by Carmen Amato
It was a good conversation after that. Natividad was ready for more responsibility and Emilia was delighted to finally have someone else to talk to about real issues. When they got down to discussing patrol officer partnerships, Natividad had a very surprising suggestion.
“Tina Maria and Rosalita.”
The oldest and the youngest. Emilia sat back in her desk chair. “Why?” she asked.
“They’ve become very close,” Natividad said. “I don’t think Rosalita would do well with anyone else as a partner.”
A loud thump against the wall interrupted their conversation.
“Construction?” Natividad asked.
A second thump was followed by a third.
“Let me check,” Emilia said. Normally, everyone else in the front office had gone home by now.
The thumping segued into a steady rhythm of taps coming from the common wall between Emilia’s office and that of Claudia.
Natividad followed her into the hall. Claudia’s office door was closed.
Emilia knocked once. “Claudia? Are you all right?”
There was no answer. Emilia pressed her ear to the door. The tapping was definitely coming from inside Claudia’s office.
“Claudia?” Emilia rapped again. She waited, then turned the knob and opened the door.
And wished she hadn’t.
Claudia was lying on top of her desk with her skirt hiked around her waist and bare legs in the air. Her shoes and panties were on the floor. Obregon stood against the desk thrusting in and out of her, his breath coming in labored grunts. His pants were around his knees but he was still wearing his black suit jacket.
Claudia’s eyes were closed and her hands clasped behind Obregon’s neck as if she was holding on for dear life. A corner of the desk banged against the wall in rhythm with his movements.
Emilia stepped back and closed the door, faintly revolted. Neither Claudia nor Obregon had seen her.
“Was that . . .” Natividad let the rest of the sentence go unspoken.
“You didn’t see anything,” Emilia said.
Chapter 19
Emilia sat alone in the back of a big town car as it wove through Acapulco’s western suburbs. Houses and shops, darkened by the tinted windows, fell away rapidly, to be replaced by the beaches at Playa Piede la Cuesta as the car sped down the highway. Emilia couldn’t hear the shriek of kids playing in the shallows or smell the salted coconut oil-scented breeze. The big vehicle was a hermetically sealed capsule. From the slight distortion of the landscape beyond the window and the weight of the door as the chauffeur had opened it for her, she knew the car was armored.
“There is a selection of beverages in the console.” Like the chauffeur, the bodyguard in the front passenger seat looked like a movie character in a dark suit and narrow black tie. He spoke to her reflection in his visor mirror.
“Thank you.” Emilia looked in the console between the back seats to find chilled bottles of sparkling water, an assortment of juices, and real glass tumblers.
“The ride will take about an hour,” the bodyguard said. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Emilia looked out the back window as the vehicle’s speed increased. Another two armed bodyguards were in a car behind them.
An hour later, both vehicles passed through a privada gate overlooking the beach town of Ixtapa. As they continued on, Emilia saw more gates, each with its own guardhouse and uniformed security staff.
They turned and the road narrowed. A uniformed guard saluted and opened another gate. The vehicle continued uphill, revealing a panorama of rugged mountain and foaming ocean. The road curved and a rambling white house came into view.
The bodyguard murmured into his radio as the car came to a halt. The locks clicked and Emilia’s door swung open. An older man in a white guayabera shirt and matching linen trousers held it as she climbed out of the car. “Welcome,” he said with a formal bow “I am Fernando. Señor Delgado is expecting you.”
He led her down a wide passageway roofed by a trellis and climbing jasmine. Nestled amid dark green foliage, the small white flowers gave off a heady and cloying scent.
They passed through open double doors and into a dramatic foyer. Blue and white floor tiles gave way to soaring stucco walls spliced by long narrow windows. An antique Spanish sideboard dominated one wall. A faded rug twice as tall as Emilia hung above it like artwork.
Emilia followed Fernando through an archway and into a more intimate room. The ceiling was as high as in the foyer, but the room was grounded by three large brown leather sofas arranged in a U configuration and centered by an enormous stone coffee table. The open end of the seating faced floor-to-ceiling glass doors. Beyond the glass, a terra cotta terrace beckoned and an infinity pool spilled into the ocean.
“I’ll let Señor Delgado know you are here,” Fernando said. He gestured to the sofas. “Please sit and rest after your trip.”
“Thank you.” Emilia put down her shoulder bag as he left the room. She was too edgy and the view too enticing for her to sit.
The scene was breathtaking.
Unlike the vista from the penthouse balcony at the Palacio Réal, which overlooked the placid bay at Puerta Marques, the ocean below the pool was aggressive, like the thunder of a storm continually bubbling up from the center of the earth. Ixtapa’s heavy rollers attracted surfers from all over the world.
“Do you surf?”
Emilia turned to see Dario Delgado, followed closely by Fernando. The butler set a tray on the coffee table and withdrew.
Delgado came to the window. “The best surfing in the world is about a quarter mile north.”
“Yes,” Emilia said.
Up close Delgado was dangerously, fatally handsome, and Emilia had to repress a nervous schoolgirl giggle. He was big for a Mexican and nearly as tall as Kurt. Dressed in a white singlet that clung to a muscular chest and loose linen pants that emphasized narrow hips, he looked like the pictures in HOLA! magazine with captions attesting to his sculpted arms, sharp jaw, and perfectly tousled hair glinting with the merest suggestion of gel. A turquoise horn charm, suspended from a thick silver rope, rested in the hollow of his throat. He was barefoot.
“I beg your pardon for forgetting my manners,” he said. “I’m Dario Delgado.”
“A pleasure to meet you. I’m Detective Emilia Cruz.” With great effort, Emilia kept her knees from buckling. She was shaking hands with Dario Delgado and would never be able to tell a soul. Dario Delgado!
“I was told that you are investigating Javier’s death,” he said. “You understand that I will never admit speaking to you.”
Emilia gave herself a mental shake and reminded herself why she was there. “I signed the confidentiality agreement,” she reassured him.
Delgado stared at the churning ocean. “I owe him at least this much,” he said. “To try and help find his killer.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Do you know how many people have said that to me?” Delgado asked. “None.”
Loneliness emanated from the man, raw and harsh like the waves outside. Emilia felt it beat against her.
“I would like to know who took Javier away from me,” Delgado said.
“I would like to know as well,” Emilia said.
Delgado led her to the nearest sofa and motioned to the tray on the table. “May I offer you something?” he asked.
“Water, thank you.”
Delgado poured her some sparkling water and selected a juice for himself. He was rumored to be in his late thirties but could pass for ten years younger. Emilia watched in fascination as he put a straw into his glass and pursed his lips around it. She felt sure he never drank from a straw in public.
She found her notebook and pen. “When was the last time you saw Javier?” she began.
“A week before he was killed,” Delgado replied without hesitation.
“Did he mention any problems?” Emilia asked. “Anything out of the ordinary?”
&n
bsp; “He was nervous,” Delgado said. “Jumpy.”
Emilia tamped down a rush of excitement. “Was something wrong at work?”
“Javier and I didn’t talk about work,” Delgado said. “Not his. Or mine. We swam, watched movies. Made messes in the kitchen. Javier said he was fine, but like I said, he was jumpy.”
Emilia felt the rush ebb as she led Delgado through as many questions as she could think of. He was forthcoming, but it was quickly apparent that while lovers, the two men mostly lived separate lives. They’d met through a professional matchmaking service that Delgado wouldn’t name. Their relationship had been a tightly-held secret for the last seven years. Delgado knew few details of the legal cases in which Salinas had been involved. The only professional colleagues of Salinas’s that he knew were Josefina and her husband. He never met Salinas’s parents. The attorney was estranged from both mother and father, neither of whom had ever come to terms with their son’s sexual preferences.
As for Delgado, Salinas knew the actor’s staff but had never met his family nor any associates in the film industry.
Every question about Salinas’s murder or involvement with law enforcement led to a dead end. Delgado wasn’t hiding anything; he simply didn’t know.
When Emilia ran out of questions, she spread the photographs on the coffee table: the graduation photo, Espinosa, Silvio and Isabel. “Do you recognize any of these people?” she asked, without much hope.
“Of course.” Delgado straightened the graduation photo and put his finger on Salinas. “That’s Javier.”
“What about him?” Emilia edged the picture with Silvio closer to the actor.
But Delgado picked up the graduation photograph. “I can’t be sure,” he said. “But I think I know this person.”
He pointed to Vega.
“A friend of Javier’s?” Emilia asked.
“Oh no,” Delgado said hastily. “Acquaintances, perhaps. But definitely not friends.”
Something told Emilia to tread carefully. “Why do you say that?” she asked.
“He came to Javier’s house,” Delgado said. “It was the last time Javier and I were together.” He gave her the date. “I didn’t often stay in Acapulco with Javier. Usually he came here or to my house in Mexico City. But I was on my way to Los Angeles and there wasn’t enough time to come all the way out here.” He pursed his lips around the straw again.
“So you were at Javier’s.” Emilia let her voice trail off.
“My staff left.” Delgado took up the thread. “Javier and I were alone. He was very busy, developing evidence for a case that was supposed to go before a judge very soon. I thought that was why he was so jumpy.”
Emilia nodded sympathetically.
Delgado went on. “We’d finished eating when security for his building called up. Someone was there to see him. Helio. I remember the name was Helio.” He shrugged, the sleek muscles in his shoulders rippling.” Just Helio.”
Emilia nodded. “That helps.”
“Does it?” Delgado smiled for the first time, flashing perfect white teeth against bronzed skin. “Javier said he was sorry, he’d have to talk to this Helio. I went into the bedroom but left the door open. Javier and this Helio went into the study and I saw their faces in the bedroom mirror as they went by. I shut the door after that but heard them argue.”
“What about?”
Delgado leaned forward and put his hand on Emilia’s knee. “Money. I assumed that this Helio wanted to borrow money. But when I asked him, Javier said no, Helio wasn’t there for money. I think Javier was disgusted with him.”
“Disgusted?” Emilia moved his hand.
“Maybe a little scared, too.”
“How so?”
“Javier seemed nervous afterwards. He didn’t want to talk about it.”
“Do you think Helio threatened him?”
“No.” Delgado took a sip from the straw. “I think Javier was concerned this Helio was going to do something stupid.”
Emilia stared at her notebook. Salinas and Vega, arguing before they were both killed. “Go back to when this Helio arrived and you saw him in the mirror,” she said. “Had Helio ever been to Javier’s before? Did he seem to know the layout of the apartment?”
“No, not at all.”
Emilia asked a few other questions but Delgado didn’t know anything else. He’d apparently seen the interaction through the lens of a lover. Once he was sure that this Helio wasn’t a rival, his attention evaporated.
“You worked with Javier, didn’t you?” Delgado asked.
Emilia looked up from her notebook. “On one case,” she said.
“An important case?”
“Money laundering,” Emilia said. “He wasn’t able to prosecute the way we’d planned but he still salvaged something.”
“What did he do?”
“He charged a dirty cop with illegal amounts of foreign currency.” It sounded feeble, compared to the money laundering charges they’d expected to come out of the raid on the El Pharaoh casino, but at the time it was a victory.
“And you helped him do that?” Delgado wasn’t so much asking a question as confirming a fact.
“Yes.”
“Javier was very good at his job, wasn’t he?”
“I didn’t know him well, but the people who worked with him said yes, he was very good.”
Delgado leaned forward. “You’re very good at your job, too.”
He said it as a fact. Emilia interpreted his tone as seeking reassurance, but there was no point in offering him false hope. “May I ask you a final question?” she asked.
Delgado nodded.
“Why wasn’t an autopsy performed on Javier?”
Delgado’s eyes clouded and he sat back again. “His mother was the legal next of kin. She refused. I heard she said it would show that he was gay.”
“And all of his personal effects?”
“Went to her.” Delgado clasped his hands together between his knees. The wave of loneliness buffeted her again. “Would it?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Would an autopsy have shown that Javier was gay?”
He was serious. Emilia shook her head. “An autopsy determines the cause and manner of death,” she said. “That’s all. And in Javier’s case, it probably wouldn’t have given us much more information.”
Delgado sniffed. “Thank you.”
Emilia closed her notebook and gathered up the photos. “I appreciate your help. I know this wasn’t easy.”
“Do you have time for a swim?” Delgado asked and gestured to the pool beyond the glass doors.
They’d spent hours talking about his dead lover, yet there was a stilted flirtatiousness about Delgado’s manner, as if he’d been schooled on how to behave with women. “No,” Emilia said. “I really must be getting back to Acapulco.”
Delgado stood when she did. “Is there someone important in your life, Detective Cruz?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Have you been together long?”
“A year or so,” Emilia said.
“I hope you are as happy as Javier and I were,” Delgado said.
He held out his hand. When Emilia took it, he pulled her in and kissed her on the mouth. “I like you, Detective Cruz,” he said.
“Thank you,” Emilia replied. There was no glitter about having been kissed by the legendary Dario Delgado, just faint embarrassment at his clumsiness.
He released her with an awkward smile. Emilia was relieved when the bodyguard appeared and said the car was ready.
Alone in the back seat, she closed her eyes. She’d met the famous Dario Delgado and all she felt was sadness. His sultry Latin looks made him the prettiest man she’d ever seen up close, but he wasn’t the man the tabloid press knew. Maybe it was his lover’s death, or the double life he’d led—and protected—for so long.
She dug out her notebook, flipped to the timeline of all the murders, and noted the date Delgado had given her. Veg
a and Salinas discussed money. The conversation had not been a positive one. It was a data point she didn’t have before.
Had the cop and the attorney worked a case together? No one at the state’s attorney general’s office had mentioned it. Perhaps it was an unofficial investigation, which was why Vega went to Salinas’s home rather than the office. Was Espinosa involved as well?
She made a list of what to do next. At the top was a conversation with Dr. Prade about his federale medical examiner colleagues and what they knew about Espinosa’s death.
Emilia turned around to look out of the rear window. The follow car with Delgado’s bodyguards was still there. It was a reassuring sight.
Chapter 20
The penthouse was dark and empty when Emilia got back from Ixtapa.
The refrigerator yielded a bottle of white wine and containers of fancy stuff stocked by the restaurant. Kurt must have arranged it before he left. Emilia rifled through the choices until she found a rice dish she’d had before. The risotto with capers and artichokes was a grudging substitute for arroz rojo.
She took the cold rice and the bottle of wine out to the balcony and ate standing at the wall. Happy sounds filtered up from the Pasodoble Bar but Delgado’s loneliness was contagious. She was alone at what passed for home. The only person foolish enough to investigate the El Trio murders.
I hope you are as happy as Javier and I were. How happy had the two men been? Salinas was a workaholic estranged from his family. Delgado pranced around the world with supermodels to burnish his acting career. Seven years of hiding, seven years of living a lie. Seven years of being unable to make a real commitment. The proof was in his house. Totally impersonal. Nothing to suggest his commitment to someone else. No smiling picture of the two of them in a silver frame.
Emilia knew she wasn’t winning awards in the commitment department, either. A Mexican cop and a wealthy gringo. It was laughable. Kurt wasn’t helping by rushing up to the land of old girlfriends to hire staff.
