Fields of Wrath (Luis Chavez Book 1) (25 page)

“What did you tell them?” Glenn asked, his voice a rasp.

“That I was responsible for the murders of three people.”

“Ah, so you were being a colossal semantic asshole. You knew exactly how they’d react. That is, before our lawyers explained to the police that you meant it in some sort of metaphorical sense.”

Henry scowled.

“Not quite. I informed them that people in our employ committed the murders and that they did so at our request. I explained how they were paid and where the killings took place. I also said that I’d aid any investigation into our company. If the LA district attorney had simply waited a few hours, they wouldn’t have needed all those warrants.”

“But
why
, Henry?” Glenn asked, practically shouting.

“Do you remember when I came to you about Santiago Higuera?”

“Yes,” Glenn said, lowering his voice. “You showed me an article about a murder and asked me if we’d done it.”

“That’s it. I should have been more clear with you then. Instead of asking you if we’d done it, I should’ve just come right out and told you that we had.”

“Are you
crazy
? We haven’t killed anyone! We’re a Fortune 500 company, for God’s sake.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself. We are no longer responsible for the actions of merely ourselves but an entire corporation. So yes, let me assure you, we did kill someone, and I believe we’ve killed more.”

Glenn was flabbergasted. He simply couldn’t understand why these things were coming out of his brother’s mouth.

“I’m not sure I want to hear this,” Glenn said, resigned.

“Because you already knew?”

This pissed Glenn off. He shot up from his chair so fast, even Henry looked spooked.

“You want to play the Mad Hatter and flush your reputation down the toilet, be my guest,” he snarled. “Just don’t expect me to stand by and let you bring the rest of us down with you.”

The boyishness left Henry’s face. Everything about him seemed to recede, beginning with his eyes. Glenn waited for him to say anything else, then turned for the door.

“She tried to see you, you know.”

“Who?” Glenn shot back.

“Anne Whittaker,” Henry said quietly. “Several times. She told me at first it was ‘merely impossible’ to get ahold of you, but when she pressed the matter and included evidence of our practices in her queries, the pushback from our lawyers was such that she feared for her safety. Her words. ‘Feared for my safety.’”

“Our lawyers?”

“Apparently it’s standard operating procedure. We brazen our way through, and our law firm does the same. Most of the time it works. But it had the opposite effect on Anne Whittaker. The more recalcitrant we were, the calmer and more steadfast she became.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Glenn said, meaning it. “Are you just inventing stuff now? What do you mean, ‘she told you’?”

“She came to me after she tried our lawyers,” Henry explained. “It turns out I’m more accessible than you are if you know where to look. Santiago did, and he told her. She showed up at one of the test vineyards with her satchel full of files.”

“And you couldn’t have just sent her away?”

“I took her to lunch,” Henry said. “At first I thought she was a kook. But I’ve always had a soft spot for kooks. If she’d come up with some mad conspiracy theory she was about to unleash into the world, I thought we should know about it ahead of time. When I saw what she had, I understood that however unlikely it seemed, it was more than that. I told her I’d look into it myself, but she said she couldn’t wait long. When she was killed in her driveway a couple of weeks later, I really wanted to believe the police that it was a carjacker.”

“What’d you do?” Glenn asked, already knowing the answer.

“I’m one man, and an old one at that. This was a job for professionals, who’d know a lot better than I how to decipher her findings.”

“Then you sent these cooked-up files of hers to Crown Foods’ lawyers,” Glenn declared, furious at himself for not recognizing his brother’s mental instability earlier. “Why didn’t you just ask me if it was true?”

“So, you didn’t know,” Henry said quietly. “I was afraid that might be the case. I thought you must suspect something. Maybe you just turned a blind eye. But completely in the dark? There’s culpability there, too.”

Glenn got to his feet and moved to the door.

“The next time you hear from me will be through our lawyers,” Glenn said quietly. “You’ve made your bed. Now lie in it.”

Glenn waited for his brother to respond. Henry simply stared back, a look of pity on his face. Glenn scoffed and left.

XXX

Odilia was hard at work passing out hot food when she heard her name.

“Odilia Garanzuay? Are you here? Odilia Garanzuay?”

She glanced up in surprise. After deciding to reveal to the soldiers guarding the women’s hangar that she was trilingual, she’d become indispensable as a translator. She’d resolved conflicts, dealt with medical emergencies (“sudden and acute,” “sharp pain”), and passed out supplies. When a Spanish-speaking FBI agent came to let them know they would be interviewed by agents individually starting the next day, it was Odilia who’d stood next to him, translating this into Zapotec.

She hadn’t told anyone her last name.

“Odilia Garanzuay?”

A number of the women in the hangar, particularly those who found her new prominence as offensive as her special status in the Blocks, were looking her way. She couldn’t feign ignorance much longer. She turned to the agent who’d appeared at one of the barricades and raised a hand.

“I’m Odilia.”

As he led her out of the hangar, she assumed it was for some new official task they’d decided to entrust her with. Her only fear was that being recognized as someone who could liaise between law enforcement and the workers would prolong her stay.

Marching onto the tarmac, however, a premonitory chill ran up her spine. The agent hadn’t bothered to introduce himself. He wore a dark suit and sunglasses like the others but no name badge. He didn’t speak, preferring to hurry along, as if this was an unwelcome task he wanted to get over with.

They passed the mobile command center set up by the terminal and then the employee parking lot, where the number of law enforcement vehicles seemed to triple by the hour. The signage indicated they were heading for the regular parking lot beyond the arrivals gate. As it had been closed off earlier in the day, with flights to the airport being diverted to LAX and Santa Barbara Municipal Airport, it was empty.

Except for a single black SUV.

“Oh God,” Odilia whispered aloud.

The agent made no indication he’d heard her, except to pick up the pace. The driver-side door opened and Jason stepped out, a big smile on his face. He waved to her.

“No,” Odilia repeated, stopping in her tracks.
“No.”

The agent turned to her, exasperated.

“This is your ticket out of here. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Odilia felt like throwing up.

“Odilia!” Jason called out. “It’s over! Let’s go home.”

“No!”

The agent grabbed her arm and squeezed, as if redressing a petulant child. He pulled her forward, but Odilia planted her feet.

“Trust me,” the agent hissed. “Anywhere is better than this place.”

“No!”
Odilia screamed.

The agent was angry now. Odilia turned to Jason. His confusion was turning to fury. This was the side of him he thought he was so good at hiding from her. This was the real man, ugly and cruel, that was right under the surface. Odilia knew him for what he was. He was the person who’d sentenced her to a week of roasting alive in a shack and expected to be thanked for letting her live.

When the agent gave her another tug, she screamed louder. This time someone listened.

“What’s going on here?” came a voice behind them.

The agent turned. An Air National Guard officer, a captain, was coming up behind them. The agent sneered at Odilia as if this was somehow her doing.

“We’ve been authorized to expedite Miss Garanzuay into the care of private legal counsel,” the agent explained to the officer. “It’s an extrajudicial matter relevant to the case at hand.”

Odilia knew that this should be the end of it. But then she saw the young Latina guardsman, Carrizales, standing just behind the captain. Her eyes weren’t on Odilia or the agent but on the SUV parked behind them.

“We’ve been ordered not to let a single witness leave the premises until they’ve been processed,” the captain said. “No exceptions.”

“In this case I’ve been given a court order that supersedes that from a county judge,” the agent replied, triumphantly pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

The captain didn’t take it.

“Sir, this airport is under military jurisdiction,” the captain explained. “That cut through the red tape for the FAA to close the runways. So at present nothing supersedes our authority. You’ll have to address this with the chain of command.”

The agent faltered, one stone wall of bureaucratic bullshit toppling in the face of another. He released Odilia’s arm.

“Please escort this woman back to the hangar,” the captain ordered Carrizales.

As they walked back, Odilia tried to thank the young woman but couldn’t through her tears.

“You’ll be okay,” Carrizales whispered.

For the first time, Odilia had hope that this was true.

As Jason watched Odilia walk away, he thought his head would split open. If he’d had a gun in his glove box like he’d meant to, he’d have used it. Whether on Odilia, the agent, the officer, the soldier, or himself he had no idea.

It made no sense. The agent had a court order. Did they have any clue how many hoops he’d had to jump through to secure
that
? What did they want from him?
Blood
?

It was madness. It was like setting up a row of dominoes and having them fall up. He had to get away from there. He got back behind the wheel and peeled out of the parking spot. As he negotiated the barricades and lampposts, he fought the urge to plow into them at high speed. He wanted to die.

What kind of woman would do this to a man? Is my love so worthless?

When he reached the highway, the urge to die grew stronger. He glanced to his phone and saw a number of new messages from the Marshak company lawyers. As it began to ring yet again—this time a call from his uncle’s cell phone—he realized he didn’t care one bit what happened to the company. Had he ever cared? Had it ever been anything other than an inherited responsibility that gave him nothing but pain?

Worse, by sheer quirk of fate it had given him Odilia. But as if realizing its mistake, it was now taking her away.

He decided to let fate continue to have its way with him. He accelerated past one hundred miles per hour. If he hit someone or someone hit him, if the vehicle swerved off the road or hit a barrier, he’d be at peace with this. It was in the universe’s hands.

He relaxed. It was nice to let someone else be in charge for a change.

The LA district attorney’s office resembled an ant hill set ablaze. People were coming and going so fast that Luis saw a steady stream of employees and visitors alike eschewing the elevators for the stairs. He waited for the elevator.

On any other day a man dressed as a day laborer whose face betrayed a recent beating would’ve raised any number of eyebrows. Today people didn’t have the time. The chaos of the Marshak raids had everyone focused on whatever was in front of them. The periphery was just that.

Luis signed in as a messenger and was pointed in the direction of Michael’s office. Though Michael was gone, one of the office’s pool assistants nodded to the envelope in his hand.

“Michael’s out of the office today, but I can sign for that.”

“Thank you. He’s expecting it. The key is for a bike locker at the Red Line stop at Grand Park. You should probably get somebody over there right away.”

“What’s in the locker?” the assistant asked.

“Michael knows. I couldn’t bring it into the building.”

The assistant hesitated, as if running through the few things that couldn’t be brought in.

“Sir?” she said with sudden urgency. “What’s your name?”

“Luis Chavez.”

“You’re the priest,” she exclaimed. “My God, you’re the priest. The bike locker has the . . . um, weapon?”

“It does.”

“Okay. I’ll retrieve it myself and get an officer to escort me back up. Thank you. Michael said it might not be the easiest thing to take possession of. You seem to have come up with a good solution.”

Luis said nothing.

“Oh, and I have a message from Michael. If you came in, I was supposed to tell you that they found Odilia Garanzuay. She’s alive and safe.”

Luis closed his eyes and said a prayer of thanks. When he opened them, he saw that the assistant inexplicably had tears in her eyes.

“I know a little of what you’ve gone through the past couple of weeks. We’re grateful.”

“Thanks,” Luis said, collecting himself.

“Do you want to wait? I can call Michael and see if he’s going to be back anytime soon.”

“No, thank you,” Luis said. “I just want to go home.”

The package Luis had left at Michael’s office contained the registration to Jesús Zarate’s truck, the truck’s keys, and the ticket he’d taken from the machine when he’d parked it in the public garage under the Walt Disney Concert Hall. He’d marked the level and space on it with a pen.

He’d also left the keys to the public storage unit in Chinatown, where he and Maria had off-loaded the boxes from Santiago Higuera’s accounting firm to place in safekeeping. Their decision not to keep them at Maria’s house or even Santiago’s farmhouse had proven wise.

Carless, Luis took the bus back to St. Augustine’s. He still had much to do, but he had to pray, he had to rest within its walls.

When he reached the parish, St. John’s was letting out. Having endured a number of horrified looks at his appearance on the bus, Luis ducked his head to avoid notice. A few boys saw him anyway, reacting to his battered face with a mix of shock and bemusement. Though others might’ve seen his unscathed knuckles as an indication of who won the fight, the boys at St. John’s saw only that Luis was still standing.

When he entered Whillans’s office, the pastor eyed Luis’s injuries but didn’t comment.

“A lot of interesting stories coming over the radio today,” he said. “Raids on offices and farms. A thousand undocumented workers discovered in squalid conditions, held against their will. Bodies found. One of the founders turning himself in and admitting to murder.”

“Yeah,” Luis said.

Whillans came around his desk and embraced Luis.

“That’s good work, Father,” Whillans said quietly. “I’m a fool for doubting you, and it won’t happen again.”

When Whillans moved away, Luis saw the hitch in his gait.

“How are you feeling?”

“Oh this?” the pastor said, tapping his leg. “Tripped on the rug by the altar. Don’t tell me I have to worry about you overanalyzing my movements for signs of my impending demise. I’ve already got enough of that in Bridgette.”

Luis’s face flushed red. Whillans raised a hand.

“Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. Who am I to judge?”

Whillans hesitated, as if searching the statement for malice, but seemed to find none.

“Exactly right. By the way I’m glad you’re here. It’s done.”

“What is?”

“I’ve gotten the archdiocese to approve your promotion to assistant pastor, Father Chavez,” Whillans explained. “While several voiced reservation, a few loudly, I’ve retained the necessary sway to get at least this done.”

“I don’t understand,” Luis protested. “What about Father Holmes?”

Father Holmes was the current assistant pastor, as well as the priest with the most seniority in the parish.