CHAPTER 22
WIRE TRANSFER
After stopping by the bank and filling out the paperwork to transfer $900,000 to General Moya’s bank account in the Cayman Islands, I went straight to the office. I kept telling myself I had no choice but to send the money; nevertheless, a feeling of impending doom dogged me. As I sat at my office, I wondered if Tex would actually be released or if I had just helped fund the murder of hundreds of innocent citizens of Ecuador. Eventually I put Tex and General Moya out of my mind and got back to work on a more immediate problem, Paula’s hit and run case.
The background checks on the three persons involved were sitting on my desk. I couldn’t believe Monty had gotten them done that quickly. I guessed he was as concerned for Paula as I was. I opened the first file on the victim and began reading. Her name was Maria Cabrillo, age 26, a resident of Dallas, and a student at El Centro College. She was single and lived with her boyfriend, Raul Marcos, in an apartment in Oak Lawn. The report said she was in the U.S. on a green card from El Salvador and had no criminal record. The file included her thin credit report which showed only credit cards with Citibank and Sears. She apparently paid these bills on time.
The first witness was Ernesto Garcia, age 23, of Garland, Texas. Also from El Salvador he was employed by S &T Packing Company as a carpenter. His criminal record included convictions for DUI, possession of marijuana, and criminal mischief. He was still on probation for the DUI. A U.S. Citizen since being sworn in May 1983, Garcia was single.
The second witness, Brian Armstrong, age 28, also of Garland, Texas, worked with Garcia at S & T Packing Company but as a laborer. Apparently they had been carpooling when they came across Paula’s accident. Armstrong had been recently divorced and had no criminal record. His employer reported his income at $28,220.00 per year. Armstrong was a U.S. citizen born in McKinney, Texas.
Nothing in the reports seemed to be of much help with the exception of Garcia’s criminal history. Since he was on probation I decided to call his probation officer and see if I could get any more information on him. The report indicated the probation officer’s name was Martin Sweeney. I called and his secretary put me through.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to talk about the men on probation that I supervise,” Martin said.
“Well, I don’t know if you heard or not, but Mr. Garcia was a witness to an alleged hit and run a couple days ago. He claims that my partner, Paula Waters, hit a woman jogging and then left the scene of the accident. My partner says Mr. Garcia and his friend took the victim from the scene of the accident to transport her to the hospital. After they left, my partner went back to her office to try to figure out where they had taken the victim. She was quite shocked when the police took her back to the scene of the crime and the victim was still lying in the street.”
“Really? That’s a pretty bizarre story.”
“Well, if my partner is telling the truth, and I’m sure she is, your man is involved in some sort of scam.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me, but you’ll need evidence to prove it. I don’t suppose you have anything?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, if you get any evidence that Mr. Garcia was involved in anything illegal let me know. Otherwise, there’s not much I can do.”
“You can’t tell me anything else about him that might help me figure this thing out?”
“No. Like I said, I’m not at liberty to discuss my cases with anyone outside the court system. You can, however, go down to the court and look through his criminal file yourself. It’s a public record. You might find something there.”
“Well, I was hoping to avoid the trip, but I guess that’s what I’ll have to do. Thanks for your help.”
“I wish I could do more.”
After lunch I went by the county courthouse and pulled Garcia’s criminal file. There wasn’t much in there that I didn’t already know, but I did find a note that Garcia was a member of the 18th Street gang. When I got back to the office I called Bart to ask him if he knew anything about them.
“They’re one of the worst,” he said. “Their initiation ritual always involves violence. I heard two girls testify once how they were beat up by three of their “homies” while the crowd counted slowly to 18.”
“Jesus. Why would they want to be in a gang like that?”
“Their parents had pretty much deserted them, I guess. The psychologist who testified at the trial said they had a craving to belong which was so strong they were willing to endure the pain from the beating.”
“Boy, that’s hard to believe.”
“Haven’t you seen teenagers with tattoos all over their forearms?”
“I guess.”
“Well, that’s a sign of their gang membership. The 18th Street Gang originated in Los Angeles. They have a blood feud with the Mierda Seca, or MS.”
“Have you ever heard of these gang members participating in insurance scams?”
“Sure, they’re into drugs and will do anything to support their habit. Insurance scams, kidnapping, murder for hire—you name it and they’ve been there.”
“So, it’s likely that Garcia and his friends staged this whole thing?”
“Probably. Maybe if you keep digging, you’ll find another victim. I’m sure Paula isn’t the first person this has happened to.”
“Would you ask around the DA’s office and find out if anyone has ever heard of a scam like this?”
“You bet. I’ll check it out and let you know.”
“Thanks. I’m going back to the scene of the accident and see if there is anything there that might help us.”
“Be careful. If the 18th Street Gang is involved, they won’t like anyone snooping around in their business.”
“Right. Maybe I’ll get Monty to come with me.”
“Good idea.”
Monty met me at the scene of the accident. It was a half mile stretch of undeveloped road between Preston Road and the condominium development where Paula lived. The two lane, asphalt road was lined with large cottonwood trees. In the morning it would be pretty dark when the trees blocked the morning sun. A jogger passed by as we were looking around. I watched him as he ran down the road. Apparently this was a popular route for joggers as I noticed another one coming toward us from the other direction.
“I wonder if any joggers witnessed what happened to Paula,” I said.
Monty nodded. “As popular a route as this is, odds are, there is someone out there who knows something.”
“Maybe we should come here in the morning and talk to some of the joggers who come by. We might get lucky.”
“I’ll do that for you,” Monty said. “I’m sure you’ve got a dozen other things to do.”
“True. I’m so far behind on everything it’s getting ridiculous. If I don’t get caught up pretty soon, I’m afraid I’m going to lose some of my clients.”
“Well, if I can help in any way, let me know.”
“I will, definitely.”
As we were about to leave a beat-up Chevy Impala approached us. As it got closer it slowed down. The car was loaded with a half dozen Latinos who stared at us as they drove by. I could see their tattoos and knew who they were. Bart was right. They knew what we were up to and they didn’t like it. Suddenly I wished I had a gun and knew how to use it. Perhaps I’d hire Monty to give me a crash course in self-defense. This case was getting dangerous and the closer I got to the truth, the more perilous it would become.