Fire and Ice jpb-19

by J. A. Jance

  Tacoma via Black Diamond and Mama Rose Brotsky. Mama Rose had known Marcella Carbajal Andrade as Marina Aguirre. Yesterday I had made time to let Mason Waters know the truth about what had happened to his missing fiancee. Now I needed to do Mama Rose the same unwelcome favor. Maybe learning about her protegee’s death would be enough to cause her to remember some other helpful detail.

  I immediately called Mel and popped the question, asking if she wanted to join me in a little side trip down to Black Diamond.

  “Nope,” she said without a moment’s hesitation. “Not today. We worked until all hours last night. It’s Saturday. I just got a reminder call from Gene Juarez about my three o’clock appointment for a much needed mani-pedi, and I’m not going to miss it. Too bad, buddy boy,” she added. “This time you’re on your own.”

  Joanna held a hurried strategy session with Deb and Ernie on the sidewalk outside the Convention Center, where she was surprised to learn that it had been a request for information from Jaime Carbajal rather than the ATV park inquiry that had set off Agent Delahany’s temper tantrum.

  “Jaime was looking for information regarding the Cervantes Cartel,” Ernie said. “Since he was calling on his cell and since requests like that have to be sent through regular channels, I told Jaime I’d have Tom Hadlock look into it.”

  Joanna’s temper flared. “There’s a good reason reports are sent through regular channels,” she said flatly. “Jaime’s on leave right now. If that request has anything to do with his sister’s homicide, he has no business sticking his nose in it.”

  “Sorry, boss,” Ernie said. “He’s my partner. He needed some help and I gave it to him.”

  Joanna shook her head in frustration. “I’m going home to change,” she said. “We’ll meet up at the office in half an hour and see where things stand.”

  On the way home Joanna called Tom Hadlock. “I understand Jaime Carbajal called in looking for some information on the Cervantes Cartel earlier this morning,” she said. “What happened with that?”

  “Nothing at all,” Tom replied. “The duty officer for the DEA called back a little later and said they were having technical difficulties on their end-some kind of computer upgrade problem-and wouldn’t be able to send anything out today.”

  What they really meant was wouldn’t send, period, Joanna thought. Not wouldn’t be able to send. Big difference. And that request for information was enough to send Agent in Charge Delahany into a spasm.

  “I called Jaime to let him know I couldn’t access the Cervantes records,” Hadlock continued. “That’s when he asked for a rap sheet on some guy named Miguel Rios. I found his records in the regular database and I faxed the information to Jaime’s hotel room.”

  “How long ago?” Joanna asked.

  “An hour or so, I suppose,” Tom said. “Maybe longer.”

  “Do you have current address information on Rios?” Joanna asked.

  “Sure,” Tom said. “It’s right here. He lives in a town in Washington called Gig Harbor.”

  Joanna felt her stomach knot. None of this was information Jaime Carbajal needed if all he was doing in Washington was retrieving his sister’s remains.

  “Do me another favor,” Joanna said. “Look up the records on a guy named Juan Castro. I can’t remember his middle name. Street name is Paco. If you can track him down, try to find out if he has any connections to the Cervantes organization.”

  “Done,” Tom replied at once. “I’ve got Paco Castro’s information right here in front of me, too. His full name is Juan Francisco Castro. Jaime had a file on him in his computer, and he wanted to pass the information along to the people investigating his sister’s murder. He asked me to print it and fax that to him as well. I’ve still got the hard copy. Just a sec.” The phone fell silent as Tom perused the file. “Yes, here it is,” Tom said finally. “It says right here in Jaime’s notes that Paco is suspected of being involved with the Cervantes Cartel, but so far nothing’s been proved.”

  In other words, Jaime had been keeping a file on Paco that hadn’t necessarily made it into the official records. Joanna had been holding her breath. Now she let it out.

  “If Jaime calls in again, give him a message for me,” she said vehemently. “Tell him he’s to back off. That’s a direct order!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Tom Hadlock replied. “Will do.”

  The next number Joanna dialed was Jaime’s. Not surprisingly, her call went straight to voice mail. “I’m unable to take your call right now.”

  “Detective Carbajal,” Joanna said urgently. “Call me. Right away. You are on leave. You’re to take no direct action, repeat N-O action, in regard to Marcella’s homicide. She may be your sister, but it’s not our jurisdiction and not our case. Understand?”

  “Damn!” Joanna muttered as she ended the call. If Jaime wasn’t answering his phone, he most likely wouldn’t be picking up messages either.

  By then she had arrived at High Lonesome Ranch. The dogs galloped in happy circles around Butch’s Subaru, barking a joyous greeting but obviously puzzled that she wasn’t getting out of the car. Instead, she redialed Tom Hadlock.

  “Do you have the name of Jaime’s hotel?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “And Jaime’s room number. Do you want it?”

  By the time Joanna called there, she was pretty sure what she would hear. “Mr. Carbajal isn’t in at the moment,” the desk clerk told her. “An Enterprise rental car was delivered here earlier this morning. He drove off in it a while ago.”

  Making up her mind, Joanna ended that call and then scrolled through her contact list until she found Bruce Delahany’s number. Not surprisingly, he didn’t answer, either, so she left him a message.

  “Agent Delahany,” she said. “Sheriff Brady here. This is a courtesy call to inform you that one of my officers may be about to pay a visit to a man named Miguel Rios in Washington State. It’s my understanding that Rios may be connected in some way to the Cervantes Cartel. If you have any questions, you may want to give me a call.”

  After ending that call, she scrolled through her incoming calls list until she found the number she needed.

  “Beau,” she said when he answered, “I think we have a problem.”

  The early-morning drizzle had turned into a drenching downpour by the time I turned off the highway at Mama Rose’s place. Even in the sodden weather, there was a crew of guys out planting what looked like nothing more than twigs in the muddy ground. Once again Regis came hurtling out of nowhere to greet me. I thought it interesting that, despite the fact that there was a whole army of workers out in the yard, the German shepherd decided I was the only real interloper. Once again, Tom Wojeck rescued me. He corralled the barking dog and then came back to see me, this time without a welcoming handshake.

  “I was afraid you’d be back,” he groused. “And I was right. Here you are. I guess it’s a good thing I went ahead and told her.”

  “Told her what?” I asked.

  “About Marina’s money,” he said. “About finding it and giving it back. We had a big fight about it, but it’s settled now. I think she understands why I did it.”

  “And why was that?” I asked.

  He gave me a scathing look. “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “Get what?” I asked.

  “Self-preservation,” he answered. “You may still be the guy you used to be, but I’m not. In the old days I wouldn’t have thought twice about taking on a punk like the one who came here looking for Marina’s money, but I can’t do that anymore, Beau. I’m not that tough. My body isn’t up to it. So that’s what I did-I went along to get along. Giving him his money was the only thing I could do to protect Mama Rose and me, and that’s what I did.”

  Unfortunately, I did understand because I’m in the same boat. I can’t take punches the way I could back when I was a young Turk, and I can’t deliver them the same way, either. And, unlike Tommy, I hadn’t spent the last ten years or so of my life battling what would probabl
y turn out to be a fatal disease. Right that minute, Tom Wojeck didn’t look like he was at death’s door, but he wasn’t in the peak of health either.

  “Why are you here?” he added. “What do you want?”

  “Marina’s dead,” I told him. “We suspected as much when Mel and I came here earlier, but now we know for sure. We’ve made a positive identification. Her real name was Marcella Carbajal Andrade.”

  Tom sighed. “All right, then,” he said. “Come on in. It’ll break Mama Rose’s heart, but she’ll want to know.”

  This time we walked across the veranda and entered the house through the front door. We found Mama Rose Brotsky sitting on a sofa in the massive living room. She had been watching her rose-planting crew with avid interest, but when I walked into the room, her face hardened.

  “It’s about Marina,” she said before I ever opened my mouth. “And it’s bad news, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I concurred. “I’m afraid it is.”

  Mama Rose wept as I related my news. I found it oddly comforting to realize that someone besides Marcella’s immediate family mourned the young woman’s passing. When I finished, Mama Rose dried her tears and squared her shoulders.

  “How much money was that exactly?” she asked Tom.

  “Right at forty-five thousand,” he answered.

  “We’ll need to write a check for her son,” Mama Rose said. “His name is Luis, right?” she asked me.

  I nodded.

  “No matter how Marina…Marcella…came by that money, it wasn’t ours to give away. With her gone, it needs to go to the boy.”

  Nodding, Tom Wojeck left the room. He returned a short while later carrying a business-style checkbook. “What’s his name again?” Tom asked.

  “Luis,” I told them. “Luis Andrade.” I spelled it out for him.

  “Go ahead and make it for a full fifty,” Mama Rose said. “He’ll need it.”

  When the check was written, Tom tore it out and handed it to Mama Rose. She examined it for a moment before passing it along to me.

  “How old is Luis again?” Mama Rose asked.

  “In high school,” I said. “Fourteen or fifteen.”

  “If he wants to go on to college, that should help,” she said.

  “Yes, it should,” I agreed. I folded the check and put it in my pocket. “But tell me this. According to her brother, Marcella didn’t leave Arizona until sometime last summer. She couldn’t have been here more than a few months before she died. How did you happen to meet her?”

  “That’s easy,” Mama Rose said. “I’m the whole reason she came here in the first place. Working girls from all over the country know about me. When they’re finally serious about getting off the streets and out of the business, Mama Rose Brotsky is often the only game in town-the only game in any town.”

  I would have asked more about that, but my phone rang just then. I was glad to hear Joanna Brady’s voice until I heard what she had to say.

  “What the hell do you mean, he’s taken off from the hotel?” I demanded. “He doesn’t have a car. Where would he go?”

  “He rented a car,” she said. “And I think he may be on his way to find someone named Miguel Rios who lives in a town called Gig Harbor.”

  “Crap,” I said. “Why the hell would he pull a stupid stunt like that?”

  But I already knew the answer. Jaime was on the trail of the man responsible for his sister’s death, and he didn’t give a damn about possible consequences. That’s how young guys think-that they’re invincible and that might makes right. With guys like Jaime, the painful lessons taught by the passing of time-the ones people like Tommy Wojeck and I have already learned-have yet to sink in.

  “He isn’t armed,” I said. “He flew up with carry-on luggage only.”

  But after a moment’s thought I knew that idea was bogus. The last time I saw Jaime Carbajal, he hadn’t had a car, either. If he could get himself wheels, he could lay hands on a gun.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m on my way. I’ll need a description of his rental car along with license information.”

  “I don’t have that right now,” she told me. “But I’ll have it by the time you call me back.”

  I called Mel as soon as I was out of the house. “You’re going to have to cancel that mani-pedi after all,” I said. “I need you to meet me in Gig Harbor.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Jaime Carbajal has gone off the reservation,” I said. “He’s on the warpath and looking for Miguel Rios.”

  “He never should have been a part of that first interview,” Mel said. “We both knew better. We should have put a stop to it.”

  That was true, of course. It was also too little too late.

  CHAPTER 17

  When Joanna changed clothes, her first wardrobe choice that early April afternoon would have been a pair of comfy jeans and a sweatshirt, but the way things seemed to be going, she settled instead for a freshly laundered uniform. On her way back out the door, she stopped in the office long enough to grab Derek Higgins’s memory card out of her home computer.

  She was backing her Crown Victoria out of the garage when Agent in Charge Bruce Delahany called her back.

  “What the hell is going on down there?” he demanded. “I thought you told me a little while ago that you were working on a case over in Bowie. Now you say it’s Washington State. Which is it?”

  “Both,” Joanna said. “The answer would be both.”

  “Who’s going to see Rios? And why?”

  “Jaime Carbajal is one of my homicide detectives. His sister, Marcella, was found murdered a little over a week ago. Jaime is under the impression that Rios may have been responsible for what happened.”

  Joanna’s comment was followed by a long stark silence. It went on long enough that she began to wonder if she had lost the connection.

  “Hello,” she said. “Agent Delahany, are you there?”

  “I’m here,” Delahany said at last. “Are you telling me Marcella Andrade is dead?”

  It wasn’t the response Joanna had expected, and she didn’t remember having mentioned Marcella’s last name. That meant the agent in charge of the DEA’s Tucson office was in on all this.

  “When did it happen?” Delahany asked. “Where?”

  “Somewhere outside Seattle,” Joanna said. “In the mountains east of there. She had been dead for months with her body buried under the snow. They found her last week when the snow melted. The M.E. up there made the identification day before yesterday using computerized dental records.”

  “Damn,” Delahany muttered. “I kept hoping like hell that she’d made it, but they got to her, too. Damn!”

  “What do you mean, ‘got to her, too’?” Joanna echoed. “And who is ‘they’?”

  “The cartel,” Delahany said. “The Cervantes Cartel. Who do you think I meant? They apparently have people everywhere, including inside the California State prison system. That’s why I pulled the task force out of the field and back into my office. I wanted to be able to control who had access to what we were doing and how. I didn’t want people to know where we were getting our information.”

  “And where was that?” Joanna asked.

  “Marco, of course,” Delahany replied. “Who else? The intel he gave us was invaluable. We heard rumors that the cartel had wised up about his turning against them. Then we heard rumors that they were planning a hit on him down in Lancaster. That’s why we moved him to Wild Horse Mesa.”

  “In hopes of taking him out of harm’s way?”

  “Yes,” Delahany said. “You can see how well that worked out for us and for him. They still managed to get him. Marco had told us that he was worried about Marcella’s safety, but by then she had already gone underground. Since we couldn’t locate her, I didn’t think they’d be able to find her, either.”

  Wrong again, Joanna thought. “I still find it difficult to believe that Marco Andrade was working with you.”

  “Well, he was,” Delaha
ny declared. “The information he gave us was just a starting point. We’ve been building on it and putting the pieces together for months now. We’ve been planning a major takedown. In the next few weeks we expect to hand down a series of indictments that will take key players out of the Cervantes organization all over the country. And that’s what your detective-what’s his name again? — may be putting at risk.”

  “Carbajal,” Joanna said. “Jaime Carbajal.”

  “If he happens to spook one of them, he could spook them all. By the time we have our warrants in hand, the crooks will have disappeared.”

  “Is Miguel Rios part of all this?”

  “Of course he’s part of it,” Delahany said impatiently. “Miguel Rios is a major player. From what we’ve been able to learn, he pretty much runs the cartel’s prostitution interests in the Pacific Northwest. He also has the reputation of being the organization’s chief enforcer. Never caught and never indicted-up till now.”

  Joanna thought about that. Wasn’t that what Beau and his partner were investigating-a whole series of dead prostitutes in Washington State?

  “What do you mean, enforcer?” she asked aloud. “I’ve heard that the Washington State Attorney General’s office is investigating a series of murders involving prostitutes. Might this Miguel Rios be involved in those?”

  “If they were his girls and they stepped out of line? Absolutely,” Delahany replied. “I’m telling you, Rios is a very dangerous guy and we’re close to shutting him down, but we can’t afford to have a Lone Ranger trying to take him out prematurely. Please, Sheriff Brady, talk to your detective. Ask him to back off. Beg him to back off. You can tell him from me that I swear we’ll nail Rios and his pals eventually, but we need some time-a few more days. A week at the outside. But right now, today, we’re not ready.”

  Delahany’s words made sense, but Jaime Carbajal was already in motion. If he’d made up his mind to go after Rios, Joanna doubted there was anyone on the planet who could dissuade him.