A pair of articles from Marc Lacey this weekend went down real smooth, like a pair of
tacos de suadero, followed up by a Sprite from a recyclable glass bottle. But then they lingered in my brain and bothered me for hours, much like a pair of
tacos de suadero bought from a shady street vendor might rattle around my stomach. This passage, about the investigation into the murder of a Juárez police reported, echos some of the
complaints made by Carlos Lauría in a column I mentioned last week:
Pedro Torres, Mr. Rodríguez’s editor and close friend, was similarly unimpressed with the government’s effort to find the killers of his top police reporter.
Investigators waited for months before visiting the newsroom, interviewing some of Mr. Rodríguez’s co-workers and getting copies of his articles. The government has not yet established whether Mr. Rodríguez’s killing stemmed from his work as a police reporter, infuriating his colleagues, who are convinced that such a connection is clear.
“He’s the godfather of my child,” Mr. Torres said. “I’ve known him for years. They’ve never talked to me. What kind of investigation is that?”
A pair of articles from Marc Lacey this weekend went down real smooth, like a pair of tacos de suadero, followed up by a Sprite from a recyclable glass bottle. But then they lingered in my brain and bothered me for hours, much like a pair of tacos de suadero bought from a shady street vendor might rattle around my stomach. This passage, about the investigation into the murder of a Juárez police reported, echos some of the complaints made by Carlos Lauría in a column I mentioned last week:
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