Cliff Diver (Detective Emilia Cruz Book 1) (25 page)

Chapter 23

The funeral of a
high-ranking police officer was a tempting target and the church was ringed
with security. The outermost ring was made up of 30 special forces wearing
helmets, radios, and bullet-proof vests and carrying riot shields and long
guns. The next ring was regular uniformed cops, there for ceremonial effect and
cannon fodder in case of attack. The innermost security ring was the mayor’s
private security detail; tall, good looking men in suits and earpieces who’d
probably been trained by people like Alan Denton.

Inside, the back
of the church was a sea of dark blue. Emilia was sandwiched between Rico and
Fuentes in the first row of police officers about halfway down the church on
the right side. From where she sat, she could see the back of Obregon’s head.
Villahermosa was next to him, as always, and they were surrounded by a group of
men she supposed were also from the police union.

Carlota had swept
in with a retinue of at least a dozen people and sat in the first pew on the
right. She was the last to arrive, except for the family, and Emilia was sure
it had been planned that way. The mayor wore navy blue as well and Emilia
wondered if it was a deliberate sign of solidarity with the police or an
oversight by a now former member of the staff.

Everyone stood as
the family walked down the aisle. Maria Teresa looked as if she was floating,
no doubt tanked up on tranquilizers, on the arm of someone who probably was her
father. Juliana and Juan Diego, both dressed in somber and expensive black,
walked behind her. The son was taller than his mother and held his younger
sister’s hand. His face was set, as if he’d finished his crying and was now
ready to become the man of the family. The daughter’s face was white and
blotchy. They moved deliberately, the boy matching his stride to his sister’s.

Bruno and Rita
followed the siblings. Emilia looked away as they passed her pew. She’d let the
man have the dignity of the moment and not be reminded of his attempted bribe
or sad show of abandoned self-restraint.

The Mass was slow.
The air inside the church was heady with the mash of flowers crowded around and
against the altar. The arrangements were as tall as Emilia, set into bronze
urns and bearing red and green ribbons that spelled out
Loving Father
or
Peace in God
. The tasteful dark wood casket was closed and centered in
front of the main altar on its rolling cart. To the left of the casket, a table
draped with a white cloth served as pedestal for a large framed photograph of
Lt. Inocente looking up into the camera with water behind him. White pillar
candles flanked the photo, creating a shrine to a father, husband, gambler, and
dirty cop.

Emilia looked
around. The other detectives looked bored and uncomfortable in uniforms most
hadn’t worn in years. Sandor’s shirt stretched tight across his middle. Emilia
decided that for all his interest in the new copier, he hadn’t been the one to
leave the photocopy of his equipment.

As the squad of
priests on the altar droned on, most of the detectives fiddled with their hats
and moved restlessly. All except Silvio. His hands were still and he alone listened
attentively. His uniform still fit like it had been tailored to his biceps. If
he’d killed
el teniente
, then he had a heart like granite to sit like
that, unabashedly saying the prayers and paying attention to the priests.

Next to Emilia,
Fuentes looked down, gave a shuddery sigh, and pressed a finger to an eye. He
was the only one who looked emotional at the death of Lt. Inocente. Emilia
didn’t know how she felt herself. Angry, she supposed, at the danger the man
had put her in that night driving Kurt to the Palacio Réal. Disgusted as well
by his voyeurism in the bathroom, his gambling and use of prostitutes. All of
his relationships, except for those with his children, had been tainted in some
way.

But he was getting
a funeral with all the pomp that the Catholic Church and the mayor’s office
could provide. All the priests on the altar were getting taking their turn, and
Emilia felt her thoughts drift in the warm, flower-scented air. She hadn’t gone
to her own father’s funeral, which had probably been a small affair. There had
been no funerals for
las perdidas
; Emilia doubted that many in her
binder were still alive. The odds in Mexico of a missing women being found
alive after two or three years was very slight. But the families had a right to
know. To mourn and to have closure the way Dion’s aunt had.

There was only the
rustling of restless people as the priests came closer to the casket with the
silver vessel of holy oil. One took the small dipper, touched it to the holy
oil and flicked it, sending droplets over the casket, the bunched flowers and
those in the front pews.

An animal shriek
rent the air, rising to a ear-piercing howl and then abruptly plummeting into
hysterical sobbing. An involuntary movement rippled through the rows of
mourners as everyone flinched.

A commotion
whirled through the front of the church and Emilia had the impression of
fighting. Juliana ran down the aisle, sobbing. Juan Diego caught up with her
halfway and scooped her into his arms, hoisting her up easily. Bruno was on his
heels but the boy turned to face him, even as his sister clung to him, her face
buried in his neck. “Just leave us alone,
tío,
” Emilia heard Juan Diego
say. “Please.”

Bruno stepped
aside and Juan Pablo carried Juliana out of the church.

There was a pause
as the entire congregation took a collective breath and then the funeral mass
continued.

Emilia lasted only
a few more minutes. As the priest started the Our Father she climbed over
Rico’s knees and walked out.

Part of the
mayor’s security detail was clustered by the door. Emilia brushed past them,
her uniform hat in hand. She walked around the side of the church until she
came upon Juan Diego on a bench, his arms tight around his sister. Juliana was
curled into a tight ball on his lap, a thumb in her mouth. CeCe sat next to
them, holding the little girl’s other hand. The scars around the maid’s mouth
were nearly healed as were those of the little girl.

Juan Diego watched
as Emilia approached over the grass. She was struck by how old he looked at
that moment, how the boy had aged just in the few days since she’d seen him at
the police station comforting his sister as her fingerprints were taken. Given
his mother, Emilia wasn’t surprised that the role of parent had fallen to him.

“I’m sorry for
your loss,” she said. She held her hat with both hands, a shield against their
grief.

“Thank you,” Juan
Diego said. His honey-colored hair was short and parted on the side. He had his
father’s jaw and physique but his mother’s bone structure. He’d be very
handsome in a few years.

“I lost my father,
too,” Emilia went on.

“I’m sorry.” The
boy spoke stiffly, so protective of his sister that he seemed wary of other
people.

“When I was very
young. I don’t even remember him.”

“It’s better like
that,” Juan Diego said. “It’s better not to remember.”

“You’re probably
right.” Emilia went to step closer to the girl, to try and help somehow, but
she felt both all three of them on the bench draw away. Her hands were sweaty
on the shiny visor of her police hat. “CeCe has my number. Please call me if
you need anything.”

Juan Diego nodded
and then looked down, shutting her out.

Emilia wandered
away, her throat tight enough to choke her. The organ blared, signaling the end
of the service. Emilia didn’t want to see the pallbearers wheel out the casket
on its cart or watch the burial in the big cemetery adjacent to the church. She
kept moving along the path to a grotto where a statue of Our Lady of Guadalupe
was surrounded by tall lilies. Our Lady’s face was gentle and sad.

The tightness in
Emilia’s throat burst and tears cascaded down. There wasn’t any use in trying
to stop them, the sadness was too much and so Emilia stood in front of Our
Lady, hat in hand, and cried for the father she’d never known and the one her
mother wanted so desperately and for the children of a man who hadn’t deserved
their love. Somewhere in there Emilia knew she was crying for herself, too, for
being proud and foolish and for having run away from Kurt Rucker.

And then she cried
because she was scared.

Chapter 24

The morning
meeting broke up and Silvio followed Emilia into
el teniente’s
office.
“Why are you still harping on about this water company?” he asked. “I thought
we were done with that.”

“I just want to
run down everything that’s out there,” Emilia said. “And the first water plant
was a little odd.” She’d brought in doughnuts. Again.

For two days in a
row all the detectives had been there for the 9:00 meeting. Today they’d talked
about all the cases, not just the Inocente investigation, as if the funeral had
signaled the end of the
el teniente
era. No one had touched the new
stall doors in the detectives bathroom or left any more lewd photocopies on her
chair. It was progress.

“You don’t know
what the hell you’re doing,” Silvio snapped.

“You need to find
a new line.” Emilia crossed her arms and wondered if the man across the desk
was a murderer.

Silvio narrowed
his eyes at her. “We got a lot more problems in this city than a dead police
lieutenant and you’re tying up everybody’s time with this shit.”

“So why don’t you
go ahead and solve the case?” she challenged him.

“I’m coming with
you and we’re finishing this water company crap.”

Emilia hadn’t been
ready for that. “You don’t have to babysit me, Silvio.”

“Somebody does,”
Silvio said darkly.

Emilia’s cell
phone rang. Silvio didn’t move as she scooped it up and looked at the screen.
Obregon. She turned off the phone.

“Boyfriend?”
Silvio asked.

“Let’s go,” Emilia
said.

☼

The other Agua
Pacifico plant was about 20 kilometers outside of Acapulco, north of the city
off the main highway to Mexico City. It was on the other side of the Maxitunnel
and took them an hour to get there through the midday traffic.

The plant was on a
narrow road. There were some other buildings in the distance, small factories
or assembly plants and they shared a common security entrance; a small cement
shack flanked by heavy fencing. Coils of razor wire topped the fence and a
small metal sign announced that the razor wire was electrified. They showed
their badges and the security guard at the entrance to the facility reluctantly
lifted the post and let Silvio drive through.

All the buildings
had some Lomas Bottling affiliation. The Agua Pacifico plant didn’t stand out.
It was only identified by a discreet sign. There were two cars parked in front,
by what Emilia guessed was an office door.

“Circle around
first,” she said from the backseat.

Silvio drove past
and slowly circled the plant.

It was an imposing
structure of silver pipes and rounded corners, with its own gas pump and a
loading dock large enough to handle five trucks at a time. Small conveyor belts
ran next to each truck dock. There was one turquoise Agua Pacifico truck pulled
into a dock, but all five garage doors were closed. They didn’t see any
workers. The place had an eerie, deserted feel so different from the bustle and
noise of Licenciado Hernandez’s plant.

“We must be
early,” Fuentes commented.

Silvio grunted and
parked in front.

The exterior doors
opened but the lobby was empty, except for a sign that said
Agua Pacifico,
Water of Paradise Bay
, under the same graphic that was on all the delivery
trucks. Emilia peered through glass doors at a smartly appointed office suite
fronted by a long white counter. Behind the counter there were two Plexiglas
desks topped by modern white computer screens. The desk surfaces were clear
except for a coffee cup on one and a blank notepad on the other. White filing
cabinets shone glossily under fluorescent lights.

“Hello?” Emilia
called uncertainly. Her voice seemed to echo in the high-ceilinged lobby.

Silvio gave her a
look of annoyance. He took out a tool and started to pick the lock to the glass
doors leading to the office.

“Good to know you’ve
got a skill,” Emilia said.

Silvio
straightened and pushed open the door. “
Madre de Dios,
you should have
been a nun.”

The office was
just as sterile and unused from the inside as it had been from the lobby side.
Two doors presumably led into the distillation plant itself.

“
Oye
!” Rico
called.

“Must be a
holiday,” Fuentes said. He tapped on a keyboard. The screen stayed dark.

“Is anybody
thinking what I’m thinking?” Emilia asked abruptly. Rico and Fuentes stared at
her. “It’s a factory,” she said. “Supposedly in operation.”

Silvio hauled out
the small tool again. “If you’re right, Cruz.”

It took him a
little longer this time. The three others waited nervously.

“You want me to be
out front as a lookout?” Rico asked.

“No,” Emilia said.
“Let’s stay together.”

Silvio grunted,
there was a tiny click and he nodded in satisfaction. He stood up and opened
the door.

Rico and Fuentes
followed him in. Emilia made sure the door didn’t lock behind them.

There was a dull
thunk as Silvio found the fuse box and lights came on. The entire plant floor
stretched before them, a cavernous space with gray concrete floor and walls.
Silver rolling garage doors that they’d seen from the outside punctuated the
rear wall. Small conveyor belts ran only about ten feet inside the space then
stopped, like short headless snakes. A huge silver tank as big as Emilia’s
entire house occupied a tenth of the floor space but wasn’t connected to
anything else. There was no assembly line, no machinery for bottling water, no
mechanism to cap the jugs.

“Fuck,” said Rico.
“This was supposed to be another couple hundred an hour outfit.”

“There’s nothing
here.” Fuentes stayed by the door to the office.

Silvio crossed the
space to the garage doors. Emilia followed him. He looked for a button on the wall
and found nothing. He bent and hauled on the handle of the first door and it
didn’t lift.

“Locked?” Emilia
asked.

“Not much gets by
you, Cruz,” Silvio said.

Emilia walked
toward the huge distillation tank. There were several big Agua Pacifico 5-gallon
garrafons
, standing on end, their necks capped with the company logo.
They seemed a darker blue than the filled jugs in the other factory and she
prodded one thoughtfully with her toe. The
garrafon
fell over, knocking
into the others and they all ended up in a heap like so many hollow bowling
pins.

“They’re empty,”
she said.

“Of course they’re
empty,” Rico said. “You see any way to fill them with water around here?”

“Why have jugs
here if you can’t fill them?” Emilia pried the cap off one. The jug was the
same heavy plastic as the jugs at the first water plant but this one had been
painted blue on the inside so that it appeared full. A rich, earthy aroma came
out of the jug.

Rico squatted down
next to her.

“Smell this,” she
whispered.

Rico inhaled a
couple of times, drawing in big breaths. “Good weed,” he said.

“Morelos de Gama
is a very good liar,” Emilia replied, keeping her voice low. “Better than
Hernandez.”

“You think they’re
using this place?” Rico asked. “Some sort of smuggling point?”

“I don’t know.”

“You think
el
teniente
knew it and that’s why he kidnapped the kid?”

Emilia shook her
head, her thoughts running almost too fast to process. “Alan Denton said
Morelos de Gama insisted that
el teniente
help. Described him as a
trusted friend.”

“So they were
partners,” Rico said.

“Then who took the
child?” Emilia asked. She eyed the senior detective as he roamed the factory
floor.

“They were dealing
in somebody else’s territory and the kid was taken to teach them a lesson.”
Rico picked up the jugs one by one and shook them. “They’re all empty.”

A hollow
garrafon
rolled toward Silvio and the big detective stopped it with his foot. “So we got
a fake water purification factory,” he said. “What do you know about it?”

“I wasn’t sure.” Emilia
stood to face him. The showdown was coming and she had to be ready.

To her surprise
Silvio squatted down by the jug, popped off the top and pried the plastic
bottle apart lengthwise. The thing split like a clamshell. “Clever,” he said.
“Hide drugs or whatever in it, cap it, drive it anywhere you like.”

Rico crossed his
arms and looked squarely at Silvio. “Guy who owns this factory is the same one
whose kid was kidnapped.”

“The kid you and
Cruz found,” Silvio said to Rico across the expanse of concrete and plastic
jugs.

“Yeah.”

Their words echoed
in the strange emptiness of the plant. Fluorescent light shimmered off the
polished aluminum walls of the huge water tank.

Emilia realized
that Fuentes had his gun out. He was still by the doorway holding it loosely by
his side as he watched Rico and Silvio’s exchange.

“Put the gun away,
Fuentes,” Emilia called. “There’s nobody here.”

Fuentes laughed
shakily and holstered the gun. “A weird place, eh.”

☼

There was nothing
more to see. The office filing cabinets were empty. They stacked the jugs,
reset the locks and drove back in silence, each with their own thoughts. When
they got back to the station it was early evening. Silvio parked in the
detectives area. Rico said something about food and he and Fuentes spilled out
of the car.

Emilia had been
sitting in the backseat behind the driver and when she made to get out of the
car Silvio bulled his way into the backseat with her. She heard the locks
click. “We need to talk,” he said.

“Sure.” Emilia
looked around as her heart crawled into her throat.
Damn Rico
. He and
Fuentes had gone into the building. The security guard was in his shack.

“Why did you go to
my house?” Silvio growled.

“What?” Emilia
blustered. She hadn’t been ready for that. “Who says I was anywhere near your
house?”

“My wife is pretty
accurate in her descriptions.”

“I . . .” Emilia
faltered. Silvio was calm but obviously angry. Emilia felt the reassuring
pressure of her gun under her jacket.

“You got the phone
records,” Silvio said flatly.

Emilia decided to
take the opening. “You called Lt. Inocente the night of his death,” she said.
“From your cell phone. Twice.”

“You think I
killed him?” Silvio asked.

Emilia felt sweat
break out around her hairline. “His last known contact is you. Takes your call,
walks out and never comes back. Dead the next morning. You don’t mention it to
anybody, just let us run around trying to figure it out, knowing that we’d see
the phone records sooner or later.”

Silvio didn’t
move. Emilia had a sudden memory of how surprised Lt. Inocente had looked when
the crime scene technician had torn open the plastic bag. As if he couldn’t
believe that someone he trusted could have done this to him.

“Did you tell
Obregon?” Silvio asked.

“You planning on
killing us all?” Emilia countered.

Silvio gave her a
look of disgust. “I called Inocente,” he said. “Went there and we talked.
That’s all.”

“You talked
face-to-face?” Emilia asked.

“Yeah.”

“You went all the
way to Punta Diamante to talk to him at 10:00 pm?”

“We had business
to clear up.”

“It couldn’t
wait?”

“Look,” Silvio
said. He ran a hand over his crew cut in agitation. “We talked. I saw him go
back into the building. He unlocked the door and went in. He had his keys. I
never saw him again.”

“Why didn’t you
say something?”

“You think
Obregon’s going to believe that?”

“No,” Emilia
admitted. She wasn’t sure she did. “What did you talk about?”

“Nothing that has
anything to do with you.”

“Not good enough,
Silvio,” Emilia said.

Silvio shifted
uncomfortably. He was a broad man and filled up most of the back seat of the
sedan. “We talked for about five minutes outside his apartment building. He
said he’d get me what he owed me in a day or so and I went home.”

“He owed you?”
Emilia put up her hand, palm out, and Silvio glared at her. “Tell me what you
talked about.”

“Leave it alone,
Cruz,” Silvio said. “I told you, it’s got nothing to do with anything.”

“Was it a money
scam? Trading drugs for counterfeit?”

“Where’d you come
up with that shit?” Silvio snarled.

“I think you two
were running a money scam. You seen any counterfeit money lately, Silvio?”
Emilia fumbled with her bag and got out two of the counterfeit bills that
Fuentes had given her.  

“Where’d you get
that?” Silvio stared at the
norteamericano
dollars in her hand.

“The ransom for
the Morelos de Gama kidnapping was paid in counterfeit dollars,” Emilia said.
She kept her hand in her bag. “Just like these.”

“
What
?”

“Is that what you
were talking to
el teniente
about?” Emilia demanded. If he was going to
kill her in the car she at least wanted to know the truth first. “Fake money?
Some money laundering deal you had going together?”

“You think you can
arrest me, Cruz?” Silvio’s voice was thick with menace.

With her hand
still inside her bag Emilia hit the panic button on the key to the nearby
Suburban. Silvio jolted back as the piercing siren filled the air. A second
later the guard was pulling on the door handle on Silvio’s side and knocking on
the tinted window.

“Fuck you, Cruz,”
Silvio mouthed.

The door unlocked.
The guard wrenched open the door. Emilia silenced the button.

“Sorry,” Silvio
said to the guard. “Technical problem.”