The Panama Papers

By J. Guillermo Castro

A cadaver found murdered in Los Angeles, California leads a LAPD veteran detective in a search for the murderers.. It pits him against drug cartels, the Sicilian mafia and killers for hire. The search leads him to foreign countries and surprisingly, love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Guillermo Castro
• Release date: Jul 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9780988646315

Book preview

Prologue

Habana, Cuba

It has been so long that sometimes my mind fails me but if I work hard at it I still remember the important parts. Why am I now at this point in my life trying to put down what I recall about these events I am not even entirely clear myself. I suppose it is because Fidel just died and some day it might be important for the history of our country.

So here it goes. My name does not matter because even though I was not important to the revolution, I was close enough to much of what happened so I know the story as well as any of the people involved.

The first thing I remember was that it was late at night. That in itself was not unusual because most nights it was like that. We were in Fidel’s favorite house in Varadero which had been confiscated by the revolution. It had been the home of a family which was among the richest ones in Cuba. It was designed by a famous architect whose name now escapes me. By the time we were using it, it was not new by any means but Fidel wanted to make a point. The rich had stolen from the people and now we were taking it back. It sure was grand. It had several stories with at least 20 bedrooms and probably more bathrooms.

As most nights, we were in the main living room. The famous paintings were still on the walls because as we entered Habana the year before, the word went out to all the barbudos that the house was not to be entered and God forbid, plundered, because the man himself was going to live there after he assumed power. I’m talking about a couple Monet’s, a few Picasso's and some other less known ones.

The room had a great music center with lots of records and we all enjoyed it. The boss was a big fan of danzones so we were always listening to Arcano y sus Maravillas and a Mexican group called Acerina. What most people did not know was that the group’s leader, Acerina, was also Cuban. The arguments we had about which was better.

We were drinking. I was making myself one when the phone rang. Che picked it up and just listened. He hung up and turning around spoke, Fidel, era Barba Roja y dice que estan listos (Fidel, it was Red Beard and he says they are ready.)

Fidel stood and finished his rum and Coca Cola. Interestingly for a man who disliked America so much, he really liked one of its products. But that is how we humans are.

In any case he ordered the escort be brought to the rear of the house and we all picked our guns and followed him. Fidel never went anywhere without us, his two main bodyguards. If he was traveling his escort also came. We all knew the routine. Three cars, with four armed men each in the first and third vehicles and Fidel in the middle one sitting in the rear either alone or like that night with Che next to him with us bodyguards in front. But sometimes he rode the first or third car just in case. It was already past midnight which was usual in those days. Fidel was always a night owl and the rest of us had to adapt.

Che swore, Que mierda! (Shit). Barba Roja could not find a worse night to meet?

It sure was a lousy night. It had been raining hard for hours and it did not look like it was ready to stop anytime soon. I had heard that the Key West radio had warned the day before that there was a tropical storm coming but in those early days of the revolution it seemed we worked nonstop, storm or no storm.

We drove as fast as we could given the heavy rain and eventually reached a building in the city outskirts. I did not see anyone around but the escort knew its job. They never took any chances. All of the men from the front and rear cars stepped out with their guns ready and started searching the area. We two personal bodyguards remained with Fidel with the engine running ready to run if anything ever happened. As I said, we never took any chances.

Soon, the head of the escort came over to our car and addressed Fidel.

Jefe, todo bajo control (Boss, all under control).

The driver shut down the engine and we all stepped out of the car. Fidel walked into the main door followed by Che and us bodyguards. The armed escort took station outside the building. They were getting soaked but it did not matter. They knew their job was to protect Fidel. Perhaps it might not have mattered that night because the word in the area was that the building, which had no markings on the outside, was the headquarters of G2 Seguridad del Estado (State Security) of the new Cuban government and no one in their right mind messed with them.

Fidel was met by a uniformed young man, one of the lieutenants of the security organization. He led us to a conference room. As everything was in those early days, the room was very simple. The building had belonged to a company that prided itself in its secrecy. The room had only one door and no windows. It had nothing on the walls and a big table with a few chairs. It was perfect for G2.

Fidel walked over to the center of the table, pulled a chair and sat down. Che sat next to him. We bodyguards remained standing up behind the Boss as always with our hands on our guns ready for anything.

Bien Fidel said, addressing a man with a red beard standing in front of the table among a few others, Tell me about this idea Che says we should consider.

Barba Roja, the head of G2 now spoke, Boss, I’ll let the agent involved tell you all about it. He stepped aside and a uniformed man took his place in front of the table.

Boss, I just returned from Colombia. Following Che’s arrangements I met with the head of the Cali Cartel. He said they are ready to provide us with all the merchandise we can handle. He said the more the better. I made no commitments. That is for you to decide but based on what his finance man told me it seems to me that we will easily be able to finance our revolutionary efforts in South America and build up our intelligence operations in America. As a side benefit, many of our American enemies will become drug addicts!

He paused to let Fidel speak if he wanted. He did.

Tell me, do you have any idea of how much money we are talking?

The officer replied, Based on what I was told I estimate that by 1965 we could be doing $10 million a year.

Continuing the man spoke, However, the best thing I learned from the cartel’s finance man is how to hide the flow of money. He told me about this law firm in Panama. They can organize for us as many dummy corporations as we require. Not a single Cuban person will appear as having anything to do with the companies as directors or officers. It will be total secrecy. The law firm has contacts in many banks that are used by organizations that do this sort of thing which he called laundering money. The money will be moved and hid in almost any place in the world.

Now Fidel stood up and said, I’ve heard enough.

Directing himself to Red Beard and Che, he said, Good job. Do it. But I do not want us involved or know any details. Put in charge any one you totally trust. And do it the sooner the better. We need the money. The Gringos with their embargo are shutting down all the banks we have been using.

He repeated, We need the money.

That ended the meeting and we went back to the house with the rum and cokes. Little did any of us know that night that by 1965 we would be doing many, many dozens of millions every year due to the insatiable hunger by the gringos and others for the white powder. It even paid for Fidel to send an entire Cuban army to fight in the African wars. But that is a story for another day.

Chapter 1

City of Angels, California

As best as I can recall his name is Rafael Ralph Lopez. He had spent a few years with the US Marines. I suppose he was attracted to danger. He had done tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan. He was tall for a Hispanic man, 6’-2. Not dark at all, broad shoulders and handsome with a boyish grin the ladies found very attractive. His family was originally from the northwest corner of Spain. On a lark, he had a tattoo done on his back shoulders. It read, Mess with the best, Die like the rest. US Marines".

All of this information was provided by our intelligence people when it became obvious to us that the man was becoming a problem for the organization but I am getting ahead of the story.

It was in Afghanistan that something happened to him that apparently changed his idea of making a career out of the Corps. Four days before his rotation out of the country he had been stationed at a forward base when the Taliban attacked it. Mortar shells started landing all over and the last thing he remembered was being hit by fragments, tripping as he was running towards a bunker, falling and not remembering anything else.

He was out for some time and when he came to, a medic had just finished working on his wounds. The man told him the shrapnel was not bad but he had broken his left arm as he had fallen on it. He had patched it up with temporary splints. Soon the CO came over and told him since he was due to leave anyway, he was being evacuated shortly and was going to Germany on a medical evacuation flight.

On the flight to Germany, he mostly slept but was awake enough to think about what just had happened the day before. He had been told that on the same flight, the bodies of two of his buddies were also on board. He thought, that could have been him, going home in a coffin. Right there and then he made the decision. He had been lucky. But why tempt fate? After his enlistment was over in about a year, he would not reenlist.

In Germany he was taken to a military hospital. The doctors made sure the temporary job on his arm was redone and a cast set on it. He remained there for a few weeks of rest and then flew to the States. His orders were to go to Camp Pendleton on the west coast. He could not figure that out since the Marines had bases on the east coast. Why go all the way across the country but that was the military for you.

Camp Pendleton, the famed United States Marine Corps base where in an earlier age, ranks of marines were trained and shipped in great Navy fleets to challenge and ultimately defeat the Japanese Empire in the Pacific. It was named after a long forgotten Marine general.

In the Camp his job was to help train new marines on how to survive combat. That is where most were headed. He did it well. During that last year, his captain had tried to talk him into reenlisting a number of times. But his mind was made up. No tempting the fates for him.

When his enlistment was up in 2007, he received an honorable discharge and not having a better idea, moved to LA, the closest big city. Lopez was not looking to get into law enforcement. But finding a job that paid a living wage was difficult, particularly if all you had mostly done for 8 years was fight. He probably took the easy way for someone of his background and became one of LA’s finest. After a while he found out that not only he had a penchant for it but liked it. As with the Marines, the LAPD I am told is always looking for a few good men.

After many years as a uniformed officer, Lopez was known in the department as a hard worker and a take no bullshit kind of guy. Eventually he took the detective examination and passed it on his first try. Because of his time in the department and hard work ethic, Lopez was assigned as the rookie partner to a detective who was some sort of a legend if you believe the LA Times. The detective, Law Fallon, was the senior detective in the LAPD Homicide Squad.

Fallon was one of these lucky people in life who always had known what he wanted to be. Right out of high school he had enrolled into a criminal justice degree program at USC. He showed his motivation and plain doggedness by working while studying. He paid for most of his courses as his family was not in a position to help much. It took him an extra couple years but he finally got his degree with excellent grades to boot. During his last semester he had applied for a detective job with the LAPD and was ready to start working right after graduation.

Law Fallon was about as tough and hard headed as they come. At 51, he had over 28 years in the force, and was starting to think about retirement when Lopez joined him. We heard Lopez asked around where Fallon’s name had come from. Was it a nickname, was it Lawrence, what? No one knew and being a rookie detective he was surely not going to ask Law. They were homicide detectives, the guys who try to find out who killed who and why. I am not sure Lopez knew what he was getting into even though as a Marine he had seen his share of dead people but not until he started to work with Law did he realize what the job entailed.

$$$

Lt. Dan Alder, head of the Homicide Squad had been summoned to meet with the Chief of Police together with his captain. Both men had gone up to the chief’s office before the appointed time and they had to wait for a while. The secretary had told them the officer was on the phone with the mayor and from what she could tell it was not going well. The call apparently was taking a lot longer than anticipated but they had no choice. Wait was the word.

Lt. Adler had been the head of the Homicide squad for a few years and was held in high regard by his superiors. He had been a law enforcement officer with the LAPD for over 20 years. He was in his early 40s, married with 2 children. Law Fallon reported to him and they had a very good working relationship. Adler was just a tad taller than Fallon and kept himself in shape, visiting the police gym as often as his duties allowed him. His job kept him very busy and the pressure of it did not seem to weigh much on him. He handled it well.

Eventually the intercom rang, the voice telling the secretary to send the two officers in.

The sec waved them over and the two men followed her into the Chief’s office. She said nothing and just backed out of the room closing the door on her way out. Lt. Adler had been in the office before and looking around thought nothing had changed. Typical chief of police office with lots of letters on one wall praising the work of a long career, nondescript pictures on two others and city of Los Angeles mayor and the US President on another with the city of LA, the State of California, and the US flags on either side, nothing fancy. A big desk with no chairs in front and a cluster of several chairs around a coffee table topped with several magazines. The only difference compared to many other such offices was the size. It was pretty much larger than most. After all, this was LA, second largest city in America with a population exceeding 3 and a half million.

The Chief was sitting behind his desk. The two officers walked in and saluted standing at attention. The officer did not even invite them to sit down which was a sign that this was not going to be a happy encounter. He did not even tell them to relax so they stayed at attention.

Men, the Chief said.

The mayor and I had a conversation just now. He spoke and I mostly listened. It was not a fun call I can tell you. It seems that there is an article in today’s LA Times that points out among other things, that the number of unsolved crimes in the city is a disaster. On a per capita basis we are doing terrible. Do you hear me?

The Captain replied, Yes sir!

The Chief just said, Dismissed!

The two men saluted and turned around and walked out of the office. The officers marched down to the Captain’s office where the man proceeded to do what the Lt. knew was coming. He proceeded to ream the Lt. a new one because no progress was being made on the number of open cases. He was told it was a priority for the department and was dismissed.

Now it was his turn to organize a reaming. He called for a 7 AM meeting of all detectives in the squad for the next day.

At the appointed time, Alder started the meeting by saying, All rite, everyone pipe down. I know you all know the score. The boss is not happy and when he is not happy it flows down.

So I am not going to ask for ideas because we know what we need to do. I will make it easy to understand. No time off, no vacations, no promotions. No nutting until the number of open cases is brought down to where the Mayor, AND the Chief, AND the Captain get off my fuckin’ back! Are we understood?

So go out there and solve some of these murders and that’ll take care of the situation. That’s it. Dismissed!

Shit, thought Lopez. That was short but not sweet. Not that I care. Having become a homicide dick a few months back, I was not looking for anything. But probably a few of the guys were not happy. But that is someone else problem.

***

Rookie, spoke Law. Let’s go get some coffee and talk about this.

The two men walked out of their office and went out to the parking lot where their unmarked car was. They were dressed as plainclothes detectives do, the difference being that Lopez suit looked new which it was because prior to becoming a detective he had owned no suits. He had been told not to buy anything expensive because those suits take a beating. So he went to Sears, found the cheapest and bought three of the same except for the color which he chose black, dark blue and dark brown. As far as shoes were concerned he wore the same he did as a beat cop. Leather top black with comfortable rubber soles, perfect for standing and walking for a long day.

You drive, said Law. Let’s go to Spring for Coffee on Spring Street.

Lopez obliged and caught the keys Law threw him. Both climbed on the unmarked Ford and left the police parking in a decidedly not speeding way.

The joint was not too far and they soon found themselves looking for a parking spot. Luckily it was early enough and found one right away.

This was the first time Lopez was here and as the stepped from the car, asked, Law, you wanna sit in the place or order and take it to the car?

Wherever we can have a little privacy. Don’t think we want to share what we need to talk about with the crowd.

As they approached the place, Lopez saw that this was a small place with just a few seats outside which were mostly taken. There was only a counter inside so the car would be it.

They ordered American coffee with muffins, paid and walked back to the car.

Law, remind me next time we want to go for coffee to check out a place where we can sit on a booth or something. Cars are not the most comfortable to sit to talk business.

Fallon did not say anything. He rather have good coffee than a place to be comfortable.

Reaching the car, they both sat inside and started working on the coffee and muffins. Lopez figured that he just should listen to whatever Fallon would want to say. He took a bite of the muffin followed with a sip of the brew which prompted him to comment, Hey Law, the coffee and muffins are really good, Lopez said. He was about to say something else when Law’s cell went off.

Law, is all the man said. He listened to the speaker and after a short time said, Got it, and hung up.

Turning to Lopez he said, That was the boss. We drew a case.

He gave the address to Lopez and said, Let’s go.

Lopez entered the address on his phone GPS and turned the car’s emergency lights on.

Law, how fast you want to get there?

Man can wait. He is dead, was the reply.

Lopez eased the car out of the parking spot and drove off.

Do you know where this is? asked Lopez.

Not sure. The boss said might not be easy to get to. It is supposed to be a spot between the Golden State Freeway and the LA River.

After driving for about 45 minutes they found themselves on Fletcher Drive over the river. At some distance on the side of the river they could see a bunch of people.

Law spoke, Rookie, just find a parking spot. We are going to have to walk using the river bike path.

Lopez did as instructed and parked over a sidewalk. He placed a LAPD sign over the car’s dashboard and got out of the vehicle. Crossing Fletcher Drive they walked towards the LA River Greenway Trail and entered the bike path. The path was about eight feet wide, concrete top in this part with lots of bushes on the side away from the river.

Less than half a mile away they approached several people, two of them uniforms. Now they saw what looked like a body to the side and under the bushes. There were also a few guys on bicycles standing on top of their bikes.

Coming closer to the cops, Law asked the senior policeman, What we got here?

The uniform responded, We got a call from the station that a report of a body had been phoned in and we were asked to check it out. When we got here these fellows were waiting.

Pointing to one of the men he said, Mr. Gilchrist here told us his group had been cycling by the river when they saw the body. As you can see, there is a fair amount of blood on the ground. I checked the pulse and there was none so we called the station and were told not to disturb the scene and wait until detectives showed up, like we don’t know how to handle a body!

Law did not pay attention to the cop’s last words. He turned to the group, and asked Mr. Gilchrist, Did you men touch the body or move it?

No sir, said a man who looked to be in his middle 40s. We bike as a group and do the river path almost every morning. Usually we go by here by 7 am or so. Seeing the body and then all the blood I used my cell phone to call 911. They told us to not do anything and to wait for the cops. And that is what we did.

Turning again to face the uniforms, Law said, Take down all of their information and then they can leave.

Looking at the body which had been on the ground face up, he said, OK Lopez, give me a hand. I want to turn the body around to see what we find.

Lopez did as instructed. The body was that of a white man of medium height, probably about 5 foot 6 or 7 inches. On the heavy side probably weighing about 170-180 pounds and had on a pair of chinos, a short sleeve shirt and hiking boots. He had not shaved in a few days and was partly bald.

Grabbing the body by the legs’ he waited until Law took the shoulders and said, OK on the count of three. One, two, three.

They flipped over the body.

Man, this fucker was heavy.

Looking at the source of the blood which seem to be on the lower portion of the head, Law said, Looks like he got shot with a low caliber piece at point blank range. Yep, execution style.

Hearing that, one of the cyclists which had not left exclaimed, Holy shit!!

With that Law turned and said, OK fellows if you have given all your information to the officers here, we would appreciate if you continue on your ride. Detectives will be in touch to take your official statements on what you found here. Have a good rest of the day.

If that is possible, he added thinking, probably none of these gents have ever seen a cadaver.

Then taking out his cell phone he dialed Lieutenant Alder. Speaking when he heard his voice he just said, Boss we just added to your backed up list. Send in the crime scene guys and the coroner. I think we have a bona fide gang execution on our hands.

With that he hung up, told the cops that he and the rookie would go back to the car and wait for the coroner to show up. No reason for them to sit in the heat if they had an air conditioned car nearby.

Chapter 2

Lopez, imitating Law’s style. No good morning, no nothing.

He listened what the voice said and hung up.

Law, it was Rita, from the coroner’s office. She said that the body had two bullets not one in the back of the head and that was the cause of death. No shit! It will do it every time. But the bad news is that the prints had no match in any of the sites they have access to.

Law replied, Well that only leaves us one way out. Let’s go and talk to some of the gossip mongers on the street and see what they have picked up.

Law took his coat which was sitting on the back of his rolling chair and did not even put it on. He knew it was hot outside. Lopez followed him.

Exiting the building, Law spoke, I’ll drive.

Both men climbed aboard an unmarked car and took off.

Rookie, have you ever been to Felipe’s Bar on East LA?

Naw. Any special reason?

We have a paid informant that usually spends time there. If not I can find out where we can see him. I think the dead guy was Latino but not Mexican. But I could be wrong.

Taking I-5 S they made it to Whittier Boulevard in about 12 minutes. Turned right into Kern Avenue and the bar was located almost on the corner. The place has a gated parking lot next to it and at this early hour parking was plentiful.

Law swung the car into the lot and eased into a spot backwards in case they needed to hurry out somewhere, the habit of many years as a detective. A man approached them and asked if they were going to the bar. As they stepped out of the vehicle, Law took out a fiver and handed it to him. The man stuck the bill on a roll and walked away, Never had any problems here but you never know, he mentioned to Lopez.

Both men walked from the lot onto the sidewalk and went into the main entrance. The place is one story with a big red sign in the center top of the structure, just a basic concrete box with no windows on the street side.

This place has been here since the 20s, said Law as they walked in.

Inside, it was somewhat dark and quiet. Fallon led them to a wood table on a corner away from the bar. Three men were sitting on stools next to the bar talking to a nice young woman. No TVs. You could tell this is a place where guys come to drink. Other than the bartender there were no women inside the place.

If he is here he will find us, Fallon spoke as he sat down.

The bartender walked around the back of the bar and approached the two detectives.

Mr. Fallon, good to see you. It’s been a while.

Yep, sure has been. We are on duty so coffee for both will have to do.

How do you like it, warm or really hot?

Both not too hot.

The bartender walked away and in a short time came back with two mugs, left them on the table and walked back behind the bar.

Fallon scooped his mug and started to work on his coffee.

Lopez figured if Fallon wanted to say something he would so he picked up his and took a sip.

About ten minutes went by and now he had finished his coffee and not a word. Finally he was about to speak when Fallon stood up and said, Let’s go.

Signaling to the young bartender they were leaving; he left some money on the table and walked out. Lopez followed him and both men walked back to the car. Fallon opened the driver’s door and got in. Lopez did the same on the other side. Then Fallon spoke, The informant and I have an arrangement. He does not want to be seen anywhere near me. So I come to the bar and hopefully he is here and sees me. I then leave and go to a cemetery some blocks away and wait. If he was in the bar he will show up and we will talk. He is usually here but not today so let’s go to the cemetery.

With that, Fallon started the car and eased it from the parking spot. He drove out of the lot unto the street took a left on Whittier Boulevard. Continuing on Whittier for several blocks under the Long Beach Freeway they soon reached Home of Peace Memorial Park. He drove the car into the Park’s main entrance and parked the vehicle. The Park has been described by others as beautiful and historic. It is the oldest Jewish cemetery in the city.

Fallon stepped out of the car and started to walk. At that, Lopez spoke, Law, what gives? What are we doing in a cemetery?

That’s what I said. That we were going to a cemetery. What? You did not believe me or you did not pay attention. This was my idea. When I first met this informant he told me three things. One, no phone contact. Two, show up at Felipe’s Bar and three, no way do I ever want to be seen talking to you. So I knew the area and figured if we walked in the cemetery nearby who the fuck is going to think what we are doing is a cop and a snitch talking business.

Makes sense to me, replied Lopez.

So now we walk some, pick a tomb and stand there like we are praying or something.

They did that and after a short walk stood in front of a tomb.

Now what?

We wait some more looking down at the tomb.

After about ten minutes, Lopez became bored and spoke up, Law, I’ve been thinking about something. You said the body looked Latino but not Mexican. How do you figure that?

Well, how many Mexicans do you know that have green eyes.

Did not notice that.

I mean, there probably are a few but not the ones I’ve dealt with and believe me, I’ve dealt with many. However, there is something else rookie.

In our business it pays to be observant. I can’t tell you how many crimes get solved because investigators noticed a small detail like that.

I get that.

They waited a few more minutes and still nothing.

Now Fallon spoke, Rookie, I have been meaning to ask you something. Your English is as good as mine. No accent. But Lopez is Spanish. Is that right?

Yes, it is. So what?

Well, it just occurred to me that if you talk the lingo, then you can talk to the informant instead of me ‘cause this guy’s English is pretty bad and my Spanish sucks. I mean, we can communicate but it’d be better if you spoke Spanish.

As a matter of fact I do speak Spanish pretty good.

So where did you pick it up?

I was born in New York City and grew up there. I lived with my parents and my Puerto Rican abuela". My grandma, all she spoke was Spanish. My parents were away most of the day working so as a kid all I heard was Spanish. Yeah, I speak