Cliff Diver (Detective Emilia Cruz Book 1) (16 page)

“Detective Cruz?”
the dispatch clerk huffed. “Are you listening to me?”

“Of course,”
Emilia said automatically.

With the office
phone tucked between her ear and shoulder, Emilia wrote down the instructions
the clerk droned into her ear. It took another hour to have the technical
people send Emilia’s online profile a link to the application and give her
authority to access it, time she could have used away from the station
following up on
el teniente’s
hotel stay, tracking down Bruno Inocente’s
former security guard or looking for the key to the last locked desk drawer. By
the time Emilia could actually open the application and scroll down the entries
she wanted to scream. It didn’t help when she realized that Silvio, as well as
Lt. Inocente, had the authority to open and close entries for the detective
unit. And of course, the instructions taped to
el teniente’s
wall were
exactly what the clerk had given her.

Open entries
included the Tuesday morning call from the Palacio Réal. She typed in “Cruz,
Portillo,” as the assigned officers, thinking about how much had changed in
such a short time. She closed out all the entries until she got to the one for
that day.

“Report of
possible counterfeit
Estados Unidos
currency.” A manager of the Bancomer
Bank near the commercial wharfs was cited as the person to see.

She hadn’t even
looked at the form when she’d picked it up from the dispatch desk early that
morning. If she had, she probably wouldn’t have given the clipboard to Silvio.
But she’d done that to try and smooth some of the hostility between them.

She logged off,
Obregon’s warning like thunder in the back of her mind. The squadroom was
deserted. Emilia got up, grabbed a roll of toilet paper, and went into the
detectives’ bathroom.

The stall doors
were thick blue enameled metal panels. The room was freshly painted as well and
the white walls gleamed. The cracked urinal was still there but overall the
place now looked like a restroom in one of Acapulco’s nicer department stores.

Emilia went into
the last stall and locked the door. The narrow space felt like a refuge and she
sat and held her head in her hands, wondering if Silvio had taken that
particular dispatch assignment for a reason. And then she wondered why she was
sitting on a toilet breathing in old pee and paint fumes instead of having a
drink in the Pasodoble Bar with a man who had all the quiet confidence she
lacked.

☼

She met Rico and
Fuentes as she headed back to the squadroom. Rico gave her a funny look and led
the way back to
el teniente’s
office.

Emilia flipped the
roll of toilet paper into one of the unlocked desk drawers. “What’s up?”

“Got some stuff on
Agua Pacifico.”

“Okay. She
motioned to both of them to sit down. Fuentes dropped into one of the chairs in
front of the desk but Rico stayed standing. She knew him well enough to know
that he was agitated. She didn’t sit either. “So tell me.”

“Guess who owns
Lomas Bottling?” Rico asked.

Emilia went still.
“An American couple named Hudson.”

“No.” Rico shook
his head. “Bernal Morelos de Gama.”

“Morelos de Gama.”
Emilia held out her hand for his notebook and Rico handed it to her. The name
was written clearly. She looked up. “Isn’t that the family name of the little
boy who was kidnapped?”

Rico nodded.
“Bernal Morelos de Gama is his father.”

“Well.” Emilia’s
thoughts jumped around. Rico and Fuentes both looked at her expectantly. “So
Morelos de Gama buys Agua Pacifico from the Inocente brothers for a very small
amount.”

“And three years
later his son is kidnapped--.” Rico trailed off, obviously unsure how much to
say in front of Fuentes.

And he pays the
ransom with fake money muled in by some invisible people named Hudson whose
records have been obliterated by someone who stayed at a hotel the same time
they did.
“It’s a strange coincidence,” Emilia said.

“But hard to
connect the sale of a company and the seller dying three years later,” Fuentes
offered.

“Seguros Guererro
was the seller.” Emilia handed back the notebook.  “From what the lawyer
said,
el teniente
wasn’t really involved. I don’t know if this makes a
difference or not.”

“It’s a lead,” Rico
said cautiously. “You want us to follow up?”

“Well,” Emilia
said. She didn’t want to say much more in front of Fuentes. He didn’t know
about the counterfeit money and she didn’t know how far she could trust him.
And he was Silvio’s partner. “It might be something and it might be nothing.
Just to make sure we’ll talk to Morelos de Gama. Get his side of the story and
compare it to what Bruno Inocente and his lawyer have said about the sale of
the company and the gambling debts.”

“We still have to
check out El Pharaoh,” Fuentes said. “Long list of bookies and other casinos,
too.”

“I know.” Emilia
shrugged. “It’s a lot. But I want to tie up all the loose ends.”

Rico opened the
door and Fuentes walked out ahead of him. Rico turned his head and rolled his
eyes at Emilia. She shrugged and mimed texting him. He nodded and left.

Emilia sat down in
el teniente’s
chair, replaying the conversation, worrying at this new
fact like a dog with a bone just like she knew Rico was doing. But it just
produced more questions. Notably, had Fausto Inocente kidnapped the son of a
man who’d purchased a company from the Inocente family business? Is that how
Inocente found his victim? Seguros Guerrero had a lot of interests. Had others
been kidnapped as well?

Kidnapping was a
complicated business, Emilia knew. Once again she wondered who else was
involved.

Emilia swiveled
the chair and dialed the number for the records department. Announcing herself
as Lieutenant Cruz, asked if the personnel files for all the detectives and the
late Lt. Inocente could be made available for her.

Three phone calls
and 40 minutes later, she was told by a pompous Captain Grillo that if she
filled out all the correct requisition forms, and had them stamped by the
office of the chief of police in triplicate, she’d be able to have access to
them in six to eight weeks if she came to the office in the central
administration’s personnel office building. Emilia thanked the pompous voice,
broke the connection, pulled out the card with two cell phone numbers on it and
called Obregon.

She was on her way
to the administration building to fill out the express request form that now
magically was the only prerequisite, when she passed the fingerprinting area.
Maria Teresa and her children were there. Emilia recognized Juliana and Juan
Diego from the photos in their uncle’s home. They were good looking children,
sturdily built with honey-colored hair, but they both looked terrified. Juan
Diego was a tall teen and managed to keep his emotions in check. But Juliana
was much younger and started to cry as the uniformed sergeant jammed her
fingers onto the ink pad, tears running past a series of small abrasions around
her mouth and cheeks. Instead of comforting the child Maria Teresa looked
annoyed that her daughter was causing a scene. The maid was there as well, her
scarred face tense as she watched the children.

Loyola and Ibarra
were with them; Loyola looked distressed at Juliana’s sobbing. Emilia let them
know she had business with Maria Teresa and waited until the fingerprinting was
done before asking Maria Teresa if she could have a word.

“I have my
children with me,” the woman snapped.

“It will only take
a moment. They’ll be fine on the benches there with CeCe.”

“I don’t think
so.”

Emilia put some
ice into her voice. “Señora, it will be much easier this way.”

Out of the corner
of her eye Emilia saw Loyola and Ibarra watching her. Thankfully, Maria Teresa
didn’t baulk further. She gave directions to CeCe before turning back to
Emilia. “Very well, I expect I have a minute.”

Emilia led her
around the corner to an empty interrogation room. The place was little more
than a concrete cell with walls that had once been white. The plain wooden
table flanked by two simple chairs was gouged and dinged from interrogations
gone bad and the occasional forgotten suspect. In her coral silk pants,
abstract print tunic top, chunky gold necklace and designer bag, Maria Teresa
looked wildly out of place.

“Well.” Maria
Teresa looked around her with disdain. She pulled out a chair, looked at the
seat and remained standing. “I assume you have an update for me, Detective. We
have the funeral planned but I’m told the body hasn’t been released yet.”

“We have the final
forensics report, señora. I’ll let the coroner know he can release the body. If
you need any help--.”

“You’ll send the
body to the
funeraria
?”

“Have you made
arrangements?”

Maria Teresa
clutched her designer bag to her side. “Santo Domingo. You can talk to Alvaro.”

“We’ll do that,”
Emilia said.

“Is that it? My
children are waiting.”

“Your husband
rented a room at the Palacio Réal hotel a few weeks ago,” Emilia said. “Do you
happen to know why he would have stayed at a hotel so close to home?”

Maria Teresa looked
blank for a moment, then she blinked rapidly. “Yes, of course. It was the
baseball dinner.”

Emilia waited.

“Juan Diego’s
baseball team’s annual dinner was at the hotel,” Maria Teresa said. “In the
Lido Room. We wanted to make it special so we had a suite. For the before and
after party.”

“Who else was
there?”

Maria Teresa waved
a manicured hand as if Emilia was an idiot. “All the families of the players.
Even Bruno and Rita came. He and Fausto promised no arguing all night.” She
sniffed. “Although that prune Rita had her sour look on.”

“Well, thank you,”
Emilia said. “The hotel should be able to verify that.”

“So we’re done?”
Maria Teresa stepped toward the door.

“Just one more
thing, señora,” Emilia said. “I met a friend of yours. Dr. Rodolfo Chang.”

Maria Teresa
lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug.

“You lied about
being at the San Pedro fundraiser all night,” Emilia went on.

Maria Teresa
looked at the clasp on her bag as if it was new.

“Dr. Chang stated
that you and he left together at 11:00 pm for his house. His driver took you
back around 3:00 am.” Emilia wondered what would happen if she reached across
the table and shook the woman. “Or was that another lie, señora?”

“It’s got nothing
to do with anything,” Maria Teresa said with unexpected heat. “So you can take
your prying nose and put it elsewhere.”

“Your husband was
murdered that night,” Emilia said evenly. “And you lied about where you had
been.”

“You don’t know
anything.” Maria Teresa’s voice was shrill.

Emilia folded her
arms.

Maria Teresa threw
her a murderous look. It changed the entire shape of the women’s face and
Emilia had a sudden vision of the woman with something heavy and chunky in her
hands.

The room
contracted until there was just the scarred table and the two women standing
across it. The air was thick and silent.

“My husband had
his interests,” Maria Teresa said finally. “I had mine.”

“Your interests
being Dr. Rodolfo Chang.”

“The sort of man I
should have married.”

“Were you planning
to leave your husband for him?”

Maria Teresa threw
her bag on the table. “I don’t know.”

“Dr. Chang said
that he has a number of female friends,” Emilia said.
Madre de Dios
but
this was a sick conversation.

“Don’t you think I
know that?”

“I think you maybe
know more about the night of your husband’s death than you told us, señora.”

“Do you think I
killed my husband?”

“Did you?”

“Maybe I should
have,” Maria Teresa snapped. “Before we had children and he decided to play
policeman.”

Emilia didn’t
reply.

The silence seemed
to irritate Maria Teresa. She snatched up her bag. “Are we done talking,
Detective?”

“You still haven’t
told me the truth about where you were the night of your husband’s death,
señora,” Emilia said quietly.

“Rodolfo already
told you, apparently,” Maria Teresa said. Her face was red. “I left early with
Rodolfo. We went to his house. His driver brought me back to the party. It was
over but my car was still there. I drove myself home and went to bed.”

“What time did you
get home?”

“After 3:00 am.”

“You weren’t worried
that your husband wasn’t there?”

Maria Teresa
flicked her hair, an abrupt, defiant gesture. “It wasn’t the first time.”

The rest of the
conversation matched up with what Dr. Chang had said. Maria Teresa knew the
address and the name of his driver and the type of car used to transport her
back to the party. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say after that and
Emilia opened the door. Maria Teresa stalked out and collected her children.
Loyola was still there and Emilia gave him Chang’s address and driver’s name to
run down. He looked surprised but didn’t push back.

Emilia returned to
an empty squadroom. No one was going to work late on a Friday night, although
she suspected that Rico would be haunting the casinos.

She went into the
office. There was a photocopy of an erect penis on the desk chair. The black
and white image was crisp, no inky streaks or blurring.

Obregon had
apparently sent a very good quality copier.

Emilia took out a
black marker and drew a face, complete with moustache and flapping ears, on the
photocopy. She taped it to the wall above the coffeemaker as she left the
squadroom.