Lassiter

11 Digging Up Buried Bones

State Attorney Alejandro Castiel was waiting in his office atop the Justice Building. Amy had dressed for the occasion, a white silk blouse with girly ruffles down the front and a form-fitting navy skirt that ended just above a pair of lovely knees. She looked both professional and demure.

I introduced her to Castiel, who flashed his politician’s smile as he steered us to comfy chairs, then leaned against the edge of his desk like a helpful doctor in a TV commercial.

He wore a dark Italian suit and was so deeply tanned he wouldn’t need makeup if Channel 4 wanted a quick quote on the latest battle for justice. His hair-flecks of gray at the temples-was swept straight back like a young Pat Riley of Miami Heat fame.

My goal was straightforward enough. Convince Castiel to open an investigation into the disappearance of Krista Larkin eighteen years ago. He could start by questioning Charles Ziegler, his party guests, and a biker named Snake if he could be found.

“You putting on weight, Jake?” It was Alex’s shoulder punch, a guy’s greeting.

“Don’t start,” I said.

“I’m gonna hang 30 on you this week.”

I sucked in my gut and said, “I still own you in the paint.”

He laughed and explained to Amy that we played against each other in Lawyers’ League basketball. She replied that I’d already told her, and isn’t it nice that boys can still be boys as they crept toward middle age?

Alex Castiel-“Alejandro” too long for a campaign poster-was a born politician. Miami knew his story well. The Castiels were Sephardic Jews who had emigrated from Spain to Cuba two centuries before Fidel Castro was born. So, Alejandro was a Jewbano. A crossover candidate, he spoke Spanish fluently and knew enough Yiddish jokes to make the yentas laugh. He won the election in a landslide of pastelitos and matzoh balls. Some people mentioned Castiel as a possible candidate for governor. I thought the guy could go even higher.

I liked him. Sounds strange, I know, coming from a defense lawyer who’s chop-blocked a few prosecutors and been sucker-punched by many others. But most are hardworking and underpaid and believe in what they’re doing. Alex was one of them.

“Ms. Larkin, Jake called me this morning,” Castiel said, “so I had the police report pulled out of storage and messengered over.” He opened a folder and grabbed a skinny document. “Let’s start with the witness who said Amy was headed to Charlie Ziegler’s house the night she went missing.”

Charlie. The use of the diminutive did not escape me.

“Sonia Majeski,” I said.

“What’s her credibility?”

“I believe her. Isn’t that good enough?”

He riffled through the report. “Exotic dancer. Arrested a couple times doing rub-and-tugs in a massage parlor.”

“What’s the relevance of that?” I asked.

He put down the file. “Ziegler told the cops Krista Larkin never showed up that night.”

“What about the other guests? How many people did the cops talk to?”

“Apparently, no one else.”

“Let me guess why. The party animals were prominent around town. Bankers, lawyers, power brokers. Maybe a police captain or two.”

“No way to tell from the report, but it’s a good guess.”

“So Ziegler offers a drink to a rookie cop, gives him a box of porn videos for the station, and the investigation is closed.”

Castiel ignored my shot at Miami’s semi-finest and turned to Amy. “I have to ask you some difficult questions, Ms. Larkin.”

“I’m a big girl,” she fired back.

“Your sister ran away from home several months earlier.”

“Yes.”

“What makes you so sure she didn’t run away again?”

“All her belongings were still in her apartment. Isn’t that evidence that something happened to her?”

“Not necessarily.” He looked back at the report. “Her car wasn’t at the apartment. Maybe she left town in a hurry. Your sister was living dangerously. Drugs. Porn. She could have ripped off a dealer. Or just decided to try another city and start all over.”

“At some point, Krista would have called me.”

“Maybe once she began a new life, she decided to put everything behind her.”

“She wouldn’t have let all these years go by.” Amy’s lower lip trembled. Maybe she wasn’t made of marble after all. “We loved each other.”

Castiel moved away from his desk and put a hand on her shoulder. “I understand your grief. But there’s no proof your sister is dead, much less that someone killed her.”

“I don’t want your sympathy, Mr. Castiel.” She shook his hand away. “Dammit, I want you to do something.”

Castiel recoiled as if slapped. I’d failed to warn him that Amy wasn’t the touchy-feely type. He turned to me. “Jake, you see the situation here. Just what would you have me do?”

“Ask Ziegler to give a voluntary statement under oath. No subpoena and he waives immunity.”

“Did you actually pass the Bar exam?”

“Fourth try.”

“Why would Ziegler ever do that?”

“If he’s a solid citizen with nothing to hide, why not?”

“Testify about a missing underage girl and remind people of his past. Why would he want to dig up all those buried bones?”

“Interesting choice of words.”

He gave me that straight-on, challenging look. I’d seen it when he had the ball at the top of the key. Was he going to shoot the step-back jumper or drive to the hoop? Instead of waiting to find out, I decided to swat the ball away.

“What if I told you that another woman last seen in Ziegler’s company disappeared and was never seen again?” I said.

Liar, liar. Briefs on fire.

“What woman? When?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.” Like a gorilla shaking a tree, I was curious what might fall from the branches.

“You can’t leave that hanging, Jake. Do you have evidence that Charlie Ziegler committed a crime?”

“Let me put it this way. I have a confidential source who says Ziegler was making snuff films.”

Amy stiffened in her chair. “Jake, is that true?”

I hadn’t told her what Sonia had said. Maybe it was cruel to spring it on her, but I wanted tension in the room, and I got it. I’d combined my total lie about a second missing woman with the dubious hearsay about snuff films. Of such whispers are wicked rumors born. And maybe a state investigation.

“Ms. Larkin, I wonder if you’d like a cup of coffee in our break room,” Castiel said. He was speaking to my client but was looking at me through narrowed eyes. “I need to have a few words with your lawyer.”

Watching Castiel glare at me, I had a pretty good idea what some of those words would be.