by Carmen Amato
“What’s the mood in the squadroom?” Obregon asked.
“Strange,” Emilia admitted, glad for the new subject. “Nobody seems sad Lt. Inocente is dead or has said the usual things, like he was a good man or a good cop. Even Chief Salazar didn’t say anything like that. Nobody seems to miss him at all.”
Obregon nodded. “What about Silvio?”
“You saw Silvio’s face. He’ll quit.”
“Silvio won’t quit,” Obregon said. The car pulled into a parking space in front of the building. He got out of the car. Emilia opened her own door and was startled to see Villahermosa hold the door for her. She got out, hauling a briefcase she’d found in el teniente’s office.
“He’s trying to force me out,” Emilia said, continuing the conversation when Obregon came around to her side of the car. “The other detectives only do what he says.”
“Look.” Obregon leaned against the side of the car and took out a cigarette. Villahermosa went into the building. “Silvio will stick around and see what you turn up. Make sure no shit splatters on him. He’s probably just as dirty as Inocente.”
Emilia’s blood ran cold. “You think he was involved with whatever got Lt. Inocente killed?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Just watch your back with Silvio.” Obregon lit the cigarette and took a deep drag. “He’s a troublemaker.”
Emilia recalled the oblique stories about Silvio’s former partner. Just what had happened? What sort of person was Silvio? He was her enemy yet she knew so little about him. “He’s running the hotline,” she said.
“Good. Keep him in play. Use him before he uses you.” Obregon said, unwittingly quoting Salazar Robelo’s words about himself. He took a slip of paper from his inner jacket pocket and held it out to her. “This is where Silvio runs his gambling book. There’s probably some whores connected with it as well. You might be able to shake him a little, make him fall in line.”
Emilia took the paper. It was an address in the oldest and poorest barrio, where the houses were made of cardboard and children ran barefoot in the streets and people made a pitiful living making shell jewelry for someone else to sell at a tourist stall.
Obregon crushed his cigarette underneath his heel and they went into the building.
☼
Emilia had voted for Carlota Montoya Perez a year ago because the other candidate for mayor was a communist. She’d also voted for Carlota Montoya Perez because the woman was the most exciting politician in the state of Guerrero.
“Victor.” The mayor strode into the room wearing a dark coral portrait collar jacket with bracelet-length sleeves and a matching pencil skirt that skimmed the top of her calves. Jet black hair brushed her shoulders and framed the well-known face. Carlota’s makeup was so perfect as to be nearly invisible but Emilia knew no woman was that gorgeous without some help. Her age was a well-kept secret; the woman could have been anything from 25 to 50 years old.
Obregon exchanged kisses with the mayor while her retinue of two men in suits and a younger women in a severe navy sheath hovered in the background. Villahermosa had not come in with them. They were in a formal reception room and the venue suited Carlota perfectly, as if she was ready for photographs to be taken.
“Carlota, this is Lieutenant Cruz.” Obregon made the introductions. Carlota extended a hand to Emilia but made no move to initiate the usual exchange of kisses between women.
“A pleasure to meet you, señora,” Emilia murmured.
“Now, brief me about this dreadful business.” Carlota directed the group to sit, making a diamond tennis bracelet sparkle in the sunlight coming through the tall windows. Her retinue all took seats as if assigned beforehand. “A dead police lieutenant. Our chief of detectives, no less. A very messy piece of news.”
Obregon sat on one end of a sofa and indicated that Emilia should sit next to him. Carlota took a large armchair placed at an angle to the sofa and Emilia had the feeling that the two were sitting in a familiar arrangement.
“So,” Carlota said brightly. “Victor tells me you come very highly recommended, Lieutenant Cruz.
It was a good thing Obregon answered because Emilia wasn’t sure how to respond. “Lieutenant Cruz briefed me on the investigation so far on the way over,” he supplied. “They have a few promising leads already.”
“Excellent.” Carlota turned to Emilia, an expectant look on the face that had helped her win by a landslide. Her experience as a corporate lawyer and charity organizer had also helped. “We need to find out what happened to our top detective and get it out of the news now.”
Emilia opened the briefcase she’d brought. The press release was just about the only thing in it. “The boat of Fausto Inocente was discovered adrift yesterday morning off the beach of the Palacio Réal hotel,” she began.
“We might not want to say where the boat was found,” Carlota interrupted, the beaming smile dimmed. “Don’t want people to get the impression that dead bodies float up on our nicest hotels’ private beaches.”
“Lt. Inocente lived close to the Palacio Réal and docked his boat at a the private marina in the same area of Punta Diamante as the hotel,” Emilia said.
“Hmm.” Carlota said. “Who found him?”
“The Palacio Réal’s manager and head chef.”
“The norteamericano manager? Kurt Rucker?” Carlota rolled the hard consonants around in her mouth as if they were licorice.
“Yes.“ Emilia felt a spurt of jealousy although there was every reason why the tourist-hungry mayor would know the manager of the city’s most luxurious hotel. “Señor Rucker was very helpful,” she said.
“Of course,” Carlota agreed. “He’s on the board of the Acapulco Hotel Association. I’m trying to get him for my Olympics planning committee, too.”
“The Olympics?” Emilia couldn’t help asking.
Carlota leaned forward. Her smile was now conspiratorial, woman-to-woman, as if they were confidantes. It was the expression Emilia had seen in the newspapers, the benevolent queen who glowed with the certainty she could persuade her listeners to do things they didn’t want to do. “What do you think about the idea of Acapulco hosting a summer Olympics?”
Emilia knew that Carlota’s election platform had been all about bringing back Acapulco as a premier tourist destination. Once in office, Carlota was a tireless campaigner, promoting the city in national advertising and pulling in norteamericano tourists who weren’t going to Europe because of the weak dollar. Her efforts had the kept the city’s hotels in business and when the hotels did well, so did the restaurants, beach bars, night clubs, water parks, trinket stalls, street vendors, and hookers.
Carlota’s next project was to promote Acapulco as an international convention center. The city’s rivals were Las Vegas, Orlando, and Hong Kong, she’d declared in an open letter to the newspapers a few months ago, but Mexico’s service, scenery, and low costs would make Acapulco the world’s choice. Rico had read the article aloud to Emilia as they’d eaten fish tacos at a street stand, copying Carlota’s dramatic campaign style and Emilia had laughed so hard she’d nearly snorted her lunch out of her nose.
But the Olympics? Given the state of Guerrero’s drug violence and lack of mass transportation and other needed services it was a dreadful idea. Emilia smiled weakly. “How exciting, señora.”
Carlota’s expression grew warmer.
Emilia looked back at the paper on her lap. She cleared her voice and read from her brief statement. “The cause of death was determined by the coroner as blunt trauma to the head. His family has been cooperative and we have set up a hotline for people to phone in tips. We expect that our current leads will be productive.”
“A heroic detective, killed with his back to the assailant, while conducting an investigation.” The mayor’s voice slipped into her grandiloquent mode, a sonorous come-with-me-on a magical-voyage-of-discovery tone that lured voters and investors and tourists. “Excellent. This will play very well.”
“Actually, señ
ora,” Emilia said. “So far we don’t have any links back to cases el teniente worked on.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it was in the way the mayor was thinking. And the link to the counterfeit was just too dangerous to be talking about just yet.
Carlota waved aside Emilia’s comments. “I tell you this in confidence, Lieutenant. I’m determined that Acapulco will host a summer Olympic games. The planning committee keeps talking but I’ve gone ahead and requested an initial evaluation by the international committee for next year.” She pressed her hands together. “This means that many people are watching our city right now. So this case will get resolved quickly, without any embarrassment or insinuation of wrongdoing.”
“There are many loose ends, señora,” Emilia murmured.
The mayor’s answer was icy. “Lieutenant, I’m sure you will tidy up those loose ends very quickly. The death was unfortunate. A grave loss to the city’s crime fighting team but in no way connected with drug cartels or city corruption.” Her eyes narrowed. “Nothing will embarrass this office. Nothing will reflect badly on the city of Acapulco and its officials. Do you understand me?”
She couldn’t make the message any plainer, as ludicrous as it was. Obregon smiled at Carlota and nodded.
“Yes, señora,” Emilia said.
“We’ve had enough cartel-related violence,” Carlota went on. “Beheadings and such. This case will not be another mess showcasing drug dealers or corrupt police. We’re going to host the Olympics.”
“We’re following up on Lt. Inocente’s personal business interests,” Emilia heard herself say. “As well as his gambling habits as possible motives.”
“Nothing to do with drugs?” Carlota said.
“Not so far,” Emilia admitted.
“Excellent.” Carlota treated her to a dazzling smile, the same one that had been on all those billboards. The brief frostiness in her manner had come and gone and once again they were the best of friends. “A personal thing, you think. Or connected to his own investigation?”
“It’s early stages yet, señora,” Emilia said carefully.
“Yes, it’ll be a personal thing,” Carlota said firmly as if by making up her mind she could determine the outcome of the investigation. “That’s even better. The best possible explanation. It’ll hush up the critics. Of course nothing that implies bad judgment on his part.”
Emilia’s heartbeat thudded in her ears. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “We can’t predict at this point what we’ll find,” she said uneasily.
The mayor leaned back in her overstuffed chair and flapped a hand. “You can add to your press statement that all resources are being used. We have substantial leads regarding who killed Lt. Inocente in the midst of his own investigation, the details of which we cannot reveal now for fear of harm to informants and so forth. We call on the citizens of this good city to call the hotline to report any leads.” The hand flapped again to indicate the quote was complete. “When you find the killer no doubt you will also solve whatever case Lt. Inocente was working on or unravel a sad personal situation that cut short an illustrious career. Either way our dead lieutenant will be one of Acapulco’s heroes.”
“An excellent way of putting it, Carlota,” Obregon said.
Carlota cocked her head in thought. “Perhaps we can name something after him in due time.”
Emilia bit her lip. How thoughtful of the mayor to summarize the investigation so well and give it such a tidy ending.
Obregon nodded in satisfaction.
“The statement needs to calm public nerves.” Carlota crossed her legs. Her shoes were flesh-colored, with tall spike heels and a red sole. “Let people know that Acapulco is a wonderful place to visit. No police corruption here.” A slim finger tapped the arm of her chair. Her nail polish was a shade darker than her outfit. “Bring your business. Your company. Hold your meetings in our facilities. Support our Olympic bid. Acapulco is the world’s destination city.” The mayor was in full speech mode now, the one she used for outdoor rallies and city council oratory and conferences of Spanish-speaking politicians in Colombia. “Acapulco is the princess of the Pacific. If crime soils her skirts and tourism fall off, our people will go hungry. The world will be deprived of the beauty Acapulco has to give.”
Obregon shifted in his chair. “Lieutenant Cruz is fully behind your campaign, Carlota.”
“So this is all about reassurance, Lieutenant Cruz,” Carlota said, again speaking directly to Emilia. “The public needs to hear that the investigation into the murder of our most senior police detective is under control, that we are following clues, leads, whatever. An arrest is imminent.”
Emilia shot a glance at Obregon. He didn’t acknowledge but instead smiled at Carlota. “Exactly,” he said. “You should have full confidence in Lieutenant Cruz. She recently solved a high profile kidnapping. The Morelos de Gama case.”
“Of course,” Carlota nodded. “One of our most important businessmen.”
Carlota’s retinue had quietly been taking notes or passing information or making her lunch appointments; whatever good minions did. A woman typed on a laptop with a nearly-silent keyboard. The room was sparkling and neat and well appointed, everything that an official space representing one of the largest tourist destinations should be. There were several framed photographs of the mayor and notable people along one wall, balancing out the heavy mahogany furniture and the flags of Mexico and the state of Guerrero. Several shots were of her shaking hands or dining with Hollywood celebrities. There was also a photograph of Carlota with the president. Yet another showed her at some event with the Olympic flag prominently displayed behind her. It was an extravagant mural of self-promotion and Mexican tourism.
“Lieutenant Cruz has the full resources of the police union behind her as well,” Obregon said.
☼
The ten minute press conference was pure torture. Emilia watched the television in the mayor’s office with the secretary and Villahermosa who’d popped out of some hole. The screen showed Carlota walking into her briefing room flanked by Obregon and Chief Salazar. A big seal of the city of Acapulco, showing the hands clutching the bundles of broken reeds, was centered behind the podium. Carlota owned it all, the way she walked in with chin high, nodding to the camera crews and a dozen or so reporters.
Thankfully, she kept to Emilia’s brief prepared statement. The investigation team had a number of leads and she urged everyone to call the hotline. She introduced Obregon as spokesperson for the police in the entire state of Guerrero and Obregon made a short comment, calling Inocente an up-and-coming police official lost in the prime of his career. Salazar said they had named a seasoned detective to head up the investigation, saying that they would not name the person due to security precautions. Emilia was grateful for small favors.
“Our city’s finest are working day and night to solve this crime,” Carlota wrapped up the press conference. “There is no corruption in the ranks of our police here in Acapulco. Here we just have dedicated professionals.”
Carlota Montoya Perez is a magician, Emilia thought. She’s spinning wishes into gold. Of course, Obregon had totally fabricated his statement as well.
The reporters asked a few questions, most of which Obregon deflected by saying they couldn’t compromise the investigation. He called it “fast-moving” and Emilia nearly choked.
“Thank you all for coming,” Carlota said and it was done.
Obregon came to collect her and Villahermosa for the ride back to the station.
“You’re a fast learner, Cruz,” Obregon said once they were in the car.
“I never asked for this job,” Emilia said. “Remember that.”
“You’ll do.” Obregon seemed pleased. “You told the mayor exactly what you should have, which was next to nothing. And she swallowed it.”
Emilia had the sudden sick feeling that he knew she wasn’t telling everything. “I’d better see some bathroom doors tomorrow,” she said. “And a copier.”
/> Chapter 11
Sergio Rivas Estrada seemed a lot like Bruno Inocente; a well-fed former athlete who wore his business success with comfort and confidence. The lawyer had the same pleasant demeanor as his client.
“I don’t want to speak ill of the dead,” he said. He and Emilia sat facing each other in two matching leather armchairs in his high-rise office near the convention center. “But, yes, Fausto had mounted up millions of pesos in gambling debt. Everything his father had left him was gone. Bruno was concerned that this would affect the children and felt obligated to take care of them.”
“So he sold off business assets to pay off his brother’s debts?” Emilia asked. “Did you help with that?”
Rivas had already confirmed that he and Bruno, along with two other business colleagues, had met until late on Tuesday. The lawyer had provided the other men’s contact information without asking. Yes, he and Bruno had gone on to supper. Both of their wives were at the San Pedro charity event and the men had stayed out late. Rivas wrote down the restaurant and even the name of the waiter who had served them; Emilia gathered it was a favorite and much-visited location for both men. He didn’t seem especially concerned that she was asking questions in connection with a possible murder investigation and provided her frank answers without any sign of evasion.
There was a tap on the door and the secretary brought in coffee and cookies on a tray. She set it down on the glass coffee table between the two armchairs and served them, asking how much sugar and milk. Emilia’s cup and saucer came with two chocolate wafer cookies and she was so grateful for them she could have cried. She’d rushed to keep the appointment with Rivas and there had been no time to eat after the meeting at the alcaldia.
“Bruno has been looking to streamline corporate assets for some time. Real estate is enough to keep him busy.” Rivas thanked the secretary, who withdrew quietly, closing the office door behind her.
