King Peso: An Emilia Cruz Novel (Detective Emilia Cruz Book 4)

by Carmen Amato

  Emilia spread them in a row so the three attorneys could see them all at once. “Do you recognize anyone in these pictures?”

  “Of course,” Josefina said immediately. She put her finger on the graduation photo, indicating a man in a suit. “That’s Javier.”

  Her finger was on the man standing third from the left. “Are you sure?” Emilia asked.

  “Of course,” Josefina said. “He had the same photo in his office. It was his graduation from a course he took in El Norte two or three years ago. There was some sort of exchange. Law enforcement from all over Mexico went.”

  “Do you recognize anyone else in the picture?” Emilia asked. Salinas and Vega knew each other. Trained together. Probably were friends. A little shiver of excitement went down Emilia’s spine.

  “No,” Josefina said.

  Emilia tapped Silvio’s picture. “What about the man in this photo?” she asked. “Did Salinas know him? Did you ever see the two of them together?”

  “No.” Josefina shook her head. Both of her colleagues did the same.

  Emilia put all the pictures back in her bag. “I’d like to look through Salinas’s office.”

  Noriega looked angry again. “It’s been well over a month, Detective. His personal effects were boxed up and sent to his family.”

  “What about his cases?” Emilia asked. “There could be a connection.”

  “We thought of that while the police were chasing their tails,” Noriega huffed.

  “Of course,” Emilia said. She guessed he was a difficult man in the best of times, and having a colleague murdered didn’t help. “I’d like to get briefed on his cases. There may be leads that the police should follow up.”

  “You’re not authorized,” Noriega said testily. “These are extremely sensitive investigations and we’re not in the business of distributing the information. If we had found anything that appeared to tie to Javier’s murder, we would have let the police know already.”

  “But―.”

  “We’ve found nothing for the police,” Noriega said with finality.

  Emilia took a deep breath. She had no jurisdiction and no ability to force him to share anything. “I understand. Perhaps you could give me his family’s contact information.”

  Noriega shook his head. “His next of kin has asked not to be contacted further. Discretion for reasons of safety. I’m sure you understand.”

  Again, his voice had a cutting edge of finality to it.

  Emilia realized that Josefina was looking down at her lap, as if she was no longer part of the conversation.

  Noriega stood up. “If you’ll excuse us, Detective, we have to get back to work. Javier’s passing has left us with quite a bit of unfinished business. And every day brings that much more.”

  Emilia rose, as did the others. “Thank you for seeing me,” Emilia said. “I’ll be in touch if there are any developments in the case.

  “I’m sure you will,” Noriega said, his voice riddled with sarcasm. He didn’t offer to shake her hand.

  Two minutes later, as Emilia nodded to the uniformed security guard in the underground parking lot, she heard the clatter of high heels running on cement.

  “Detective Cruz?” It was Josefina, slightly out of breath.

  “Hello.” Emilia smiled. “Did I forget something?”

  “I wanted to give you my card.” The attorney held out a small square.

  “Thank you.”

  Josefina looked around the parking garage. It wasn’t a very busy place. The uniformed security guards watched an old man wash a car two rows over.

  “Noriega has his car washed every other day,” Josefina said. “He likes things to be tidy.”

  “So it would seem,” Emilia replied.

  Josefina folded her arms, hands clutching opposite elbows. “I’m sorry my colleagues weren’t more forthcoming,” she said.

  “It’s a hard situation,” Emilia said carefully.

  “Javier didn’t have much family.” Josefina looked around again.

  “My car is over here.” Emilia gestured vaguely away from the security outpost.

  Josefina followed Emilia around the side of the Suburban. “I only have a minute,” she said. “But I thought you should know the whole story about Javier’s family.”

  “I’d appreciate anything that could help,” Emilia said.

  “Javier was gay.”

  Emilia raised her eyebrows. “Do you think that had something to do with his murder?”

  Josefina shivered and hugged herself tighter. “I don’t know. It wasn’t common knowledge. Noriega suspected. But he doesn’t approve of alternate lifestyles and Javier knew he’d never have much of a career if he was open about it.”

  “But you knew,” Emilia said leadingly.

  “We were friends.” Josefina teared up and pressed a finger to the inside of her eye. “He even introduced me and my husband to his partner. We were pretty surprised to meet Dario Delgado.”

  “Dario Delgado,” Emilia repeated in disbelief. “The actor?”

  “Yes,” Josefina said. “They were extremely discreet. But Javier went to Mexico City at least once a month and I know Dario came here. He’s got a place up the coast. In Ixtapa.”

  “Are you sure?” Emilia asked. “I mean, Dario Delgado.”

  Dario Delgado wasn’t just an actor, he was a telenovela mega-star who’d gone on to blaze a new path in both English and Spanish-language movies. He was every inch a hell-raising, hit-making, macho Latino hunk who oozed testosterone and had saved the world on screen twice in the past year. The entertainment news always reported on his latest break-ups with super models and night club antics both in Hollywood and Mexico City.

  “I know,” Josefina said, with a noise between a laugh and a sniff. “He’s nice.”

  “He’s really gay?” It was hard to believe Dario Delgado was the gay lover of a workaholic attorney.

  “Javier invited me and my husband up to Ixtapa once,” Josefina said. “Not what you’d expect. Nothing like what’s in the tabloids. Apparently that’s all drummed up by Dario’s publicists.”

  “I don’t suppose you could get me in touch with him,” Emilia said.

  “I can try,” Josefina said. “It might help Dario to know someone is trying to find whoever killed Javier.”

  She took Emilia’s card, the one with her first name and cell phone number on it.

  “Thank you,” Emilia said.

  Josefina nodded and made to move away, but stopped. “The other people in the pictures you showed us,” she said. “More murder victims?”

  “Yes,” Emilia said.

  “Were they gay, too?”

  “No,” Emilia said.

  “So lifestyle probably isn’t a factor?” Josefina asked hopefully.

  “I don’t think it mattered who any of them loved,” Emilia said.

  Chapter 17

  Emilia found herself worrying about Loyola’s possible role in the El Trio murders all weekend like a dog with a bone. Both Loyola and Ibarra had weighed in on the squadroom’s impromptu discussions about the El Trio killings without ever giving any indication they had gone to the state’s attorney general’s office after Salinas was killed. Why start an investigation into Salinas’s murder without telling anyone else? How far had they taken the case? What were they hiding about the Salinas case? Was it connected to the ballistics report Loyola hid and which cost Hernandez his life?

  Loyola had no motive to kill any of the El Trio victims and had been in the hospital when Hernandez was killed. Would Ibarra have killed Hernandez for Loyola? Emilia didn’t think so. She’d been with the stocky detective when he identified the body. He wasn’t that good an actor.

  She didn’t have any answers, of course, just more questions.

  When Kurt went for a marathon bike ride Saturday afternoon, Emilia settled into the office in the penthouse and searched online for more scraps of information. The afternoon flashed by. When the front door opened and Kurt called hello
, Emilia was surprised to see how late it was.

  “Hey.” Kurt came into the office, the pegs on the bottom of his cycling shoes clacking against the floor. “Did you forget? It’s Mexico versus Honduras tonight and we have the big event in the bar.”

  “Madre de Dios,” Emilia groaned. “I forgot all about it.”

  Emilia had skipped over the sports news but everyone in the country had high hopes that Mexico’s team would score a slot in the Copa America semi-finals. The hotel had transformed the beach with huge screens for tonight’s decisive match, with a buffet in the Pasodoble Bar.

  Kurt tossed his bike helmet on the desk and bent to unfasten the Velcro straps on his shoes. “Did you see the report from Olivas?”

  “Ronaldo Olivas?” Emilia asked. Ronaldo Olivas Camacho was a former cop from Monterrey and head of security for the Palacio Réal.

  “Yes.” Kurt got both shoes off and padded to the desk. “I meant to leave it for you.”

  He looked through the papers on the desk and pulled out an unmarked file folder. “Here,” he said.

  Emilia’s jaw dropped as she read the security chief’s report, which included several low resolution black and white pictures. The Palacio Real’s security cameras maintained coverage of the entire length of the private road linking the hotel complex with the highway. The vehicle in which Hernandez had been found was caught emerging from a villa midway along the road before it parked in the underbrush where Emilia and Kurt found it. The villa in question was empty and for sale. The sellers had not given permission for it to be used by anyone. Guards working the privada gate had been questioned; all said that no one matching the photos came through the gate on foot between the time marked on the video feed and the time Hernandez’s body was discovered.

  The bathroom shower turned on as Emilia studied the photos. The best image showed a man walking away from the vehicle in the direction of the privada. He wore a hooded sweatshirt that obscured his face.

  Was this the El Trio killer? Between the camera angle and the grainy picture quality, there wasn’t much Emilia could glean. The man was slender and of medium height. He worked alone and knew how to drive. He didn’t have a hat with a circular logo.

  Definitely not Loyola, Ibarra, or anyone else she knew.

  “Aren’t you going to change?” Kurt asked from the doorway, dressed in jeans and a white linen guayabera shirt.

  Emilia put on a jersey tank dress and sandals. They went down to the Pasodoble Bar, where trouble greeted them. The projection equipment had a glitch, an order of liquor was missing, the hotel’s reservation software crashed, and the extra waiters needed for tonight’s event were late.

  But none of this was apparent to the hotel guests enjoying the pre-match steel drum band and cruising the buffet line to scoop up ceviche in puff pastry shells, stuffed nopales with pomegranate salsa, truffle risotto, and a dozen other delicacies from Jacques’s kitchen. The chef presided over a huge grill sizzling with mouth-watering lamb chops, bacon-wrapped slices of beef lomo, and shrimp the size of Emilia’s hand. She went through the buffet line with two plates and grinned as Jacques heaped them high.

  Emilia found a table on the bottom level of the Pasodoble and a waiter brought her a pitcher of mojitos. She ate slowly, wondering what Kurt was doing and if he could take a break to eat.

  Right on schedule, the huge screens lit up, first with music videos, and then with the Copa America match. To the delight of the guests, hotel staff by the water’s edge sent sparklers soaring into the night sky as the match began.

  Forty-five minutes later, Kurt sat down next to Emilia and thanked her for the waiting plate of food. “That’s it,” he declared as he tackled a lamb chop. “I’m going to Las Vegas and hiring an assistant manager.”

  “Why Las Vegas?” Emilia asked.

  “I’ve still got contacts there,” Kurt said.

  Before Emilia could say anything, a young employee from the reception desk skidded to a stop next to Kurt’s chair. “Señor, I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said breathlessly. “But the system is down again and there are no reservations anywhere.”

  Kurt dropped his knife and fork and followed the youth.

  Sparklers shot skyward again, dazzling against the dark sky. The crowd cheered and applauded Mexico’s first goal.

  Jacques dropped into the chair Kurt vacated. “My dear Emilia, you look deserted.”

  “Kurt is having an awful night,” Emilia said. “He said he needs to hire an assistant manager.”

  “I have been telling him this for months,” Jacques said with a theatrical sigh, one hand over his heart. “He works too hard.”

  “He said he could find someone in Las Vegas.”

  Jacques gave a Gallic shrug. “After Paris, Las Vegas has the highest concentration of hospitality professionals in the world. That is where Kurt and I met. And I, of course, am a tremendous asset to the Kurt Rucker hotel brand.”

  Emilia shook her head, unable to suppress a smile. Jacques was so unlike anyone else she knew. “I didn’t know you’d worked in Las Vegas, too.”

  “They call it Sin City, you know,” Jacques said. “For good reason.”

  “I’m sure you did your best,” Emilia laughed.

  “I am French,” Jacques offered, as if that explained everything.

  Emilia picked up her mojito, determined to sound casual. “Does Suzanne Kellogg still live in Las Vegas?”

  But she had lost Jacques’s attention, now riveted on the work of a sloppy waiter. “Excuse me, Emilia,” the chef said and shot out of his chair.

  Emilia finished her mojito but didn’t refill her glass. Mexico lost and its Copa America hopes ended. The defeat matched Emilia’s mood. She went to bed alone at midnight.

  ☼

  Emilia dropped her shoulder bag in her office and went into the conference room for the daily meeting. Everyone else was already there.

  “Well, let’s begin,” Claudia said as soon as Emilia took her seat at the table.

  Everyone always sat in the same places around the table and reported on their responsibilities in the same order. Publicity always went first, as if it was the most important thing. Emilia always went last.

  It hadn’t taken long for Emilia to realize that no one cared about the training curriculum, if the candidates passed a final exam, knew how to subdue an unruly suspect, or operated according to Mexican law as long as nothing embarrassing happened. What really mattered was how good they looked in uniform and that they all spouted the same public relations garble.

  “The Las Palomas badges won’t be ready for the graduation ceremony,” she announced when it was her turn. “I’ve been at the requisition office. They said the order needed to be in months ago.”

  The table erupted in protest.

  “There wasn’t a Las Palomas months ago!” Someone exclaimed.

  Claudia raised her hands for quiet and turned to Emilia. “Did you tell them the date of the graduation ceremony has already been set?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Emilia didn’t go on to say that the requisitions chief had actually laughed at her, found the form submitted a week ago, and tossed it in her face. “They weren’t motivated.”

  The table buzzed with suggestions ranging from giving the new officers cardboard badges to simply awarding certificates.

  “You can’t put cops on the street without real badges,” Emilia said. “Their actions and arrests won’t be legal.”

  “I think Detective Cruz and I will take this offline,” Claudia said over the wails of dissent. Her voice was shaky yet determined. “The meeting is adjourned.”

  She led the way back to her office, perched on the edge of her desk and dialed a number from memory as Emilia settled into an upholstered chair.

  “Gustavo?” Claudia sang out to whomever had answered her call. “It’s Claudia. Yes, I’m doing wonderfully well. Las Palomas is the most exciting assignment. You can’t imagine.”

  The unseen Gustavo said something that made Claud
ia titter. Emilia stared out Claudia’s window at the empty patio one floor below. For as many times as she’d come and gone from the building in the past three weeks, and bought food at the café, she’d never seen anyone else besides the Las Palomas staff or officer candidates. The offices on the first floor remained empty and dark.

  Claudia’s voice interrupted her reverie. “I’m calling because I need to know what number Carlota wants on her badge. She’s our patron, of course, and we want to make her an honorary Las Palomas officer.” She paused, listening, then broke into a wide smile. “Of course, 001. Here’s the ceremony information. Be a darling and make sure it goes on her schedule.”

  She had the unseen Gustavo send her a confirmation email verifying Carlota’s attendance and badge number, A second conversation ensued with someone in Chief Salazar’s office. Carlota would be included on the official roster of Las Palomas officers receiving badges. Claudia forwarded him the verification from the mayor’s office and extracted a promise that the official badge request would be sent to the requisitions office within the hour.

  Two minutes later, Claudia called Gustavo in the mayor’s office again and asked him to call the requisition office to verify that they had the list with Carlota’s name on it.

  As soon as Emilia went back to her office, her phone rang. The requisitions office asked her to submit a request for badges and send along the design.

  Claudia appeared in her doorway. “Is the crisis over?”

  “Yes,” Emilia said grudgingly. “That was pretty slick.”

  Claudia smiled, looking for all intents like a puppy who’d been praised. “How are you doing with the strengths finder questionnaire?” she asked.

  “Coming along great,” Emilia lied.

  ☼

  Emilia blew off steam with a hard workout in the gym alongside the officer candidates. Six had dropped out already, and she could tell a few more would leave by the end of the week.

  The three women who had given her pause during the interview process were still there. Natividad was smart, capable, and a natural leader. She soaked up information like a sponge, stayed calm in all the simulations, had good observation skills, and didn’t need to be told anything twice. Emilia chose her for a sparring partner. When the match was over, they both pulled off their sweaty head protection and bumped fists. Natividad held her own and gave as good as she got.