Cliff Diver (Detective Emilia Cruz Book 1) (13 page)

“Carlota, this is
Lieutenant Cruz.” Obregon made the introductions. Carlota extended a hand to
Emilia but made no move to initiate the usual exchange of kisses between women.

“A pleasure to
meet you, señora,” Emilia murmured.

“Now, brief me
about this dreadful business.” Carlota directed the group to sit, making a
diamond tennis bracelet sparkle in the sunlight coming through the tall
windows. Her retinue all took seats as if assigned beforehand. “A dead police
lieutenant. Our chief of detectives, no less. A very messy piece of news.”

Obregon sat on one
end of a sofa and indicated that Emilia should sit next to him. Carlota took a
large armchair placed at an angle to the sofa and Emilia had the feeling that
the two were sitting in a familiar arrangement.

“So,” Carlota said
brightly. “Victor tells me you come very highly recommended, Lieutenant Cruz.

It was a good
thing Obregon answered because Emilia wasn’t sure how to respond. “Lieutenant
Cruz briefed me on the investigation so far on the way over,” he supplied. “They
have a few promising leads already.”

“Excellent.”
Carlota turned to Emilia, an expectant look on the face that had helped her win
by a landslide. Her experience as a corporate lawyer and charity organizer had
also helped. “We need to find out what happened to our top detective and get it
out of the news now.”

Emilia opened the
briefcase she’d brought. The press release was just about the only thing in it.
“The boat of Fausto Inocente was discovered adrift yesterday morning off the
beach of the Palacio Réal hotel,” she began.

“We might not want
to say where the boat was found,” Carlota interrupted, the beaming smile
dimmed. “Don’t want people to get the impression that dead bodies float up on
our nicest hotels’ private beaches.”

“Lt. Inocente
lived close to the Palacio Réal and docked his boat at a the private marina in
the same area of Punta Diamante as the hotel,” Emilia said.

“Hmm.” Carlota
said. “Who found him?”

“The Palacio
Réal’s manager and head chef.”

“The
norteamericano
manager? Kurt Rucker?” Carlota rolled the hard consonants around in her
mouth as if they were licorice.

“Yes.“ Emilia felt
a spurt of jealousy although there was every reason why the tourist-hungry
mayor would know the manager of the city’s most luxurious hotel. “Señor Rucker was
very helpful,” she said.

“Of course,”
Carlota agreed. “He’s on the board of the Acapulco Hotel Association. I’m
trying to get him for my Olympics planning committee, too.”

“The Olympics?”
Emilia couldn’t help asking.

Carlota leaned
forward. Her smile was now conspiratorial, woman-to-woman, as if they were
confidantes. It was the expression Emilia had seen in the newspapers, the
benevolent queen who glowed with the certainty she could persuade her listeners
to do things they didn’t want to do. “What do you think about the idea of
Acapulco hosting a summer Olympics?”

Emilia knew that
Carlota’s election platform had been all about bringing back Acapulco as a
premier tourist destination. Once in office, Carlota was a tireless campaigner,
promoting the city in national advertising and pulling in
norteamericano
tourists who weren’t going to Europe because of the weak dollar. Her efforts
had the kept the city’s hotels in business and when the hotels did well, so did
the restaurants, beach bars, night clubs, water parks, trinket stalls, street
vendors, and hookers.

Carlota’s next
project was to promote Acapulco as an international convention center. The
city’s rivals were Las Vegas, Orlando, and Hong Kong, she’d declared in an open
letter to the newspapers a few months ago, but Mexico’s service, scenery, and
low costs would make Acapulco the world’s choice. Rico had read the article
aloud to Emilia as they’d eaten fish tacos at a street stand, copying Carlota’s
dramatic campaign style and Emilia had laughed so hard she’d nearly snorted her
lunch out of her nose.

But the Olympics?
Given the state of Guerrero’s drug violence and lack of mass transportation and
other needed services it was a dreadful idea. Emilia smiled weakly. “How
exciting, señora.”

Carlota’s expression
grew warmer.

Emilia looked back
at the paper on her lap. She cleared her voice and read from her brief
statement. “The cause of death was determined by the coroner as blunt trauma to
the head. His family has been cooperative and we have set up a hotline for
people to phone in tips. We expect that our current leads will be productive.”

“A heroic
detective, killed with his back to the assailant, while conducting an
investigation.” The mayor’s voice slipped into her grandiloquent mode, a
sonorous come-with-me-on a magical-voyage-of-discovery tone that lured voters
and investors and tourists. “Excellent. This will play very well.”

“Actually,
señora,” Emilia said. “So far we don’t have any links back to cases
el
teniente
worked on.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it was in the way the
mayor was thinking. And the link to the counterfeit was just too dangerous to
be talking about just yet.

Carlota waved
aside Emilia’s comments. “I tell you this in confidence, Lieutenant. I’m
determined that Acapulco will host a summer Olympic games. The planning
committee keeps talking but I’ve gone ahead and requested an initial evaluation
by the international committee for next year.” She pressed her hands together.
“This means that many people are watching our city right now. So this case will
get resolved quickly, without any embarrassment or insinuation of wrongdoing.”

“There are many
loose ends, señora,” Emilia murmured.

The mayor’s answer
was icy. “Lieutenant, I’m sure you will tidy up those loose ends very quickly.
The death was unfortunate. A grave loss to the city’s crime fighting team but
in no way connected with drug cartels or city corruption.” Her eyes narrowed.
“Nothing will embarrass this office. Nothing will reflect badly on the city of
Acapulco and its officials. Do you understand me?”

She couldn’t make
the message any plainer, as ludicrous as it was. Obregon smiled at Carlota and
nodded.

“Yes, señora,”
Emilia said.

“We’ve had enough
cartel-related violence,” Carlota went on. “Beheadings and such. This case will
not be another mess showcasing drug dealers or corrupt police. We’re going to
host the Olympics.”

“We’re following
up on Lt. Inocente’s personal business interests,” Emilia heard herself say.
“As well as his gambling habits as possible motives.”

“Nothing to do
with drugs?” Carlota said.

“Not so far,”
Emilia admitted.

“Excellent.”
Carlota treated her to a dazzling smile, the same one that had been on all
those billboards. The brief frostiness in her manner had come and gone and once
again they were the best of friends. “A personal thing, you think. Or connected
to his own investigation?”

“It’s early stages
yet, señora,” Emilia said carefully.

“Yes, it’ll be a
personal thing,” Carlota said firmly as if by making up her mind she could
determine the outcome of the investigation. “That’s even better. The best
possible explanation. It’ll hush up the critics. Of course nothing that implies
bad judgment on his part.”

Emilia’s heartbeat
thudded in her ears. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “We can’t predict
at this point what we’ll find,” she said uneasily.

The mayor leaned
back in her overstuffed chair and flapped a hand. “You can add to your press
statement that all resources are being used. We have substantial leads
regarding who killed Lt. Inocente in the midst of his own investigation, the
details of which we cannot reveal now for fear of harm to informants and so
forth. We call on the citizens of this good city to call the hotline to report
any leads.” The hand flapped again to indicate the quote was complete. “When
you find the killer no doubt you will also solve whatever case Lt. Inocente was
working on or unravel a sad personal situation that cut short an illustrious
career. Either way our dead lieutenant will be one of Acapulco’s heroes.”

“An excellent way
of putting it, Carlota,” Obregon said.

Carlota cocked her
head in thought. “Perhaps we can name something after him in due time.”

Emilia bit her
lip. How thoughtful of the mayor to summarize the investigation so well and
give it such a tidy ending.

Obregon nodded in
satisfaction.

“The statement
needs to calm public nerves.” Carlota crossed her legs. Her shoes were
flesh-colored, with tall spike heels and a red sole. “Let people know that Acapulco
is a wonderful place to visit. No police corruption here.” A slim finger tapped
the arm of her chair. Her nail polish was a shade darker than her outfit.
“Bring your business. Your company. Hold your meetings in our facilities.
Support our Olympic bid. Acapulco is the world’s destination city.” The mayor
was in full speech mode now, the one she used for outdoor rallies and city
council oratory and conferences of Spanish-speaking politicians in Colombia.
“Acapulco is the princess of the Pacific. If crime soils her skirts and tourism
fall off, our people will go hungry. The world will be deprived of the beauty
Acapulco has to give.”

Obregon shifted in
his chair. “Lieutenant Cruz is fully behind your campaign, Carlota.”

“So this is all
about reassurance, Lieutenant Cruz,” Carlota said, again speaking directly to
Emilia. “The public needs to hear that the investigation into the murder of our
most senior police detective is under control, that we are following clues,
leads, whatever. An arrest is imminent.”

Emilia shot a
glance at Obregon. He didn’t acknowledge but instead smiled at Carlota.
“Exactly,” he said. “You should have full confidence in Lieutenant Cruz. She
recently solved a high profile kidnapping. The Morelos de Gama case.”

“Of course,”
Carlota nodded. “One of our most important businessmen.”

Carlota’s retinue
had quietly been taking notes or passing information or making her lunch
appointments; whatever good minions did. A woman typed on a laptop with a
nearly-silent keyboard. The room was sparkling and neat and well appointed,
everything that an official space representing one of the largest tourist
destinations should be. There were several framed photographs of the mayor and
notable people along one wall, balancing out the heavy mahogany furniture and
the flags of Mexico and the state of Guerrero. Several shots were of her
shaking hands or dining with Hollywood celebrities. There was also a photograph
of Carlota with the president. Yet another showed her at some event with the
Olympic flag prominently displayed behind her. It was an extravagant mural of
self-promotion and Mexican tourism.

“Lieutenant Cruz
has the full resources of the police union behind her as well,” Obregon said.

☼

The ten minute
press conference was pure torture. Emilia watched the television in the mayor’s
office with the secretary and Villahermosa who’d popped out of some hole. The
screen showed Carlota walking into her briefing room flanked by Obregon and
Chief Salazar. A big seal of the city of Acapulco, showing the hands clutching
the bundles of broken reeds, was centered behind the podium. Carlota owned it
all, the way she walked in with chin high, nodding to the camera crews and a
dozen or so reporters.

Thankfully, she
kept to Emilia’s brief prepared statement. The investigation team had a number
of leads and she urged everyone to call the hotline. She introduced Obregon as
spokesperson for the police in the entire state of Guerrero and Obregon made a
short comment, calling Inocente an up-and-coming police official lost in the
prime of his career. Salazar said they had named a seasoned detective to head
up the investigation, saying that they would not name the person due to
security precautions. Emilia was grateful for small favors.

“Our city’s finest
are working day and night to solve this crime,” Carlota wrapped up the press
conference. “There is no corruption in the ranks of our police here in
Acapulco. Here we just have dedicated professionals.”

Carlota Montoya
Perez is a magician
, Emilia thought. She’s spinning wishes into gold. Of
course, Obregon had totally fabricated his statement as well.

The reporters
asked a few questions, most of which Obregon deflected by saying they couldn’t
compromise the investigation. He called it “fast-moving” and Emilia nearly
choked.

“Thank you all for
coming,” Carlota said and it was done.

Obregon came to
collect her and Villahermosa for the ride back to the station.

“You’re a fast
learner, Cruz,” Obregon said once they were in the car.

“I never asked for
this job,” Emilia said. “Remember that.”

“You’ll do.”
Obregon seemed pleased. “You told the mayor exactly what you should have, which
was next to nothing. And she swallowed it.”

Emilia had the
sudden sick feeling that he knew she wasn’t telling everything. “I’d better see
some bathroom doors tomorrow,” she said. “And a copier.”

Chapter 11

Sergio Rivas
Estrada seemed a lot like Bruno Inocente; a well-fed former athlete who wore
his business success with comfort and confidence. The lawyer had the same
pleasant demeanor as his client.

“I don’t want to
speak ill of the dead,” he said. He and Emilia sat facing each other in two
matching leather armchairs in his high-rise office near the convention center.
“But, yes, Fausto had mounted up millions of pesos in gambling debt. Everything
his father had left him was gone. Bruno was concerned that this would affect
the children and felt obligated to take care of them.”

“So he sold off
business assets to pay off his brother’s debts?” Emilia asked. “Did you help
with that?”

Rivas had already
confirmed that he and Bruno, along with two other business colleagues, had met
until late on Tuesday. The lawyer had provided the other men’s contact
information without asking. Yes, he and Bruno had gone on to supper. Both of
their wives were at the San Pedro charity event and the men had stayed out
late. Rivas wrote down the restaurant and even the name of the waiter who had
served them; Emilia gathered it was a favorite and much-visited location for
both men. He didn’t seem especially concerned that she was asking questions in
connection with a possible murder investigation and provided her frank answers
without any sign of evasion.

There was a tap on
the door and the secretary brought in coffee and cookies on a tray. She set it
down on the glass coffee table between the two armchairs and served them,
asking how much sugar and milk. Emilia’s cup and saucer came with two chocolate
wafer cookies and she was so grateful for them she could have cried. She’d
rushed to keep the appointment with Rivas and there had been no time to eat
after the meeting at the
alcaldia
.

“Bruno has been
looking to streamline corporate assets for some time. Real estate is enough to
keep him busy.” Rivas thanked the secretary, who withdrew quietly, closing the
office door behind her.

“So selling assets
wasn’t that difficult?” Emilia took a sip of the hot coffee. She decided she
liked Rivas. He was probably somebody’s fun grandfather, the one who let them
stay up late and took them to the Santa Clara store for the best ice cream in
Mexico and convinced their mother that they should learn how to water ski.

Rivas stirred his
own coffee. “Lomas Bottling made us a decent offer and was willing to invest to
recap the machinery.”

“And that was the
end of it?” Emilia asked. She put down her cup and scribbled
Lomas Bottling
in
her notebook.

Rivas drank some
coffee, then bit into his own wafer cookie. He swallowed before shaking his
head. “It just bought Fausto some time, I’m afraid.”

“Bruno said Fausto
asked for an increase in his allowance from the company,” Emilia said. “Do you
know if they fought over it?”

Rivas put down the
rest of his cookie. “You seem to be fishing here, Detective, and I’ll be
honest. Fausto was never going to stop gambling and Bruno was never going to approve
but they were brothers and they knew that family was important.” He shook his
head as if regretfully amused. “It was actually good when Fausto got a job.
Gave him something else to do during the day.”

“So he didn’t care
about the plans to streamline the company?”

“Bruno would like
to get out from under other production assets and just focus on real estate.”
Earlier in their conversation Rivas had outlined the property assets owned by
Seguros Guerrero. It was an impressive list of luxury high-rise buildings in
Acapulco and further up the coast in Zihuatanejo and Ixtapa.

“Would that have
had any impact on Fausto?” Emilia finished her cookies.

“The same as Bruno
and the other stakeholders in that their income is a percentage of profits.”

“So if the company
shrinks, the profits shrink?”

Rivas cocked an
eyebrow. “Not necessarily. Bruno and I think the remaining assets can be better
managed and produce better profit margins.” He sipped his coffee. “The local
real estate market is strong and Bruno wants to focus the company there.”

“Would Fausto have
seen it that way?” Emilia didn’t know if this mattered or not.

“I have no idea,”
Rivas said.

☼

Emilia got a glass
jar full of
ceviche
and avocado from the little stand down by the
Hospital Santa Lucia that always had reliable food. She ate the pickled fish
standing up with the rest of the customers who were there for a late lunch,
most of them in white lab coats or nurse’s uniforms. She felt hot and sticky in
her suit and heels but restless all the same.

As much as she was
sure that
el teniente’s
death was connected to the counterfeit money,
the invisible Hudsons, and the Morelos de Gama kidnapping, she couldn’t
discount the family situation. If Rita Inocente was correct about the San Pedro
fundraiser, Maria Teresa might have had a reason to want her husband out of the
way. And while Emilia might like Bruno, maybe he’d fought with his brother
about money and things had gotten out of hand. Rivas had given Bruno an alibi
but they were close; it might have been all planned.

Wouldn’t that
please the mayor, Emilia thought wryly as she handed back her fork and empty
glass jar to the stand owner.
A personal issue. Yes, even better.

☼

Emilia used her cell
phone to check in with Rico. He and Fuentes had closed out the dispatch calls
from that morning and joined Macias and Sandor in haunting the various marinas.
They had a few promising leads to follow with regard to other pleasure boats.
She thought about calling Silvio and didn’t.

The day was never
going to end, she decided, as she walked into the small office of Seguridad
Sanchez. To her surprise, the manager was an older woman in a plain blouse and
skirt with a nametag that read
Dulcie
.

Emilia showed her
badge and explained the situation and told her what she needed. Three minutes
later Dulcie shook her head at an unseen computer screen as Emilia waited
behind the counter.

“I can give you
the name of the day guard for the Las Brisas
privada
gate at location
number 2,” Dulcie said. She’d already explained how the particular Las Brisas
neighborhood was divided into various
privadas
, all of which the company
protected. The Inocente residence was in location 2. “The night guard was fired
yesterday.”

Emilia blinked.
“The person working the gate at location 2 on Tuesday night was fired?”

Dulcie nodded.
“The note here says he was drinking on the job. A resident reported him and the
supervisor fired him.” She looked proud. “We have empowered our local supervisors
in order to provide the very best service.”

Emilia tried to
share the woman’s enthusiasm. “You said a resident reported him?”

“Yes.” Dulcie
clicked a key. “But I’m not sure I should be giving that out.”

“This is a murder
investigation,’ Emilia said. “I don’t know if this is important or not but I
could use some help.”

She must have
sounded exhausted or pathetic or maybe it was just female solidarity at work in
jobs that were usually a man’s purview.

Dulcie pursed her
lips and stared at her computer screen. Emilia waited.

“The resident who
reported him was Bruno Inocente,” Dulcie said.