Page 24 of Forbidden Devotion

Mr. Diaz, a small, dark man with a misshapen ear, nodded nervously and spoke with a heavy accent. “Yes. I worked at B&L Ship until last week.”

“And how long did you work there?”

“Eh, six years.”

“Why did you leave after so long with them?” Mr. Diaz looked down, nervous.

“I got inside boxes on the ship,” he admitted.

“Why did you do that?” I asked kindly.

His fear was probably very real. He was, after all, lying on the stand in the country he was trying to become a citizen of. “At home, I have four children. We cannot all eat.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Diaz.”

“That is why I take the jobs. People want to send things they cannot send, and they pay me to put those things in their boxes so they can get them.” I nodded.

“By ‘those things,’ do you mean drugs?” I asked. Mr. Diaz nodded silently.

“Si, la chinaloa.”

“Let the record reflect that ‘chinaloa’ is one of many slang terms used for heroin throughout South America,” I noted. “Mr. Diaz, can you tell me about the last time you took one of these jobs?”

“Si. In Febru-ry I agree to hide chinaloa in shipment for American hotel. Container MLX47-something. I don’ remember. The boxes had lamps inside, and I was told to hide the chinaloa in the round part. They tell me to do it right before ship dock in Chicago.”

“And when did the ship dock?”

“April seven.”

“Let the record note that April 7th was the day that cargo ship MSC Invicta, the one carrying Mr. Marino’s shipment, arrived at the Illinois International Port District. Mr. Marino’s shipment was in container number MLX4746210, and was the only container aboard the ship that started with MLX4. We gather that Mr. Diaz was paid off to place the heroin in Mr. Marino’s shipping container.

“Mr. Marino could have been the man who hired Mr. Diaz to do this, but upon submission of his financial statements, it became clear he did not do so. I move to admit these statements into evidence.” The judge took the financial statements from me, looking over them critically. “As you can see, there is no payment anywhere in Mr. Marino’s personal or professional bank statements, his wife’s statements, or his eldest son’s statements that are unaccounted for, and certainly not for a sum large enough to pay for this amount of heroin.

“Mr. Diaz, can you tell the court how much you were paid to place this heroin?”

“No pay,” Mr. Diaz said. I saw the judge lean forward in interest.

“You were not paid to do this?” I clarified.

“Not for the drug,” Mr. Diaz specified. “But I was told I would get green card for my family if I called American police and told them la chinaloa was there.”

You could have heard a pin drop in that room.

“I see. So, Mr. Diaz, you were told you could move your family to America if you planted evidence for the police?” Mr. Diaz nodded. “Did they give you a specific number to call?”

“Yes. They told me to learn it with memory.”

“And what was that phone number?”

“312, 890, 02, 73.”

“Let the record show that this is the Chicago PD’s anonymous tip line, where the search warrant states the tip originated from. Now Mr. Diaz, it sounds like you got a pretty good deal. You obtained six green cards. So why did you come to me with your confession?”

“Because they said to get off ship at Chicago and stay at Motel 6. Three days, he would come to my room and give me card. Then I call my wife and children and they can follow. But he never come, I have no card. Magdalena is waiting for my phone call. Already she sold the house. It is wrong, what this man do to my family. People need know.”

“And what is that man’s name?” I asked.

“He call himself Jorge, but he sounded like a white man.”

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