The Mamacita Murders (32 page)

“Objection, relevance,” says Tanner.

“Sustained,” says Judge Hoffman.

“That experience affected you so much that you made a promise to yourself that you would protect women. Isn’t that true?”

“I did. And your point?”

“My point is that you will go to any length, bend the rules, step outside the line to carry out that mission, isn’t that true?”

“Like what specifically are you talking about?” I ask.

“Like going all the way to the Walled City to cut off a man’s thumb? Not to mention the same man, whose print was on the murder weapon,” says Fox.

“That was part of what needed to be done. And for the record, I only sliced off the skin pad of his thumb.”

“You disfigured a body for purposes of your investigation?” asks Fox dramatically.

“If you want to talk about disfiguring, let’s talk about Laura. She received a gash to her thumb during the assault
and
had to have her thumb amputated right here in Tuckford County because your client tied a belt around her wrists so tight she developed gangrene,” I snap back.

“Your Honor, I’m going to move to strike that answer,” says Fox.

“Overruled.”

“Mr. Fox, some get an eye for an eye, others get a thumb for a thumb,” I say, causing the whole courtroom to erupt in laughter.

“You’re quite witty, Ms. Ruiz. Speaking of thumbs, your thumbprint was in fact found on Officer Cruz’s front door handle the night he turned up dead,” says Fox.

“It was,” I respond reluctantly, regretting I jiggled his front door handle when Kiki and I visited his home.

“You were one of the last people to see Cruz alive just like you were one of the last to see Laura before the assault, isn’t that true?” Fox.

I agree with Fox disgustedly.

“How long have you been a prosecutor?” asks Fox slyly.

“Six years.”

“How many cases have you tried during that time?”

“Around forty.”

“In how many of those have you slept with the lead investigator?”

“Objection,” says Tanner, stepping in to try and save me.

“Sustained,” says Judge Hoffman.

I wish I had my nine millimeter Glock right now.

“You said that you went up to Room 333, is that true?” asks Fox.

“Yes, that’s where we found Laura,” I say.

“In fact, before you found her, you pinged a location at the intersection of where Motel Leafwood was, isn’t that true?” says Fox.

“It is,” I say.

“How did you know to go to Room 333?” says Fox.

“I just had a feeling,” I say, starting to worry that Fox knows something about my powers.

“Is that how you investigate cases, based on feelings?” says Fox.

“Objection, relevance,” says Tanner.

“Sustained. Move on and ask a more relevant question,” says Judge Hoffman, saving me.

“When you gained access to Room 333, you saw what I believed you described as the most horrific scene you’ve ever seen. Is that correct?” asks Fox.

“It was,” I say.

“Let’s revisit that scene,” says Fox, picking up an exhibit that looks like a photo.

“Your Honor, may I approach the witness?” asks Fox.

I start feeling really warm. I look down at my hands that are starting to shake like they are becoming possessed. I start counting my fingers to make sure they’re all there, something I used to do as a kid when I was afraid. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7.

“May I ask why he’s approaching?” asks Tanner, standing up.

“To show her a photograph of the motel room,” says Fox, waving the photo in his hand like he’s trying to show the jury.

Tanner looks at me. I’m sure I look like a deer in headlights. My breathing feels really shallow and goose bumps travel from my tailbone all the way up over my shoulders and through my arms heading to my fingertips. My arms, biceps, and fingers all of a sudden freeze.

“Objection, Your Honor,” says Tanner.

“On what gound?” says douche bag.

“Relevance and foundation,” says Tanner.

“What is the relevance of this, counsel?” asks Judge Hoffman.

“This is the crime scene that Ms. Ruiz is a percipient witness of. I should be able to examine her about her personal observations she made,” says Fox.

“He should do this with the crime scene technician who took the photo,” says Tanner, looking at me.

“Your objection is overruled,” says Hoffman.

Fox walks right up to me and places a photo face down in front of me.

“I just placed People’s Exhibit One right next to you. I would like you to turn that photo over, take a look at it, and tell me whether you recognize what’s depicted in it,” says Fox.

Before reaching for the photo, I stare at its blank backside, remembering the photo that Tanner showed me when I testified in my stepfather’s trial. And I start to freeze.

“Ms. Ruiz, did you hear the instruction?” asks Judge Hoffman.

I shake my head up and down in agreement.

“I’m going to object again, to showing this witness the photograph,” says Tanner.

“Overruled. I’m going to order you to follow Mr. Fox’s instruction and turn the photo over to look at it,” says Judge Hoffman.

Just as I start to reach for the photo, I hear Tanner again.

“Your Honor, I’m objecting again,” he says.

“On what grounds this time?” asks Judge Hoffman frustratedly.

“Beyond the scope. This photo belongs to the People. I intentionally did not use any photos with this witness. And defense should have brought their own photos if they wanted to use them during cross-examination,” says Tanner.

“Counsel?” says Judge Hoffman inquisitively, looking at Fox.

“I didn’t bring any. And would need about an hour to go print them. I only have them on a CD,” says Fox.

“You should have prepared your own exhibits for trial, Mr. Fox. I’m going to sustain the People’s objection, but I’m also going to allow you some time to go print your photos,” says Judge Hoffman.

I hear the jurors start to sigh and shift their bodies in the jury box. I look up at Tanner and smile at him, before mouthing the words,
it’s okay.
Then, I turn towards Judge Hoffman.

“Your Honor, I’m fine. If it’s okay with the People, I’ll look at the photograph,” I say.

“That’s fine with me,” says Tanner.

“Very well, go ahead,” says Judge Hoffman.

I turn over the picture and stare at Laura’s naked body on the motel bed, then turn it back down. I can’t help but remember my mom’s silk kimono in the photo I was ordered to look at during her trial. That picture will stay burned into my memory forever.

Tears roll down my cheeks and I reach for a tissue sniffling and wiping my tears. I look down and cry as silently as I know how to, trying to remember if I’m supposed to answer a question.

The jury starts to reach for the tissue boxes that are sitting on the railing of the jury box.

I finally come up for air to answer more of Fox’s nonsense questions about the crime scene.

“How long have you been running The Mamacita Club out of your motorhome?”

“Since my first marriage ended.”

“First? How many marriages have you had?”

“The same number you can probably count up to.”

“Answer the question, Ms. Ruiz,” directs Judge Hoffman.

“One, so far. But I’m shooting for three like J-Lo, hoping it won’t turn into five like Rita Hayworth,” I say, receiving a smile from one of the divorced women on the jury panel.

“Speaking of her, aren’t you also known as the Pin-Up Prosecutor?”

“That’s one of my nicknames.”

“How many do you have?”

“It depends what day of the week you’re talking about. Or what pin-up costume I’m in. Or if I’m in court versus The Mamacita Club out at the Airstream. I’ve been called Latina, Carmen Miranda, J-Lo, Eight of Swords, Bruja, Trailer Hillbilly, Rockabilly, Grace Under Pressure, Gang Banger, Bulldog Stick-It-To-Em Lawyer, the Closer. I can go on and on.”

“What’s your favorite?”

“Mamacita,” I say.

“And let the record reflect, the witness has a red flower in her hair that’s pulled back and she has red lipstick on. Let the record reflect all of that. Just out of curiosity, how would you say
spicy
in Spanish? Caliente?” says Judge Hoffman.

“Picante. Caliente. It’s all the same as Mamacita,” I say, smiling at Judge Hoffman.

“Hot, spicy, and Mamacita in what way, Assistant Prosecutor Mrs…. I mean Ms. Ruiz?” says Fox emphasizing the fact I’m not a Mrs.

“My friends call me Mamacita. I like to salsa dance and I’m Latina. It’s a term of endearment. I’m different to them. We all need that unexpected friend in your close circle. Someone who’s just different. That’s who I am and what I like about being Mamacita,” I say, giggling inside wondering if Fox’s friends call him
Hal
for his halitosis.

“I believe you were quoted in the Tuckford Press stating that you wear pinstripes by day and pin-ups by night. Can you explain exactly what that means?”

“It speaks for itself. There’s nothing to explain.”

“Do you also dress in garters, stockings, and other provocative things at night?”

“That’s none of your business, but when I’m around the girls, of course not. We’re professionals. We just wanted to pick fun alter egos. The girls dress up, too. We encourage them to be creative; it’s all a sign that they’re in recovery.”

“And let me get this right. You choose pin-up models as your alter ego?”

“It works with the girls and helps to teach them things.”

“Like what? How to become a prostitute and wind up blindfolded, tied up, and almost dead in a motel room?”

Just as I’m about to stand up and personally walk up to Fox and kick him in the balls, I think twice. Taking a deep breath in and letting it out, I smile politely. I can be a lady when I need to. Plus, poor Fox has no clue how to serve his community, our youth, or even his bad breath. The only thing he knows how to serve is himself.

“Mr. Fox. You and I both know that Laura should have joined The Mamacita Club. But your client didn’t let her,” I say sternly.

“Isn’t the real truth that your office didn’t allow her into your club because it was a conflict of interest?”

“Everyone in the criminal justice system could have dealt with that. A judge could have ordered her into my club or her stepfather Javier and my office could have waived any conflict; but we couldn’t even get to that point, because she was a minor. And your client said no thanks. Laura was trying to change. She wanted to join The Mamacita Club and even told Clown and Bess the night she was assaulted that she wanted to stop prostituting. Clown was actually going to let her go. Bess, on the other hand, had a different plan,” I say.

“And you believe that Clown was going to let her go?”

“I have seen some of the most selfish people motivate the people around them to make better choices than they did.”

“Wow, that’s pretty liberal of you, Ms. Ruiz, wouldn’t you say?”

“It’s the truth.”

“Following that logic and assuming you believe my client is guilty, wouldn’t it be possible she acted in a heat of passion, upset at Laura wanting to stop?”

“That’s up for the jury to decide, but my personal opinion is absolutely not. Hours before this happened, Laura told your client that she was going to testify against Javier and stop prostituting. Your client wasn’t trying to motivate Laura to make better choices. She was trying to control her and spent hours planning it.”

“I’m showing you Defense Exhibit Number 20. Am I reading this article correctly that a certified angel reader works at The Mamacita Club?”

“Yeah, that’s Angela. She’s amazing. She’s certified in Angel Therapy.”

“So she’s like those fortune tellers with a crystal ball?”

“No, she gets her messages from angels, not plastic balls.”

“What’s her pin-up?”

“Angel Gabriel.”

“Gabriel? I thought your club was all women?”

“It is. There’s some dispute whether Gabriel is a male or female. In Judaism, Gabriel may have been thought to be a female angel. Angels in general don’t have a gender.”

“Interesting. There’s an angel in the Airstream. But what’s more interesting is how seriously you take this. Do you have an angel?” says Fox laughing.

“Angels are like buttholes, Mr. Fox; we all have them,” I say, causing the courtroom to erupt in laughter as Judge Hoffman glares at me pounding his gavel on his desk.

“You didn’t answer my question. Do you have an angel?”

“Objection, relevance,” says Tanner agressively.

“Overruled,” says Tanner.

“Yes,” I respond.

“How does your angel communicate with you?” says Fox inquisitively.

“Angels are like gut intuitions — everyone’s got them, just not everyone listens to them,” I say genuinely.