Title: Shred of Proof
Rating: K+
Warnings: mention of murder (par for the course with Coco fanfics)
Spoilers: Some. If you haven't watched the movie, why are you reading this?
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended
Author Notes: This always happens. I get sucked into yet another fandom and just reading fics gets me wanting to write some. This is just going to be a series of one-shots that honestly could be read on their own, but I'm going to be lazy and post under one 'story'. Please don't expect too many up-dates. Also, I claim absolutely NO knowledge of Spanish. I am a white white Canadian. Any Spanish I know is from reading Coco fanfics and guessing what words mean from context.
André Ramirez was a man of scholastic merit and esteem. He was head of the history department at UNAM, the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. While his particular field was linguistics, his chief hobby was in the study of the life and songs of the late esteemed músico Ernesto de la Cruz. André had no musical talent himself, but found the study of the man's songs fascinating. He had become the top-most expert on de la Cruz and anyone who wanted to know anything about him always ended up coming to André Ramirez for answers.
So it was not surprising when he received an email from his cousin's family in Santa Cecilia mention that particular topic. What was surprising was the actual subject matter. If he had read the email correctly, there was someone in Santa Cecilia that was claiming that an ancestor of his family was the actual songwriter behind Ernesto de la Cruz's songs. It was a ludicrous claim. Everyone knew that de la Cruz wrote all his own songs. But apparently this Miguel Rivera also claimed he had proof otherwise.
André had written back, inquiring about this proof and had received a reply with a series of scanned handwritten letters attached. And to his amazement, the letters did indeed contain the words to all of Ernesto de la Cruz's songs. And more to the point, none of the handwriting matched de la Cruz's. And all the dates were from a time before the músico had started to become famous. If the dates were correct and the letters authentic, they could indeed prove this Miguel's claim. André would have to see the actual letters in person to verify that.
Unfortunately his work at the university kept him in México City. He just could not manage his schedule enough to make the trip to Santa Cecilia. However it was agreed that the letters would be brought to him, but it would have to wait until the winter break since apparently Miguel Rivera was still in school. As eager as he was, André Ramirez would never demand that a student miss classes.
So it was on the first day of January that there was a knock on the door of his small apartment not far from the university. André was a little startled by who was on the other side. There was an older man perhaps about his age, thick-set with a paunch, thinning hair, and a thick moustache. Beside him was a young boy in a red hoodie, jeans, and with a white guitar slung across his back.
André looked from one to the other. "Miguel Rivera?" he asked hesitantly. He had honestly expected someone different. The man was far too old to still be in school, but the boy, while obviously old enough, was much younger than he expected.
It was the boy that answered however. "Sí Señor Ramirez. I am Miguel Rivera and this is my Tío Berto."
"Roberto Rivera." The man held out a beefy hand, which André shook. "His papá would have come with him, but my sister-in-law is soon to give birth."
"Ah." André nodded. That made sense and obviously the boy was far too young to travel so far away on his own. "I've been expecting you then. Come in, come in." he waved them both inside and closed the door behind them. As they settled in André's living room, he asked, "Is it you or someone else in your family that is friends with Juan?" He had named his cousin's son.
Miguel shook his head and gave André an odd look. As he set the guitar down beside his seat, André noticed that it bore a strong resemblance to Ernesto de la Cruz's famous one. "No, I'm friends with Lupe, Señor."
As soon as the boy said the name André did recall that his cousin also had a daughter, Guadalupe, who was about Miguel's age. "Ah, of course. I forgot about her."
There was a flicker of a frown that crossed the boy's face at his words. He learned forward a little and said earnestly, "You shouldn't do that, Señor. Family is important. You should never forget your family."
André was a little taken aback by the boy's firm words and almost forceful tone. His eyebrows rose for a moment, but he smiled and nodded. "You are quite right. I will remember better. Now let us get to the matter that brought you here."
Roberto Rivera nodded and nudged his nephew. "Of course, the letters. Show him, Miguel." The boy reached into a pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a small red notebook stuffed with papers. He held it in both hands for a moment before handing it over.
André took the small bundle carefully, flipping open the front cover. He skimmed the first few letters, noting that they matched the ones that had been emailed to him. "I will have to take these to the lab at the university for authentication, you understand."
"But we'll get them back, right?" Miguel asked anxiously. "They're some of the few things we have of Papá Héctor. And Mamá Coco will be sad if they got lost."
"Which would make my Mamá, her daughter, angry." Roberto put in. "And you never want to make Elena Rivera angry at you."
"Not unless you want a chancla aimed at your head." Miguel added with a giggle which made both men chuckle as well.
"Well, to save myself from such a terrible fate, I will be certain to return these letters in exactly the same condition you have given me. I promise." André said as he set aside the notebook. As he sat back in his chair, he continued, "I must say that I was rather surprised to learn it was a Rivera making such claims against Ernesto de la Cruz. My cousin has often told me about the Rivera shoemakers of Santa Cecilia." He looked between the both of them. "And of your family's feelings on music."
Roberto was the one to answer the unspoken question. "It is rather a new thing for our family. And it's thanks to Miguel actually." He ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "It was just this last Dia de los Muertos that music was allowed back in the family. Our Mamá Coco's mind had been wandered away for a while, but Miguel was able to bring it back with a song. She started telling us about her papá, the man responsible for the ban, but talking about him made her so happy that it was decided to allow music once again." The man chuckled ruefully. "My own children have started asking for music lessons now, though Miguel here is the only músico in the family at the moment." The boy grinned, a dimple flashing, as he picked up the guitar and set it on his lap.
"And I see you play the guitar." André said. "One would think you are a big fan of Ernesto de la Cruz. That guitar of yours is an excellent copy of his famous one."
Instead of looking proud at the comparison, Miguel frowned sharply and held the guitar close. "This is Papá Héctor's guitar. Not de la Cruz's."
The way the boy spat the name of the famous músico made André's eyebrows reach for his hairline. That was certainly vehement. And curious. He glanced at the older Rivera. The man rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little uncomfortable and awkward.
"Mamá Coco said she recognized it as her papá's guitar." He said reluctantly. "And we do have a foto of him holding it."
"Really?" André couldn't quite keep the skepticism out of his voice. Miguel nodded, his head bobbling on his neck, as he shifted the guitar a little and reached into his pocket again. The boy pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to André.
"It's just a copy." Miguel said. "The original is on our family's ofrenda. And that's where it's going to stay." The boy's firm tone as he said that last part was as startling as his vehemence against Ernesto de la Cruz. André wanted to comment on both those things, but he let it rest for the moment. Instead he unfolded the paper handed to him.
And got perhaps the shock of his career.
The picture, clearly a photocopy, was of an old black and white photograph of a young family. The foto had obviously been damaged at some point, torn and creased. The woman, seated, was quite beautiful and imperious. The little girl on her lap was very adorable. But it was the man in the foto that caught André's attention. He stood next to the woman, one arm around her shoulder while the other held the neck of a white guitar. The same guitar that Miguel held. The man's head had clearly been torn away at some point and taped back on. There was also a creased to indicate the image had been folded once to hide the guitar from sight.
André stared at the picture for a very long time, feeling a little stunned. "This is your great-great-grandfather?"
Miguel nodded again and leaned forward, pointed to each person in turn. "Sí. That's Papá Héctor, my great-great-grandfather. That's Mamá Imelda, my great-great-grandmother. And their little girl is Mamá Coco, my great-grandmother."
After another minute of examining the foto, André handed it back to Miguel. "As you are aware," he said slowly, "I am the leading expert on Ernesto de la Cruz. The study of his career and songs has been my hobby for many years. So it will be no surprise for you to learn that I also collect memorabilia." He gave the boy with the guitar sitting across from him a long look. "I would like to show you something."
The two Riveras exchanged looks as André stood up and motioned them to follow him out of the room. He led them across the hall to his home office. There he went to the flat-drawer cabinet that stood against the far wall. As he pulled out one of the drawers, André continued, "I came into the possession of a very interesting piece several years ago. I have been able to date it to the late 1910's or early 1920's. So from very early in de la Cruz's career, long before he was famous. Unfortunately it is in very bad condition and I have never been able to find another like it." He stepped aside and gestured for the pair to have a look.
Inside the drawer, protected behind glass, was a very old piece of paper. A poster, badly weather-damaged and faded. The bottom half, where any words might have been, had been torn away and was missing. The image on the poster, just barely still visible, was of two men. Musicians. One was clearly Ernesto de la Cruz. The other…
"Papá Héctor!" Miguel exclaimed in awe. The boy's uncle, standing behind him and looking over his head, stared at the image with wide eyes, his mouth dropping open slightly.
André nodded. "For years I have tried to find the identity of this man. Yet I was never able to find anything." He paused and Miguel looked up at him. "Until today."
He watched the boy carefully. A welter of emotions flitted across his face. Joy, triumph, surprise were the main ones, but there was also sadness, some anger, and grim determination. The good emotions were easy to understand. Here was more evidence to help his claims, which could also explain the determination. And the sadness was probably grief for a family member long dead. The anger however was the odd one out. Why would the boy be angry?
"This is probably from when they first left Santa Cecilia." Miguel said softly. He started to reach out to touch the glass, but pulled his hand back. André watched as his eyes drifted from the faded image of his great-great-grandfather to that of the other man. Miguel's expression hardened as little as the anger rose to the forefront. The boy's next words were spoken even softer and with bitterness. "Before Ernesto de la Cruz murdered him and stole his songs."
The shocking statement caused both adults to rear back in surprise. Roberto Rivera reacted faster than André Ramirez could. He shook the boy's shoulders and admonished, "Miguel!" He glanced nervously at André, likely worried over the other man's reaction. "Apologize right now."
Miguel sighed heavily, his shoulders drooping under his uncle's hands. "I apologize, Señor Ramirez. I know I shouldn't have said that. I can't prove it." There was weariness in the boy's expression as he looked up at André for a moment before looking back at the poster. "I can't prove it at all." For some reason, André could swear that it seemed more like Miguel was apologizing to the image of his great-great-grandfather. Then the boy's jaw clenched and he grew fiercely determined. "But I can prove this. I can prove Ernesto de la Cruz stole the songs. They weren't written for the world. Papá Héctor wrote them for his daughter. And for Mamá Imelda. All he wanted to do was come back to his family."
As shocked as André had been at Miguel's accusation, the determined passion in the boy's words surprised him almost as much. The way he spoke of his great-great-grandfather made it sound as if the boy had personal experience of the man, which, if what he said was true, would be impossible.
He hadn't been lying when André had told the Riveras about trying for years to identify the man in the poster. This Papá Héctor of Miguel's. In all the interviews with and autobiographies of Ernesto de la Cruz, there was absolutely no mention of his having a partner when he left Santa Cecilia. André would know if there had been. And because this poster had made him so curious, André couldn't help but become curious about why this boy thought so thoroughly that Ernesto de la Cruz killed his great-great-grandfather to say so out loud like he had.
"Why do you say you can't prove what happened to your great-great-grandfather, Miguel?" He asked after a moment. The boy looked up at him, something flickering in his eyes that made him seem older and wiser than his years. "Doesn't your family know what happened to him?"
Before Miguel could answer, his uncle spoke. "Ah, no, Señor, we actually don't. All we know is that he left his family for music and never returned. I'm afraid that Miguel here has always been one for crazy fantasies." As the older Rivera explained, André kept most of his attention on Miguel. The younger Rivera's expression became mule-ish. Like he wanted to argue but knew it would just get him into trouble. It was clear he wasn't one to give up on something he believed in without a fight of some kind.
And something… Something made him want to help this boy find the truth.
André looked down at the poster as he collected his thoughts. Could it be true? Could Ernesto de la Cruz really have done what Miguel said? All of it? Could he really have killed someone for the sake of the person's songs? If so, it would be a blacker mark on the man's legacy than the theft of the songs alone. Was he ready to be responsible for making that mark? Was André Ramirez ready to stake his reputation on it?
And more importantly, where would they start?
Then he remembered something. The letters. The last one, with the latest date on it, had been postmarked México City. It wasn't a smoking gun, but it did give them a place to start.
"Do you want to try to find out happened, Miguel?" André asked carefully. The boy tilted his head a little as he looked at him, that wiser-than-his-years look was back. As if he already knew, but like he said he couldn't prove it.
"What do you mean?" asked Roberto.
André nodded back towards the living room. "Well, we know by the letters that your ancestor was here in México City in 1921. I might be able to track down some records that could tell if he left. If he took ill or was in an accident, there might be hospital records."
"What about police reports?" Miguel asked. "Like if it was a suspicious death?"
The boy was certainly not letting go of his accusations. Still André gave a slight smile. "I actually do know someone who can help in that aspect. I have a friend, an amateur historian, but more importantly he is a member of the México City police. He might be able to find something in their archives."
"Gracias, Señor." Miguel grinned, enthusiastically. "Anything will be helpful."
"Then I will make that phone call."