The Edge of Night (8 page)

Tony Castillo said he hadn’t seen Lola at all that day. He’d admitted that Lola was his sometimes girlfriend but stuck to the story that he’d been cruising the red-light district alone. Even after a cache of narcotics was seized at his residence, Castillo refused to name his partner. He’d been charged with possession, intent to sell, and trafficking.

But was ruled out as a murder suspect.

It was obvious that Castillo had gone to Mexico for more drugs. Noah figured that Lola, like most addicts, hadn’t wanted to wait for her fix. She went looking elsewhere and ran into serious trouble.

One of the other waitresses had dropped Lola off at a friend’s house after work. The friend, who’d been letting Lola sleep on the couch, hadn’t heard her come in. She’d probably walked down the street to score a hit.

Usually, women knew their killers on an intimate level. Husbands, boyfriends, and lovers were natural suspects.

But there was also a possibility that Lola had no connection to her killer. If he was a stranger to her, all bets were off. Lola might have been targeted simply because she was available or fit a certain type. This kind of perpetrator would be difficult to catch without witnesses or trace evidence.

He might strike again, choosing a similar victim.

Noah jogged past Lola’s friend’s house, giving it a cursory glance. In any murder investigation, regardless of motive, locations were important. The distance between Lola’s last known address and the crime scene would be mapped in an attempt to retrace her steps. He’d wanted to visit these key points on foot and get a feel for the physical space.

April Ortiz lived nearby, according to her employee file. Alegría Park was less than a mile away. During the day, the park was frequented by children and families, but after sunset, drug dealers lurked in the shadows.

Maybe Lola had gone there for a buy.

Noah continued on to the park, trying to catch his stride over the next few blocks. Running was a great stress reliever for him, but today he felt off balance. The sun began to burn through the clouds, beating down on the top of his head, and the air thickened with humidity.

He slowed as he rounded the corner of the park, still thinking about the investigation. Santiago hadn’t asked him to give the matter his complete attention, but Noah had. Someone in this neighborhood knew something.

He paused at the drinking fountain, his mind whirring with information. Time of death. Chula Vista Locos. April Ortiz.

A little girl in pigtails stood in front of him, struggling to get a drink. She couldn’t quite reach the spout.

Noah looked around for help, wondering if he should give her a boost. There was a slender dark-haired woman sitting on a park bench, her back to them. “Here,” he said, planting his foot in front of the fountain. “Step up.”

The child’s eyes darted from the woman, to his face, to his size 12s. She looked thirsty.

“Go on.”

She did, standing on the top of his shoe, watching him warily as she drank. When she was finished, she stepped down, wiped her mouth, and stared at him.

There was something familiar about her.

Noah glanced toward the woman on the bench. Now she was giving him a good profile, sitting up straight and frowning at the empty playground. He recognized her immediately. “That your mom?” he asked.

The little girl ran back to the playground.

April caught the movement and relaxed, spotting her quarry. Then, like any protective mother, she turned to look at him, assessing a possible threat. Her eyes widened and she whirled around, facing forward once again.

Noah’s heart, still pumping hard from the run, surged in his chest. It was the same sensation he’d felt the first time he saw her. Lucky for him, he had a professional reason to approach. Tamping down his excitement, he bent his head and drank from the fountain, gulping a few swallows of tepid water before he walked across the grassy lawn.

The little girl ducked behind a play structure, watching him.

April was wearing a pearl-gray tank top and navy shorts with white ankle socks and ratty tennis shoes. Her legs were long, smooth, honey brown. He wasn’t sure how the modest outfit could look sexier than her skimpy work uniform, but damned if it didn’t.

She kept her attention on the playground. She also appeared to be holding her breath. Maybe keeping her fingers crossed, too. When she finally stopped pretending he wasn’t there and leveled her gaze at him, his breath quickened.

With her casual clothes and fresh-scrubbed face, she looked approachable. Touchable. Like she’d just rolled out of bed.

“Hi,” he said.

Her cheeks colored, very slightly. “Hi.”

“Did you not want to talk to me?”

“No, I …” She trailed off, giving up the pretense. Of course she hadn’t wanted to talk to him. But she couldn’t ignore him, either. “Have a seat.”

“Your daughter?” he asked, nodding at Little April as he sat down.

“Yes.”

“She looks just like you.”

Noah could tell she wasn’t any more relaxed with him here than she’d been at the club, so he cut to the chase. “Thanks for the tip the other night. I know you were taking a risk by giving me information. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. Did it work out?”

“Maybe. He had an outstanding warrant. He’s in custody.” Noah hesitated, considering how much to reveal. “He, uh, pulled a gun on me.”

Her eyes flew to his, her expression alarmed. She gave him a quick once-over.

“I wasn’t hurt.”

“Oh, my God,” she whispered, covering her mouth with one hand.

“Does Eddie do business with Castillo? Is that why you wouldn’t say anything at the club?”

She looked at her daughter, who was alternating between watching them and playing. There were two other children on the playground, and they’d begun a friendly game of chase. “Tony doesn’t come to the club,” she murmured, evasive. “I’d dropped Lola off at his house one night, so I assumed they were involved.”

“Had they broken up recently?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t lying when I said we weren’t friends. Carmen told me their relationship was troubled. I think she went out with whoever had drugs.”

“Including Eddie?”

She shrugged.

“He didn’t mention a camera inside his office. Do you know what goes on in there? Does he meet with drug dealers, gang members?”

“I know he plays poker. There might be some gambling and stuff.”

“According to your coworkers, Lola called in sick a lot and was frequently late. How did she keep her job?”

She gave him a sideways glance. “How do you think she kept it?”

He couldn’t prevent his gaze from sliding down to her lips. She had the most sensuous mouth he’d ever seen. “Are you saying that she performed sexual favors?”

“I have to go,” she said, tugging on the strap of her purse.

He put his hand on her arm. “Wait. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

She stared out at the playground, refusing to meet his eyes.

Noah felt her skin against his fingertips and watched the rapid pulse at her neck. He swallowed hard, aware that he was losing his objectivity. She wasn’t being totally honest with him, and he didn’t blame her. With reluctance, he dropped his hand. “Do you know if Tony has a partner, someone connected to CVL?”

Her attention jerked back to him. “No,” she said, shaking her head in overemphasis. “Why?”

“I’m just trying to collect information for the case,” he said mildly.

“You aren’t a homicide detective. Your card says gang unit.”

He was flattered that she’d noticed. Most people tossed his card in the trash. “Lola’s murder might be gang-related, and I hope to work on homicide someday. If I do well on this case, I’ll have a better chance of making the team.”

Her mouth softened, but she didn’t relax her posture. “I’ve said more than I should have already. I can’t afford to get fired. I have a daughter to take care of.”

Noah glanced at the girl on the swing, considering April’s dilemma. She was fiercely protective of her child, an admirable trait. He got the impression that she guarded herself with the same diligence. He’d studied her body language on video, noting the subtle distance she kept from male customers.

Someone had made her cautious.

“Are you still with her dad?” he asked.

It was an impulsive question, inappropriate and personal. Her eyes became shuttered. “What does that have to do with your investigation?”

“Nothing,” he admitted.

She stared at him for a moment, silent. The air between them grew heavy, weighted with tension. Although she didn’t respond verbally, the exchange felt intimate. Simply by holding his gaze, she shared more than she’d given in the secret note.

Noah knew he should disengage himself from this situation. Although he was off duty, he was acting in an official capacity. Police officers weren’t supposed to put the moves on interviewees.

Even if she was available and interested, he wasn’t free to pursue her.

A trickle of sweat ran down the line of his jaw, reminding him that he was damp and disheveled. Not very appealing. “Damn,” he said, lifting the hem of his T-shirt to wipe his face. “This heat wave is killing me.”

Her eyes wandered over to the exposed part of his torso. “It’s the humidity,” she said, her voice thin.

Great. Now they were talking about the weather.

“Mommy!” April’s little girl ran toward the park bench, her cheeks flushed. “I don’t want to play anymore.” She slipped her arms around her mother’s slim waist, giving Noah a look that was surely an invitation to buzz off.

“I’m Noah,” he said, smiling.

She stuck out her tongue.

“Jenny!”

He laughed, taking no offense.

“That’s not nice,” April said. Jenny hid her face against her mother’s hip.

“It’s okay,” he said easily. He’d needed the interruption.

April put her hand on Jenny’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said, flashing him an embarrassed smile.

He rose to his feet, blinking the stars from his eyes. “Well. Thanks again for the tip.”

“You’re welcome. Noah.”

After he left the park, he ran like the wind, feeling oddly lighthearted. This investigation was the most challenging of his career by far. And April Ortiz was the sexiest, most irresistible puzzle he’d ever met.

7

The heat didn’t let up all week.

On Friday, the sun was out in full force as Eric rode his bike down Chula Vista’s main drag, toward Bonita Market. He’d been keeping a low profile since Tony Castillo got arrested. Although he’d made some subtle inquiries about Lola Sanchez, no one in the neighborhood seemed to know anything.

Tony was a dopehead and a thug, but Eric knew he hadn’t killed Lola. Pulling a gun on a cop or getting into an altercation over a drug deal—those were crimes he was capable of. Murdering a defenseless woman? Eric couldn’t believe he’d stoop so low.

Then again, he’d seen Tony do some horrible things in the ten years they’d been acquainted. One memory continued to haunt him. Last night he’d dreamed he was helping his brother dig another hole.

Eric pushed aside those dark thoughts and pedaled faster, cutting through the heavy traffic on Broadway. He rolled into the parking lot at his usual time, five minutes before 3:00
P.M
. He worked six hours, five days a week.

The job was neither difficult nor easy. Unloading and stocking grocery goods, no matter how tiresome and monotonous, was better than laying bricks, flipping burgers, or digging ditches. He knew because he’d done all three.

Bonita Market had its perks.

He locked up his bike and went inside, spotting one of the perks the instant he walked through the back door. Meghan Young was sitting at the break table with Cristina, sharing the earpieces from an iPod.

Her bangs swept down over her face, covering one eye.

The two girls had become fast friends, which surprised him. They didn’t have much in common. Meghan was from some hick town up north; Cristina had been born here in the city. Cristina favored low-rise jeans, belly-baring tops, and flashy colors. Meghan had a quieter, more eclectic style.

Meghan glanced up at him and smiled, causing his pulse to accelerate.

Today she wore faded Levi’s and a sleeveless checkered shirt. Her haircut was boyish. Kind of emo, he guessed. It didn’t detract from her beauty. There was an artistic, intelligent quality about her that drew his attention.

Cristina, with her overt sex appeal and bad-girl attitude, was Eric’s usual type. Self-centered and fun-loving, not particularly thoughtful or ambitious. She had a pierced tongue and low expectations. If he asked her out, she’d say yes. He could probably just fuck her, with or without a date.

But he wouldn’t.

Cristina was his best friend’s little sister, for one thing. He also wasn’t that into her. Meghan was a lot more tempting but equally off-limits. She had a cop brother, which gave her an automatic fail in the hookup department.

Sighing, he stashed his backpack under the counter and tossed his work polo over his shoulder. Nodding at Meghan and Cristina, he headed to Jack’s office. He had a special delivery to make, and the door was open.

Jack was inside, leaning back in his desk chair. Basically doing nothing.

“Don’t you ever fucking knock, dude?”

Eric shut the door behind him and took the plastic bag from his pocket, tossing it on the surface of the desk.

Jack’s annoyance disappeared. Sitting forward, he snatched up the bag and brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply. With his bony face and sparse goatee, he reminded Eric of a rat. “This is the good shit?”

Eric hadn’t exactly tested it out. Jack wanted pot so strong he saw spaceships, and Eric preferred to stay on planet earth. “It’s good enough for you.”

After Jack grumbled a little, breaking Eric’s balls about Mexicans and their no-good dirt weed, he reached into his wallet and pulled out a wad of cash. Eric didn’t bother to count it. Jack was an asshole, but he didn’t underpay.

“Thanks,” Jack said. He knew he was getting a good deal.

“Anytime, man,” Eric replied, pocketing the money and leaving the office. He didn’t have high standards for the clients he sold to. As long as they were adults, and reasonably discreet, he didn’t care what they thought of him.

At the break table, Cristina asked Meghan a question about the band they were listening to. When Meghan shook her head, the earpiece fell out of her ear. They both reached for it at the same time. Somehow, Cristina got her bracelet snagged on the front of Meghan’s T-shirt. Meghan gasped and covered her breast with her hand, as if she’d been pinched, and they both dissolved into giggles.

It was a fleeting, innocent exchange, but Eric’s mind went straight to the gutter. When two hot girls were sitting close together, laughing and touching each other, a guy couldn’t prevent his thoughts from wandering.

“Get to work, slacker,” Jack called out, ruining the fantasy.

Eric glanced back at him, clenching his hand into a fist. He hadn’t even clocked in yet, and Jack knew it.

Jack also knew Eric wasn’t a slacker. Slacking off, and pretending to manage the store, was Jack’s job. As the owner’s son, his behavior was above reproach, of course. He didn’t appreciate the opportunity he’d been given, because he hadn’t worked for it. Jack spent his afternoons daydreaming about waves and harassing female employees. Maybe one day his dad would get fed up and fire him. Until then, Jack was the boss, and Eric would have to refrain from punching him in his dope-smoking mouth.

Meghan rose from the table, afraid she would get reprimanded also, and Cristina put her iPod away, rolling her eyes.

Eric went to the bathroom to change his shirt, his motions choppy with anger. Before Meghan got hired, Jack’s attitude hadn’t really bothered him. For some reason, being heckled in front of her was more humiliating.

When he walked out of the restroom, she was standing there. “What’s up, Gusto?” she said in a breathy voice. For his ears only.

“Nothing much, Mía.”

Smiling, she ducked inside to change her own shirt.

Since the day they met, she’d been teasing him with that pet name, a play on their first conversation. He’d picked it up immediately. She called him
Pleasure
and he called her
Mine
. With another girl, the game might have seemed sexual, but he wasn’t sure she was aware of those undertones.

Eric certainly understood them, and he would have to keep his distance. She wasn’t the kind of girl he could fool around with.

He clocked in and got to work, unloading the delivery truck with Hector at his side. For Eric, the repetitive physical labor was relaxing, and some of the stress of his everyday life ebbed away. When he was lifting cartons and carrying boxes, there was no police car following him. No gang politics, no mother in Mexico, no brother in jail.

Soon enough, it was quitting time. He paid for some groceries, using his employee discount, and put the items in his backpack. On his way out, he overheard Jack chatting up Meghan and Cristina, trying to talk them into something.

“There’s a bonfire tonight in IB,” Jack said, draping an arm across Meghan’s shoulders. “You girls should come out. It’ll be off the hook.”

“Where at?” Cristina asked.

“The south pier.”

She shrugged. “Sounds cool.”

Meghan glanced at Eric. “Are you going?”

Eric adjusted his backpack, considering. Jack hadn’t invited him, and he had some other responsibilities to take care of tonight. But he felt a stronger, more pervasive urge to do whatever pleased her.

“I don’t think Eric is allowed in that part of town,” Jack said with a smirk. “Do homeboys go to the beach?”

Meghan frowned at Jack’s language, taking offense. She had no idea.

“I can make it,” Eric heard himself say.

Jack’s brows rose in surprise, but he didn’t protest. When push came to shove, he was kind of a pussy. Eric got the impression that Jack was secretly intimidated by him. Maybe that was why he acted like such a jerk.

“See you there,” Eric said, cursing under his breath as he left the building. Why had he made such a stupid promise? He didn’t want to hang out at the beach with a bunch of drunk, belligerent surfers.

Cristina followed him out the door, watching while he unlocked his bike. “You aren’t going to tell Junior, are you?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “No.”

“Good,” she said, relieved that her big brother wouldn’t be showing up to spoil her fun. Eric didn’t want Junior there, either, for personal reasons. His best friend couldn’t be trusted not to start a fight.

As soon as he straightened, Cristina leaned in and kissed his cheek, letting her fingertips linger where her mouth had been.
“Al rato.”

Meghan came through the back door just in time to witness the exchange.

That kind of kiss was no big deal, but Cristina had a suggestive way about her, and she’d put him in an awkward position. It would be rude not to return the gesture.
“Al rato,”
he said, brushing his lips over her cheek.

Meghan looked away, uncomfortable.

“Later,” he said to her.

She gave him a tight smile. “Bye.”

On the way home, he told himself it didn’t matter what she thought. It was better not to get involved with her. In fact, he should skip the bonfire altogether.

He weaved through traffic, torn by indecision. The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees, and the humidity had eased off, making his ride more pleasant. A light breeze rippled through his white T-shirt, drying the sweat on his skin.

The city pulsed with heat and energy on Friday night. Traffic lights lit up the streets, radios were on full blast, and car horns blared. The neighborhood seemed like a living, breathing thing, a monster awakening from sleep.

Eric hadn’t felt this alive in a long time.

Meghan had a strange effect on him. Her presence made him realize how unsatisfied he’d been lately. He did whatever it took to get by, and he wasn’t ashamed of that, but he was more aware of the consequences of his actions now. If he had only himself to consider, he might leave Chula Vista.

Sometimes he wished he could just … run away.

At home, the volume on the TV was turned all the way up. He quieted the noise, greeting his grandmother with a kiss on the cheek. “Is your hearing aid on?”

Chuckling, she adjusted it.
“Se me olvidó.”

“What do you want for dinner? Tomato soup?”

“Sí, m’ijo. Gracias.”

He put the groceries away and heated a bowl of soup for both of them, adding a quesadilla on the side. He devoured his meal in record time and went to take a shower, eager to get ready for the bonfire. Wiping away the condensation on the mirror, he checked his face for stubble.

After slapping on some deodorant and gargling mouthwash, he wrapped a towel around his waist and left the bathroom.

Junior was sitting on his bed, flipping through an old issue of
Lowrider
. “Damn,” he said, studying a picture of a girl bent over a tricked-out El Camino. Her metallic silver bikini bottoms left nothing to the imagination.

“Do you mind?”

Junior waved his hand in the air. “Nah, bro. Go ahead.”

Eric was the one who minded, of course, but not enough to argue about it. He grabbed a pair of boxer shorts from his top drawer and put them on, along with his newest pair of jeans. Tugging a sleeveless undershirt over his head, he opened his closet and stared at its contents. After a brief hesitation, he chose a dark-green polo.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Junior asked. Normally, they dressed alike. Tan pants, white T-shirt, brown bandanna. “I thought we had plans.”

“Sorry. Something came up.”

Junior narrowed his eyes. “You’re trying to get on a chick.”

Eric glanced at his reflection. “Nah.”

“Yeah, you are.”

He wasn’t going to admit it. First of all, he didn’t plan on hooking up with anyone. Second, he wouldn’t tell Junior if he was. Third, he couldn’t explain how he felt about Meghan. There was no shame in trying to get laid, but hanging out with a cop’s sister because he liked her company—well, that was social suicide.

“Is it April?”

He frowned at Junior. “Hell, no.”

“I’d try to get on her if I was you. Holy fuck, she is hot.”

Eric had heard that before, so he didn’t bother responding. April was his niece’s mother, and he wouldn’t disrespect Raul by hitting on her.

“This sucks, dude, because I stopped by the craft shop on my way here.”

He watched while Junior pulled two black cans of spray paint from his backpack. They were professional quality, for graphic artists. A grin broke across Eric’s face. “Hell, yeah. How much do I owe you?”

“
Nada, güey
. I ganked them.”

Eric laughed, giving him a CVL handshake and a one-armed hug. “We’ll go out tomorrow night and put these to good use.”

As soon as his friend left, Eric stashed the cans in his closet. When he wasn’t home to help his grandmother into bed, she often slept in the recliner in the living room. Before he said goodbye, he put her walker by the chair and placed a blanket within reach.

On his way out, he stopped by the garage, deliberating. His ’72 Chevelle was a pretty sweet ride, but he drove her on special occasions only. Most of the time he could get around faster on a bike, and he preferred that anonymous method of transportation.