The Edge of Night (3 page)

April flushed. She lived in a rough neighborhood, but it was the best she could afford. “I knew Lola was using,” she admitted. “Some nights she seemed really spun out. I probably should have sent her home or written her up. But I didn’t.”

“Her murder might be drug-related.”

She closed her eyes, feeling tears gather in the corners. Taking a slow breath, she willed them away. Reporting Lola’s behavior to Eddie wouldn’t have done any good. Maybe April should have tried to help her, but she had her own problems to deal with. She was a part-time waitress, part-time student, and full-time single mother.

“Do you know who she was dating?”

Eyes still wet with tears, she shook her head.

“Did men come to see her here?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Any favorite customers?”

“I don’t think so.”

Officer Shanley glanced at Officer Young, giving him the floor.

“We’ll watch the surveillance footage,” Officer Young said, taking over the interview, “but if you can give us names or descriptions of any of last night’s customers, that would be very helpful.”

April relaxed a little. Young was the kinder of the two officers, and she felt more comfortable with his line of questioning. “I remember my own customers, but I don’t pay as much attention to the other girls’ tables.”

He smiled encouragingly. “Anything you can tell us will be fine.”

She pictured the first group she’d waited on last night, their laughing faces and flashy clothes. After she described them, she moved on to the next table, and the next, and the next. When she was finished listing details about the customers at her own tables, she visualized the rest of the room. Several times a night she did a thorough sweep of the floor, making sure her girls were working hard, checking for trouble.

She described as many patrons as she could.

“That’s all I can remember,” she said finally.

Both of the officers were staring at her as though she’d grown two heads. There were several sheets of paper in front of Officer Young, filled with his slanted handwriting. “You have a photographic memory.”

“Not really,” she protested. “I just do these … mental tricks to keep track of who ordered what. I try to focus on a few specific details, like the color of tie or type of dress. I teach the other girls to do the same.”

“You described about a hundred people.”

“Well, we must have had three hundred customers last night. I can’t even remember half of them.”

He seemed amused. “Can you tell us the makes and models of the cars in the lot? Their license plate numbers?”

She let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t even know my own plate number.”

Officer Young glanced at his partner before asking the next question. “Did Miss Sanchez associate with any gang members, specifically the Chula Vista Locos? Did she have a drug dealer or boyfriend who might fit that description?”

April felt the color drain from her cheeks. If she hadn’t spent countless hours at the club, honing a cool façade, she might have faltered. Instead, she held her chin up and kept her gaze steady. “I don’t know.”

They must have believed her, because Officer Shanley ended the interview and Officer Young thanked her for her time.

She rose from the chair carefully, smoothing down her short skirt.

“Call us if you remember anything else,” Officer Young said, handing her his card. Her fingertips brushed against his as she accepted it.

His eyes really were amazing.

Again she glanced at Shanley, needing a reality check. His craggy features offered no comfort, however. He gave her a brief, insincere smile, the kind used to dismiss a person of little importance. Because his attitude struck her as insulting, she lingered a second longer, memorizing the lines of his face.

He seemed to disapprove of the way his partner had treated her. Maybe he hated cocktail waitresses. Or business cards.

Disconcerted, she slipped the card into the front pocket of her apron and left, feeling two sets of eyes follow her all the way to the door. Without glancing back, she made her way down the staircase, weak-kneed with relief, racked by guilt.

As soon as she was out on the floor, she took the card from her pocket and read it.
Officer Noah Young, Gang Suppression and Investigations Unit
.

Committing the information to memory, she tucked the card into her apron again and resumed waitressing. Carmen was called into the office next and came out a few moments later, appearing much less conflicted about the meeting.

“What did you say?” April asked.

Carmen shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Did he give you a card?”

“No. Why?”

Together, they watched the officers exit the club. Officer Young nodded at April as he passed by, wading through gyrating patrons.

“I think he likes you,” Carmen said.

April tore her gaze away from the handsome cop.

“Why?”

“He was staring at you. The whole time I was in there, his eyes kept straying out the window. Following you across the floor.”

“He knew I was lying.”

“Not saying anything isn’t the same as lying.”

“Sins of omission,” April murmured.

“Sins of my ass,” Carmen retorted. “You should give him your number.”

April shook her head. Even if she wanted to give the man her number—which she didn’t—this wasn’t the appropriate time or place. What kind of unfeeling slut would use a murder investigation as a dating opportunity?

Besides, the waitresses at Suave weren’t allowed to give out personal information, and April had always approved of the rule. Unlike the other girls, she’d never been tempted to leave her phone number on the check.

Then an idea occurred to her. “Maybe I will,” she said, tearing a ticket off her order pad.

Carmen’s brows rose with surprise. “Really? I was joking.”

“I’ll give him a number. Maybe even an
address.
”

Her eyes rounded in understanding. “Hurry up,” she said, glancing around to make sure no one was watching.

April quickly scribbled out a first and last name. Numbers weren’t as easy for her to remember, so she wrote down a simple description. Then she folded the paper into a neat square and cupped it in the palm of her hand.

“Do you want me to pass it to him?” Carmen asked.

“No. I’ll do it.” Feeling a jolt of apprehension, April strode toward the front entrance. Outside, the sultry night air enveloped her like a lover. A short line of customers waited to pay the cover price. Omar, the bouncer, was checking IDs at the door.

Eddie had walked out to say goodbye to both officers.

She took her place beside him, directly across from Officer Young. “Please let us know if we can do anything more to help,” she said, extending her right hand with a cool smile. Time slowed down to a trickle. A rapid pulse thudded at the base of her throat.

The moment his palm touched hers, she felt the same tingle of awareness as before.

Ignoring it, she wrapped her left hand over his knuckles, giving him the extra-warm hand hug, praying the paper wouldn’t slip out. If he failed to notice the concealed message, she’d have a lot of explaining to do.

April knew the instant he felt the square against his palm, and she read the immediate understanding in his eyes.

“Thank you, Miss Ortiz,” he said, squeezing her hand before he released it. He transferred the note to his pants pocket, as smooth as silk, and turned his attention back to Eddie. “You have the prettiest waitresses in town.”

Eddie put his heavy arm around her shoulders. The gesture was part pride, part ownership. “Come back anytime.”

April forced a smile.

Officer Young glanced at the place where Eddie’s hand touched her bare skin, his gaze darkening. “I sure will,” he promised.

3

Noah knew there were security cameras
monitoring the parking lot, so he didn’t take the note out of his pocket right away.

Eddie Estes had given them copies of last night’s footage to review at the station. Although Eddie had denied its existence, Noah suspected there was another hidden camera in his office. It may have inhibited the waitresses’ responses.

“We should ask those girls to come down to the station for a formal interview,” Patrick mused, reading his thoughts. “They weren’t exactly forthright.”

Noah settled into the passenger side, studying the neon sign in front of the building. Glowing pink lights depicted the curvy outline of a woman’s body, a leftover from the club’s topless dancer days.

“Speaking of which, you shouldn’t go so easy on the female interviewees. Not all women and children are innocent bystanders.”

“Most are.”

Patrick started the engine and turned on his radio. “When some babyface pulls a gat, you’ll change your mind.”

Noah drummed his fingertips against his thigh, where the note was burning a hole in his pocket.

“You’re also going to have to learn to school your reactions better. You can’t get dazzled by the T&A in a place like that. I’m not saying I wouldn’t have been tempted by a sweet-looking piece like April Ortiz when I was your age—”

“Come on,” he said, although he knew he’d been staring. “I wasn’t dazzled.”

“Right. I practically heard the table thump when she started rattling off descriptions. Only you would get turned on by a woman’s brain.”

Noah didn’t bother to argue; he
had
been attracted to her. All of the waitresses were hot, with tight little bodies in barely there outfits, but he’d hardly noticed the others. For whatever reason, he’d zeroed in on April.

She wasn’t what he’d expected.

On the surface, she resembled any experienced working girl. Pretty but guarded, with sharp eyes and a fake smile. Her dramatic makeup and overstyled hair were like sexy armor. Beneath the façade, she was untouchable. Mysterious.

He wanted to know her secrets.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen a girl at a club and heard his libido whisper,
That one
. But he was usually more circumspect, even when he was off duty. He’d never stopped dead in his tracks or approached a woman without perusing the rest of the room. One glimpse of April was all he needed.
That one
.

If he’d been free to act on impulse, he would have approached her straightaway, without taking his eyes off her.

During the interview, her composure set her apart from the other girls. She was alert, self-assured, and cautious. Her responses were carefully constructed, her manner polished. She wasn’t the friendliest interviewee, but she was the most intriguing.

By the end of the interview, he was fascinated. He’d made a sketch of the club’s layout, using her table-by-table descriptions. Very few people noticed so many details and could keep them all straight. Noah’s memory was good, especially for names and numbers, but he didn’t have the same facility as April.

He’d never met anyone like her.

Although she was beautiful and obviously intelligent, there was another, softer quality that drew him in: compassion. She seemed distressed about what happened to Lola and protective of the other girls.

“You won’t last two weeks on homicide if you let every honey who bats her eyelashes off the hook,” Patrick said, maneuvering into light traffic. At midnight, the only gridlock was on the Mexico side of the Tijuana border. “Women know how to exploit a man’s weaknesses. An officer with a soft spot for the ladies can be a liability.”

“Or an asset,” Noah said, digging into his pocket.

“What’s that?”

He opened the folded note and scanned its contents. “Just something one of those wicked harlots slipped me. I feel so exploited.”

Patrick’s gaze sharpened. “A tip?”

Noah read the note aloud:

Tony Castillo

gray stucco w/ dark-blue shutters

large cactus out front

400? Fairfax

“If I’m not mistaken, April Ortiz gave us the name and location of Lola Sanchez’s gang connection.”

Patrick glanced in his rearview mirror, making sure the road was clear before executing a quick U-turn and heading back toward Fairfax Avenue. “What was I saying about female interviewees?”

“A bunch of bullshit,” Noah said, smiling.

Patrick smiled back at him. “Okay, smart-ass. I’ll give you this one.”

Noah logged on to his computer, entering Tony Castillo’s name in the system. He had two priors, both for drug possession. The mug shot featured a sleepy-eyed Hispanic man with a tattooed neck and shaved head.

“There’s a warrant out for his arrest,” Noah said. “Failure to appear.”

Patrick grunted his approval. “Last known address?”

“City Heights.” He did a quick search of residents on Fairfax. “Arturo Castillo is listed as the owner of a rental property in that area. Number 413.”

Patrick touched the receiver at his shoulder, calling it in.

“Proceed with caution,” Detective Santiago said. He sounded pleased.

Noah’s pulse began to pound with excitement. In a homicide investigation, the first twenty-four hours were critical. A lead like this could provide the break they needed. And Santiago was letting them follow it.

A thought occurred to him. “Did you tell him I’m applying to his division?”

“I didn’t offer the information,” Patrick hedged.

“He asked?”

“Yes. Said he heard you had promise.”

Noah’s face warmed with a pleasant sort of discomfort. It was the same way he’d felt when April Ortiz came out to say goodbye. For a second he’d thought she was interested in him as a man, not as an officer. Then he’d read her expression, which held no hint of sexual suggestion, and understood her intention.

“You think the club manager’s got something to hide?” Patrick asked.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” he replied. Didn’t everyone?

Number 413 Fairfax was just as April described it. A giant prickly pear cactus lined the sidewalk, partially obscuring the front of the house. Mexican women used the tender new shoots to make nopales, and this one had been picked clean, leaving only the largest, thickest ears. It was as tall and wide as their squad car, a hulking beast with a dozen arms. Streetlights cast its creeping shadow across the barren front yard.

At midnight, most of the neighborhood was dark. There were a few hot spots at the end of the block, with groups of young men and clusters of parked cars. Fairfax was a poor area, known for drug sales and gang activity, but it was also home to honest, hardworking people. Nice families struggling to make a better life.

Noah wished dirtbags like Castillo would stay in designated areas, where kids wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire. Then again, most criminals had children of their own. The future generation of gang members.

Patrick and Noah approached the front door together, their eyes and ears peeled. There was no particular reason for stealth—this was a drop-in interview, not a drug bust—but they didn’t immediately advertise their presence.

Outside the door, Noah paused to listen for voices inside the residence, noting the closed curtains and dim interior lights. He heard shuffling motions, followed by a moment of taut silence. They’d been made.

Patrick rapped his knuckles against the door. “Chula Vista Police Department,” he said. “We’d like to speak with Tony Castillo.”

The person inside exploded into motion. Heavy footsteps scattered in the opposite direction, toward the back of the house.

“He’s running,” Noah said, poised for action.

Patrick muttered a curse, fumbling for the radio at his shoulder. “Go!”

Noah took off in a flash, slamming around the corner of the house and high-jumping a crooked picket fence without missing a beat. The suspect flew out the back door and kept going, his white T-shirt gleaming in the dark.

“Chula Vista Police,” Noah shouted at him. “Get down on the ground!”

Ignoring him, Tony Castillo sailed over the back fence, into a neighbor’s yard.

“Fuck,” Noah said under his breath, following him over. The instant his feet hit the grass, he was running again. A pair of snarling pit bulls tore across the lawn, barking and nipping at his heels.

Luckily, none of the teeth caught hold.

Castillo made a quick left, climbing a block wall that separated the housing tract from a business area.

On the other side, he’d have more room to run.

Noah hit the wall hard and heaved himself over it, hurtling into the unknown, throwing caution to the wind. He landed in a copse of eucalyptus trees, almost losing his footing before he took off again. The steep slope angled down toward a mega-mart parking lot. Castillo was already streaking across the asphalt, making a break for it. Noah scrambled after him, his shoes seeking purchase among the fallen leaves and rock-strewn dirt.

As soon as he was on stable ground, Noah started to gain on him. Castillo was fast, but Noah was faster. Noah felt confident that he had greater endurance, as well.

Aware that he was losing the race, Castillo made another evasive maneuver, darting between buildings.

Noah struggled with the same decision he’d faced earlier: follow blindly or wait and listen. This time there were no snapping pit bulls to consider, and visibility was an issue. The rest of the parking lot was well lit, but the alleyway was cloaked in shadow.

Cursing silently, he paused at the corner of the building, flattening his back against the rough concrete wall.

He listened for running footsteps. The only sound he heard was blood rushing in his ears and his heart pounding in his chest. Touching the radio receiver at his shoulder, he gave Patrick a quick status report.

Then he heard the familiar rattle of a body hitting chain link.

“Continuing pursuit,” he said, entering the dark passageway. Castillo’s white T-shirt shone like a beacon at the end of the alley, which was barricaded by a sizable fence. Noah ran hard, knowing he’d lost several precious seconds in hesitation.

Castillo started to climb.

Noah thought about drawing his weapon but had the suspect pegged as a noncompliant, the kind of criminal who wouldn’t respond to threats. And Noah didn’t have cause to shoot him. If Castillo hadn’t been several feet off the ground, Noah would have used his Taser. A hundred volts of electricity usually made the most resistant arrestee docile.

Instead, Noah employed a bit of old-fashioned brute force. When he caught up to Castillo, he grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him backward, anticipating a satisfying physical confrontation. He didn’t expect the suspect to cooperate. Noah was hoping he wouldn’t, in fact. He was juiced from the chase and spoiling for a fight.

He got a little something extra.

Castillo clung to the fence with his left hand and reached into the waistband of his pants with his right.

In the next second, Noah was staring down the barrel of a .22.

His entire world ground to a halt. The moment seemed magnified somehow, sharpened by his senses, every detail in extreme focus.

He could smell Castillo’s sweat. His own sweat. The dim haze from the parking-lot security lights bathed them both in a pale orange haze. Castillo’s eyes appeared black within black, feral, inhuman.

Castillo pulled the trigger. The gun clicked. And then, nothing.

It took Noah a second to realize that Castillo hadn’t disengaged the safety. As Castillo remedied that mistake, Noah brought his right arm up, knocking the weapon aside. It discharged in an earsplitting blast.

The bullet ricocheted off the block walls all around them.

Noah jerked Castillo away from the fence and slammed him to the ground, facedown. Hard enough to stun him. “Put your hands behind your back!”

This time, he cooperated.

Noah wrenched his arms back and cuffed him, searching the pockets of his baggy pants. His hands were shaking from the near miss, his mind racing in a dozen different directions. Both he and Castillo were breathing hard.

There was a small bag of white powder in Castillo’s front pocket. The sight of it filled Noah with fury. “This is why you pulled a gun on me?” he said, tossing the bag on the asphalt. The tattoo on Castillo’s neck stood out in harsh relief, his pulse throbbing beneath it. “For an eight ball of coke?”

Noah didn’t mention Lola Sanchez, but he wanted to. He wanted to give Castillo another hard shove. Slam him into the asphalt a few more times. If he’d raped and murdered a defenseless young woman, he’d earned the rough treatment.

Instead of lashing out at Castillo, Noah took a calming breath. Getting physical with a suspect after he’d been restrained was never a good idea. Noah was a conscientious police officer, and he liked his arrests to stick.

Patrick appeared at the end of the alleyway a moment later, his gun drawn. Noah imagined the scene through Patrick’s eyes, and it didn’t look pretty. The suspect was facedown beneath him, shirt torn, nose bloody.