Requiem, page 9
“I shouldn’t have spoken about it,” she’d said, wiping her tears, urging them to forget her babbling. She said the people at the house had given her a generous bonus, and that she was returning to her town in the mountains.
At her insistence, they let her out at a Transmetro station, where she disappeared, like the wisp of a dream.
Strange. All very strange.
Cristina’s thoughts shifted when she got home and opened her door, ready to make dinner for her and Samuel. She had rice and chicken.
But Samuel was not home.
She took stock of her empty house, then left.
A few minutes later, she was at Reyna’s house, knocking on her door.
“Hi, Cristina,” Reyna said.
“I’m here for Samuel.”
“He’s not here.”
“Didn’t he come here with Chano after school?”
“I don’t think so.” Reyna called to her son. “Chano!” He came to the door. “Did Samuel come home from school with you before I got home?”
His eyes flicked from his mother to Cristina.
“No. He said he was sick, and that Cristina was taking him home.”
“This is the first I heard of this,” Cristina said. “I never went to the school. The school never notified me.” She reached into her bag for her phone. “I’ll call them.”
Cristina took a moment to find the number, tapped the phone to make the call. After several rings, it was answered with a recorded message.
“They’re closed now,” Cristina said. She turned to Chano. “Did he talk to you? Did he say anything?”
Chano’s face tensed as he shook his head.
“Chano,” Cristina said. “Was he really sick? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
At that moment, Cristina’s phone rang in her hand.
Startled because she rarely received calls, her finger found the button to accept the call.
“Hello?”
“Señorita Cristina Yaqui?” a man asked.
“Yes.”
“This is Detective Sebastian Cruz, with the PNC. Is Samuel Yaqui, aged fourteen, your nephew?”
Cristina’s heart skipped. She swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Are you his guardian?”
“Yes. Yes, what’s happened?”
“He’s been arrested for—”
“Arrested?”
“For stealing a woman’s bag in Centro today. He’s in custody. I need you to sign some papers. Could you come to my office in Zone 1 as soon as possible? I’ll direct you on where to go.”
***
Cristina had never set foot in a police station before.
Fighting tears, she followed the detective’s instructions when she entered the lobby. She gave her information to the female officer at the desk, who told her to sit in the waiting area.
She closed her eyes for a long moment, praying for everything to be sorted so she could bring Samuel home.
Amid shouting and scuffling, she saw a man, cursing, slurring, and staggering, his hands handcuffed behind his back. His leg brushed hers as he was escorted past by two officers. Then two more officers went by, escorting a second handcuffed man, his face bleeding and his torn shirt bloodstained. Cristina’s mind erupted with a new wave of worry at Samuel being in this place.
“Señorita Cristina Yaqui?”
Standing before her was a man in his 30s with very short hair. He had on a white shirt, jeans, ID hanging from his neck, and a gun in his shoulder holster.
“Yes.”
“Detective Sebastian Cruz. This way.”
They went up two flights of stairs, to an area with an open floor plan and an array of glass cubicles and desks. He led her to his desk and pulled out a visitor’s chair for her. A framed picture of Cruz, smiling, with a pretty woman and a young boy and girl, was next to his computer. He took up a file folder.
“I need to confirm your identification.”
Cristina presented her identity card. He studied it, took down the number, returned it, and then began relating events.
“Samuel has been charged with stealing a woman’s bag, with her wallet and passport, today near the Mercado Central. He was chased and caught by her husband, a British police officer. They are tourists on vacation.”
Cristina covered her mouth with her hand.
“This is very serious. We believe what Samuel did is part of a gang initiation. I work in the gang unit. We don’t yet know which gang, because he refuses to cooperate with us.”
Cristina shook her head slowly.
“We’ll hold him here overnight. He’s to appear in court tomorrow, or the next day, to enter a plea, and for the judge to determine a trial date and conditions. He could be sent to Las Gaviotas until his case is cleared.”
“Las Gaviotas?”
“Yes. While this is Samuel’s first offence, anything gang-related will be looked at with all seriousness by the courts. Can you read, and can you write your name?”
She nodded, and he opened the file folder with documents requiring her signature. She tried to read, but her tears blurred her vision.
“This is to say that as guardian, you’re responsible for him, and you’ve been informed of the charges and the process,” he said.
She signed.
“May I see him?”
Cruz closed the folder.
“I’m sorry, not tonight.” He wrote on a piece of paper, and then passed it to her. “The top number is mine, if you need to reach me. The next is the number and address for Karen Ceto, the public defender attached to Samuel’s case. She is to be in court with him tomorrow. You may see her tomorrow morning, and discuss the matter further with her.”
Cruz paused. “I’ll come to the point. My interest is for Samuel to provide us information about the senior gang members who are behind this. Stealing wallets and passports is very serious, because some of these gangs work for the big cartels.”
Cristina nodded.
Cruz escorted her to the lobby, where he touched her shoulder.
“Remember,” Cruz said. “If Samuel helps us, we can help him.”
Cristina left, leaning her back against the building. She remained that way in the street—thinking nothing, feeling nothing.
CHAPTER 27
Guatemala City, Guatemala
Alone at home that night, Cristina couldn’t sleep.
In the darkness, she looked from her bed through the open door to Samuel’s room. Not seeing him in his bed unleashed a torrent of images, starting with the drunken, bloodied men at the police station; then the images of her mother and father, half buried in the mud; memories of her sister; the loss of her baby.
I can’t lose Samuel. He’s all I have left.
Thinking of him in jail, her fears gnawed at her the way the half-starved, snarling dogs gnawed on bones in the alley, tormenting her until she rose at her usual time. She followed her routine, keeping the light low. Washing and dressing, she started Samuel’s breakfast before catching herself and stopping. In the predawn, she walked to the main street to wait for her ride. When Juan’s pickup truck pulled over, she went to the open door, but didn’t get in.
“I can’t ride with you today. I have to take care of something.”
“What’s wrong?” Abril asked.
“It’s a family thing with Samuel. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Is everything okay?”
“I’ll know more after today.”
Abril couldn’t read Cristina’s face in the dark, but sensing worry in her tone, she reached out for Cristina’s hand.
“Good luck,” Abril said, letting her hand slip as she and Juan drove off.
At home, Cristina cleaned her house; it was already clean, but it kept her busy. Afterward, she washed again, dressed in her best clothes and fixed her hair. When the time was appropriate, she called the señora.
“Please forgive me, but I can’t come to work today. My nephew is not—” she had to find the words “—he’s not doing so well.”
A silence passed.
“Oh no. Cristina, I’m sorry. Is it something serious?” the señora asked.
“I’m not sure. But I may need to be away a couple of days.”
“Of course. If we can help, let me know. Thank you for calling. Keep me updated.”
It was not a lie, but it was close to one, and Cristina’s stomach tensed at the deception.
Then she called Samuel’s school, got through to someone at the office, and reported that he was ill and would be out of school for a few days. The school clerk noted his absence. The call ended, leaving Cristina feeling guilty for lying as she headed downtown to the public defender’s office.
***
It was early when Cristina arrived. She waited in line outside with many others for more than an hour, until the staff began arriving and the doors opened.
The reception area became chaotic. When Cristina went to the front desk and requested to meet with Karen Ceto, the lawyer handling Samuel’s case, the clerk checked her computer and then snapped, “I don’t see your name. Do you have an appointment?”
“No. I only learned late yesterday about my nephew’s arrest. Please, I need to speak with her.”
“Señora Ceto’s very busy. She has to be in court soon. You’re supposed to make an appointment. Sit down. I’ll call her.”
Cristina returned to her seat, but someone had taken it, so she stood.
Waiting, she worried she might not be able to see the lawyer. Then she thought what if things got worse for Samuel, and the señor and señora learned the truth about his crime? It would be a reflection on her.
I could lose my job.
She didn’t know how long she’d been grappling with her uneasiness when she heard her name.
“Yaqui!” A man, his face taut, was holding a piece of paper and looking at the people in the reception area. He repeated, “Cristina Yaqui for Karen Ceto!”
Cristina went with him to the second floor. Without speaking, he led her to a corner, where a woman in a nice blazer was seated behind a desk and on the phone. Her desk was pushed up against a window. The wall had file cabinets, bookshelves jammed with colored folders of case files, and her framed university degrees. Finished with her call, she extended her hand and welcomed Cristina to the chair beside her desk.
“I’m Karen Ceto. I’m afraid I don’t have much time to discuss the case of—” she opened a folder and looked inside “—your son—”
“Nephew.”
“Yes, nephew. Samuel Yaqui.”
“I only wish to bring him home.”
Ceto smiled.
“You spoke with Detective Cruz?”
“Yes.”
“Look, the process is not so simple, and my caseload is heavy. Your nephew will appear in court later today. I’ll ask for his plea to be set over to tomorrow, so I may have time to study his case further. I’ll seek his release to your custody, but—”
“Oh, thank you, Señora Ceto!”
Ceto held up a palm.
“But we likely won’t get it. So, he’ll stay in holding.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I spoke with him briefly last night about the crime he is charged with. I need to see the prosecutor’s case file. I will urge Samuel to enter a guilty plea, and seek a suspended sentence because this is his first offence.”
Cristina nodded.
“However, because police insist this involves gangs, it’s very serious. They want him to give them names, which may lead to cartels because they want bigger fish. But he refuses. Cristina, if he cooperated with police and gave them names, it could help me press for a lighter sentence—even suspension—to keep him out of Las Gaviotas. That’s a bad place for anyone, especially someone like Samuel. You understand what I am saying?”
“Yes. You need him to cooperate.”
“Exactly.” Ceto glanced at the clock on the wall. “I must go. “Do you have a phone?”
“Yes.”
“Give me your number.”
Cristina gave it to her.
“I’ll call after I arrange with Detective Cruz for you to see Samuel this afternoon after court. Until then, you can see him appear briefly in court, in custody. Look for his name on the docket for the room number.”
Ceto began placing files into her briefcase, signaling an end to their meeting.
“Thank you, Señora Ceto.” Cristina stood. “Thank you.”
CHAPTER 28
Guatemala City, Guatemala
Later that day, Cristina rubbed her temples while sitting at a table in an empty room at the police station, waiting to see Samuel.
Earlier, she had attempted to get a glimpse of him at court. But she’d misread the docket and went to the wrong courtroom. When she’d realized her mistake, it was too late.
His case had already been heard.
Samuel was gone.
But Karen Ceto was there, dealing with other clients and other cases. When Ceto finished and collected her files, Cristina approached.
“Hello again, Cristina,” Ceto said.
“I missed seeing Samuel in court. I went to the wrong room.”
“Let’s talk outside.”
They sat on a bench in the hall where Ceto touched her shoulder.
“I’m sorry to give you bad news.”
“What’s happened?”
“The prosecutor has given serious weight to Samuel’s case. The British Embassy has expressed its concern because the victim is a British subject, the wife of a British police officer. They have connections.”
“What does this mean?”
“It will make it difficult for us to obtain a suspended sentence and quick release. Also, the court is backlogged, and Samuel’s case has been set over for two weeks for him to enter a plea then.”
“Two weeks? But can I bring him home?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Oh no,” Cristina said. “So, he’ll spend two weeks in Las Gaviotas? Two weeks with young men who are killers, gangsters, and rapists?”
Ceto shook her head. “I got the judge to agree that he be kept in the juvenile holding cells at the police station. It’s safer for him there.”
Cristina blinked back tears.
“And,” Ceto said. “I’ve spoken to the prosecution and Detective Cruz. It’s arranged for you to see Samuel later today at the police station.”
“Thank you.”
“Remember, there is hope for Samuel if he cooperates with police. Tell Samuel that, Cristina.”
Now, sitting in the room rubbing her temples, a tissue clenched in her hand, Cristina’s attention shot to the door as it opened.
Samuel entered with Detective Cruz.
Cristina gasped. Samuel’s hair was messed. He looked gaunt, with bloodied cuts on his cheeks and lower jaw. His wrists were handcuffed in front of him. Cruz pulled out a chair for Samuel to sit across from Cristina, and then locked his handcuffs to the metal ring bolted to the table. Caressing the backs of Samuel’s hands, Cristina noticed his scraped knuckles.
Cruz remained standing, spreading his hands on the table, leaning in between Samuel and Cristina.
“Before I go,” Cruz said to Samuel, “listen to me carefully. The road you’re on has no exit. It will end in prison or death. This is the time to help yourself by helping us.”
Samuel said nothing.
“You and your aunt will have fifteen minutes,” Cruz said, before leaving and closing the door behind him.
Taking stock of Samuel’s condition, Cristina’s eyes glistened.
“Are you hurt?”
He didn’t answer.
“Were you beaten?”
Samuel looked at her, then shook his head slightly.
“How did you get the cuts on your face?”
He shrugged.
“I’m trying to bring you home.”
He said nothing.
“Samuel, everyone knows you stole to join a gang. Why did you do this?”
He pursed his lips, his face hardening into someone Cristina didn’t recognize.
“With them, I’ll have money, power, and a family.”
“A family of criminals. We’re a family, Samuel.”
“They are respected. We have nothing. We are nothing. You clean toilets for rich people, people who fear my gang.”
His words pierced her, because they carried truth.
But they also carried Samuel’s bitterness toward God, for taking his mother and father, ripping away so much from him. Now, before her eyes, Cristina saw Samuel turning his life from the light. As Cruz said, he was now on a path with no exit, one that ended in death.
“Samuel, you know that I’m working and saving so we can go to America,” she said. “Karen Ceto says your case is very serious, but if you give Cruz the information he needs, she can get you released and keep you out of prison.”
His jaw muscles bunched.
“I’ll never be a rat. Do you know what they do to rats?”
“Samuel, please, I beg you to cooperate. All Cruz wants are names. It will save you from Las Gaviotas.”
He sneered.
“I’m not afraid to go there. It will be a badge of honor, proving I’m not a rat. I’ll be tattooed and revered as a legend. My gang will protect me there. And when I get out, I’ll have earned a higher rank.”
His handcuffs clinked as Cristina took his hands in hers, tears rolling down her face while he looked coldly at the wall.
A long moment of silence. The door sounded and Cruz entered.
Time was up.
CHAPTER 29
Guatemala City, Guatemala
Minutes after failing to convince Samuel to cooperate, Cristina, overwhelmed by defeat, sat with Detective Cruz at his desk.
“Did you hear what I said, Cristina?” Staring at her, Cruz repeated, “Will Samuel provide us information?”
“He refuses.” Her voice was a whisper.
“It’s unfortunate.” Cruz turned to his files. “Things are going to get rough for him when I inform the prosecutor. Given that the British government is interested in the outcome, there will be many ramifications.”
