An Inconsequential Murder (5 page)

“
In which case the University would be liable, am I correct?” asked Lombardo, but the lawyers said nothing.

“
Hmm,” said Lombardo who pretended to write that down as well. “Who is in charge of security for this part of the campus? I mean security for the buildings and grounds.”

“
The University’s Security Department handles all security,” said the lawyer to the Doctor’s left.

“
Can you call them and tell them to send over the person who was on duty last night?” asked Lombardo. “I mean the staff officer, not the guards.”

“
We thought you might want to talk to them so we called the Director of Security and his man is probably outside this office now,” said the lawyer to the Doctor’s right.

“
You have a very efficient Legal Department, Doctor,” said Lombardo. He got up. It was useless to ask him anything further while the lawyers were present. He would try to see him at another time, without the guard dogs. “Thank you for your time, Doctor. I would like to see the security officer now.”

As they all moved toward the door, Lombardo turned and said to the lawyers, “I would appreciate it if you sent me a copy of Victor Delgado’s file. I assume the University keeps personnel files on all of its employees.”

“
Yes, but these are confidential and…” one of the lawyers started to say but Lombardo interrupted him.

“
Of course you being a lawyer probably already know that in a homicide case I can subpoena anything that might constitute evidence or information relevant to the case.”

“
Of course, of course,” said Doctor Delgado as if wishing to end any further discussion. “We will willingly cooperate with your investigation, Captain Lombardo.”

The other lawyer asked, “Why are you calling it homicide, Captain. Shouldn’t you wait for the Medical Examiner to…”

“
Corpses don’t make it a habit of walking to the railroad tracks to wait for trains to sever their heads. The evidence where he was found tells me he was killed elsewhere and then dropped there. This was no suicide, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

The lawyer opened the door. Another dark suit was standing outside, waiting. “This must be the security man,” said Lombardo.

“
Again I must congratulate your Legal Department,
Doctor Delgado. This visit was very well choreographed.”

He shook the Doctor’s hand and left Gonzalez to apologize for Lombardo’s rudeness.

Chapter 6
: Clues in the Parking Lot

The security man, a tall fellow with a shirt collar that was so frayed that it was transparent in parts, identified himself as a Manager for the security services company that handled all security issues for the University.

Lombardo just nodded as he heard the man regurgitate the company’s spiel about being “an integrated security firm with several levels of service.” When the man made a pause Lombardo said to the Fat Man, “Gonzalez, you were pretty quiet in there. I thought you had fallen asleep.”

The
Fat Man laughed and said, “I did. People don’t believe me when I tell them I can sleep with my eyes open.”

“
Well, since you are so well rested, why don’t you go over to your car and call in. Ask them if the body was taken to the University’s morgue.”

Lombardo had been told by the forensic medics that that’s where it was going to be taken but with the Fat Man out of the way Lombardo could make a certain request of the Security Manager.

When they were outside, Lombardo lit a Delicado and said to the security man, “What I would like is for you to look through the recordings made by those cameras.” He pointed to the two white boxes perched above the Computer Center’s main entrance. “I would appreciate it if you could get me the bit that shows when Victor Delgado left the building.”

“
Of course, Captain,” said the security man.

“
Also,” said Lombardo while spitting out bits of tobacco that the unfiltered cigarette had deposited on his tongue, “any recordings that show people unconnected to the Computer Center—you know, suspicious characters.”

The security man looked at Lombardo as if trying to decide if this last was meant as a joke or sarcasm, but Lombardo was looking straight ahead with a serious look on his face.

“
Yes, Captain—suspicious activity. I’ll order copies for you.”

Lombardo extended a hand; the security man
mistook the gesture for a handshake until he saw that Lombardo was holding a calling card.

“
Here is my phone number. Let me know when the copies are ready and I will send someone over to pick them up.”

“
Don’t worry about that, Captain. I will have them delivered to you.”

Lombardo said good-bye and walked over to the car where the Fat Man was busily talking on the radio.

“
Let’s go, Gonzalez. Stop snitching to your boss because we have another stop to make,” he said loudly to the Fat Man so the Director could hear over the radio.

As Lombardo walked toward his car, he saw that the security man was still standing there on the steps to the Computer Center, looking at his card, and talking into his phone. “Probably checking to see if he should do what I asked him,” Lombardo said. “Everyone’s a bureaucrat; they’re all afraid of losing their jobs.”

Gonzalez was huffing and puffing again as he tried to keep up with Lombardo. “Captain, that interview was something one could not describe even as routine. You were so tame with them, you put me to sleep.”

“
Look, Gonzalez,” said Lombardo stopping suddenly in the middle of the parking lot, “these bureaucrats are not going to tell us anything they don’t want us to know. I’m sure your boss called to warn them I was coming so they knew beforehand what they were going to say. I would bet that they are probably relieved that my questioning was very brief. Everybody is happy, you see?”

“
No, I don’t see,” said Gonzalez, “but I’m glad that there was nothing much to report to the Director. No one got upset, no feathers ruffled, eh? I think I’ll go have lunch now and then have a nap at home and then I’ll go to the station sometime in the late afternoon.”

He whistled to his driver and the white cruiser rushed to pick him up.

“
Where are you going now?” asked the Fat Man.

“
I thought I would go down to the Public Ministry and read the report your buddies wrote. Don’t you want to come along?”

“
Listen, Lombardo,” he said, “I know you’re just lying to hide what you are
really
going to do. You consider yourself a better man than me but as you can see I am more honest than you. I could have said I had some urgent business back at the Department but I told you I was going home for lunch,” said Gonzalez. “I am not a shining example of honesty, Lombardo, but at least I don’t mistrust the
whole
world.”

Lombardo
shrugged. “It’s in my nature, said the scorpion when he stung the poor frog in the middle of the pond.”

The
Fat Man shook his head, got in his car, and drove away.

Lombardo smiled and said, “The fat, lazy bastard has a heart.”

On his way to his rambling wreck of a car, Lombardo saw an old man sweeping the gutter of the parking lot’s sidewalk. Lombardo looked at the pile of rubbish the old man had collected and was about to scoop up with a makeshift scoop cut from an oil can. There were a lot of cigarette butts among the trash—some of them unusual.

“
Señor
,” he said to the old man, “
Buenos días
.”

The old man turned—his mouth opened and his eyes widened as if startled that someone would speak to him.

“
The students smoke a lot, eh?” said Lombardo nodding toward the pile of trash that held a large number of cigarette butts. What had attracted Lombardo’s attention were the long, thin cigarette filters with a gold band. He had seen those before, somewhere, although he couldn’t remember exactly where.

The old man smiled and agreed, “Oh, yes, they smoke a lot. That’s all they do when they sit in the cars out here.”

“
And they like to smoke the expensive kind,” said Lombardo while hunkering down to look at the cigarette butts.

The old man shrugged. He probably did not know a cheap cigarette from an expensive one, as these obviously were. “English,” said Lombardo to himself.

“
Pardon me,” he said to the old man as he started to pick some of the cigarette butts up by the tobacco end and putting them into his clean handkerchief.

He asked the old man where the cigarette butts
had come from and the old man pointed to a spot in the parking lot a few car spaces away.

He asked him if
he swept the parking lot every day. He said he did.

“
Were there a lot of these on the ground yesterday?”

“
No, there were not. I swept the lot clean yesterday morning, too. I sweep it every day. That’s my job.”

Lombardo thanked the old man and went to the place the old man had pointed out. Lombardo stood on the sidewalk and looked down at the space between the two white lines. It was clean, freshly swept, as the old man had said. There was nothing unusual about the spot nor was it any different from the hundreds of other spots in the parking lot, but Lombardo stood staring down at it as if he had seen something.

He turned to look at the Computer Center building—the entrance was plainly visible from the spot. He moved to stand at the place where a driver
might have sat if a car had backed up into the parking space. Then, he looked down: “If the man who had smoked the English cigarettes had been sitting in a car about here,” he whispered, “then he would have thrown down his cigarette butts about there.” Lombardo hunkered down and looked into the loose gravel of the parking lot floor.

Lombardo had only two friends. He met with them
occasionally in a bar and sometimes during those long bouts of drinking he talked about his wartime experiences. He said that war had changed how his senses reacted to things. He often said that he had survived the many patrols he had been on because he would come to a spot in the jungle and something, a broken twig, the unusual stillness, the too obvious normalcy, had told him the enemy was there, waiting in ambush.

Now, like a hunting dog that stiffens to point, he stood motionless looking down. He trembled a bit as if a slight chill had cursed through his body. He could feel the danger. His senses told him that someone had been here waiting in ambush.

The wind kicked
up and gray clouds rushed overhead. Lombardo put his hands into his overcoat’s pockets. A northerner was blowing in—his scarred shoulder told him so.

Chapter 7
: Lombardo Visits a Laboratory

Everything was white—the floor, the walls, the counters, the machines, the stools. Everything was clean, spotless, and immaculate. One could have expected the smell of formaldehyde or antiseptic but even the air was neutral, as if it too had been scoured clean.

It was
lunchtime so everyone had gone, but the person he was looking for was still sitting on a properly white stool at the far end of the laboratory in a space enclosed by glass walls. His white lab coat hung down nearly to the floor in a perfectly unwrinkled line. The only color on him, and in the entire place, was the light blue of his shirt’s cuffs and collar, and the light brown of his hair. His face was as pale as the counter on which sat the large, bulky microscope into which he was peering.

Lombardo stood by the glass pane for a moment and then, while tapping on it, said the man’s name: “Casimiro.”

“
Ah, Captain Lombardo,” said Casimiro without looking up, his voice muffled by the partition. “Your cigarette scorched voice is unmistakable. To what do I owe this disagreeable visit?”

“
I need you to look at these,” said Lombardo holding up his handkerchief.

Casimiro pulled his head away from the microscope and stared at the handkerchief in Lombardo’s hand. He got up and came through the pressurized door into the corridor. Without a word, he stopped in front of Lombardo and took a brief look at what Lombardo was holding.

“
In my expert opinion, they are cigarette butts,” he said dryly.

Lombardo ignored the sarcasm
. “Casimiro, I need to know who has been smoking them.”

“
Obviously not you, my friend. You only smoke the best.”