Under and Over Chapter 96
As Kate begins speaking, Esposito repeats what she says, in Spanish.
"Detective Beckett," Cisco interrupts, "I've been in the U.S. since I was seven years old and I was fluent in English by eight. I don't need an interpreter. I also don't have all day to sit here. So can we just move it along?"
"Fine," Kate agrees. "What's your occupation, Mr. Chavez?"
Cisco's lips twitch at the edges. "I suspect you already know that. I work for Break-Net. We test and challenge computer networks to uncover security holes."
"So you're a hacker?" Kate queries.
"Yes, if a system is insecure, I can hack it. Then I suggest fixes to keep out crackers, hackers with malicious intent."
"So you have no malicious intent, Mr. Chavez?" Kate presses.
"My motives are always pure, Detective Beckett. I work against the bad guys, not for them."
Kate taps her pen against her folder. "That's interesting, Mr. Chavez because we have evidence suggesting that you broke through the security of West-Hem shipping. Was that with good intentions?"
"I suspect that if you had any real evidence, I'd be arrested, not just questioned," Chavez returns. "But let's assume, hypothetically, that I did penetrate West-Hem's firewalls, what would I get out of it?"
"The address of a recently murdered drug dealer."
"And you think I killed him? Hacker to murderer, that's quite a leap. And as I said before, if you had any real evidence, I'd be under arrest. But I didn't kill anyone, Detective Beckett."
"Who'd you give the address to?" Kate demands.
"I never said that I had it. But let me tell you a little story, Detective. When my parents came to this country, they worked very hard to build lives here for themselves and for me. But that doesn't mean they abandoned the pride in their heritage, including technology 2,000 years ahead of its time. We were all part of what I suppose you might call an enclave, where old stories were told and customs respected. My father's passed on now, but my mother is still very much connected to that culture. To a somewhat lesser extent, so am I. So I started to hear new stories, of people who highjacked the ancient relics of our people and used them for evil purposes, evil purposes drilling a wormhole in the Big Apple. Hypothetically, there are some who wanted to know where that wormhole led. And hypothetically, someone with my skills could have penetrated West-Hem's security to find out."
"And hypothetically, Mr. Chavez," Kate returns, "to whom might you give that information?"
"Hypothetically, Detective Beckett, the enclave has a council of elders. That information would have gone to them."
"And where might I find this council of elders?" Kate inquires.
"They're hypothetical, Detective. That's a matter for your imagination. But in my imagination, I can tell you this, not one member would commit a fatal act of violence. They would pray and ask the old gods for guidance. They might even try to convince an instrument of evil to quit before the gods meted out punishment. But they would not take a life, even an evil one. For thousands of years, that's been a matter only for the gods to handle. So if you're looking for a murderer, you won't find one there."
"All right," Kate considers, "I'll accept that for the moment, but how would this hypothetical enclave and elders hear stories of what your so-called evil ones were doing in the first place?"
"Evil has victims, Detective Beckett. Unfortunately, my people are no more exempt than any others. And aren't the victims where every hunt for a perpetrator begins?"
"You might say that," Kate responds.
"There's a healing sanctuary, Refugio, not far from where I live. That's where the stories begin. I wish you success, Detective. But I've given you all that I can. And I do have to get to work. So, unless you plan to arrest me, I'll be going. But you know where to find me."
"Yes, Mr. Chavez," Kate assures the hacker, "I do."
"You believe him, Beckett?" Esposito demands as the elevator doors close on Cisco.
"I'm not sure," Kate admits. "But he was right that we don't have a reason to arrest him. All we've got is that he lives in the right area to have hacked West-Hem. He never admitted he did it."
"So now what?" Ryan asks.
"I check out Refugio. And Espo, I want you with me. Chavez may speak perfect English, but that doesn't mean everyone at Refugio does. And Ryan, I want you to find out everything you can about an enclave in Jackson Heights. And doublecheck what Chavez said about Break-Net, too."
"Will do," Ryan acknowledges.
Except for the street number, the Refugio building is unmarked. It does, however, appear to be a refuge of sorts. While the weather is still too cold for flowers, evergreen shrubbery, unusual in the neighborhood, lends a touch of life to the place. Rather than a buzzer, the front door sports a ceramic knocker. Kate uses it.
She'd expected whoever answered the door to come in a uniform or scrubs. However, the woman who appears wears a simple blue shirtdress. "Can I help you?"
Kate puts off flashing her badge, leaving it hanging from her waistband. "I'm Detective Kate Beckett, this is Detective Esposito. We're not here to arrest anyone or cause any of your patients trouble, but I understand that some of them may be able to help us with an investigation."
"Our patients come here for respite from the world so they can heal," the woman explains. "They don't need to be upset by any police investigations."
"Please," Kate urges, "I don't want to upset anyone. But we have to solve a murder. The evidence leads here, to this community. And until we uncover the killer we'll have to keep asking questions here and of everyone else who might be related to your patients. If we can do this quickly and quietly, we'll cause as little upset as possible."
After Esposito adds something in Spanish that Kate can't quite catch, the woman nods. "All right. I'm Emely Diaz, the shepherdess. Most of the patients are in the peace chamber." Emely leads the way to a room painted in light blue and green and filled with potted plants. Patients in casual street clothes sit on bean bag chairs and couches while the sound of gently falling water comes from a hidden speaker. "Please walk as softly as you can and keep your voices down."
Kate gazes around the room at questioning and fearful eyes. She nods to Esposito to translate for her. "I'm Kate Beckett. This is Javier Esposito. We are police, but we're not here to arrest or hurt anyone. We're investigating the murder of Blueson Checker. We know he was a drug dealer, what many of you might consider an evil man. Maybe the world is even better off without him. But the law says no one had the right to make that choice. And in order to protect everyone, we have to follow the law to find killers, even of men like Checker. That means that we'll be around asking questions here and of your elders and your entire community until someone points us in the right direction. We would rather not put you or anyone else through that. So all we need is the names of anyone with enough anger to take Checker's life."
Kate watches as the patients exchange glances until one woman in faded jeans stands up. "I'm Gabrielle Alvarez. We've all been angry. Most of us are still angry. My grandfather is an elder. He was angry too. They all were. And they went to talk to Blueson Checker, to ask him to stop selling his poison. But they didn't kill him. And Checker wasn't the only one selling. He had a rival, one who didn't know where to find him. But the rival could have seen my grandfather and the others go to try to change Checker's heart."
"What's the rival's name?" Kate presses.
Gabrielle looks questioningly around the room before giving an answer. "We know him only as Anguila."