The Mictlan Murders

Chapter 2-2

I RECALL A COOL AND brisk spring morning as I entered the police department. The interesting aspect of such a place, it never stops. It’s always in perpetual motion, as the activity before me would suggest. As an investigator, I’m always on the hunt for a good story, but there comes a time when I need to break away from the details and recharge the batteries. I’ll admit there are times when a story sticks with me, in fact, more than I would like them to like. I would expect a homicide detective or a street cop could never really shut down and take a breather from their work. I’ve always admired that.

I met Jeff in the lobby area. We exchanged brief pleasantries and began the check in process. After everything was signed in and signatures documented we made our way into the jail’s visitor facility which had a video phone system. I sat in front of the blackened screen. After a quick moment it came to life and there before me was a gaunt and petit Cyndi. Her shoulder length dirty blond hair was pulled back into a pony tail giving her youthful face full exposure. Underneath the hardened filter of incarceration was an average young woman. She smiled as she picked up her receiver and put it to her ear.

The interview was to be very brief as the standard visitor/inmate visitation time frame is only thirty minutes. I wasn’t sure what my focus should have been or just exactly why Jeff set up this appointment. Perhaps because of his missing sister and there be some sort of tie in between her and Cyndi? Maybe there was something he was overlooking and needed a fresh pair of eyes and ears.

I began with what she could remember from the day of her arrest. Her recollections were vague at best. She recalls meeting up with some friends and going to a party where she met a man named Josh (to which she would not elaborate on), passing out then waking up in jail. She remained very aloof throughout our conversation. At points it was difficult to determine if in fact she really understood why she was incarcerated —for accessory to murder after the fact.

Cyndi was very forthcoming about herself and past history. In our short half hour, I learned much about her childhood and adolescence. Things like growing up in Texas, being an only child and scoring twelve hundred on her SAT’s all came out at blistering speed yet was put together in a way that painted me a detailed picture of this young woman now dressed in the county’s threads on the reverse side of freedom. When I tried to steer the conversation towards her dead roommate rotting behind the squat house she would pivot to unrelated items, such as the jail’s food, which she complained about every chance she could.

During our last ten minutes I attempted to buckle down and focus solely on her charge of accessory to murder. My direct questions were met with blank stares and her attempts to pivot. I decided to focus her attention to one detail, this person she called Josh whom I suspected to be a drug dealer. Her demeanor changed. She was frightened and kept repeating how she can’t talk about him. I asked her why.

“It’s forbidden,” she replied with a paralyzing terror in her eyes. And with that our time together ended.

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