Cliff Diver (Detective Emilia Cruz Book 1) (9 page)

Most of what they
found was routine paperwork. Invoices to be approved, case reports needing to
be reviewed and initialed, notices about union meetings and detective training
opportunities that Emilia had never seen before.  

Emilia was sitting
by the mini-fridge with a pile of folders on her lap as Castro emptied the last
unlocked drawer. “Check this out,” he guffawed and held up a package of
condoms. “Guess he thought he was getting lucky at the office.”

“Funny,” Emilia
said.

“You got no sense
of humor, Cruz.” Castro pocketed the condoms and looked around the office.
“There’s nothing worth shit in here. After telling us about his swank apartment
I figured there would be. That’s why I said I’d help. First dibs on his shit.”

“Yeah,” Emilia
said slowly. “Not much at all.”

“Okay then.”
Castro loaded up with cold cans from the fridge and left.

Emilia finished
her own drink and shoved all the files to the side of the desk. So much for her
theory.

She picked up the
phone and dialed home. Sophia answered with a breathy “
Bueno
?”

“Mama, it’s
Emilia.”

“Are you having a
good day?”

Emilia pressed her
free hand to her forehead. “I’m having a busy day, mama. I won’t be home until
very late.”

“Another school
project?”

Emilia closed her
eyes. “Yes, Mama.”

She spent the next
hour working through the bureaucratic process to get the records for Fausto
Inocente’s home phone and cell phone records. The major problem was that only
Fausto Inocente was authorized to approve the requisitioning of phone records
for the detectives. Emilia printed off the digital photos of
el teniente’s
body that the techs had already sent as attachments to help convince the
telecommunications office.

When she headed
out to see the brother the squadroom was completely empty.

Chapter 9

Bruno Inocente,
his wife Rita, and three small white dogs lived in a dramatically modern house
in the Las Brisas area above Punta Diamante. Rita was a slight woman, with the
same slick, pampered look as Maria Teresa who introduced herself using her
husband’s surname but without the “de” that most upper class women used. Emilia
sat on their cream damask sofa, took out her notebook, and flipped to the
timeline page.

She’d introduced
herself and told them the news of Lt. Inocente’s death. Bruno Inocente had
taken the news stoically, asking about the Inocente children’s reaction. When
Emilia said that Maria Teresa had planned to tell them after school, Bruno and
Rita had exchanged glances. He’d placed a warning hand on his wife’s wrist,
then excused himself. By the time Rita had invited Emilia into the living room
and sent for refreshments, he’d rejoined them, shaken but composed.

Their maid brought
glasses of bubbly water with lime peel curled over the rim and set one down on
the cocktail table by Emilia, carefully centering the frosted glass on a
coaster.

“Again, my
sympathies for your loss, señor,” Emilia said when the maid left the room. “I
understand that you and your brother were close.”

Bruno and his wife
sat in matching blue armchairs across from the sofa. The room managed to be
contemporary but warm at the same time, with bay views and a wall devoted to an
artful arrangement of baseball memorabilia. The three dogs made a silky heap on
the floor between their two chairs.

“Fausto is my
little brother,” Bruno said. He was at least ten years older than Lt. Inocente,
Emilia guessed, with gray hair at the temples and in his moustache and a
physique that suggested a still active former athlete. The resemblance to
el
teniente
was minimal. “Best of friends and worst of enemies.”

“Can you tell me
if your brother had any real enemies?” Emilia asked.

Bruno looked out
the window and his chin trembled. Emilia waited. After a few minutes he spoke again.
“He gambled. I knew one day it would end like this.”

“What sort of
gambling?” Emilia probed. Most men she knew gambled; horses, dogs,
cockfighting.

Rita reached
between the two chairs and took her husband’s hand. She had short dark hair cut
to curl around her jaw and wore designer jeans and a fitted white blouse.

“He bet on
anything,” Bruno acknowledged. “And with anything. It was a sickness for him, I
suppose.”

“Was this an issue
between you?”

“I didn’t
approve.” Bruno said it without rancor.

“Maria Teresa said
that, uh, that with his death you had gotten your wish,” Emilia said.

Rita gasped and
Bruno pressed his wife’s hand. “Maria Teresa is angry with me because I control
the family business affairs.”

He didn’t say
anything else. Emilia coughed softly. “This was a problem?”

“We had to sell
assets two years ago to pay off Fausto’s gambling debts,” Bruno said. He wiped
his eyes with the thumb of his free hand. “Since then I’ve refused to give him
anything else. The family trust pays for his apartment.”

“The children,”
Rita murmured.

“That’s right.”
Bruno nodded in his wife’s direction. “My wife and I pay the children’s
tuition. We wanted them to go to the best school.”

“They’re beautiful
children,” Rita said. She smiled but it faded quickly.

“Could you tell me
more about the family trust?” Emilia asked.

“Seguros
Guererro,” Bruno said. “Started by our great-grandfather. It started as a
shareholding company for a gold mine that closed before I was born and later
expanded into real estate investment. My father and uncles expanded further
into capital investment and small manufacturing.”

“And you and your
brother inherited this business?” Emilia was more amazed than ever by the
picture of Fausto Inocente that was emerging.

“When our father
died six years ago, I took his place as chairman of Seguros Guerrero,” Bruno
said uncomfortably. “Fausto was guaranteed an income.”

“Do you have any
other siblings?”

“No.”

“When was the last
time you saw your brother?” Emilia asked.

“About two weeks
ago,” Bruno said. “At his son’s baseball game.”

“He was there with
his wife and children?”

“Yes.”

Emilia swallowed
hard. “How would you describe your brother’s relationship with his wife?”

Bruno ran a finger
over his moustache. “You don’t believe Maria Teresa killed him? They’ve been
married for years.”

“Their
relationship was solid?” Emilia asked. “Exclusive?”

The look that
passed between Bruno and Rita was so fleeting that Emilia nearly missed it.

“Excuse me,” Rita
said and stood up. She clicked her tongue at the dogs and they followed her out
of the room.

“Is there a
problem?” Emilia asked.

Bruno pressed his
thumb to his eyes again. “Fausto was a man of . . . let us say . . . big
appetites.”

Emilia was reminded
of the detectives bathroom. And that packet of condoms. In a sick way, this was
the first thing she’d heard about
el teniente
that made sense. “You mean
he had a mistress?”

“No one in
particular,” Bruno said. “He liked women and gambling.”

“Did his wife
know?”

Bruno shrugged. “I
gather she has her own appetites.”

Emilia hadn’t
liked Maria Teresa and could well believe what Lt. Inocente’s brother was
saying. “I gather your wife was aware of your brother’s . . . appetites and
didn’t approve.”

“No.” He hesitated
then gave a small, sad smile. “We have no children, you see, and she’s devoted
to her niece and nephew. That’s why we picked that apartment for them. We could
be close to Juliana and Juan Diego. Fausto would have a place for his boat.”

“And Maria Teresa
could have the address she wanted.” Rita Inocente was back in the room. Her
eyes were red and she clutched a limp tissue in one hand. “I’m sorry,” she said
to Emilia as she returned to the chair next to her husband. “It’s just the
thought of what is going to happen to those children. Maria Teresa--.” She
trailed off and wiped her eyes.

Emilia suddenly
liked her much more.

“Do you have any
more questions for us?” Bruno asked. “I expect I’ll need to make some calls.”

“Just a few,”
Emilia said. She glanced at her open notebook. “Can you tell me where you were
last evening after 10:00 pm?”

“Meeting with my
lawyer and several members of my board of directors,” Bruno said without
hesitation.

“Isn’t that late
for a business meeting?” Emilia asked.

Bruno nodded. “We
had a lot to cover. We’re trying to streamline the real estate holdings. I had
dinner afterwards with my lawyer. I knew my wife would be out and I hate eating
alone.”

“When did you get
home?”

“Around 1:00 am.”

“And did anyone
see you come home?”

“You could ask the
security service at the gate.” He frowned. “Am I a suspect?”

“It would help if
we could verify with your lawyer.”

“You can call
him,” Bruno said. He got up and walked to the desk by the baseball memorabilia,
picked up a card and returned to Emilia holding it out. “Here’s his number.”

“And you, señora?”
Emilia took the card and turned to Rita. “Were you here last night after 10:00
pm?”

Rita pressed her
tissue to each eye before replying. “I was at the San Pedro charity fundraiser
last night. I’m on the board.” She gave a bitter laugh. “And yes, Maria Teresa
was there.”

“She said she was
there until 3:00 am,” Emilia said. “If you’re one of the organizers you must
have been there that late as well.”

Rita glanced at
her husband before answering. “Maria Teresa left early, around 11:00 pm.”

“You’re sure?”

Rita again glanced
at her husband. “Her absence was, shall we say, noted by several of the other
members of the board.”

“Why is that?”
Emilia felt she had to tread cautiously.

Bruno nodded at his
wife. “It is what it is,” he said quietly.

“Maria Teresa left
with a male companion.” Rita sniffed. “She never came back.”

“Do you know who
it was?”

Rita sighed.
“Doctor Rodolfo Chang. He’s . . . he’s.” She paused as if trying to formulate
her thoughts. “He makes the rounds.”

“A popular man in
certain circles,” said Emilia leadingly.

“Maria Teresa’s
type of friends.” Rita balled up her tissue. “Please don’t mention my name if
you speak about him with any of the other San Pedro board members.”

“I’m sure I won’t
need to,” Emilia said. She looked at the timeline in her notebook. “What time
did you get home, señora?”

“I was home by
1:30 am.”

“So your husband
was already home?”

“Yes.”

“A driver took
you?”

“Yes,’ Rita said.
“Pedro, our chauffeur.”

Emilia closed her
notebook. There didn’t seem to be much else to say. She stood up. “Thank you
very much for your time. I appreciate how helpful you’ve been.”

Bruno stood as
well. Rita offered her hand. Bruno led Emilia out of the room, stopping to let
her look at the baseball memorabilia. Glass shelves floated from the wall and
showcased autographed baseballs in glass cubes, pennants--some of which looked
quite old, an autographed wooden bat, and dozens of pictures. Emilia had no
idea if the items had a high value but from the careful display she guessed
they did. “This is an unusual collection, señor,” she said.

Bruno beamed. “I
love baseball, always have. Played in college. Wished I’d been good enough for
the pros.” He pointed to a ball in its cube. “Autographed by Sammy Sosa.”

That meant nothing
to Emilia but she put an interested expression on her face and murmured, “Oh
my.”

“But this is the
real treasure,” Bruno said and took down a framed picture of a youthful
baseball team in pinstriped uniforms. “Juan Diego’s team won the national
Little League title three years ago.”

“Which one is Juan
Diego?”

Bruno indicated a
handsome boy in the middle row. “He’s a pitcher. But the boy has a great swing
as well. We work together on Saturday mornings.” Bruno’s mouth pulled into a
frown as he replaced the picture. “Fausto doesn’t care for baseball, he likes
his boats.”

Emilia didn’t
reply.

Bruno led the way
out of the room but stopped as they went into the entrance hall. “I guess I
should have said ‘didn’t.’ That Fausto didn’t like baseball.”

“I’m so sorry for
your loss, señor,” Emilia said again. He seemed so different from his brother.
Genuine.

“When can we
collect the body for the funeral?”

“We’ll let you
know.” Emilia gave him a crooked smile. “I wish I could say more than that.”

“Thank you for
handling this so delicately, Detective,” Bruno said. “I know my wife is upset.
Not because she and Fausto were close. But because of the children. Their
father is gone and, their mother . . . . well, Maria Teresa is what she is.”

“When I spoke to
her, Maria Teresa gave me the impression that your brother was very much
involved in the running of your family’s business interests,” Emilia ventured.

“I don’t know what
he might have said to Maria Teresa.” Bruno shook his head. “Fausto’s name is on
the letterhead and I kept him informed for a while after our father died but
he’s never held a position in the company.”

“Why not?”

“My brother only
saw the company as a vehicle to subsidize his . . . interests.”

“Ah.” Part of Emilia
knew she’d have to verify his alibi, another part felt sympathy for the man.

Bruno went on,
spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “He used access to his own
children as a bargaining chip. When his gambling debts mounted and he needed
cash, he wouldn’t allow us to see them until the company helped him out. It
hurt the children as well as my wife and was a source of great unhappiness
between our two families.”

Emilia nodded.
“His wife has no private income from her family?”

“No, although she
wants to live like she does.” Bruno said. One of the small white dogs padded
into entranceway and settled at his feet.

“Just to clarify,”
Emilia thought back to the conversation with Maria Teresa. “Your brother’s only
involvement with the family company was to receive a fixed income?”

Bruno considered.
“After we sold Agua Pacifico and paid his debts, Fausto no longer participated
in any discussions.”

“Agua Pacifico,
the water company?” That was the company Maria Teresa had said the Inocente
family owned. Emilia knew the brand; Agua Pacifico delivery trucks were a
common sight in Acapulco.

The dog at Bruno’s
feet whined for attention and he bent and stroked the animal’s head. “We sold
it a few years ago to avoid having to recapitalize the equipment.”

“This morning
Maria Teresa said her husband didn’t need to work because his family owned Agua
Pacifica,” Emilia recalled.

Bruno shook his
head sadly. “I don’t know what Fausto ever told his wife but I had to
contribute my share of the dividends from the sale to cover his debts.”

“May I ask who he
owed money to?”

“He had a tab at
the El Pharaoh casino.” Bruno straightened up.

“That must have
been quite a lot of money, señor,” Emilia said softly. El Pharaoh was a
high-end place with an entrance shaped like a giant golden Sphinx head, acres
of slot machines, table games, and betting booths for horse racing. Tourists
lost thousands there every night.

“I was angry with
my brother for throwing away his money, playing policeman, and neglecting his
children, Detective.” Bruno looked guilty. “But he gave me Juan Diego and
Juliana so I can forgive him anything.”