French Kiss

Chapter 8

It’s the southwest corner of 177th Street and Fort Washington Avenue. Maria and Joey Martinez’s building. I had never been there before, although Maria kept insisting that Dalia and I had to come by some night for “crazy chicken and rice,” her mother’s recipe.

“You’ll taste it, you’ll love it, and you won’t be able to guess the secret ingredient,” she would say.

But we never set a date, and now I am about to visit her apartment while two cops are standing guard outside the building and two detectives are inside questioning neighbors. I was her partner. I’ve got to see Maria’s family.

A short pudgy man opens the apartment door. The living room is noisy, packed. People are crying, yelling, speaking Spanish and English. The big window air conditioner is noisy.

“I’m Maria’s brother-in-law,” says the man at the door.

“I’m Maria’s partner from work,” I say.

His face shows no expression. He nods, then says, “Joey and me are about to go downtown. They wouldn’t let him-the husband, the actual husband-go to the crime scene. Now they’ll let us go see her. In the morgue.”

A handsome young Latino man walks quickly toward me. It has to be Joey Martinez. He is nervous, animated, red-eyed. He grabs me firmly by the shoulders. The room turns silent, like somebody turned an Off switch.

“You’re Moncrief. I know you from your pictures. Maria has a million pictures of you on her phone,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say. “She loves clicking away on that cell phone.”

I can’t help but notice that he calls me by my last name. I don’t know why. Maybe that’s how Maria referred to me at home.

I try to move closer to give Joey a hug. But he moves back, blocking any sort of embrace. So I speak.

“I don’t know what to say, Joey. This is an incredible tragedy. Your heart must be breaking. I’m so sorry.”

“Your heart must be breaking also,” Joey says.

“It is,” I say. “Maria was the best partner a detective could hope for. Smart. Patient. Tough…” Joey may not be weeping, but I feel myself choking up.

Joey gestures to his brother. It’s a “Let’s go” toss of his head.

“Look, my brother and I are going down to see Maria. But Moncrief…”

There’s that last-name-only thing again. “I need to ask you something.”

Now I’m nervous, but I’m not at all sure why. Something is off. The room remains silent. Brother is now standing next to brother.

“Sure,” I say. “Ask me. Ask me anything.”

Joey Martinez’s sad and empty eyes widen. He looks directly at me and speaks slowly. “How do you have the nerve to come to my house?”

I feel confusion, and I’m sure that my face is communicating it. “Because I feel so terrible, so awful, so sad. Maria was my partner. We spent hours and hours together.”

Joey continues speaking at the same slow pace. “Yes. I know. Maria loved you.”

“And I loved her,” I say.

“You don’t understand. Or you’re a liar. Maria loved you. She really loved you.”

His words are so crazy and so untrue that I have no idea how to respond. “Joey. Please. You’re experiencing a tragedy. You’re totally…well…you’re totally wrong about Maria, about me.”

“She told me,” he says. “It’s not a misunderstanding. She didn’t mean you were just good friends. We talked about it a thousand times. She loved you.”

Now he pushes his face close to mine. “You think because you’re rich and good-looking you can get whatever you want. You think-”

“Joey. Wait. This is insane!” I shout.

He shouts even louder. “Stop it! Just shut up. Just leave!” He shakes his head. The tears are coming fast. “My brother and I gotta go.”