The Kiss after Midnight (The Midnight Trilogy)

by Marvin Amazon

  He heard a knock at the door. Could it be him? He wanted to shout out to whomever it was but instead reached for the Glock. He took deep breaths as he moved toward the door. The knock came again, this time louder. He extended the gun. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Erwin,” the man said in English, his accent unmistakably German. “Erwin Diederich. ... Siegfried?”

  “Slide your passport under the door. Do it now.”

  “Okay. I’m doing it now.” A red passport appeared under the door. Tobias dropped to his knees, still holding the gun at the ready. He studied the passport. The photo looked like Erwin. He took a deep breath, lowered the gun and opened the door.

  Erwin sighed upon seeing him. “Thank God you’re safe. I feared the worse.” He embraced Tobias.

  When he leaned down to pick up his bag, Tobias saw that the burly, blond-haired man had gotten bigger since their last meeting, his shoulders even broader. Tobias pulled him into the room and shut the door.

  “Great place you chose,” Erwin said.

  “It’s perfect. I don’t exactly want the Ritz, do I? Besides, we can’t be too careful. Anyone could be watching. Have you been anywhere else since you landed?”

  Erwin set his brown suitcase by the bed. “No. I came straight here. I was worried. You didn’t say much on the phone.” He glanced at the MPA lying on the floor beside the bedside table.

  “That’s because I’m dealing with some sort of conspiracy and everyone seems to be involved. Did you bring what I asked for?”

  Erwin unzipped his bag and pulled out a black laptop and a number of folders. “I have it all here. Why do you want to look at all this anyway?”

  “Because I think there’s a connection between all these deaths. If I’m going to clear my name and find my grandfather and Penélope’s killers, I have to figure it out myself. The police won’t help me. Hell, they’re probably in on the conspiracy. Them and the FBI.”

  “So these gangsters—what’s their story?”

  Tobias sat across from Erwin and relayed everything he had learned about The Dominguez Family, from their origins to the current members. He also divulged everything that had happened after April 16, the night he met Penélope Salazar.

  ***

  Tom walked into 26 Federal Plaza with a scowl on his face. He had never thought about exacting retribution outside the law, but his feelings steadily ate at him. People like Antonio generally got away with murder and much else by wielding their influence with corrupt officials.

  It felt strange heading to his office knowing that Emma wouldn’t be there to inform him of the latest developments with the Salazar murder. Colleagues waiting by the elevators and passing him in the hall looked at him with sympathetic eyes. Some rushed out of his way, clearly desperate to avoid making eye contact. He stopped just outside his office door and arched his neck backward.

  He tried to put his right hand in his pocket, but it shook too much. He squeezed it with his left until the shaking stopped. I won’t take anymore. I can beat this. He took a deep breath and opened the door. Emma’s desk was piled with files, possibly containing information on Albert Eichelberger. He slumped into his chair and swiveled in it, anger clouding his thoughts. He recalled Emma lying on the ground, spluttering blood as she tried to string words together. I’ve got to do something. This can’t be it. There must be something I’ve missed. What were you trying to tell me, Emma? He pushed his chair forward and rummaged through the files. I’ve just got to keep working the case.

  It took him no more than five minutes to realize that the file he sought was not on the table. He ruffled his hair and picked up the landline.

  A demure-sounding woman answered it. “Vázquez!”

  “Agent Vázquez. Hi. Tom Saddle here, with the Organized Crime Division.”

  “Hi, Tom.”

  “I understand you’re sorting some of Agent Briggs’ files.”

  “That’s correct. I’ve already passed some of the information on to your colleague. ... An Agent Green. She asked that we give her everything Agent Briggs had on Annabel Lopez.”

  “She did?”

  “She sure did.”

  Tom frowned and stared at the ceiling. Why would she want to look at Annabel’s file again? She knew I was handling that. “Okay, thanks.” Tom rose and walked over to Emma’s desk. After sitting on her chair, he stared at the files on the table for a moment before opening the one on top. It contained pictures of Albert Eichelberger shaking the hand of another elderly man he didn’t recognize. The next file also contained a picture of Eichelberger, this time cutting a ribbon, presumably at some sort of charity function.

  As he made his way through the files, he found that they contained mostly details about Eichelberger, but then he noticed an open file about halfway down the pile. He pulled it out and found what he was looking for. It was an A4 picture of one of the slides Nathan had shown him. In it, Annabel stood with her Mexican foster parents. Though he couldn’t see anything he hadn’t noticed before, Emma must have requested to see it for a reason. She must have been looking for something. What?

  He put his hands on his head and swiveled around in Emma’s chair. He looked at the picture again. In the middle was Annabel, with Chico and Isabela Lopez on either side of her. Behind them were a number of people. It looked like a family gathering, but none of those other faces meant anything to him. He put the picture down and walked toward the window, and it was then that something he had seen struck a chord.

  He rushed back and picked the photo up again. On the far left, directly behind Chico, was a gaunt man who looked as if he hadn’t eaten for weeks. Beside him was a large man holding two young boys, no more than 5. But it was the person on the far right who had struck a chord. The middle-aged woman with dark hair and large brown eyes had a face that seemed familiar. He was certain he had seen her recently, but where?

  ***

  Tobias pounded the bed in frustration and stood up. The last hour had revealed only that his grandfather had enjoyed going to a host of charity events. He couldn’t find the kind of connection he needed to tie his murder to Penélope’s or even prove that the mob had been involved. He opened the window and lit a cigarette.

  Erwin frowned at him and spoke in German. “That’s what killed your grandfather.”

  “Well, at this rate I’ll probably die much sooner anyway, so what does it matter?” Tobias replied, also in German.

  Erwin rose and picked up one of the many folders spread across his bed. He approached Tobias and tapped on the windowsill. “From what you’ve told me, there are a handful of people who might have wanted your grandfather dead. Connor Murray was going to name names. He had to be silenced. Your grandfather was close to Connor and probably to many of these gangsters after you.”

  Tobias took a long drag on his cigarette. “But that’s the thing. He might have known them, but I can’t work on a single angle without proof, something connecting him to anyone in The Dominguez Organization.”

  “And that’s why I came. To help you find that connection. We still have over a dozen folders to go through.”

  Tobias nodded and threw his cigarette out the window. As he closed the curtains, he caught sight of a police vehicle on a side street and ducked.

  “What is it?” Erwin asked.

  Tobias held his hand up for silence. Tobias peeked out the window. Two police officers got into the car with cups of coffee and drove away.

  Tobias took a deep breath and stood up. “It’s nothing. I’m just on edge.”

  “I completely understand. These are trying times for you.”

  “So which one’s next?”

  Erwin sat on the bed and rummaged through the folders. He picked up a black one with “Better life for Children” scribbled in the top right-hand corner in German. “This was quite a big fundraiser. The British prime minister and the Spanish royal family attended.”

  Tobias took the folder and sat on the other side of the bed. The photos all showed his grandfathe
r shaking the hands of various important-looking people. After coming across a picture showing Albert standing between the Spanish prince and the British prime minister, Tobias waved his hands in the air.

  Erwin dashed to the other side of the bed. “What is it? What have you seen?”

  Tobias put his finger against the face of a blond man in a white shirt and dark vest. He was holding Albert’s right shoulder and seemed to be engaged in a cheerful conversation. “I know this man. That’s Connor Murray.”

  “Ah, so it is.” Erwin leaned closer to the picture. “If Murray was here, others might have been, too.”

  Tobias nodded and moved on to the next pictures. He’d looked through nearly all of them when he spotted a man in a black suit leaning into or out of an embrace with Albert. He had grayish hair tied in a ponytail. He was holding his grandfather’s arms in a way that suggested that they weren’t just business associates but also friends.

  “Oh my God,” Tobias said. “It’s him. It’s Juan Cabrera, the gobernador of The Dominguez Family. I’m not sure who the man behind him is.” A smiling man stood a few yards behind Juan. He was an average-sized man with a thick moustache.

  Erwin held the picture and looked at it for a moment. “You’re sure of it?”

  “On my life. I watched him shoot Murray in the recording they’ve been chasing me across New York for.”

  Erwin set the picture down and interlocked his fingers. “And this is the recording that American girl is keeping for you?”

  “Yes.”

  Erwin sighed. “So what do we know? By the looks of this, Juan was good friends with your grandfather, which still tells us nothing.”

  “Nothing? Look at them. Does Juan look like someone who’s planning to murder my grandfather in six months’ time?”

  “Maybe not.” Erwin took the folder from him and looked at the next picture. It was a shot depicting Juan, Albert and Murray engaged in a conversation, smiles all around. “But look at what this shows us. They were all good friends and possibly had a successful partnership. Murray’s problems had not yet escalated by this time, but once they did, and the rumors were rife that he would start talking, Juan acted quickly.”

  “But that’s Murray. My grandfather was not going to squeal. Or was he?”

  Erwin shook his head. “I couldn’t answer that. Even if something was wrong, I wouldn’t have known it. He was too good at keeping things to himself. But regardless of whether your grandfather was talking or not, I suppose Juan’s not the kind of man to take chances like that.”

  Tobias sighed and walked to the minibar. He offered Erwin a sealed bottle of mineral water and opened one for himself. “So you’re saying that it actually could be Juan who orchestrated the whole thing.”

  “Yes. It’s a very viable possibility. He has the connections to carry out such a feat. And if, as you say, the recording on him got to you by Penélope’s hands, it’s very possible that Juan knew about it before and ordered her death, too.”

  “Or Antonio,” Tobias said. “He’s definitely capable. I still think he was the one who killed Penélope.”

  “Maybe. There are some reasons why he would kill his girlfriend. He could have found out about her cheating or maybe even found out that she had made a recording of his uncle, sending him into a rage. But what’s more difficult to fathom is why he would have ordered the hit on your grandfather. We still haven’t connected them in any way. We don’t even know they knew each other.”

  “He must have known him,” Tobias said, “especially since my grandfather was so close to Juan.”

  “You might be right, but we have to go with the facts, and at the moment, the only connection we’ve been able to find is one with Juan. Now we need to get to the bottom of their relationship.”

  Tobias nodded. “What about the night my grandfather died?”

  Erwin leaned toward his bag and pulled out a green folder. “I have it all right here.”

  25. Instincts

  Tom walked around his office, occasionally starting to open the door but returning to his chair instead. The picture that was bothering him now lay on the center of his desk. Where had he seen that woman? The answer lay somewhere deep in the recesses of his brain.

  He picked up the phone and called Agent Vázquez again. “Hi. It’s Tom again.”

  “How can I help you, Tom?”

  Tom paused. “Is there anything else on Annabel Lopez?”

  “I told you, I gave Agent Green everything.”

  “Yes, I know that. I just ... Tom scratched his head and shifted in his seat.

  “Agent Saddle!”

  “I’m still here. I guess I’m just having a hard time figuring out why she wanted it. Did she say?”

  “She just asked that I bring her every file Agent Briggs had on Annabel, and I ...

  “What. What is it?”

  It sounded as if Vázquez were sifting through paperwork. “There was one file she was looking for, but I couldn’t find it.”

  Tom rushed to his feet. “Which one was it?”

  “Hang on.” The line went quiet. Tom’s fingers twitched. He wanted to urge her to hurry but bit his tongue. “Right, she was especially after the files covering Annabel’s time in Mexico.”

  Why? I’ve got those files, and she knew that. Tom rummaged through his desk and pulled out a yellow folder. He flipped through some of the documents inside, all of which described Annabel’s military training and activist movements while in Mexico. He saw a number of pictures of Annabel protesting with a group of people on the streets of the capital.

  “Agent Saddle?”

  “Sorry. I’m still here. Are those files logged out by any chance?”

  “I have most of them logged out to you except ... Got it—her graduation pictures in Mexico. That’s the only one missing, the one Agent Green was looking for.”

  “And Briggs didn’t have them?”

  “No. The last person to look at them was an Agent ... Agent Grimes. But he can’t—”

  Tom threw the phone to the floor and rushed out of the office. He stopped outside for a brief moment to catch his breath before dashing down the corridor toward the elevator. He arrived on the twenty-fifth floor a few seconds later and dashed toward Grimes’ office. He arrived to see him speaking with a man wearing a heavy hooded top and baggy trousers, probably an informant.

  When Grimes saw Tom’s sweating face, he stood and walked to the door.

  “I just need a minute,” Tom said.

  “Miguel, can you give me a sec?”

  The hooded man nodded and walked past them and into the hall.

  “So what’s this about?” Grimes asked.

  “I need the file you have on Annabel Lopez, the one with her graduation pictures.”

  Grimes looked at the ceiling. “I thought you had all the Lopez files.”

  “So did I, but you apparently have that one.”

  Grimes nodded and returned to his desk. “Okay. Let me check.” He slowly and carefully opened several drawers as if he were tending to antique objects.

  Tom watched him impatiently. Come on. Come on. Why’s he stalling? He glanced out the door and saw the hooded man sitting in the hall. Now Grimes was going through files on his desk. “Why’s it taking so long?” Tom asked.

  Grimes didn’t answer and continued flipping through sheets of paper before finally holding up a transparent folder. “Sorry, man. I must have missed it.”

  Tom stepped forward, his eyes locked on the file. The visible picture showed a smiling Annabel with her right hand around a young Mexican man, also in cap and gown. He took it from Grimes and rushed past the hooded man and toward the elevator. On the way, he flipped through the pictures, but nothing stood out.

  In his office, sunlight was slipping in through the windows, and he took a seat. He paused upon reaching a picture of Annabel and the deceased woman, Penélope. The sincerity in Annabel’s smile as she wrapped her arm around Penélope told him what he’d already known: The women
had great love for each other.

  As he looked through the pictures, he found that Penélope was in many of them. When he reached the final photo, his eyes widened. There was a felt-tip pen mark in the top right corner—probably made by Emma—and the photo pictured Annabel and Penélope standing on either side of a woman who held them by their waists. It was the same woman he had seen in the previous picture.

  ***

  “I can just see more and more important people,” Tobias said. “There’s nothing here.”

  “Perhaps we should look at the surveillance footage inside the theater,” Erwin said.

  “And you’ve got all that?”

  Erwin nodded and opened Windows Explorer on his laptop. After going through numerous files on the C-drive, he clicked on a folder labeled “Last Few Hours” and then a file labeled “Standard.” The video played a few seconds later. The show had ended and people were gathered in a hall, drinking and conversing. Tobias studied their movements, looking for anyone who could be the killer.

  His grandfather appeared five minutes into the video. He was laughing and joking with a blond woman wearing a dark blue suit. Many bodyguards stood close to him at all times. The recording rolled for a few minutes without anything unexpected happening. Tobias glanced at Erwin. “Are there any other angles we can see it from?”

  Erwin miniaturized the screen and scrolled through yet more files before clicking on “Alternate 1.” The recording started where the other one had begun, but it showed a bird’s-eye view, as if shot from a balcony twenty feet above.

  Tobias waited for the hall to fill with people. He saw many of the same people he’d seen from the previous angle. His grandfather appeared in the far left corner of the screen, having the same conversations Tobias had seen earlier, but someone crept into Tobias’ view, a man he hadn’t noticed before.

  A well-built brown-haired man stood completely still a few yards from Albert’s bodyguards. Tobias moved closer to the screen. The man stood at such an angle that the camera used in the other recording could have shot only his side. This shot caught the top of his head and his distinctive brown suede jacket. But that was all Tobias could make out.