Silent is the Grave

by Candle Sutton

  Monica shook her head adamantly. “No. Jessie hated drugs. She never used. I don’t know why she had them.”

  So they had been Jessie’s drugs. Interesting. “She never mentioned them?”

  Funny. It sounded like the two girls were so tight, yet Jessie kept that from Monica?

  “Never. I was shocked to find them.”

  Okay, that was still a piece of the puzzle that was missing. “That was really helpful, Monica. I know it wasn’t easy, but your information can help us bring the whole thing down.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself. “I just want this to be over. I’m tired of running.”

  “You don’t have to run anymore.” Elly smiled at Monica. “You’re safe here.”

  A nice sentiment, but she couldn’t possibly know that.

  Zander paused. Or did she? With Elly, he wasn’t willing to rule anything out.

  But on the other side of that coin was the very real possibility that Monica could be bringing danger directly to Elly’s door. If those men attacked them on this boat, they’d have nowhere to go but overboard, into the cold, possibly shark-infested waters of the bay.

  Not that such a thing seemed to be a problem for Elly.

  “Monica, I can probably get you into a safe house with police protection. Would you be okay with that?”

  Before the words had even finished coming from his mouth, she was already shaking her head with such vigor that her hair whipped around it. “No. I like it here.”

  “But…” The argument died in his throat at Elly’s serious expression.

  “Zander.” Her voice was calm but firm. “Don’t worry. We’re all safe here.”

  Looked like he didn’t have much choice in the matter. He pinched his lips shut and gave a single nod. “Then I need you to stay here. Your testimony will be crucial in bringing this group down.”

  “I’m not going anywhere?” Monica glanced at Elly before repeating in a stronger tone, “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He really needed to be going, but first he wanted to touch on Jessie’s murder. It was, after all, the inciting spark to all this. “So when this man killed Jessie, did he say anything?”

  “They argued.” Monica rubbed her arms. “They were real quiet so as not to draw attention, but they were talking about the spa.”

  “What did they say?”

  “I think Jessie was gonna burn the place down.”

  That didn’t make sense. Jessie had wanted to save the people being held inside, not fry them… fry. “Did she actually say she was going to burn it down? Or did she say fry?”

  Monica’s eyes widened. “That’s it. She said they were all gonna fry.”

  “And then?”

  “The man said it wasn’t gonna happen. He asked her about some merchandise. She said it was safe and that she didn’t have it on her. She said it would nail them for good. Then he…” A breath hiccupped in her throat. “She died.”

  Merchandise? Maybe the drugs they’d recovered from the gazebo? “Do you know what merchandise they were talking about?”

  “No.”

  “Did either of them ever mention you specifically?”

  She shook her head slowly.

  Okay, so that was good. Although they were obviously after Monica, maybe it was simply because she’d escaped and could out them. Maybe they didn’t know she had witnessed the murder. “So you said Jessie knew this guy. Did she say how she knew him?”

  “She said she’d seen him with someone. That’s all she said.”

  “Do you think this guy was one of her clients?”

  “I dunno. Maybe.” Monica scrunched her forehead. “He didn’t really act like one of those guys, though.”

  “Did you see this man’s face?”

  “No, but his arms were this big.” She held her hands up, her fingers making a circle the size of a tree trunk.

  Likely an exaggeration, although to a girl Monica’s size the man probably looked huge. Especially after he’d killed Jessie.

  The video had shown a man who was solidly built and tall, but not nearly pro-wrestler status.

  “Can you describe him? Just whatever you could see.”

  “He wore a uniform. Dark blue. With some kinda logo on the arm. And chunky work boots. That’s why I didn’t call you sooner. I didn’t know who I could trust.”

  All of which lined up with what they’d seen on the video. “What about his skin or hair? Eyes?”

  “I couldn’t see his eyes. But he was white. Not as white as Jessie, but still white.”

  Well, that should narrow it down some. Given that the Alma Negra was largely a Hispanic gang, a white guy should stand out.

  “Brown hair.”

  Monica’s statement drew his attention back to her.

  “Short and spiky.”

  A white guy in a uniform with short and spiky brown hair. It was a start. “Any tattoos or other identifying marks?”

  “I couldn’t stop lookin’ at Jessie and all that blood. So much blood.”

  Yeah, he remembered that part well.

  Moving on. “Any guesses on his age?”

  The look she shot him said he was out of his mind for even asking.

  Still, she might know more than she realized. “Just ballpark. Was he your age? My age? A grandpa?”

  She shook her head at the last one. “Not old. Older than Jessie. Maybe twenties or thirties. I don’t really know. I didn’t see him that good.”

  “What about jewelry? Did he wear a watch? Or rings?”

  She paused, scrunching up her nose as though that would help her remember. “I don’t… yeah. He was wearing a watch. I noticed ‘cause it reflected the light. It was gold and big. It looked expensive.”

  That fit with his enforcer theory. The enforcer would work closely with the top guys, which would likely include some pretty nice monetary perks.

  Time to get back to the precinct and try to ID the mystery man. Maybe he’d show up in one of the crime scene photos. Killers often liked to watch the chaos from their handiwork. Hopefully this guy was no exception.

  “One last thing. Jessie took a packet of papers to an anti-human trafficking organization. Did you supply her with the information in that packet?”

  Creases lined Monica’s brow. “What was in it?”

  “Pictures of Tranquility Day Spa. A list of names.”

  “I gave her the names. They were some of my… clients. But no pictures.”

  Jessie must’ve gotten those on her own, then.

  He clicked off the recorder. “Thank you, Monica. You’ve given me some good things to follow-up on.”

  His gaze shifted briefly to Elly, who sat silently beside Monica. “Now. Listen closely. I want you both to be very careful. Watch out for anyone who might be following you. Or watching the boat. They won’t always be obvious. Watch for couples, people who look like tourists, or the homeless. If you spot anyone out of the ordinary, call me. Right away. Anytime, day or night.”

  Elly laughed. “Trust me. We’ll be okay.”

  At least Monica had the decency to look scared. “I’m serious, Elly. These people play for keeps. I don’t want you, either of you, caught in the middle.”

  Any more than they already were. He kept the thought inside.

  “God protects this boat. What can man do to me if God is on my side?”

  He didn’t want to think about the answer to that one. Crime scene photos evidenced all that man was capable of.

  “Yeah, well what about when you’re not on the boat?” He pocketed the recorder and pushed up from his seat. “Just promise you’ll be careful, okay?”

  “Of course.”

  He paused by the door. “And keep this locked.”

  “Josiah and Zeke will be coming home soon.”

  “They have keys.” His certainty wavered. Or did they? Normal people would be able to say yes, but this family was anything but normal.

  Elly was so certain God would protect her, but Zander was sure of on
ly one thing. If the killer caught up to her, he would do what he did best and kill. With no thoughts of God and no mercy.

  Twenty

  The police station bustled as Zander approached his desk. Morgan looked up.

  “You even move while I was gone, old man?”

  Morgan narrowed his eyes. “Watch it, kid. Or I won’t tell you what we’ve gotten from the facial rec.”

  They had some hits? This sounded promising.

  Morgan shuffled pictures and pushed one at him. “The tech guys were able to enhance this one. We got a match on the plate and the face. This guy’s on the city council.”

  Not exactly the stereotypical low-life.

  But then again, they rarely were.

  Morgan shoved another photo at him. “These guys all have rap sheets. Assault, possession, you name it. All tied to the Alma Negra.”

  Naturally.

  “A few of these names cross reference with the ones on that list, although since it’s only first names, it might be a coincidence.”

  “Or not.”

  Morgan agreed with a curt nod. “Hard to know for sure, though. Your turn. What’d you find out?”

  Zander recapped Monica’s statement. “You got those crime scene pics close by?”

  “Whatcha thinking?” Morgan rifled through the stacks of papers on his desk until he produced a manila envelope.

  “I’m thinking I need to match the description Monica gave me with the pics of the crowd to see if our killer was hanging around.”

  Zander slid the pictures out of the envelope and spread them across the desk. Most were of the body and the immediate vicinity, but there was a stack showing the surrounding area. He examined the first one.

  Several civilians lingered behind the police tape.

  He moved past the women and focused on the men, looking specifically for white or lightly colored Hispanic men.

  Too skinny. Too short. Too dark. Too round. He mentally checked off the men in the first picture, none of whom fit the description Monica had given him.

  Moving on to the next one, he studied the men in it. Nope.

  On the fifth picture, he paused.

  This might be something.

  On the right side of the picture, visible behind two women with bulging eyes and flapping lips, stood a white man. A baseball cap covered his head and sunglasses obscured his face. Thick arms crossed over a broad chest. Sunlight glinted from his left wrist.

  The guy might’ve been wearing a uniform. Hard to tell from the little he could see. If those women weren’t in the way he’d be able to see more, but as it was he could only see the guy from about mid-chest up.

  He studied the man’s build. Could be the same as the guy he’d seen in the security video.

  Maybe he’d pay Monica another visit and bring the photo. See if she recognized the guy. Too bad he hadn’t thought to bring them with him when he went to get her statement earlier.

  He moved on to the next picture. No possibilities there.

  Same story with the next two pictures. He paused on the last picture in the stack.

  This could be the guy. Standing next to a scarecrow of a man who displayed his Alma Negra orange like a peacock fanning its plumage, the man had the right build. He looked Latino rather than white, but was fairly light. Might’ve looked Caucasian to a scared teenage girl.

  Large mirrored sunglasses hid much of the man’s face, but his hair was short and possibly spiky. A slight smirk curled his lips.

  No uniform or watch, but the guy Monica had seen wouldn’t live in either of those things, so it could still possibly be him.

  He glanced over at Morgan. “Did we have the waitress look through these to see if she could spot the killer?”

  Morgan narrowed his eyes. “Nah, I’m not into actually using an eyewitness to help nail killers. ‘Course I did. She didn’t recognize anyone.”

  Okay, stupid question. He’d asked for that one. “How positive was she?”

  Morgan wobbled his hand. “So-so. Said she was too far back to really see anything but she didn’t think the killer was in any of the pictures.”

  “What about the bank camera footage?”

  “A bust. Didn’t catch anyone who could’ve been our guy.”

  Which led him back to Monica. Who he couldn’t easily access. Couldn’t even call. Not until Elly followed through on her promise to get a prepaid phone.

  He pushed up from his chair. “I’m gonna talk to the gang unit and see if they recognize either of these guys. Maybe get a name and rap sheet to go with the face.”

  “Oh, kid. A box was dropped for you while you were out.” Morgan pushed a large cardboard box toward him.

  What was this?

  He popped the lid. A musty smell, like the box had sat for a while. Men’s clothes, shoes, an amber bottle of cologne. Half full.

  Jave.

  He dug through the items, pulling them out one by one, digging through pockets, checking in folds.

  Nothing. Not even a receipt for gas or take out.

  “What is all that?” Morgan leaned across his desk, his gaze traveling over the growing pile on Zander’s desk.

  “Jave’s personal effects. I found his girlfriend and she said she’d bring these by.”

  Too bad she’d probably removed anything that might incriminate her or her ties to the Almas.

  Reaching the bottom of the box, he found nothing that would help him track down Jave’s killer. Another dead end.

  He only hoped that one of the other leads, however tenuous they might be, panned out.

  Otherwise he was right back to where he started when it came to Jave’s murder.

  Nowhere.

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  “Yo, dude. What’s shakin’?” Rafe fist-bumped Emilio, one of his long time contacts.

  “Rafe, my man!” Emilio glanced around and dropped his voice. “You lookin’ to score?”

  A tremor shook Rafe’s hand at the thought.

  Oh yeah, he wanted to score.

  He surveyed the area himself before reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a small stack of bills. “Just a little man. Tryin’ to cut back.”

  Emilio’s laugh echoed off the brick building beside him. “You and me both, dude.”

  Right. Neither of them meant it.

  “Usual?”

  Rafe nodded.

  Too bad the score was not the only reason for his visit. Information was a close second.

  He must be outta his freakin’ mind. He’d made a point to avoid anything beyond casual dealings with the Almas and now here he was, asking about a key family in the gang. Yep, he’d officially lost it.

  If it were anyone but Zander, he wouldn’t even be asking. But Zander was family.

  Pocketing the baggie, he studied Emilio’s face. “You know a chick named Celestine Montoya?”

  Emilio’s smile vanished. “Nope. Neither do you, if you know what’s good for you.”

  Liar. “Come on, man. Just wondering what her story is.”

  “Story is she’s off limits. Why’re you askin’ anyway?”

  “Friend of mine was involved with her.”

  “Then your friend was one lucky…” Emilio shook his head. “Drop it, man. Not worth it.”

  Funny. The last two contacts he’d asked about her had told him pretty much the same thing.

  “I hear ya.”

  The smile returned to Emilio’s face, but it looked slightly strained. “Good to see you, man.”

  Now Emilio was just trying to get rid of him. He nodded. “You, too. Catch you later.”

  He turned and moved down the sidewalk, feeling Emilio’s gaze on his back until he turned a corner.

  Pretty bad when not even Emilio the talker would give him the inside scoop on Montoya. There must be someone in his circle who knew something about her.

  But were there any who were willing to talk?

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  Zander had just popped the top on his beer and settled into his r
ecliner when his phone rang.

  Unfamiliar number.

  Ignore it. He was off duty, after all. He had no obligation to answer.

  He accepted the call anyway.

  “Salinas.”

  “Zander? It’s Elly.”

  The beer suddenly felt like fire in his hand. At least she couldn’t see it.

  Ridiculous. He was allowed to have a beer in his own home, for crying out loud. Then why did he feel so guilty about it? Just because she’d warned him about trouble coming didn’t mean it’d happen tonight.

  He set the bottle on the table beside his chair. “Hey Elly. Everything okay?”

  “Of course. But I picked up one of those phones like you asked and thought you’d like the number.”

  “So if I call this number back I won’t get some random person answering a pay phone?”

  She laughed. “Not unless I decide to give the phone to some random person.”

  Which didn’t sound so far-fetched, knowing her. “Do me a favor and don’t okay? But hey, I’m glad you called. I need to have Monica look at some pictures. Can I stop by tomorrow morning?”

  Was he really asking to go on a boat? He must be loco en la cabeza.

  “Sure. Any time.”

  “I’ll be there around nine.” That’d give him time to run to the precinct and collect the pictures.

  “Okay, well we’ll see you then.”

  “And your door’s locked, right?” Would she tell him if it wasn’t?

  “Guarded by the forces of heaven. We’ll be fine.”

  Was she serious? She sure sounded it.

  Well, if God was going to have a flock… horde… army? of angels surrounding anyone, Elly should be that person.

  Especially in light of her lack of self-preservation instincts.

  He ended the call and set the phone on the end table next to his condensing beer bottle. Picking up the remote, he clicked on the TV and turned to some sitcom before reaching for the bottle. He’d take it easy tonight. One beer, maybe two tops. It was time to gain control of this thing and prove that he didn’t have a drinking problem.

  As the cool brew slid down his throat, it occurred to him that Elly had never actually said her doors were locked.