The Target (13 page)

“Just a quick visual. Then I ran the plates, recognized the victim’s name, and called it in. I knew he’d been killed around here somewhere.”

“About a mile from here, at an old cannery.”

“How did he die?” She stayed close, making his body hum.

“They did the autopsy yesterday, and the cause of death is still unknown. Avery was beaten, but the blows didn’t kill him. I’m waiting for a toxicology report.” Cortez hadn’t attended the post, but instead, spent the day talking to Avery’s family members and friends. None of which had been helpful.

As he took a series of photos to document the location and condition of the vehicle, Officer Silva commented, “I can’t imagine why someone would kill him and dump his car.”

“I think he was driven out here, then assaulted.” Such a sad ending for a classy movie star. “I’d better search the car. A tow truck will be here soon to haul it to the processing bay.” Cortez pulled on gloves and examined the two front door handles. They’d been wiped clean, but left unlocked. He opened the passenger’s side door and pulled the paperwork out of the glovebox. He thumbed through it and found only registration and insurance stuff. Nothing suspicious. He bagged the documents as evidence, knowing they would sit in a locker for decades, taking up space, and no one would ever look at them again. A quick glance inside the car revealed it was pristine, what he would have expected from Avery, but little help to him.

“I’ll search the back,” Officer Silva offered, “but I don’t see anything.”

“Maybe the technicians will pick up a print.” He wasn’t optimistic.

After a few minutes of searching, he found a receipt for ProLabs, dated Tuesday, July 8th. The day Avery died. Was the lab the last place he’d been?

“What did you find?” Silva asked.

“A receipt for lab work on the day he was killed.” Closer inspection revealed the nature of the visit: DNA analysis. It was probably connected to the paternity suit. Would the lab be closed until Monday? He was eager to question the staff and look at the video surveillance, if they had any. Cortez bagged the receipt as evidence and headed to the back of the Mercedes, which was flawless—‌no scratches or dings. The trunk was locked.

“I have a crowbar in my cruiser, if you want to bust it open.” Silva’s expression was neutral, but her eyes sparked.

Should he?
It seemed unnecessarily destructive. “I think I’ll let the technicians handle it.” He grinned. “If I thought there was a body in there, I’d be all over it.”

“Your call.”

Cortez wanted to check with the lab and get going. Yet he was enjoying Adie Silva’s company. “Excuse me for a moment.” After locating the number on the receipt, he called and listened to a canned voice message indicating they weren’t open on weekends.

He turned to Silva. “I have to question a suspect this morning. Will you stay with the car until the tow truck arrives?”

“Sure.”

He glanced at her hands. No wedding ring. Was it smart to date another cop? His mother would like that Adie was at least part Hispanic, but that didn’t matter.
No,
he decided, she was too pretty and would never go out with him. He would just make her uncomfortable and force her to come up with a reason to turn him down.

“Would you like to get coffee later to discuss the case?” she asked.

His heart skipped a beat. She was asking him. He tried to sound casual. “That sounds good.” He handed her a business card. Should he ask for hers? No, he didn’t want to press his luck. “Which division do you work out of?”

“Mid-City.”

“I’ll see you later.”

Her smile made his day.

Feeling optimistic, he drove toward Alicia Freison’s apartment, about five miles south on the edge of Chula Vista. The woman didn’t seem to have a place of employment, but a surprise Saturday morning visit seemed like the ideal time to catch her at home.

Two tenants chatting on the sidewalk made the complex seem less abandoned this time, but the new graffiti gave it a slum look. How had someone from this world crossed paths with James Avery? It seemed unlikely—‌unless she was an opportunistic grubber. Cortez approached the end unit on the ground floor and heard a TV.
Yes!
She was home. He knocked, prepared to be assertive.

A disheveled woman in her late twenties yanked open the door. “I told you I—‌.” She stopped mid-sentence, her mouth open. “Who are you?”

“Detective Cortez, SDPD.” He started to show his badge, but she pushed the door closed.

Cortez stepped forward and caught it with his knee. A painful save. “We have to talk.”

“Not without my lawyer.” Her eyes were defiant, but her lip trembled.

“Tell him to meet you at the department because that’s where you’ll be.” He pulled out his handcuffs. “Or we can talk here.”

“About what?”

“James Avery.”

A defeated look. “Oh christ.” She stepped back to let him in. “I saw the news about his death, but I don’t know anything.”

Cortez entered the dark space that reeked of fried food. “Why didn’t you return my calls?” A little boy watched from the couch.

“Because there’s nothing to say.”

Dishes, canned food, and unopened mail covered the kitchen table, and every sitting place in the small unit was stacked with laundry. It was no way to raise a child. Being poor was no excuse for being messy. Or so his mother always said. “When did you last see James Avery?”

Freison laughed, a bitter outburst. “About four years ago, when we screwed in the bathroom at a party.”

He didn’t believe any of it. “You filed a paternity suit recently. You must have seen Mr. Avery at some point.”

“No. My lawyer handled it.”

“Why file the lawsuit now?”

She gestured with both hands, inviting him to look around. “Why should his son grow up this way? John deserves more.”

It didn’t explain the delay. “Did you tell Mr. Avery about his son at the time of his birth?”

“I had a boyfriend. We were trying to make it work.” She became aware of her appearance and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. It didn’t do anything for her stained pajamas.

Cortez wondered how Avery’s death would affect the lawsuit. “Will you drop your case now?”

“Why should I? John will inherit a good chunk of money.”

“If you can prove paternity.”

“His DNA is a match. Just look at him.”

Cortez glanced over at the child again. The boy had the same sandy hair and wide forehead as the actor, but it didn’t prove anything. “Where were you last Tuesday night between eight and ten p.m.?”

A worried expression crept onto her face as she thought about what he was asking. “Oh yeah, I was at my sister’s for dinner.”

If Freison had killed the actor, she probably hadn’t done it by herself. “Did you hire someone to assault Mr. Avery? Were you trying to extract money from him?”

She blinked a few times, then scowled. “Are you serious? Why would I do that? I have a solid paternity suit that’s worth a million bucks.”

Good point. “Maybe Mr. Avery threatened you. His wife says you’re a DNA hustler. That you stalked him until you managed to snatch a strand of his hair. Then you filed suit, hoping for a quick settlement to keep it out of the press.”

“That’s a lie.” Freison moved toward the fridge, not looking at him. “I’ve answered your questions. Now leave me alone.” She pulled out a milk carton and gulped some down.

Unsanitary.
Cortez didn’t know what else to ask. He didn’t trust the woman, but she hardly had a reason to commit murder. “Give me your sister’s name and contact information, so I can confirm your alibi.”

Freison rolled her eyes, but wrote the information on his notepad. “Maybe James’ wife killed him to get his money. Or because she was tired of his screwing around. She seems pretty cold to me.”

Startled, he asked, “You’ve met Veronica?”

“No, but I saw an interview with her a while back. She seemed upset that he hadn’t been offered any good movie roles recently. I think she was worried about money.”

Wasn’t everybody? “I may have more questions. Don’t ignore my calls and don’t leave town.” He’d always wanted to say that.

She rolled her eyes again and gave a smart-ass wave. The lack of respect offended him, but he was slowly coming to accept that police officers weren’t seen as heroes anymore. Cortez let himself out, then waited in his car for a few minutes to see if Freison would leave the apartment. If she did, she might be headed to warn the thug who’d helped her assault Avery.

Saturday, July 12, 1:07 p.m.

The sight of Flagstaff below the plane’s window triggered a flood of emotions: first, nostalgia for the beauty of the trees and the quaintness of the architecture, followed by a fear of becoming stuck there again. Rippling under the surface was a fading bitterness that her childhood in this mountain town had been disappointing at best. This was her first visit in years. She often thought about making the drive from Phoenix to see her aunt, but never did. Fortunately, Lynn made occasional trips to the city, so they had dinner and drinks at least once a year. Ten minutes later, she walked off the plane into a blue-sky day and gulped in cool, fresh air. Flagstaff in July was about perfect. But she was here to witness a death, and her mood darkened in spite of the scenery.

All of her dread washed away when her aunt wrapped her arms around her and murmured, “I’ve missed you.”

Dallas had called Lynn to pick her up because her aunt was dependable, and she didn’t want to commit to seeing her mother. Just because her dad was dying didn’t mean she had to pretend everything was okay with Mom. They had both been lousy, neglectful parents, but she blamed her mother more. It was sexist and unfair, but that was the cultural expectation. Mothers were supposed to give a shit.

“You look great,” she said, meaning it. Lynn took excellent care of herself, and Dallas hoped to look as good as she did at fifty.

“Hah. But thanks. How have you been?”

“Excellent. I love my job.”

Her aunt didn’t ask about her love life. That would come later, after they’d had a few drinks. “How about you? What are you writing now?”

“A futuristic paranormal romance.”

They both laughed. Her aunt’s strange fiction was popular, and her success had inspired Dallas to dream big. “Have I thanked you recently for everything you did for me? All the acting lessons and day camps and tutors. I know it cost you a fortune.”

Aunt Lynn winked. “You’re a great investment.”

“You spent time just hanging out with me too. It changed my life.”

Another quick hug. “Hey, I’m not the one dying.”

“Thank goodness.” They walked toward the exit of the tiny airport. “So how is Dad? Have you seen him?”

“He’s moments from death. I think he’s just hanging on until he sees you.”

Dread filled her stomach like wet cement. The last thing she wanted was an emotional outpouring from him. It was too fucking late. A childhood memory pushed to the surface, demanding to be examined. She’d been ten, and her dad had taken her to the park. At first he’d hung out with her, pushing her on the swing and watching her use the slide. Then a friend had shown up, and they’d sat off to the side drinking and talking. She’d overheard her father say, “Jamie’s a smart little cookie. Maybe too smart.” A rush of joy at the unexpected compliment. Her father rarely praised anyone. Later, he’d gotten into a fight with his friend and someone had called the police. Her dad had gone to jail and the day had been ruined, but he couldn’t take back his words.

She and her aunt stepped outside, and Dallas inhaled another deep breath of pine-scented air. She would drink her way through the obligatory hospital visit, hook up with an old boyfriend if she could find him, then get the hell out.

They ran into her mother in the hospital elevator. Roxie gave her an obligatory hug, smelling of cigarettes and unwashed hair. Some things never changed. Her mother’s cheeks were hollow, and she looked as if she’d aged twenty years. “You get prettier as you get older,” she complained. “It’s just not fair.” Her mother gave a tight smile, a lifetime habit of concealing bad teeth. That was what was different. Her upper teeth were all gone. Why didn’t she wear dentures? It made Dallas sad and angry at the same time.

She forced herself to smile back. “How have you been?” A stupid, pointless question, but what else should she say?

“Not good. Your dad is dying and hasn’t worked in months. If not for my dear sister, I would have been evicted already.” Roxie patted Lynn’s arm but didn’t look at her.

The elevator door opened, and they all stepped off. Time to look at death.

“Jamie, darlin’, you made it.” Her father had always been lean and muscular, but now he was so gaunt he looked surreal. The white hospital blanket seemed to dwarf him as he struggled to raise the bed, and the yellowish tone of his skin told her what she had failed to ask—‌because she instinctively knew. His liver was failing.

She patted his hand, not wanting to touch him. “I didn’t know you were sick until just a few days ago. I’m sorry to hear it.”

“My liver just suddenly gave out.” He let out a little laugh-snort. “We all knew it could happen.” He grabbed her hand and held it. “Thank you for coming. It would have been my own damn fault if you had decided not to.” His voice was whispery and weak.

Dallas didn’t have any words for him. His frailty softened her anger, but he was almost a stranger. All she felt was discomfort and the need to escape.

“How have you been? Tell me about your life in Phoenix.”

Dallas pulled a chair over to his bed. Her aunt and mother had stayed in the waiting room, and she was on her own. “My life is good and I love my job. It’s important work and I get to travel.”

“You always did like to be on the move.”

She held her tongue. No point in blaming him now. “I may relocate to another bureau. Every time I go on assignment, I realize how much nicer other cities are compared to Phoenix.”

“Phoenix is hell.”

Now what? She’d already run out of things she was willing to talk about.

After a long silence, he said, “I’m sorry I was a crappy father. And I’m so relieved you turned out okay.”