.
“His piano teacher? What in the world would she know about a gang boy?” He snorted the words into her face.
Stevie felt her stomach convulse as she faced Detective Mullins. He was attempting to shame her into backing down. She understood this technique. It was a cheap shot at discipline but it wasn’t going to work on her.
“Actually sir, the piano teacher may know more about this young man than even his mother. I’ve learned to listen to people who care for the victim and those who hate the victim. Both may be blind to some truth about the person but good detective work means reading between the lines.”
In a mocking way Mullins bowed to Stevie and snorted.
“Tell us then Detective Dangerfield,” He exaggerated her last name, “Who do you think we should investigate?”
At this point Reggie stepped up next to Stevie and added his point of view.
“Who has something to gain by causing the death of Miguel Cervantes? You think Jorge was forced into retaliating against the Cervantes gang by killing his friend? Both of these boys have brothers who hate each other. Have the younger boys participated in the past in any gang related activities? I’ve read the reports and I don’t see any evidence.”
Stevie felt grateful for Reggie’s questions. They seemed the only ones in the room ready to make deeper inquiries.
“Look Watts, all the kids are tied up in these activities. It is a way of life. Don’t be naive about what’s going on here.” Mullins looked at his detectives who were nodding their agreement.
Stevie stepped forward and folded her arms over her chest.
“Who is looking into the Boy’s Club? Is Alex Douglas involved with the gang’s in some way? He runs this club and has had relationships with these boys for years. What does he know?”
“Okay,…. okay Miss Dangerfield why don’t you go investigate the Boy’s Club connection and we’ll be waiting to hear from you.” Mullins walked around Stevie and came back tot the front of the room. “Symonds, you bring in Pablo Cervantes and Javier Gonzales. Let’s squeeze them into giving us some more information. You are all dismissed.”
