The Defense

By Eralides E Cabrera

The defense has its hand full in the case of State v. Berrazo, Pereira, and Lonas. A sect that seems to fester in animal and human sacrifices gets caught in what seems like a sinister crime perpetuated only for the purpose of offering the body to the dead. An evil cult, it seems, that shakes the community. But things are not always as they seem. It takes a skilled defense attorney and a relentless investigator to uncover the truth. Its a spellbound story of intrigue and shocking results. The defense takes a leap in its estimation of the truth, and it uncovers it as no one, not even the most diligent detective, would have expected. A captivating story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 31, 2015
• ISBN: 9781496955302

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© 2015 Eralides E. Cabrera. All rights reserved.

Cover by Julio Martinez

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse    03/27/2015

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5531-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5530-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014921200

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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About the Author

[I]t [is] better for the jury to acquit all eight defendants than mistakenly convict one innocent man.

John Adams, Closing Argument on the Captain Preston’s trial, October 24-30, 1770.

1

It was a hot summer day in South Reves, New Jersey. The town sort of sprung up on the traveler after the southern end of the Borough of Sayvo, at the crossing of the bridge that connected the two towns. The area was known as a speed trap to locals who by now knew about the police hiding spots at the beginning and end of the bridge. Most new travelers would have no idea and they would fall into the hands of a rested patrolman, aiming his calibrated radar gun at the oncoming vehicles. The patrolman would activate his overhead lights and cut the path of the unsuspecting driver well before he had a chance to pass through town.

Detective Dean Summers despised traffic work. He had had his fill of it in his years as a patrolman and since becoming a detective some years back, he had rarely issued any traffic summons. Today he was not working on anything in particular. At times like these he liked to park his long black Ford in the parking lot of the Wawa store, at the bottom of the bridge, on the Sayvo side. His boss had warned him several times already that this could be a problem with jurisdiction. If he happened to pick up on any criminal activity, it technically would belong to the Sayvo Police Department. Dean brushed him off with a shrug of the shoulders or some casual remark like I’ll report it to Sayvo then. So, you’re making work for another department? his boss would reply. Get over on our side, will you? his boss would say.

Dean paid him no mind. The truth was that he liked to sit idle in the parking lot and chill with a cold plastic bottle of orange juice or just plain water and watch the cars stop at the light as they began the steep climb over the bridge. A working man deserved a break. For a small town like South Reves, he kept busy enough, answering his phone almost 24/7 and not being paid for it. He had twenty years in the force altogether. What the heck? He’d be dammed if he could not take ten or fifteen minutes for himself.

He slid his body down on the driver’s seat and gulped his drink down. Last night he had been up until almost 4:00 am and then up at 7:00 again. He was tired. He let his car engine run so he could keep the air going. It felt so cozy inside that he wound down to the point where he was suddenly asleep, drink in hand.

What startled him a few minutes later was the sound of the rattling engine of a small car, driving at racetrack speed. He opened his eyes and saw the red Honda Hatchback, its frame so low that he swore he heard it scrub the ground as it screeched off the light and made for the bridge. It was not so much the speed but that unbearable shrieking sound that it made that actually got Dean upset. He would have preferred to close his eyes and doze off but when the red devilish creep cut off the car traveling on the left lane, and began weaving from side to side in front of him, taunting its driver that proved too much for Dean.

Shit, he said to himself as he straightened himself up. The little punk had to come in and spoil my nap.

He said it as if he had seen the driver when in fact he did not have the faintest idea of who he was. That’s how Dean Summers’s brain worked. In his opinion, fast moving small cars with shrieking mufflers were driven by little punks, blacks and Hispanics who were all criminals or women who should be at home. He did not hide his bigotry either, yet, his seniors at the police department let him slide only due to one reason and that was because Dean Summers was a darn good detective, the best one that the Borough of South Reves had ever laid its hands on.

He clicked his Ford’s engine on and put the car on reverse as he turned his police red lights on and hit the siren. He backed up at brace neck speed then switched the drive to forward. He stepped on the gas pedal literally to the metal causing the rear Goodyear aramid overlay tires to sweep off some of the parking lot’s gravel back as they slid furiously on the ground. Then he was off like a bullet, bouncing off the driveway’s apron and squeezing in front of oncoming traffic as he made the turn at the light. He went up on the bridge and eyed his prey, now way past the crest. He bet he would catch up to him before the light at the end. He was working his engine without mercy, doing well over eighty. There were no cars on his side so he moved to the right lane. Just as he was reaching the light he happened to make one of those subconscious gestures that had come to him throughout his life’s work. He jerked his neck sideways and got a peek of the twisting branch of the river that edged the shoreline. He got a fleeting glance of the bulky object floating among a flock of geese. The scene stayed in his mind like the instant photograph of a Polaroid.

The light was red but the red Honda kept going, picking up speed. Dean was now struggling to bring his car down to a manageable speed. The Borough’s downtown area sprung up suddenly as one left the bridge and giving chase in the middle of a crowded street was definitely off limits. But there was no need. The local police station was right down the block and they had already picked up on the speeder. Two patrol cars quickly barricaded the road one block away, forcing the Honda’s driver to either stop or commit suicide. With Dean right behind his tail, there was no escape. The Honda screeched to a halt and out came the young driver, running into the opposite sidewalk, chased by three officers who ordered him to stop.

All right Dean, where did you find him, on the Sayvo side?

He was a lieutenant in the Borough’s police department, well aware of Dean’s reputation. He chuckled as he spoke to him.

Hey, Dean said, ignoring his comment, can your men watch my car here for a few minutes? I’ve gotta check something out in the river.

In the river? No way, you’re blocking traffic. Who knows how long you’re gonna be.

Dean turned his back and walked away towards the bridge. He stopped by his Ford, a few feet away, and stuck his hand through the open passenger window to grab his radio speaker and clicked it on.

I’m off to the river for a look, Captain. I’ve got my cell on me. Can I call you?

Go ahead, said the voice on the other end. What can you possibly be looking for in the river, some dead duck?

I’ll tell you in a minute, Captain.

Dean put the mike back into the radio box and walked over the bridge. He could have gone off into the swampy area off the shoreline and reach the water that way but it would have been too messy and besides, the object of his curiosity was further up. He would have to plunge into the water.

He walked up no more than fifty yards, past the swampy area, where two arms of water branched off the river. He saw the brown bulge that had caught his attention near the shoreline of the larger of the two water sections and swung his leg over the guardrail. He went down the embankment, getting his shoes soaked in mud almost immediately. The area around the water shore was marshy and it was impossible to avoid getting dirty. Dean worked his way laboriously into the water, slowly walking forward towards the bulky object and without taking his eyes off it. A few geese that swam nearby began sliding away as he came near. Yeah, he said out loud, that’s a human body all right.

He got as close as he thought would be prudent without endangering what could be a crime scene, with the water reaching almost up to his waist. That was always his biggest fear as a detective, spoiling a crime scene. No matter how intense his curiosity, he could not run the risk of contaminating the area with his footsteps that could very well be muddling over other traces of somebody else’s steps that might have been left at the bottom of the river. That’s if they dragged the body over here which is unlikely, he said out loud. Most likely this body has been floating around for some time, he observed, watching the large bulge that he now recognized as the rear portion of an inflated jacket. That’s when he decided to retrieve his cell from his shirt pocket and dial the station.

I’m down by the bridge, Captain. Need a crime squad here to sweep the area. I will explain later on a secure line. Can you get some people over?

There was a long pause on the other end. Captain Floyd, his department boss, was no stranger to surprises but murder was a rather unusual term in the small borough, known for its silent working class neighborhoods and sleepy sidewalks. And, although Dean had not used the term, he knew exactly what he meant by his request.

Where are you exactly?

Just have them start up the bridge about fifty yards and I’ll wave them in. They have to get on the north side though.

I’m going there myself, the captain said.

2

Dean stood near the bridge, sunk in the mud, while the team of forensics began their tedious work by pulling the body out of the water, taking photographs and taking water samples. It was a good two hours before they finally waved Dean in to take a look.

The victim was an African American man whose features were now unrecognizable. His face was too swollen and crabs had eaten away some of his exposed flesh. The thing that struck Dean immediately was his jacket.

How old would you say he was? Dean asked one of the three young men working on the body.

No idea, one said. We’ll find out though.

Can we scrub some of that mud off his clothes? I wanna see if there’s a tag on his jacket.

Hmmm. That’s good, the young man said, looking up. That’s pretty good. That hadn’t dawned upon me yet, Detective. Now, let me ask, I don’t know. Ralph, he said turning to one of the other men, I see no harm in cleaning his jacket a little, do you?

Lou, the other man replied, staring at the body, we wanna know how long he’s been in the water. If we remove some of that sod without proper testing, we might lose track. I don’t know.

Just around his left chest area, Ralph, Dean said daringly.

He did not know any of the men but he felt comfortable talking to them and calling them by their first names as if he knew them. They were all working on the same side, what the heck?

Hey, Lance, Ralph said to the third man who was taking his time preparing what appeared to be a stretcher. Can we scrub around his chest a little?

Just to see if he’s got a name tag, Lance, Dean added.

Now a third brain went to ponder over the same question as if it was a math equation that could not be solved. He was older than the other two and he rubbed his chin slowly before looking up at Dean.

Nah, he said. Let’s wait till we get him back to the lab, Detective. You can go down there later and they’ll let you look into whatever you want. I can see why you would want to dig into it. We need to go slow. They’ll remove all that stuff at the lab, little by little, and then we’ll see. Let’s leave him be for now. We’ll just try to get him out of here intact and then they’ll start breaking him apart at the lab.

He smiled at Dean, a sort of evasive smirk but responsive nonetheless. He nodded his head as if to convince himself he was doing the right thing.

Okay, Dean replied. I’ll hang around until you take him away, if that’s all right.

Well, of course. Hey, it’s actually your case right now, don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t want you to leave, in fact. But you know my concern. I have to preserve every bit of evidence and treat it as if it was glass. You know the deal.

Dean nodded.

Well, I don’t know if it’s my case but I need to do my job nonetheless.

What do you mean it’s not your case? Lance said. Of course it is. You’re the main guy.

I found him, yeah, but there’s a lot we don’t know yet. For all we know, he could have just drowned in the stream. He could have been stoned out of his mind and wanted to take a splash. It did not work out very well for him though.

Lance laughed and so did his other teammates. Then Lance got serious.

I guess you did not notice that entry wound on the left side of his head, ah? That’s all right. No one’s perfect. But what’s really interesting is that the exit wound is directly on the other side of his brain, almost in a straight line with the other one. Pretty darn accurate if you asked me. Yeah, you’re right, there’s a lot we don’t know.

Lance stood up, hands on his hips. He was actually a little taller than Dean, lanky and very fair skinned. Right now he was smiling with obvious irony at Dean.

What entry wound? Dean replied, intrigued.

He came closer and bent down to look at the body.

I know, Lance said. It’s hard to see. When the body swells up even the hole made by a 45 closes up on it but it’s there. I don’t know what type of bullet made it but what’s interesting is how it traveled. I guess whoever did it was a straight shooter.

Lance chuckled and his two companions laughed. Dean kept examining the body’s left side of the head carefully. After a few seconds, he switched his gaze to the right side. Still looking puzzled, he rose up to look Lance in the eye.

How can you tell which one is entry and which one is exit?

I guess that comes with the job, Detective. Secrets of the trade, let’s just say. But that’s why we gotta be careful not to mess too much with the body. I just sense there’s something sinister behind this guy. You know what I mean? We’re in the same business, you and me. After a while you develop that buzz that tells you everything. No, this was no drowning. No drugs either, I bet you. What they did to this guy went beyond murder.

What do you mean?

Maybe some sort of ritual, I’m not sure.

Where do you get that from?

Lance took a step back and waved the two other men to walk to the other side of the body. He pointed to the abdominal area of the victim, covered by thick mud.

I can’t see nothing. Dean said.

It’s way underneath if you look closely. They ripped right through his jacket and disemboweled him like a pig.

Dean was still trying to make out the traces of any wounds to the man’s belly but they weren’t visible to him, even as he got as close as an inch from the body.

Detective, we gotta go. Step back a little bit while we put this guy on the stretcher. Don’t worry, you’ll have all the time in the world to look at him at the lab.

Lance turned to his two teammates and nodded.

Lou, throw a blanket on him. Ralph, call the van and ask if they’re ready for us.

Ralph unclipped his walkie-talkie from his belt and beeped the driver of their van double parked on the road, in the opposite direction of traffic. The local police had closed a portion of the north lane of the road to keep cars away. Lance smiled at Dean.

Gotta go Detective. I’m told they got a diver coming in just to check the bottom of the stream for any traces of prints or any other evidence. I don’t know where they dumped this guy but if I was to guess they threw him off one of the local bridges, maybe even this one, and he just traveled his way here, probably a few days ago. Don’t know for sure.

I might just walk up stream to see if I pick up anything, Dean said.

There’s a man that cares, Lance said. Gotta give it to you, Detective. You look like you need a scrubbing from the waist down with all that mud. You sure you don’t wanna go home and clean up?

Nah. I’m here, might as well. See you later, Lance, and you guys. You need me to escort you to the van?

No, we’ll be all right. Got the entire police department up on the road guarding us. Nice meeting you.

Lance leaned forward to shake his hand. Then he and his companions got to work, slowly lifting the body with their gloved hands and placing it on the stretcher, then covering it up with a grey blanket.

Dean walked away, following the edge of the stream, keeping an eye on the grass that grew in the dry areas and avoiding the wet patches. He didn’t take his eyes off the ground, looking for any signs of objects, clothing or anything that could have been left behind. He walked a good quarter of a mile until the stream disembogued into the larger body of water and there was no place to walk. A flock of geese kept moving up towards the larger stream and a few that had remained on shore quickly waded into the water as Dean got closer. He saw a baby one pulling ferociously at a piece of red cloth with its beak.

What have you got there, little fellow? Go on to your mother.

Dean slapped his hands to scare him away. He grabbed a pair of nitrile gloves from his back pocket but then stood still for a moment, thinking. He placed them back in his pocket. He picked up the garment with one hand. It was the now shredded half of what appeared to be a tee shirt. Dean made a mental photograph of the spot where he had found it and carried it with him as he returned to the road. The mud on his trousers was beginning to harden and it was making it uncomfortable for him to walk. He met up with a young woman and man from forensics, who were scouting the area around the stream but did not report his findings. He had folded the torn garment and placed it inside his back pocket. Then he hopped over the bridge’s railing and headed for his car that was still stopped by the light. Police officers were spread out all along the sidewalk, talking low among themselves. The right lane of the highway had been cordoned off with red cones and several patrol cars parked in a row.

Hey, Dean, I think you’re gonna need a bath there fellow. You sure you wanna get in your car like that?

Dean was popular among the officers and few followed protocol and called him by his first name. He didn’t mind but he knew that among the herd there were some wolves who actually hated him. He didn’t care. He figured he had gotten away with so much for so long that it was too late to change.

Once I get home I’ll send for one of you guys to clean the car, he answered.

There was some laughter and he walked away from it and casually opened the door to his Ford but someone grabbed his forearm tight as he was about to get in. It was the captain.

Captain, he said, turning around. this is how people get shot.

Where do you think you’re going?

Captain Floyd was a veteran of the force. He had been a police officer for almost thirty years. Now reaching his mid fifties, he did not look his age. He had the build of a Charles Atlas, tall, with a flat midsection but muscular. He wore his uniform as if he was going to a gala function, long sleeve white shirt with golden sleeve bars and a tight cap with scrambled gold on its visor.

I’m going home to wash up. Look at me.

Without reporting?

Nothing to report. You must have talked to the forensic people, no?

Of course I did. That still doesn’t mean we don’t need to talk. Talk to me.

Someone put a bullet in his head. I think they may have gutted him. We’ll know more once the doctors work on him. The question is now where it happened.

Dean made a move to get inside his car and then suddenly stepped back, as if he had forgotten something.

Captain, I think they should comb the area. There’s gotta be something out there, and not necessarily in the water.

Wait a minute, Dean. Don’t go yet. I need you around to supervise?

I’ll be back Captain but I gotta clean up. Where can I possibly go like this?

All right. Go ahead but come back, you hear? This may be our crime of the century and I wouldn’t want your name to be missed on the reports.

Dean got inside the car and shut the door. Captain Floyd was knocking on the glass before he could turn the engine on. Dean slid the window down.

Captain, we’ll talk later. I’ll be back.

The captain stared at him and shook his head. He was going to say something but stopped. Dean backed up his car and then drove forward on Main Street, past the police cars that surrounded the Honda he had chased over the bridge. He noticed the driver sitting in the back of one of the patrol cars. This punk doesn’t know how lucky he is, he said to himself out loud.

3

There is a lake on Devoe Avenue