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“A professional courtesy.” He leaned forward and every eyelash surrounding his bloodshot eyes became visible. They reminded her of spider legs. “I want you to understand that. I respect your job, just as I know you respect mine.” His voice lowered and she had to fight her instinct to lean back. “We didn’t need to do this for your cousin so I hope you respect the effort that’s gone into this.”
Vera weighed her options to respond. Push hard and risk making him angrier or let him continue his pissing contest so she could get on with doing what she needed to do. He pushed the folder closer to her elbow. He was in her way of finding answers and the sooner he thought she wasn’t going to be a problem, the better. Plastering a polite small on her face, she took it.
“Well, then I appreciate it, Sheriff.”
He leaned back and she felt her chest fill with air. “Well then, now that you’ve got what you came for, you girls best get on the road. The weather is turning and I wouldn’t want you getting stuck in something nasty.” Vera wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t love that if it didn’t mean they would no longer be his problem.
Vera smiled, not giving a confirmation or denial as the man unfolded his massive frame from the chair.
“It’s been under such unfortunate circumstances that you’ve had to experience our wonderful town. I’m sure it’ll all be fine once you get back home. Time heals all wounds, you know.” Every word was a lie behind barely disguised self-congratulations. “Pearl, a piece of that blueberry pie to go.” The waitress hustled to fill his order.
His back to her now, she looked to Deputy Butler. He hadn’t moved an inch except for his eyes. They were looking back at her so intensely that she shifted in her seat. The young deputy seemed bold now that his boss wasn’t looking. This wasn’t the deputy that had entered the diner. Where had Deputy Butler been hours again when his colleagues were dragging a dead body through the woods, she wondered. A loud laugh from Sheriff Malis to the waitress shook her from the eye contact. When the Sheriff pushed the front door open, Deputy Butler followed behind him like a shadow, never looking back.
The room seemed to expand as he paid and left, the clank of utensils on plates and chatter beginning again.
Vera watched them get in the cruiser, a smear of a smile on Sheriff Malis’ face as if he won. She could so easily ask herself what kind of Sheriff avoided additional help, why he pushed family members of a victim away but she knew. Some men used kindness like a poison, some cruelty like a hammer. No matter the tool, she knew Sheriff Malis was used to getting his way in Sylen.
She flipped open the envelope and pulled a thin stack of papers out.
Name of the deceased: Alexander Miguel Rivera Sánchez.
Date of Birth. Sex. Height. Weight. The basic information bled together.
In bold letters were the words "FINAL DIAGNOSIS" above multiple sections, each with brief bullet points.
‘Acute fentanyl overdose’ was listed as number one.
Under the section titled "Other Injuries" there were two things. The burned pads of his fingers that made fingerprinting impossible due to a drug-induced accident and his missing eyes removed post-mortem by animals.
The exhale through her nose was strained.
There was a roaring in her ears. A scream so loud she began to shake as the words blurred into black puddles.
A twenty-two-year-old woman was found on the side of a D.C. highway. Beaten, bruised, violated in every way possible. Her lifeless eyes stared up at the starless sky as if it would take her home. As if it would save her from the fate that stole everything from her.
Vera was qualified as an undercover agent for only a few months before she applied for the case. Fitting the look, background, and language skills, she was picked up fast. They found the girl on her first day on the task force.
Human traffickers. A volatile group of ten men that were transporting women from the coast into D.C. and beyond. She studied them. Their patterns, their identities, their trade routes. Painstakingly building cases for each member of their group, she went undercover gathering intel until there was enough audio, video, and photographic evidence to put them all away for good.
It was an airtight case. In a matter of months, she worked her ass off with local contacts and informants. She was there when the arrests were made. She sat in the courtroom while nine trials began and ended in prison sentences. Watching all nine men, with their public defenders and their ratty, ill-fitting suits, she gloried in their punishment. Those moments, that justice, were why she joined the Bureau. To bring balance. To help prevent more pain. To stop bad men from doing bad things.
Then the tenth man walked. Not a single charge stuck.
Vera sat one row down from him during each trial, watching him like a hawk. He gave a thin oil-smeared smile to every witness, a scoff to each piece of evidence. He chuckled when one of the trafficked women became too upset to testify on the stand. And then he walked.
Walked out of the courthouse. Out of the hands of consequences. He walked right out from underneath the crimes he committed, pristine.
She followed him that final day at trial. So full of fury and outrage she began walking after him before she even realized what she was doing. He was a kidnapper. A rapist. A murderer. And yet he was free.
He took a cab downtown at one-fifteen in the afternoon and waltzed into a strip club. Dropping a wad of cash on the stage, he bought a round of drinks for the room. He snorted a line of coke off a dancer’s ass and laughed as he enjoyed a lap dance.
Vera watched it all. She barely blinked as he reveled in his freedom.
She was there in the ER when a woman died after a beating he gave her. A prisoner. A trafficked victim. She listened to the phone recordings of how he killed a teen the week prior. They never identified her or found her body.
Whether he had a connection in the department or pulled strings with a judge, every piece of evidence against him disappeared. The DA wasn’t willing to try him and none of his friends would testify against him.
That was the first time Vera saw how skewed her perspective was. About life, about justice, about what it meant to do her job. In the foundation of her beliefs was birthed a tiny crevice that day he walked free and she’d been trying not to step on it ever since.
