For The People Chapter 66

The rims of Tzippi Lowenthal's eyes look even redder against the pale skin of her face. Her pallor is enhanced by the long-sleeved dark blouse she wears over a long dark skirt and dark stockings. A scarf covers her hair. As she talks to Kate in a quavering voice, she holds onto a box of tissues as if it were a lifeline. "I was so happy. The way my family makes me dress, I never thought anyone would ask me out. I probably should have been suspicious when Jason Jordan did. But I really wanted to believe he liked me. And I love the Angelika. They show movies I can't see anywhere else. I can sit in the dark where I don't have to worry about how I look or what anyone thinks. So I really wanted to go with Jordan. We were watching Splash, the old movie with Tom Hanks about a guy falling in love with a mermaid. I loved the idea that a man could want someone who was so different. And for a while, Jason seemed fine with it. But then he started making comments about the plot, how silly it was that a man could like someone that clueless. I didn't think so. I liked the story. But when Jason said he wanted to leave and go somewhere we could have more fun, I went along with it. I wanted to make him happy. And I wanted him to be happy when he took me to the park, too. But I just couldn't do what he wanted. He was hurting me, and I told him to stop. But he just laughed, and then he was on top of me with his whole weight. I tried to scream, but I couldn't get enough air. And then he…" Tzippi presses a tissue against her eyes.

"Just take your time," Kate urges softly. "What did Jason do?"

"He use his knees to push my legs apart, and he tore off my underwear. And his… it hurt so much when he pushed it in. I was crying and, and still trying to get him off me. I scratched his arms, but he kept going until it felt like he jerked inside me or something. And then he pulled back with this crazy grin and told me that he'd made me a woman. After that, he just zipped up his pants and left me lying there. For a long time, I don't know how long, it seemed like I couldn't move. I couldn't even make a sound."

"You were in shock," a counselor sitting near Tzippi suggests.

"Maybe I was," Tzippi agrees. "But I finally got up. I didn't want to be close to anyone, so I didn't take the bus or the subway. I walked home and took a shower. Then the next day, I put my clothes in a bag and buried them in the little patch of ground behind the building where we live. My mother buries pots and pans there sometimes when they've accidentally touched something unclean. Being in the earth purifies them."

"Are your clothes still there?" Kate asks.

"I never dug them up."

Kate leans closer to Tzippi. "Did Jason get, um, anything on them?"

"He laughed when he dripped on them as if he was marking me or something. And there might be some blood where I scratched him."

"Tzippi, could you show me where they are? Sometimes bacteria in the ground destroy DNA. But if any of Jason's is still there, it will be proof of what he did to you."

The tissue box crumples under Tzippi's grip. "What if he says I let him do it? It will be his word against mine."

"Not if we get his blood. That will be a sign that you fought. And added to what he's done to other young women, it will back up what you're telling me. So can you show me where you buried the clothes?"

"I guess, but not when my parents are home. I don't want them to know anything about this."

"Tzippi, how old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"Then, unless you say so, we don't have to tell them a thing."


"So," Ryan sums up, "your guys and my guys all say pretty much the same thing. Geraldo Martinez didn't talk much and left right after his gigs to take care of family business. But as far as we can tell, there was no wife or kids. And according to Luiz Morales, Geraldo used a special cloth to clean the mouthpiece of his trumpet. That could be how someone got the huitlacoche oil on it."

"Which would mean it would have to be done by someone with access to the trumpet or the cloth, who knew about Geraldo's allergy. Someone in the mariachi band would have the opportunity," Esposito suggests.

"But what would be the motive?" Ryan wonders. "And what was all the stuff about family business? For someone to want to take him out, it had to be something pretty hinky. Before we start pointing fingers at the other musicians, we need to check out more about Geraldo Martinez."

Esposito starts for the elevator. "I got his address from the DMV. He has an apartment in Flatbush. Let's get over there."


Ryan surveys the soft rugs and colorful wall hangings in Geraldo Martinez's apartment. "Nice place. Unless he made really great tips, he's got another source of income besides playing mariachi music."

"We might find something about that in there," Esposito suggests, pointing to an ornate wooden desk.

Ryan pulls out a bottom drawer full of files. "These are all in Spanish. You'll need to look at them. I'll look around the rest of the place." He wanders into the kitchen. "Geraldo must have had a thing for guacamole. There's a bunch of avocados sitting here," he calls to his partner.

"That's some damn expensive guacamole, Bro," Esposito calls back. "Come 'ere, I need to show you something." He holds up a file. "Geraldo had a family business all right – importation."

"Drugs?" Ryan inquires.

"Only for millennials hooked on avocado toast. No, the Martinez family imports stuff from Mexican farmers, millions of dollars in avocados alone."

"That's probably how Geraldo knew he was allergic to huitlacoche," Ryan realizes. "He would have had access to it."

"He must have played mariachi music as a hobby or something," Esposito figures.

"Or a way to keep his eyes on the preferences of consumers," Ryan speculates. "Like if restaurant patrons start cutting back on ordering stuff with peppers, that could be an indication demand would fall. But none of that tells us why someone would want to take Geraldo out or who did it."

"A business that big, someone's got to be ripping someone off somewhere," Esposito asserts. "Maybe another member of the Martinez family was taking something off the top, and Geraldo found out. So the embezzler took Geraldo out before he could expose him."

"And if Geraldo wasn't aware that his killer found out, then the murderer could have gotten close enough to poison his mouthpiece," Ryan picks up. "He might have even been at the restaurant when Geraldo went down. You know, if Castle was here, he would probably point out it didn't have to be a guy. Poison is a woman's weapon."

"We need to find out exactly who was at Casa Maria when Geraldo was killed," Esposito decides. "That means checking all the receipts. So let's get our asses over there."